The Bargain (22 page)

It wouldn't help his status at the university to marry the daughter of a notorious actress, he admitted. But his credit could withstand it. If the truth be told, he knew he had rather a privileged position at Oxford as an aristocrat with an income of his own. He had always been careful not to trade on this advantage, but if necessary he would do so now. Leaving his work and colleagues was unthinkable.

These rational considerations comforted him a good deal. He liked having the matter settled and a clear plan in place. He had not meant to marry just now, of course. Actually, he had been uncertain whether he would ever marry. His work was so much more important to him than any personal connections. Or, it had been, Alan thought. It still was, really. He was eager to return to his laboratory; he missed his intellectual pursuits damnably. It was just that Ariel… Somehow when he was with Ariel he lost touch with the cool observant persona that he had relied on for a decade. He became someone he didn't even know when he had her softness beneath his hands, her lips responding to his slightest signal, her…

Alan made an involuntary sound and banished this line of thought. There were advantages to being married to her, he thought. When they were settled down together, these unacceptable disruptions would cease. He would resume his work, and return home to her each evening, in an orderly way. There would be none of this turmoil. He would not have to sneak out of houses like a thief to make certain that no one knew he had been there alone with her and utterly destroyed her reputation. His life would be as calm and productive as it had been six months ago. He took a deep satisfied breath at the idea.

She was intelligent, he told himself. She had a lively interest in ideas. She might well win over his Oxford friends. And of course, he would have her in his bed every night. Heat flushed Alan at the thought. He remembered the silk of her skin, the slender suppleness of her body as it responded to his touch. His pulse quickened as he recalled the way her breath had caught when he introduced her to a particularly intimate caress and the heady mixture of innocence and roused passion that had enflamed him. His own body grew hard at the memories.

Alan rose abruptly. Catching a glimpse of himself in the overlarge mirror above the mantelshelf, he saw an unfamiliar figure with ruddy skin and a wild glitter about the eyes. He blinked, and so did this unacceptably flamboyant man. He raised a hand, and saw the gesture echoed in the glass.

Forcing a deep breath, Alan straightened his cravat. His hair was mussed, he thought coldly. He looked like someone who had not slept well and had thrown on his clothes haphazardly in the morning. This wouldn't do. He rang for a servant and began to make ready for a formal call.

Throughout a restless morning, Ariel wrestled with the overwhelming desire to smash something. Repeatedly, she consigned Lord Alan Gresham to perdition, and then had to fight a fierce battle with herself to keep from bursting into tears.

It was nearly two o'clock when she heard the sounds of arrival below. Though she tried, Ariel couldn't resist going to the stairwell and listening as Hannah opened the door. She heard the older woman greet Lord Alan and heard him ask for her. Relief and a certain excitement warred with anger in her breast as Hannah started up the steps. She hurried back into her room and was sitting at the writing desk by the time Hannah knocked and announced their visitor. “Oh?” she said. “Very well. I'll be down in a few minutes.”

When Hannah was gone, she jumped up and surveyed herself in the long mirror hung on the wardrobe door. Her gown was all right. Its tawny silk brought a glow to her skin and hair. Or possibly it was emotion that was making her cheeks so red and her hazel eyes so bright, Ariel thought.

Catching up a gauzy scarf and draping it over her shoulders, Ariel checked the mirror once more. Lady Macbeth, she thought to herself; Cordelia, the queen of Persia. Her spine straightened and her chin came up; a regal hauteur entered her gaze and her full lips turned sternly down. She moved a hand, and the gesture was both languid and imperious. Satisfied, she raised her eyebrows slightly, and then walked from the room.

Lord Alan was alone in the front parlor when she reached it. He turned from the fire, checked slightly at the sight of her, then said, “Good day. You know why I am here, I imagine.”

She allowed her brows to rise a little higher.

“I thought we would marry next week,” he went on. “I have inquired about a special license, and it seems easy enough to procure. Under the circumstances, I don't think banns are really—”

“Marry?” said Ariel.

He nodded. “I have written to Oxford about houses that may be available. It will take a little time, of course, to find just the right—”

“Circumstances,” Ariel echoed, still trying to take in his first statement.

“We can stay here for that time,” he went on as if he hadn't heard. “And I know you will have things to clear up. Don't think I've forgotten that.” He gave her a benevolent smile.

“You are asking me to marry you?” Ariel felt as if she had stepped out of her familiar front door and found nothing at all that she recognized.

He looked surprised. “Naturally.”

“Because… because of yesterday?”

“Of course.”

He was looking at her as if she were a half-wit, Ariel thought. “Because you think you must?” she elaborated.

“Of course,” he said again. “I am not the sort of man who—”

“You feel there is no other course of action open to you?” she interrupted.

“There is not,” he replied impatiently.

