The Marriage Trap (15 page)

“No. But I intend to be.” Hands clasped loosely together, he said, “How much do you remember about last night?”

She thought of Mama's litany and said as complacently as she could manage, “I remember the burglary and getting into a hackney, but everything else is . . . ah . . . hazy.”

His eyes lit with laughter. “Fortunately for you I'm a gentleman, so I won't mention how you tried to seduce me. That's our secret.”

Though her cheeks were red, she glared at him. “Thank you.”

“But it's what happened next that has landed us in quicksand up to our necks.”

She could feel herself sinking into the quicksand. “Go on,” she said cautiously.

“You introduced yourself to my grandmother and her guests and implied that you were my mistress.”

She was aghast. “I did no such thing.”

“Ellie,” he said gently, “you told them I was in your rooms when you were attacked. What else were they to think, especially after our history, except that I had set you up as my mistress?”

Her voice rose by several notches. “You could have told them the truth.”

He said impatiently, “If we try to defend ourselves, it will only make us look guilty. But you see what a coil we're in? My grandmother is ready to disown me and, I daresay, when Cardvale gets to hear of it, he'll be demanding satisfaction at twenty paces.”

Her head ached. Her stomach churned. His cordial wasn't working. “You can't fight Cardvale,” she said weakly. “He'd be no match for you.”

“Then there's your brother. I'm sure he will call me out, as well.”

She blinked. “A moment ago you were talking about helping Robbie, not dueling with him. Besides, I know you don't duel with boys. I heard you say so to that young Prussian soldier in the Café des Anglaises. So why are you trying to alarm me like this?”

He gave a short laugh. “I hope you
are
alarmed, because this latest imbroglio is not so easily got out of as the one in Paris.”

Headache or not, she was beginning to resent the inference that she was entirely to blame for the monstrous muddle they were in. “I did not ask to be brought here! You should have taken me back to the Windsor Arms or, better yet, never have allowed me to leave it.”

“Hindsight,” he replied laconically, “won't help us, either.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

His brows climbed. “Isn't it obvious? We must marry, and the sooner the better.”

Her head stopped swimming, her stomach stopped churning, her heartbeat slowed. She was shaking her head as she groped for words. Finally she got out, “Is this a joke?”

“Now why should you think that?”

“Because,” she replied waspishly, “the Jack Rigg I met in Paris said that he wouldn't have me at any price. You droned on about better women than I who had tried to ensnare you and failed, yes, and you called me some nasty names, too. You said that nothing and no one could possibly persuade you to marry me. How is this different?”

He spread his hands. “In Paris, I didn't know you were the daughter of my tutor. I thought you had deliberately tried to compromise me. This time around, I'm to blame, and I always pay my debts.” He leaned toward her. “Ellie, we must marry. You had better make your mind up to it.”

This cold-blooded proposal sent shivers along her spine. Here was another recipe for disaster. When she had command of her voice, she said, “And what if, after we are wed, you meet the love of your life? What will you do then? Thank me for ruining your chance for a happy life?”

“‘Love'?” He looked startled. “I don't believe in love, and I wouldn't thank you if you handed it to me on a silver platter.”

She looked at him curiously.

“Don't let your imagination run away with you.” A glint of amusement shone in his dark eyes. “I'm not talking from personal experience but from what I've observed of the human race.”

“Then your observations,” she retorted, “are different from mine.”

His response was as clipped as hers. “My philosophy is to make the best of things and try to right the wrongs I've done. If there was another way, don't you think I'd take it?”

She was astonished to find that tears were stinging her eyes, and put it down to the effects of her night of dissipation. She couldn't possibly be hurt by anything this jaded cynic said to her. And that's what he had become, a jaded man of the world. It was time to set aside all those girlish fancies she had once entertained about that long-ago romantic figure. That boy no longer existed.

To be fair, cynic or not, he was not without honor. He was trying to make things right. But two wrongs did not make a right.

Striving to be reasonable, she said, “I think you're exaggerating the problem. Our situation is far from hopeless. If your grandmother supports our story and—”

She stopped when he suddenly got up and came to stand in front of her. When he boxed her in with one hand on either arm of her chair, she strained away from him. There was a reckless glitter in his eyes that reminded her of the boy she once knew.

