“Shite. What is she doing here?” Trevor muttered, then he, too, was on his feet, pulling on his shirt, hastily tucking it in.
“George must have said something he shouldn’t. Blast that foolish churl! He promised!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this,” he said, as an angry rapping sounded on the door below.
“Lord Trevor! I know you’re in there! Is Miss Kenwood with you? I need to speak to her!”
Grace shut her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her forehead, feeling a trifle dizzy. “What a debacle. I’m going to wring George’s neck.”
Callie banged on his front door. “Come down here and face me, you two! I deserve an explanation!”
“No, she doesn’t,” Trevor said quizzically. “What is she talking about?”
“She’s in love with you!” Grace exclaimed.
He rolled his eyes. “I’ve tried to drop the hint—and now she’s breaking in,” he said dryly when they heard the door fly open downstairs.
A heartbeat later, it slammed behind her. “Lord Trevor! Grace?”
“I’ll go talk to her.” He left the bedroom with a scowl, but Grace knew she couldn’t leave all the unpleasantness to him. Especially when most of this was her fault. She had to face Calpurnia herself, as painful as that was going to be for both of them.
She hastened to finish getting dressed, though the shaking of her hands slowed her progress fastening her buttons. To be sure, the sweet languor of the past hour in Trevor’s arms dissolved as she faced the full brunt of her mistake. If only she had been honest!
But she had not wanted to be cast in the role of villainess, getting in the way of Callie’s dreams. Guilt flooded into her mind as she saw she had also been a coward, too scared to risk crossing Lady Windlesham.
Most of all, she had lacked the faith, and indeed, the confidence in herself to believe that someone like Trevor could actually love her, that she might have a right to her own dreams and happiness.
The whole time she had thought she was being unselfish, trying to deny her attraction to him, in truth, she had been trying simply to shield herself from disappointment in a hope that seemed too good ever to come true for her. What she had called virtue had merely been a lack of guts.
Thankfully, Trevor had that in spades, but even so, she couldn’t leave him to face the music alone over what had happened here today.
“I can’t believe it,” Callie was saying in a withering tone to Trevor. “You led me on.”
“That’s a lie,” he bit out. “If you really believe that, it was not I but your own vanity that deceived you. How many times did I pull away from you when you threw yourself at me?”
“I did not!”
“Oh yes, you did. I didn’t want it to come to this, Callie—you’re just a child. I hoped you’d take the hint. I’m sorry. I’m not interested. You are too young for me, and my affections are elsewhere engaged.”
“So I see.” Callie’s eyes narrowed as Grace came uncertainly down the stairs. “You! Traitorous witch! So it’s true, then, what George said. You
are
Lord Trevor’s mistress!”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m his
mistress
, exactly—”
“And here I thought we were friends!” she shouted, tears rushing into her eyes.
“Oh, Callie, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Grace started forward.
“Stay away from me, you strumpet! Hypocrite!” she accused her in a shrill tone. “You go around acting like you’re better than everyone else—so virtuous!—but you’re no better than that, that harlot, Marianne! No wonder you’re friends with her. The two of you are just a pair of man-stealing whores!”
Grace dropped her jaw as Callie ran out crying.
Trevor glanced at her, an eyebrow arched.
“This is terrible,” Grace uttered when she finally found her voice. “She’s going to go running home to her mother, and it’s going to be a scandal.”
“How can it be a scandal when I’m going to marry you?”
“My father is a minister! Oh God, how could I do this? I’ve hurt everyone,” she said abruptly, as her stomach knotted up. “Callie’s heart is broken, and my father’s reputation will be tarnished—”
“Calm down,” he interrupted gently. “Listen to me. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll go speak to your father right now. You take my carriage and catch up with Callie before she reaches the village. Try to calm her down. Tell her it’s all my fault—say I seduced you if you want. I don’t care if you blame it on me. At least then she might not try to ruin your reputation. In the meanwhile, I’ll go ask your father for your hand. Don’t worry, everything will be well.”