“Yes, there is.” Ariel swallowed the anger she had been feeling earlier, mixed with a disappointment so sharp she could hardly stand it. He had said nothing about what he wanted to do, she thought. He had not mentioned love or anything ridiculous like that. Here was a man of honor, Ariel told herself, the creature her mother had assured her did not exist. It was a surprisingly disappointing species. “I refuse,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?”

He meant to do his duty, Ariel thought. No other course of action had even occurred to him. What did he think she was—a lapse, a mistake that he must remedy, a female ruled by her impulses who had trapped him into marriage? She dug her nails into her palms. “I won't marry you,” she said.

He looked stunned.

“So you need not worry about the matter,” she heard herself adding. “Let us forget it ever happened.”

“It?” he repeated incredulously.

“I… I was overset by the arrival of my mother's note,” she stammered. “I wasn't… I didn't know what I was doing. But one unfortunate lapse needn't spoil our whole lives.”

His head jerked very slightly, as if he had taken a blow. Ariel couldn't interpret the look in his blue eyes.

“No one knows about it,” she said.

“No,” he agreed in an odd voice.

Was there something she hadn't understood? Ariel wondered. “Surely we can
both
rise above it,” she attempted. She would show him that she was not some sort of manipulative female at the mercy of her emotions.

“If that is what you wish, I certainly can,” he replied curtly. The lines around his mouth were harsh.

“Splendid,” answered Ariel, and she thought what a very stupid and unpleasant word that was.

She looked up at him, and their eyes locked. He seemed absolutely furious, but about what? Ariel found it difficult to get a breath. She was almost dizzy with conflicting feelings. If only he had said that he felt something—anything—for her, she thought.

The fire crackled in the grate; in the entryway, the front door opened and closed. But the two in the parlor noticed nothing until Lord Robert Gresham and his eldest brother strolled into the room. Sebastian was close behind them.

Lord Highgrove took a step toward Ariel. “I wanted to tell you, I had a word with Violet's Uncle Philip,” he said. “Just as you suggested.”

“Yes?” Ariel struggled to remember what in the world he was talking about. All she could see was Alan's face, stony and unreadable.

“Dropped a word in his ear about Violet's grandmother,” the newcomer prompted.

“Umm.” Their earlier conversation came back to her. “Oh. What did he say?”

“He went a bit white around the gills,” was the pleased reply. “Told me I'd misunderstood her grandmother's comments, she admired me no end, that sort of thing. But he went haring out of the club five minutes later, calling for his horse.” The viscount grinned. “I gave him an hour, then went to call on Violet. The upshot is, I'm driving her out to Kew Gardens tomorrow, just the two of us.” He had a reminiscent smile. “She seemed quite taken with the idea.”

“Good for you,” applauded Lord Robert. “Violet's old harpy of a grandmother deserves a taste of her own medicine.” He turned to Ariel. “She once told me I hadn't the wits of a grasshopper.”

“Harpy,” said the viscount meditatively. “I believe I like that even better than harridan.” He grinned again.

“Has everyone lost their wits?” Lord Alan said, seeming to speak to the air above the others' heads. He stared at Ariel, strain evident now in his expression. “Am I the only rational person present?”

“It was quite a rational plan actually,” answered Lord Highgrove, taking the remark as addressed to him. “I wonder I didn't think of—”

“Schemes taken from plays,” Lord Alan continued, ignoring his brother. “Questions. Akkadian. And now…” He made a throwaway gesture. Ariel took it as a reference to her refusal. “She's driven the whole family mad,” he concluded wonderingly. He put a hand to his head, then let it drop.

“Who, Ariel?” said Lord Sebastian. “Hasn't driven me mad.” He frowned. “Don't think she has, anyway. It's true I've never talked so much to a female in my life,” he added with a touch of mystification.

Lord Robert was nodding. “It's dashed peculiar,” he agreed. “You can flirt with a girl for an entire season and never know a thing about her. But if you once begin to talk on a serious subject…” He shook his head as if the result were an unfathomable mystery.

“Akkadian?” repeated Lord Alan incredulously.

“I ain't the dunce some people think me,” was the oddly dignified reply. “I took a Latin prize at Harrow, you know.”

“By Jove, I'd forgotten that,” replied Lord Sebastian. “Papa—”

“Nearly dropped his teeth,” finished Lord Robert. “I remember. Everyone thought Alan had all the brains in the family, but he don't.”

“Brains!” exploded Lord Alan. His features had reddened.

All of his brothers turned to look at him. “You ill?” wondered Lord Robert. “Not looking quite the thing.”

“No, I am not ill,” replied the other through clenched teeth.

“Alan's never ill,” commented Lord Sebastian.

“Flushed,” Lord Robert pointed out. “Not hot in here.”

All three brothers peered at him. “You haven't taken a fever at Carlton…” began Lord Highgrove.

