Julia London (82 page)

“I see,” he said, and for a moment, Lauren feared that he did. He said nothing, just stood looking at her. Peering right through her. Uncomfortable, she turned and carefully hung her cloak on a wall peg. He sighed wearily. “Lauren, do you know what you are doing?”

She laughed nervously and turned to face him. “Doing?”

“Magnus is a good man. He truly cares for you.”

“Goodness, Paul, what are you talking about?”

He moved out of the shadows. “I want to see you happy. Magnus is a good man. He will honor you above all others.”

Still reeling from her incredible experience, Paul’s sudden and uncharacteristic support of Magnus made her thoughts spin like a top. “Are we speaking of the same Magnus?” she asked incredulously. “Count Magnus Bergen of Bavaria? The one you despise?”

“I have a changed opinion.”

“Well, I do not,” she said sharply and began to walk toward the stairs.

Paul’s hand shot out and painfully gripped her wrist as she attempted to pass. “He will marry Marlaine Reese, Lauren. Nothing is going to change that.
Nothing.
You are only harming yourself with this foolishness!”

Appalled, Lauren jerked free. “You presume too much, Paul! Have you forgotten that
you
are the one who made that foolish wager? I would not have gone tonight had it not been for that, and now you would fault me for enjoying it?”

Paul shook his head, dismissing her rebuke. “Listen to me! Ethan has exhausted our funds. We will return to Rosewood in a fortnight. If you do not accept Bergen’s offer, you may not have another! At least with him, you may expect to live with respect and comfort.”

She laughed bitterly. “Dear God, you must be awfully fearful of having a spinster sister!”

“That is ridiculous!” he snapped, then checked himself, glancing uneasily about the cluttered entry. “I only want what is best for you,” he continued evenly. “I have invested wisely in stocks and securities, and I am very optimistic I can take care of Rosewood now. Do you not see? There is no longer any reason for you to toil away there, hoping to meet a man who will accept the children. Bergen accepts them. I have thought about it—we could arrange a betrothal agreement whereby you would live at Rosewood half of each year. That’s not such a bad solution, and it
is
the best match you can hope for.”

Lauren stumbled backward as if he had slapped her, bumping against the wall and rattling two crossed sabers hanging overhead. “I cannot believe what I am hearing! Those children are not a loathsome chore, I
love
them—you know that! Honestly, Paul, coming to London was not
my
idea—I do not
hope
to meet a man, you and Ethan hoped for that! And Magnus may be my best hope for a
match
,” she said angrily, “but I do not want to marry him! I do not love him!”

The muscles of Paul’s jaw bulged from the clenching of his teeth. He reached for her hand, but she quickly moved away from him. He slowly lowered his arm. “Forget Sutherland, Lauren. He will only hurt you, and I cannot bear to see that.”

“For someone who does not want to see me hurt, you are doing a fine job of it,” she shot back, and bolted up the stairs before he ruined her glorious night.

* * *

At noon the next day, Lauren awoke and smiled dreamily at the sunlight pouring through her window. Her mind was on Alex, every masculine inch of him. In her dreams, she had relived each and every moment of her incredible experience with him. Even in the privacy of her room, her cheeks flushed pink at the memory of the passion they had shared. She could hardly wait to see him again and eagerly climbed out of bed, but a glance at the mantel clock made her groan. A wait of nine hours was not to be
borne.
With hands on hips, she glared at the clock, wondering how she would occupy her time if she had any hope of enduring the interminable wait.

She began her morning toilette, planning how she might pass the time. She decided to visit the infirmary this afternoon and then call on Abbey, thinking perhaps her friend or her maid could do something unique with her hair. And then,
then
she would meet the love of her life at Vauxhall Gardens.

A delightful little shiver ran through her as she recalled the urgency with which he had demanded to see her again, admonishing her not to be late. Paul was so very wrong! Alex felt the same as she did. He had said as much.
I will find a way for us.

Oh God. She paused, glancing at her reflection in the mirror as an unexpected surge of guilt came over her. She felt a deep sorrow for Marlaine, but what could she do?
“ ‘My true love hath my heart and I have his, by just exchange one for the other given,’ ”
she whispered aloud. Who could possibly predict where love’s arrows would land? She had not sought it, it had just happened! Surely Marlaine would be able to understand there was nothing to be done for it. She shrugged off her guilt and went about her dressing, cheerfully humming the song from
The Two Gentlemen of Verona.