“Now you listen to me,” he said. “Our wishes don't matter. It has gone beyond that. I won't have it said that I ruined Dr. Brans-Hill's daughter. I won't have my family ostracized because people believe I've taken my mistress to live with me in my own home. I refuse to put my life in jeopardy by fighting duels with your cousin and your brother. And I absolutely refuse to take responsibility for casting you off to fend for yourself. Oh yes, I know you can't find employment.”

This last remark was the most wounding of all. She didn't want him to think of her as a suppliant depending on his goodwill. She wanted . . . she didn't know what she wanted.

Cheeks burning, she said, “You've been reading my private correspondence.”

He ignored her response. “I haven't finished yet. Don't you know the kind of insult you're leaving yourself open to? A fallen woman is fair game for any man. If you won't think of yourself, think of your brother. You'd be seriously compromising his chances of success in whatever profession he enters. Is that what you want?”

She felt so battered by his tirade that she could only answer faintly in the negative.

“Well, then, make the best of it.”

She wanted to sound aloof, but succeeded only in sounding like a fractious child. “I don't want to marry anyone. I like my single state.”

He stared at her for a moment or two, brows furrowed, then straightened. “If that's your only objection, let me set your mind at rest. I have never forced myself on an unwilling woman, as you know very well.”

Though her cheeks burned, she met his gaze squarely. “I'm set in my ways. That's what I meant. I don't have to answer to anyone but myself.”

That quick smile was back in his eyes, but this time it lingered. “It seems that we shall both have to make sacrifices, doesn't it?”

There was a knock at the door and a footman entered.

“What is it?” asked Jack, annoyance lacing his voice.

The footman cleared his throat. “Lord Cardvale wishes to speak with you, my lord.”

Ellie sucked in a breath.

“Well,” said Jack, “that didn't take long, did it?” To the footman, he said, “Show him in, show him in.”

When Cardvale entered, Jack was at the sideboard pouring out three glasses of sherry. His greeting to Cardvale was effusive. “Come in, come in. I can't tell you how glad I am to see you.”

Cardvale, on the other hand, was white about the mouth. He spared Ellie one glance, then advanced toward Jack. Ellie knew exactly what was on her cousin's mind. It was just as Jack had predicted. He was going to challenge Jack to a duel.

She jumped to her feet. “Cardvale,” she cried, “you're just in time to wish me happy.” She joined Jack at the sideboard, gave him a brilliant smile, and picked up two glasses. Her cousin seemed to have had the wind knocked out of him.

She crossed to him and offered him a glass. “You're the first to know. Lord Raleigh and I are going to be married. Won't you drink a toast to our future happiness?”

Jack joined her and slipped a possessive arm around her waist. “Yes, Cardvale. Wish us happy.”

Cardvale seemed unconvinced, so Ellie hastened to reassure him. “You and Dorothea must come to the wedding.”

“And when,” demanded Cardvale, “is the happy event to take place?”

Ellie could feel Jack stiffen by her side. The hostility between the two gentlemen fairly crackled.

“As soon as you like,” Jack threw out in a challenging voice.

Ellie hardly knew what to say to smooth things over. It was beginning to seem that, marriage or not, a duel was inevitable.

Just then the door opened and a lady whom Ellie recognized as Jack's grandmother entered. Behind her was a dark-eyed young woman with glossy dark curls. The older woman looked radiant; the younger was sullen.

“Well?” said her ladyship, ignoring everyone but her grandson. “Don't keep me in suspense.”

Jack laughed. “It's all settled,” he said. “Ellie has consented to be my wife.”

For the next half hour, Ellie's smile was set like plaster. If she stopped smiling, she knew her jaw would crack. Everyone congratulated Jack and wished her happy. Cardvale seemed to come round and went so far as to propose the toast. But it was her ladyship who added an air of festivity to the occasion. She, at least, was genuinely pleased with how things had turned out.

As she pretended to sip her sherry, Ellie studied each person in turn. The dowager glowed with happiness; Jack was putting on a good face; Cardvale was reserved, and Lady Caroline was as stiff as starch. She wondered about Robbie. How would he greet the news of her impending marriage?

She hadn't meant things to go this far. Perhaps, when she was feeling more herself, she would devise a way out of this dilemma. Meanwhile, she smiled and laughed in all the right places and gave the impression that she hadn't a care in the world.