With a sound very like a snarl, Lord Alan pushed past them and strode from the room. In a moment they heard the front door slam behind him. Ariel jerked a little at the angry, final noise the panels made.

There was a brief silence.

“What the deuce is eating him?” said Lord Robert then.

The three looked at Ariel.

“I haven't the least idea,” she lied.

“Sick of London, I wager,” said Lord Sebastian. “Alan's always hated it here. When Mother made him do the Season, he moped and fidgeted the whole time.”

“I remember,” agreed Lord Robert feelingly. “Talk of your ill humors.”

“He'll be going back to Oxford any day,” said Lord Highgrove. “That'll restore his spirits.”

No doubt, thought Ariel, and a forlorn vacancy descended over her, leaving her suddenly exhausted. “I'm a bit tired…” she began.

Lord Highgrove responded immediately. “Of course. I must go. I only dropped by to, er, give you the news.”

“Dancing attendance on Violet's family again tonight?” asked Lord Robert, who seemed oblivious to her hint.

“I said I would see them at Almack's,” he acknowledged. “I must go home and change.”

“Don't go,” suggested Lord Sebastian. “You want to throw a scare into them, don't turn up.”

The viscount frowned and looked tempted. “I don't wish to upset Violet,” he objected.

“Send a note round to her.” Lord Sebastian grinned. “Tell her you'll see her tomorrow.”

“Have 'em slip it to her on the sly,” added Lord Robert, getting into the spirit of the thing. “Let the rest of them wonder what's become of you.”

“We'll have a hand of cards, make a night of it,” said Sebastian. “That is, if it's all right with Ariel?”

All three of them turned to look at her. They were handsome men, she thought, with their auburn hair and blue eyes and fine figures. But none of them could compare to Alan. Stricken by a rush of despair, she made an uncaring gesture.

Lord Highgrove considered. “I'll do it.”

Lord Robert gave a cheer. “I'll send my groom for some claret,” he said. “Perhaps Hannah will make us some of that toasted cheese she used to do on the hearth.”

His oldest brother looked surprised. “I remember that,” he said. “Lord, it's been a long time.” He looked around the room. “How long has it been since we spent an evening together?”

There was a short silence.

“Since we were boys, you mean?” said Lord Sebastian.

Lord Highgrove nodded, and another short silence fell.

“Have we ever?” wondered Lord Robert.

Another silence fell.

“Well, then, it's high time we did,” exclaimed Lord Sebastian heartily. “What do you say to piquet?”

Feeling immeasurably weary, Ariel turned and left them. The murmur of conversation followed her past the first landing and faded only when she reached the second floor. She continued on to her own room and sat down there in the darkness without lighting a candle.

***

It was the first instant she had had to think, to try to sort out the welter of emotion she had been experiencing. Lord Alan's offer of marriage had been completely unexpected. Because of what her mother had taught her, she hadn't even imagined such a thing. In her worst moments, she had been afraid he would reject her, or despise her for giving in to him, or triumph at her surrender and try to take some advantage of it. At other times, she had been certain he would apologize and withdraw. And then there had been the secret, dangerous flashes of hope that he might care for her, that the gentle urgency of his touch had meant something more than desire.

There had been no sign of that in his proposal, she thought sadly. Bess
had
been wrong; all men were not users and seducers. But duty and respect were not the same as… love. Ariel acknowledged the word with a kind of breathless pain. In all these days they had spent together, in the searching and analyzing they had shared, she had come to love him so deeply, and now she had just refused to marry him. Something between a sob and a laugh choked her. She had refused the son of a duke. No one would ever believe it. Indeed, one part of her own mind was having trouble comprehending it. Why not have married him? that inner voice was saying. She would at least have been with him then. And who knows what the future might bring?

Ariel shook her head in the dimness. Impossible, she thought. She couldn't have endured the continual hope, and continual disappointment. He didn't even believe in love, she reminded herself. He rejected the very concept. He set such store in rationality, in being a man of science. He would scorn her for wanting such a will-o'-the-wisp. And that would be a pain worse than this.

Her breath caught shakily. She wouldn't see him anymore, she thought. A man who had been refused did not continue to call. Alone, safely hidden by darkness, Ariel allowed the tears to overflow onto her cheeks.

She wanted nothing more than to marry him, she realized, if only it could be more than an obligation he felt bound to fulfill.

***

A day passed, and another, and as Ariel had expected, there was no sign of Lord Alan. What she had not predicted was that she would have to hear
of
him constantly. His brothers were in and out of the house, and they discussed him without any sign of self-consciousness. There was no chance to forget him, even for a minute. She had to speak of him as if nothing had happened, and keep up a facade of contentment. It was excruciating. And yet, it was disturbingly satisfying as well. She was hungry for news of him, for the sound of his name, for any scrap of information that might reveal what he thought, how he felt, whether the things that had passed between them had had an effect.