Still humming when she entered the dining room, she
smiled broadly at Magnus and Ethan. At Magnus’s dark look, she pertly tossed her head.

“There she is, just look at her! I knew the lass would fetch me a good annuity!” Ethan crowed before shoving a slab of buttered bread into his mouth. Magnus did not reply, but quietly sipped his tea, his icy blue eyes following Lauren’s every move.

“Uncle, what on earth are you talking about?” Lauren smiled, then laughed giddily. Conscious that her glee was a bit inappropriate, she quickly took a seat across from Magnus and focused on the painted pattern of his teacup.

“Just what they were discussing in the clubs this morning! Sutherland at the opera with Countess Bergen!” Ethan blithely continued.

The remark instantly sobered her; her hand stilled on the teapot and she shot a quick, appraising glance at her uncle. “What do you mean?”

“Talk is all over town!” he said, munching a thick slice of ham.

Frowning, Lauren poured her tea and carefully added a bit of cream. “But why?” she asked at last. “I am sure his grace has many female friends. Certainly it is not so unusual—”

“It is the way he looks at you,” Magnus abruptly answered her in German, his voice unusually cold.

Lauren cautiously slid her gaze to him. His eyes, locked on hers, looked like two hard nuggets of ice. “I beg your pardon?” she asked nervously.

“His desire for you is quite evident. It is obvious he would have you for his own if he could. After last night, there are many who speculate he will have you soon, if he has not already.”

That stung her. Carefully, she placed the spoon on the chipped saucer and leaned back in her chair.

“What did he say?” Ethan demanded.

“He said there is much talk,” she murmured.

“A sign of good fortune for the Hill family!” her uncle reasoned spiritedly.

Magnus sliced an impatient gaze across Ethan, who was sopping up the last bit of his eggs with a piece of bread. “I would like a moment alone with your niece, my lord,” he said in English.

“Of course, of course,” Ethan grinned, still chewing the bread as he heaved himself to his feet. “You two have yourselves a nice little chat,” he cackled, and waddled out the door.

Magnus waited for Ethan to depart, staring at Lauren with the most foreboding expression she had ever seen on him. She smiled sheepishly. “Toast?” she offered lamely.

He growled and came to his feet at once, the chair scraping loudly on the pine floor. Grasping his hands tightly behind his back, he began to pace. “I have made a decent offer for your hand,” he began in German. “A
very
decent offer. Yet you have put me off time and time again—”

“I have not put you off, I have
refused
you, Magnus,” she solemnly interjected.

He paused, piercing her with a furious glare. “Please allow me to finish. I have asked myself why you would put me off,” he continued. “Do you think to attract a better offer? Are you so naive to think your situation is good? But now I understand—you have some fantasy of this duke, do you not? A childish fantasy—”

“How dare you!” she cried indignantly.

He leveled a darkly quelling look at her that effectively unnerved her into silence. “I do not fault you for it, Lauren. Everyone has them at some point. Even as a young man, I had such a fantasy for a woman far above me in social standing. Eventually I saw my infatuation for what it was: a
fantasy—
”

“I am not indulging in a fantasy!”

He suddenly gripped the table and leaned across, his eyes boring into her. “Make no mistake—it is
fantasy
! That man
has no use for you other than to warm his bed! And you are not a young maiden with the luxury of time for such daydreams. You are in need of a husband and I offer you a good match, a wealthy existence, and respect.”

“Respect?” she echoed in disbelief.

Slowly, he straightened. “And … affection,” he said softly. “I have much affection for you, Lauren. I have admired you since our paths crossed at Bergenschloss.”

She started to remark that she could hardly believe that, given the way he had acted at Bergenschloss, but he quickly brought up a hand. “I do not ask you to return my affection. I am not so blind that I do not see your heart lies elsewhere. I ask only that in return for the protection of my name, you respect me as you would your husband. As you respected my uncle. I ask only that, and in exchange for your respect, I will allow your affections to be what they are—for
whomever
they are.”