As panicked as she was, his words temporarily captured her full attention and made her heart clench. Turning to him with a melting look, she leaned toward his solid frame. “We’re really going to get married?”
“I’m not foolish enough to let you get away,” he replied, bending down to kiss her with a handsome smile.
Moments later, however, they parted ways, dashing off on their separate missions.
Grace wasn’t sure how things were going for him at the parsonage, but to her dismay, she failed to catch up to Callie before the girl reached the village.
“Oh, Lud,” she mumbled under her breath when she saw Callie’s pony gig parked outside the Gaggle Goose Inn behind George’s fancy phaeton.
Jumping down from the driver’s seat of Trevor’s carriage, Grace quickly tied his horse to the hitching rail. Well aware that her own appearance was still nowhere near up to her usual prim standards, but guiltily tousled and flushed, she picked up the hem of her skirts and ran into the tavern to see what was going on.
Even before she opened the door, she could hear Calpurnia screeching in girlish fury. The piercing shriek that escaped through the pub’s doorway when Grace arrived spooked the horses tied up outside.
Calpurnia stood in the middle of the tavern, her back to the door, her fists balled at her sides.
Before her, sprawled in a chair at one of the tables was George, cravat undone, a bottle of whiskey in his hand—and Marianne seated proudly on his knee.
None of them had noticed Grace’s entrance just yet, in the sheer volume of Calpurnia’s rage.
For a moment, Grace feared the girl would attack the tavern maid.
George’s deliberate taunting was not helping matters.
“What do you care, Callie? You just told me in no uncertain terms that you want nothing more to do with me. Well, I give up. I promised not to trouble you anymore, so why did you even bother coming in here? Is it because you finally realized the great Lord Trevor is out of your reach? Pretty little fool! Well, don’t come crawling back to me—”
“In your dreams!”
“Because you’re out of luck. Now Marianne here, she knows how to treat a fellow. Don’t you, love?” George gave her an amiable slap on the thigh. “Come on, girl, let’s get out of here.”
Marianne stood up with a languid motion though she kept her hand on George’s shoulder with a proprietary air, her chin high as she sent Callie a gloating smirk. The ex-harlot was clearly loving the chance to gloat at Callie’s loss, but Marianne faltered when she saw Grace come in.
“What is going on here?” Grace exclaimed, as George stood and tucked the ex-harlot’s hand into the crook of his elbow.
Calpurnia spun around and glared at her. “What are
you
doing here? Somehow managed to pull yourself out of Lord Trevor’s bed?”
Marianne gasped at this revelation.
“Egads,” said George. “Well done, Grace. I expect you’ll soon be married. Felicitations. Fortunately, I myself escaped that fate. Come along, Marianne. Let’s get back to London.”
“Marianne, where are you going?” Grace cried, as the raven-haired woman let him lead her by the hand toward the door. Callie fairly hissed when she brushed by her.
“Back to London,” Marianne replied.
“But why?” Grace exclaimed. “You’ve got a whole new life for yourself here! You’ve been doing so well!”
“Sorry, Miss,” Marianne replied. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me, but I’m never goin’ to fit in here. Especially now,” she added, with a withering look at Callie. “I might as well go. A girl’s got to make a living. Besides, I’m sick o’ this place, and Lord Brentford just offered me his carte blanche.”
“George!” Grace uttered in shocked reproach.
He gave a boyish shrug, then swaggered off, taking his new plaything with him. “
Au revoir,
Miss Windlesham. I hope you have a nice life and find just the sort of husband you deserve.”
“Marianne, please, you don’t have to do this!” Grace insisted, following her as George led her out to his phaeton. “You can’t go back to that old existence. You’ve come so far! Don’t throw it all away!”