Cardvale wasn't fooled, as she discovered when he asked if she would show him out. When he had donned his coat, and the porter had retreated to give them some privacy, he turned to her with a smile.

“You know, Ellie,” he said, “you're not alone in the world. You and Robbie are the only blood relatives I have left. I want you to know that if ever you are in trouble, you can turn to me.”

This little speech brought a tightness to her chest. She knew he meant it. He'd said much the same when her father died. But he was married to a witch. Dorothea would not be as generous or as welcoming as Cardvale.

She touched his hand briefly, trying to convey some affection, though it was hard to show affection to a man who was so reserved. “I shall never forget you said those words to me,” she said, knowing that she would never take him up on his offer.

Before she could withdraw her hand, he surprised her by clasping it firmly. “I mean it, Ellie,” he said. And just as though he could read her mind, he went on, “I know you would never share a house with Dorothea, and I wouldn't expect you to. But that cottage in Hampstead is still vacant. If you want it, it's yours.”

Now she felt guilty. She'd always felt slightly contemptuous because Cardvale would not stand up to his wife. She was beginning to see that he was so generous that it would be only too easy to take advantage of him.

She returned the pressure of his handclasp. “Thank you, Cardvale, but you've got the wrong impression about my marriage to Jack.” She wanted to take that anxious look from his eyes, so she stretched the truth. “I think I've loved him since I was an adolescent girl and he was my father's pupil. I can't believe how lucky I am.”

On impulse, she kissed his cheek. He looked surprised, but not taken aback. He patted her shoulder, congratulated her again on her good fortune, and left the house.

She remained standing in the hall lost in thought. Cardvale, she was thinking, did not look well. Living with Dorothea was taking its toll. Before his marriage, he was considered a prize in the marriage mart. A handsome young man who was both wealthy and titled could be forgiven his quiet and reserved nature. It had been years since she'd heard him laugh.

She should have kept up with him, in spite of Dorothea. It's what her mother would have done. He seemed . . . lonely.

Sighing, she turned toward the stairs. Jack was watching her from the gallery, his hands curled around the banister. He was unsmiling.

“What did Cardvale want?” he asked when she came up to him.

“Oh, just looking out for my interests.” She smiled to make light of it.

Jack did not smile. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Too late now,” he said. “You have
me
to look out for your interests, and not only yours but Robbie's, as well. Never forget it.”

Two gentlemen in one day offering to take care of all her burdens. Things didn't look quite so black anymore.

She was quiet on the drive to Chelsea, her mind dwelling on first one problem then another, the same problems that had kept her awake for half the night. Jack had been right about the break-in, at least in one respect. Nothing had been taken. This morning, they'd gone to her house so that she could check things over. She had meticulously gone through every drawer and cupboard, and though Jack had put some things back in the wrong places, everything was accounted for, even her mother's letters and recipes and the items in her medicine box.

There was one thing, however, that was not as it should be. One of the candles had burned down to a stump. Her assailant must have been in the house for some time, either searching for something by the light of the candle or waiting for her to return.

Then what? What was she supposed to know or have in her possession that anyone could want?

The murder of Louise Daudet, the theft of the Cardvale diamonds, the break-in at her house—she couldn't forget Jack's words, but she found it hard to believe these events were connected to Robbie or to herself. Either they were random events or the connection must be through someone else.

She flinched when a hand closed over her arm.

“You're shivering,” said Jack. He adjusted her shawl to cover her shoulders. “You're not still suffering the effects of Mama's cordial, are you?”

He was attempting to jog her out of the doldrums, so the least she could do was smile. “There's nothing wrong with Mama's cordial. I told you, it was the wine. Taken together, they're a recipe for disaster.”

Her smile faded.
Recipe for disaster.
The words were becoming a cliché, she'd thought of them so often in the last little while—Robbie's trip to Paris, Aurora's jaunt to the Palais Royal, Mama's cordial, and now this unholy match with Jack. When would her run of bad luck end?

He was quick to sense her mood. Reaching for her gloved hand, he squeezed gently. “Listen to me, Ellie,” he said. “Forget the fact that this marriage has been foisted upon us. When you think about it, it's not such a bad idea, is it?”

The last remark was rhetorical, so she didn't reply.

“Well, then.” He let out a breath and smiled. “From a purely practical point of view, this marriage will serve both our interests. You are looking for employment and I'm offering it to you. As my wife, your duties will not be onerous. You'll have a home of your own, plenty of pin money to spend as you will, and a position in society.”

