Three Proposals and a Scandal: A Sons of Sin Novella (12 page)

“Oh, once we’re shackled, you can go your own way. I won’t care what you do as long as I’ve got my hands on all your lovely money.”

“You can go to the devil, sir,” she snapped.

He laughed derisively. “I intend to, my love. And you’ll pay for the trip.”

She felt as cold in this humid greenhouse as if she stood outside in the storm. “I won’t marry you.”

His smile had never wavered through his appalling confession. Now it widened and the choirboy turned intimidatingly wolfish. “Yes, you will. By the time I’ve finished, you’ll be begging for me to restore your reputation.”

Perhaps it was mad to defy him, but her spirit revolted at what he planned. She straightened and regarded him with all the loathing in her soul. “I’ll never marry a cur like you.”

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. He’d be less alarming if he betrayed some emotion beyond self-assurance. “No need to be rude. This is your last chance, Marianne. The maid who delivered my message to you has instructions to create a scene. Any moment now, she’ll bring your father, the Hillbrooks and Desborough, and anyone else expressing an interest, to this charming bower. We either greet them as a happy couple or your seduction becomes a public scandal.”

The unspeakable wretch. “You’re wasting your time, Lord Tranter,” she said icily. “I won’t marry you whatever you do.”

“Easy to say now. We’ll see what happens after your virtue is in tatters.” He loomed closer. She’d never considered Tranter a particularly impressive physical specimen. Now he dwarfed her.

On a surge of movement, she lurched forward, going for his eyes.

“You damned cat,” he gasped as her nails scored his cheeks.

Without stopping to see the damage she’d done, she twisted free, taking advantage of his shock. She dashed through the foliage, slippered feet skidding on the tiles.

She heard him behind her, blundering through the greenery. There was a loud crash as a pot smashed in his wake. Panting, she reached the glass doors and dived for the latch. Before she touched it, rough hands grabbed her shoulders and wrenched her around.

She cried out in terror and pain, then again when Tranter slapped her face. Fire exploded in her head. When alertness returned, Tranter clutched her to his chest and her hair fell around her face. She struggled, but he seemed to have a hundred hands. With a sharp rip, he tore her bodice.

“Let me go, you savage,” she gasped, biting and scratching until he took her by the scruff of the neck like a cat and forced her head still.

“I’ll happily hit you again if you don’t stop this foolishness,” he said breathlessly.

He no longer looked in control. Worse. His eyes blazed with excitement and blood trickled down his cheek. As he mashed her into his body, a hard weight poked her belly. Bile rushed into her throat.

She swallowed hard, opened her mouth and screamed her lungs out. The harsh sound bounced off the glass. So did the echo of Tranter’s next slap.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he grated, placing a hand over her mouth. “Agree and you’ll save yourself a deal of trouble.”

She remained taut, faint with pain, wanting to kill him. His other hand imprisoned her wrists. She shrank away when his eyes dipped to her breasts, bare under her tattered dress.

“You’ve always been a clever little bitch, Marianne.” He licked his lips in a way that terrified her. “Give up the fight and admit you’re beaten.”

She made herself nod and he smiled with an approval that made her gag.

“Good girl.” He shifted his hand from her mouth to squeeze her breast and she screamed again, kicking him. But her satin slippers did no damage and he easily subdued her by wrapping his arms around her.

“Bad show, my dear, bad show.”

He jammed her face into his chest so she couldn’t breathe. The sour stench of his sweat made her head swim. She battled his hold, but this man she’d always dismissed as a cream puff contained her wriggling without apparent difficulty. She told herself to keep fighting as blackness edged her vision.

Then she was free and staring into her father’s appalled eyes.

“What the devil is going on?”

Marianne still gasped for air, giving Tranter the chance to answer her father’s outraged demand. “My lord, we got carried away.”

Through the buzzing in her ears, Marianne could hardly believe that he sounded like her urbane dance partner and not the man who had hit her. Her agitated gaze settled on Elias who pushed through the crowded hallway. The shock on his features filled her vision. He looked ready to commit murder. His dark face was stern as she’d never seen it and a muscle jerked in his lean cheek. She hardly noticed the other people jammed into the corridor around him.