Her breath caught in her throat. A million thoughts tumbled through her brain, not the least of which was a familiar glimmer of fondness for him. That he would offer himself in such a way—without hope of her returning his affections—touched her very deeply. “Magnus, I—”

“Do not answer me now,” he said gruffly. “Think on what I have said. But I must have your final answer tomorrow, do you understand? I will not stay here any longer, nipping after your skirts like a
dog
,” he said disgustedly. “At least consider it.
Honestly
consider it.”

He walked around the table and came to stand beside her. “Regardless of what you will decide, you must be very careful, do you understand? Do not fool yourself—the talk today is of
you
, not him. These people will cut you dead.”

“You are exaggerating,” she said weakly.

He sighed impatiently. “This is England,
liebchen. They
do not tolerate indiscretion in their little circles. They will treat you as if you were as insignificant as the dirt under their feet.”

Lauren glanced at her hands in her lap, refusing to dignify his threats with a response. She had only gone to the opera, for heaven’s sake. He was trying to scare her into considering his offer.

“Think on what I have said.” In an unusual display of affection, he gently smoothed his palm over the crown of her head before quietly quitting the room.

Lauren sagged as the door shut behind him. She had already considered his offer. She had considered it for
weeks.
She was fond of Magnus, but it was not enough. She did not and could not love him. Not ever. She loved Alex with all her heart, had loved him since the day he had come to Rosewood, and would love him madly for the rest of her life. There was nothing Magnus could offer her that would ever change that.

Oh, Alex! Sighing happily, she buttered a piece of toast.

   Alex signed the last of the papers his secretary had left him, the bold strokes falling under words he had not read. It did not matter, nothing mattered anymore.
Christ
, he had done exactly what Paul Hill had feared. Like a rutting stag, he had compromised Lauren beyond reparation, had ruined the only woman he would ever truly love.

And he had betrayed Marlaine.

Marlaine.

A stab of remorse shot down his spine. She did not deserve this, this unconscionable perfidy, just weeks before their so-called wedding of the decade. He dropped the quill and closed his eyes, trying to blot out her delicate features and his guilt.

He did not have to see to know it was Arthur who entered the room unannounced. He opened his eyes to see his brother standing before him, the morning edition of
The Times
stuffed under his arm. Usually much too cheerful, Arthur’s dark look surprised Alex. His brother stared at him
for a long moment, then asked bluntly, “What in the hell are you doing?”

“I am reviewing some documents,” Alex said blandly.

“You know perfectly well what I mean, Alex.”

“I don’t think I do,” he responded warily.

“Then I shall be perfectly clear. What in the hell is this little
on-dit
in the society pages? Why is everyone whispering about a certain duke who attended the opera last evening in the company of a certain countess?”

Alex snorted impatiently—the last thing he needed at the moment was Arthur’s indignation over some trifling piece of gossip.

“You apparently left nothing to the imagination, I’ll grant you that,” Arthur continued, recklessly tossing
The Times
onto his desk. “Particularly when the two of you left—
alone
—and Paddy was escorted home by Mrs. Clark. Not her favorite nephew, who had escorted her
to
the ball! The little display you put on was only eclipsed by Bergen’s. Seems
he
spent the entire evening staring wistfully at you and the countess!” he exclaimed, and fell heavily into a leather chair.

“What, Arthur, you believe the rubbish you read now?” Alex asked snappishly.

“It’s all over town, Alex. Is it true?” his brother asked angrily.

Alex sliced a heated gaze across his brother. “Not that it is any of your affair, but
yes
, I accompanied her to the opera. Just as I accompanied Lady Fairlane when her husband was away last week. What of it?”

“This is
different
, Alex. Unlike Lady Fairlane, Countess Bergen is not married to one of your good friends. You escorted her while your fiancée was away tending her dying grandmother. The night you escorted Lady Fairlane, your fiancée was also in attendance! And Lady Fairlane, for all her charms, is
not
beautiful. Countess Bergen is breathtakingly so, a fact noted in
The Times
, along with the observation
that you could not have seen a single bloody act last night, as you could not take your eyes from her!” he shouted, gesturing wildly at the newspaper on the desk.