Her tone was dry. “And what do you get out of it, Jack?”

“Why, I get you, Ellie, and it so happens that you suit me very well.”

She treated this remark with the skepticism it deserved. “I'm all ears,” she crooned.

He chuckled. “I mean it. I can talk to you as one intelligent person to another. You won't expect me to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. You won't demand my attendance at every function, or fly into a rage if I as much as look at another woman. You know that I must marry, if only to provide my line with an heir, and, as I've said, I've yet to meet a woman who suits me half as well as you. This marriage is a
fait accompli
, so to speak. Can't we make the best of it?”

She had every intention of making the best of it, but this little speech hardly reconciled her to her fate. In fact, it did the opposite. She said crisply, “Providing you with an heir so that your line may continue doesn't appeal to me.” She might have said more, that the role of a neglected wife was even less appealing, but she decided that that would only lead to more baiting.

He patted her hand. “I know. It doesn't appeal to me, either. But I don't think it will be too onerous a duty for either of us, not if past experience is any indication.”

She snatched her hand away. “Don't be too sure about that, Jack. I won't be making a habit of drinking Mama's cordial. Besides, we have an understanding and I'm keeping you to it.”

He gave her one of his slow, enigmatic smiles. “No more Mama's cordial,” he agreed. “I think we can safely leave things up to Mother Nature, don't you?”

Her scowl told him what she thought of that idea.

“And no more long faces. For Robbie's sake,” he added.

She nodded. “I'll be the soul of happiness.”

Because Jack had not wanted his prize horses to be kept standing in the cold, they'd traveled to Chelsea by hackney instead of taking his coach. The village, though still quite pastoral, had practically become a suburb of London, as with each passing year the western boundary of the city expanded to meet it.

They reached Chelsea by mid-afternoon, passing first the Royal Hospital for Veterans, which now comprised the grounds of the once celebrated Ranleigh Gardens. After that, there was a long row of handsome Georgian houses that commanded a fine view of the river and, beyond them, Chelsea Old Church.

The house they finally stopped at was a two story, modest building a mile beyond the village. Its acreage was small and its orchard, like the house, in good repair. The sun was watery, the ground hard-packed, the lawn was brown, and the only greenery were clumps of holly bushes guarding the front door.

“Smile,” Jack murmured as the front door opened.

Ellie smiled.

That brilliant smile was still on her face when the maid ushered them into Uncle Freddie's shabby, though warm and comfortable, parlor. Jack's first impression was that there were enough books here to equal his own library.

Ellie had told him that “uncle” was a courtesy title Frederick Wallace had earned when, as a young man, he'd served as her father's curate. Though their paths had diverged, the ties of friendship had continued. Wallace was retired now, a widower with no children, who devoted himself to scholarship and teaching.

The man who enfolded Ellie in a bear hug did not match Jack's idea of a cleric. Though his longish straggly hair was snowy white, Mr. Wallace possessed the physique of a pugilist, and Jack supposed it came from working outdoors in his acreage of gardens and orchards.

When the introductions were made and they were seated around the fire, Mr. Wallace sent the maid to put the kettle on for tea.

“Robbie shouldn't be long,” he said in answer to Ellie's query. “He often goes out for a walk along the riverbank at this time of day, to clear the cobwebs from his mind.”

Mr. Wallace's spirits seemed to flag a little, but whether it was because he was thinking of Robbie or for some other reason, Jack could not say. The lapse was momentary. He turned his attention to Jack. His eyes were measuring, but not unfriendly.

“Are you acquainted with Robbie, Lord Raleigh?”

Naturally, the old boy was curious about his presence here. Jack didn't suppose Ellie had brought too many fashionable young gentlemen to meet Robbie's tutor. She should have made their relationship clear from the start, and her failure to do so was mildly annoying. He was supposed to be a matrimonial prize. Not that he had ever wanted to be, but Ellie behaved as though he was just another courtesy uncle.

That would change.

“I know Robbie only by reputation,” he said. From the corner of his eye he caught Ellie's glare and softened his observation. “That is to say, Ellie had told me all about him. However, now that we are to be related, I hope he and I shall be friends.”

“‘Related'?” Wallace looked from Ellie to Jack. He seemed incapable of making the connection.