“Shut your foul mouth or I’ll shut it for you.” Tugging off his dark blue coat, Elias shoved past her father who stood fuming in the doorway. “Are you all right, Lady Marianne?” he asked roughly, wrapping his coat around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she muttered. Sick humiliation cramped her belly. She cringed away and her shaking hands fumbled uselessly with the shredded bodice. Shivering as if she had a fever, she hunched into the coat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elias reach for her. She couldn’t endure his kindness without breaking down completely. She backed off on shaky legs. “I can’t—”

“I’ll kill the bastard,” Elias hissed.

“No,” she begged. “No, for pity’s sake, that will make things worse.”

“By God, I’ll know the meaning of this,” her father spluttered.

Casting Elias a nervous glance, Tranter grabbed her hand. “I’m overjoyed to tell you that Lady Marianne has consented to be my bride.”

She jerked free and regarded Tranter with abhorrence. “I’ll never marry you, you brute.”

“You will damn well marry him,” her father blustered. “There’s no hiding that he’s compromised you.”

“My love, I know you’re upset that we’ve been found out.” The spurious sympathy in Tranter’s face turned her stomach. Raising her chin, she struggled to retain some dignity. Almost impossible when she’d been caught half naked and her face felt like a hive of bees had attacked it.

“Can’t you see that there’s been some plot?” Elias asked, whirling on her father. At least he didn’t try to touch her again, or attack Tranter. The toad deserved a beating, but a brawl would only deepen the scandal. “We all heard her scream.”

“Lord Tranter enticed me here under false pretenses, Papa,” she forced out. “He’s a stinking liar.”

The avidly curious audience craned their necks to see more of the confrontation—and of Marianne. Burning color flooded her smarting cheeks and she huddled into the coat. Elias’s distinctive scent enveloped her. Right now, that reminder of him seemed like a reprimand for her rank idiocy. Impulsiveness had lured her into this disaster. Perhaps it was better to be a compliant little coward.

“I wanted a private moment with Lady Marianne so I could propose.” Tranter had the temerity to smile at her. How was it that she felt so dirty and wrong, and he looked like he was on the side of the angels? It wasn’t fair. “A mere formality, of course. Our mutual affection is no secret.”

“Stop lying,” she snarled.

“My dear, all will be well when we marry. I’m sure these good people can overlook a lapse between a newly engaged couple.”

“A torn dress and violence go beyond a lapse,” she spat.

“Did this bastard hurt you?” Elias bit out, curling his hands into fists at his sides.

“Not your concern, Wilmott,” Tranter snapped. “You’ve been sniffing around Marianne for months, but you’ve lost.”

“Fascinating as this discussion is, perhaps it should continue in private,” Lord Hillbrook said magisterially from the hallway.

“If you’ll all move away.” Richard pushed forward to stand beside her father and face the onlookers. “I’m sure you’ve heard more than enough.”

Marianne could see that few people agreed with him. She’d loathed being the brunt of last year’s tattle. The talk would be worse this time round. Especially when she didn’t marry the author of her downfall.

“Sidonie, will you take Lady Marianne to her room and look after her?” Hillbrook suggested. It sounded more order than request. “Lord Tranter, Lord Baildon, shall we retire to my office?”

“Excellent idea,” Richard said, and he and Genevieve started to herd the listeners away with a steely charm that Marianne was in no mood to admire. The excited buzz of conversation receding down the corridor confirmed her fears of scandal.

Tranter had been so clever. And she’d been so fatally stupid.

“I want to be there,” Marianne insisted in a croaky voice. She was so deathly sick of male arrogance. No way on this earth was she leaving decisions about her future to any thickskulled man.

“That’s not necessary,” her father growled.

“The lady has a right to decide what becomes of her,” Elias said sharply.

“More right than anyone,” Sidonie agreed in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Very well. Come with me, Lady Marianne,” Hillbrook said gently, taking her arm to lead her from the conservatory. “You look like you could use a brandy.”

Never had she imagined that Jonas Merrick’s scarred face could look kind, but when she glanced up, she was surprised to read concern in his dark gaze, along with a reassuring absence of criticism.

“Th-thank you.” Reaction set in and she felt sick and unsteady. Her head pounded from Tranter’s blows. Hillbrook’s arm was all that kept her upright.

“I’ll see to our guests,” Sidonie said from beside her. “Perhaps I can persuade them that gossip will only cause harm and discretion is the better choice.”

Nobody graced that overly optimistic remark with a reply as Marianne turned to her friend. “Please, will you stay with me?”

Sidonie’s brown eyes swept the unrelentingly masculine group surrounding Marianne. “Of course.”

It was a subdued company that assembled in the room Lord Hillbrook used for his business activities. Marianne looked around the prosaic space and guessed this must be the heart of Jonas Merrick’s financial empire. In a way, she appreciated the lack of ostentation. Tonight’s negotiations wouldn’t be pretty either.

Lord Hillbrook guided her to a leather chair and poured her a brandy. “This will help,” he said softly, touching her shoulder in a gesture of encouragement as she sank into the seat.

She blinked back grateful tears and rested her throbbing head on the back of the chair. “You’re being so good.”

“Nonsense,” he said with a hint of a smile.

“I’ve spoiled your house party,” she said in a choked voice.

“I forgive you. Now drink up.” In an unexpected mark of support, he stood next to her chair. Having such a powerful man on her side bolstered her failing courage.

She sipped her brandy, surprised that the burning warmth did make her feel marginally better. It also reminded her that she possessed a shred of pride. She refused to act like a whipped dog, cowering in the shadows. Tilting her chin, she reviewed her surroundings with a more critical eye. Sir Richard might have dismissed the merely curious, but still a daunting number of people filled this workaday room.

Tranter sauntered in with her father. His brashness sat oddly with the scratches she’d inflicted. Obviously he couldn’t believe that she’d prefer notoriety to marrying him. He started in Marianne’s direction until her blistering glare brought him to a halt near the window.

In the center of the room, her father looked livid. He also looked old and tired and ill. Guilt speared Marianne that she’d brought him to this.

Sidonie stood beside her husband, taking his hand in a loving gesture. Marianne turned to give her a wobbly smile. The Hillbrooks had wordlessly declared themselves her supporters. Shaky and shabby as she felt, she appreciated their endorsement.

Next to arrive was Lord Desborough. He also looked tired and disheartened. Another pang of remorse stabbed Marianne. This was the second time his marital plans had dissolved into scandal through no fault of his.

Elias marched in and closed the door after him in a clear signal for everyone else to keep out. Her father cast him a narrow-eyed look but, to Marianne’s relief, saved his ammunition for the upcoming battle. Elias propped himself against the mantel in a characteristic pose, his black eyes running over the company. She had no idea what he was thinking.

“I’ll arrange to have the banns called,” her father said grimly, once he was sure of no further intrusions. “As soon as the flood subsides, my daughter and I will return to Dorset. A quiet, quick wedding in the family chapel is the best we can do. At least away from London, we’ll escape the worst of the talk.”

“Capital,” Tranter said with a cheerfulness that made Marianne itch to flay him. “I’ll come through Town and put a notice in the papers.”

“As you wish,” her father said heavily without looking at him.

Regret and lifelong love made Marianne lean forward and extend a hand. “Papa…”

He stared over her head. “I’ll give you what countenance I can with a wedding, but I don’t want to see you once the match is made.”

She flinched from this new pain, although she’d known when he found her in Tranter’s clutches that he’d never forgive her. “I understand that you’re angry—”

“You have no idea.” He stared directly at her and she quailed at the distaste in his eyes. “No use trying to mend what can’t be fixed. At least Lord Tranter is willing to do the right thing.”

Pity and shame had briefly submerged her rage. Now anger stirred anew. “The man is a swine.”

“I say, that’s strong,” Tranter complained. Neither Marianne nor her father paid him any heed.

“You should have thought of that before meeting him on the sly.”

“I didn’t,” she said in a thick voice.
I will not cry. I will not cry.
“He tricked me into that conservatory. You heard me scream.”

“A modest woman’s reaction to a lover’s natural ardor,” Tranter said with a smile that indicated this was something these men of the world would understand. Nobody smiled back. Despite his scratched face, he attempted to appear the harmless milksop she’d thought him in London. She wondered if the act was convincing anyone. She couldn’t tell from the somber expressions around her.