“Ellie?” prompted Jack.

She rose to the occasion with a finesse that put Jack in mind of Aurora. No mention was made of the circumstances that compelled them to wed. She told the story that they had agreed on, that they'd known each other for years, and having met again in Paris, after a whirlwind courtship, had decided to marry.

Fortunately, not a whiff of the gossip had reached Mr. Wallace's ears, and his pleasure at hearing her news could hardly be contained.

When the excitement had died down, the conversation returned to Robbie.

Wallace smiled dryly. “I'm afraid,” he said, “I haven't been much help with his studies.” He gentled his voice. “You see, Ellie, I don't think Robbie wants to return to university. Not everyone is cut out to be a scholar.”

Ellie clasped her hands together and looked earnestly into Mr. Wallace's face. “Give him time, Uncle Freddie. He's at a difficult age. And he must get an education or all the professions will be closed to him.”

Mr. Wallace sighed. “Now that he is on the mend, he is easily distracted. You may think Chelsea is a quiet backwater, but even here, there are temptations for young men.”

Ellie sat back in her chair. “Not gambling!”

“Ah no.” Mr. Wallace's cheeks went rosy. “I've said too much already. I don't like to carry tales out of school. You should really talk to Robbie.”

Jack was of the opinion that they should really talk to
him.
Now that he and Ellie were about to be married, he had some say in managing her affairs, and that included the affairs of her scapegrace brother.

He adjusted his long length in the upholstered chair. Keeping his voice casual and respectful, he said, “No one could fault you for your care of Robbie, sir. I only hope I am equal to the task. I see that I shall have to exercise a great deal of patience now that he'll be living under my roof.”

His words were met by a startled silence.

Ellie stuttered something incomprehensible. Mr. Wallace's eyebrows disappeared into the fall of hair on his forehead. As enlightenment dawned, a smile creased his cheeks.

“Of course,” he said. “Now that you are to marry Ellie, Robbie will have to answer to you. That's splendid.” As though suddenly aware that this response was less than tactful, he quickly went on, “Well, well, a younger man will probably suit Robbie better, be more of a mentor to him. And I'm sure you'll use your influence to see the boy settled in some . . . ah . . . suitable occupation when the time comes.”

“You can count on it,” replied Jack with a deprecating smile.

Ellie was struggling to find her voice. “I don't care if Robbie becomes a shepherd or . . . or a coachman,” she declared. “An education is never wasted.”

“Oh, I think I can do better for the boy than a shepherd or a coachman,” replied Jack easily. “But the main thing is to advise him of how things stand since we left Paris.”

The veiled reference to the murder charge hanging over Robbie had little effect. “I am aware of that,” she said, still bristling. “But it would be a mistake to think that Robbie is in need of a guardian, because he already has one—me.”

Mr. Wallace got nimbly to his feet. There was a worried look in his eyes. “I'll see what's keeping Mabel,” he said. “I don't think I asked her to bring scones and strawberry preserves. I'll only be a moment.”

When the door closed, Jack said, “I think we failed our first test, Ellie.”

“What ‘test'?” Her brows were down.

“I don't think we convinced Mr. Wallace that we're a couple of lovebirds.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I couldn't act like a lovebird if my life depended on it.”

He bit down on a smile. “All the same, we made poor Mr. Wallace take to his heels. We'll have to do better than that if we're to convince the world, and your brother in particular, that we're the proverbial happy couple. At the very least, we should be civil to each other.”

She gave him a fulminating look, but her voice was surprisingly civil. “I would be civil if you wouldn't provoke me.”

He shook his head. “I'm not trying to provoke you. Like it or not, your brother
will
answer to me. How can I make you understand that he is in trouble up to his neck? I gave my word to Sir Charles—who has your best interests at heart—that I'd take the boy under my wing, and I mean to keep my promise.”

At this pointed reminder, some of the fight went out of her. “I understand,” she said. “And don't think I'm not grateful. But I warn you now, Robbie has a mind of his own. He won't take kindly to being ordered about. He has been his own master, more or less, since he went away to university. All I'm saying is that tact and patience will serve you far better than intimidation.”

Barely suppressing the twinkle in his eyes, he said, “Oddly enough, my grandmother used words very like those to my commanding officer when I got my first commission. He'd heard it all before from other fond mamas and grandmothers. Fortunately for England, he ignored their advice.”