“Virtue don’t keep a lass warm in the winter, Miss Grace, beggin’ your pardon. Enjoy Lord Trevor,” she added with a cheeky wink. “Better you should have ’im than little Miss Toplofty.”
“Oh!” Calpurnia uttered, looking her over in withering indignation.
Grace glared at George as he jumped up onto the driver’s seat. “I thought I swore you to secrecy.”
“I’m sorry, couldn’t help it. Well, the truth had to come out sometime! And as for Calpurnia, she’s going to have to live with her choice because I won’t be back.”
He sent his former idol a cold look, then drove off without saying good-bye.
Grace turned to Callie in despair. “Can we talk, please? I didn’t mean to hurt you—”
“Stay away from me! I hate George, and I hate you!” she wailed, then she ran out bawling and fled home to her mother.
Good God, Lady Windlesham!
She had temporarily forgotten about the baroness. Grace shut her eyes and knew she’d better batten down the hatches for the full fury of the coming storm.
M
eanwhile at the parsonage, Trevor also braced himself, for Reverend Kenwood was seriously displeased by the news of their fornication.
For all his spy skills as a trained liar, Trevor respected her father too much to dissemble when the old man asked what was their hurry.
Trevor stammered his way through a euphemism about their being together and how Calpurnia had walked in.
Then the good minister sat in stunned silence, too furious to speak for a long moment. He glared at the floor, nodding slowly, and tapped his cheek with his finger, one hand obscuring his mouth, as though to stop himself from bellowing with fatherly outrage.
“Let me see if I have this right,” he said at length. “As of this moment, my daughter is a fallen woman. You seduced her. And the whole village is about to know it.”
“Uh, yes. More or less. But I-I do love her, sir, very much. And you have my word I will take excellent care of her for the rest of her life.”
“I see.”
The reverend eventually got his ire under control and grumbled that of course they had his permission, but he was not happy.
Not one bit.
And no wonder, Trevor thought. In his own way, her father was as selfish as George, quite content to let his daughter use up all the years of her youth taking care of him instead of establishing her own life.
Well, no more.
They were going to have a life and a family of their own just next door. This last fact was the only point that mollified the old man when Trevor pointed it out. “She won’t be far from you, sir. You’ll still get to see her every day.”
Reverend Kenwood grumbled, but he gave Trevor a piece of paper to fill out to apply for the marriage license, and that very Sunday from the pulpit, he read the first of three weeks’ banns announcing their upcoming nuptials.
The old tradition gave anyone a chance who objected to the match to come forward and state why a couple could not marry.
Of course, no one did. Not even Lady Windlesham.
Still, Trevor doubted that Grace and he would ever be invited back for another lavish Win-Din at the Hall.
I
t was a few days later in London when Marianne awoke to a loud knock on the front door of George’s bachelor lodgings.
She lifted her head from the pillow; beside, her, George slept on. The banging came again.
Marianne furrowed her brow. She sat up quietly in his gilded bed, glanced at her sleeping keeper, and slid her mercenary gaze toward the door.
The Wedgwood clock on the mahogany side table informed her it was nearly noon, so of course, George was not awake yet. For her part, she was not yet dressed, still tousled and scantily clad in the new silk peignoir that her doting protector had given her. Depending on who was at the door, however, this might be perfectly appropriate attire . . .
Especially if it was one of his rich, young, aristocratic, fellow rakehells.
She rolled out of George’s bed and set her bare feet on the floor. Pulling on the matching silk robe, she padded out of the bedchamber and down the little hallway to the sitting room at the front of George’s fashionable apartment.
Beside the front door, an elegant pier glass hung on the wall above a slender console table.
Marianne paused and glanced at her reflection, fluffing up her hair a bit and licking her lips to make them shine. She hoped with all her might that it was one of George’s pretty fellows coming to call on their fashionable comrade. It was important for her survival that his rich friends get a good look at her wares, for she had a feeling that although George was fond of her, he would not be keeping her for long. He was too humiliated by the fact that his man parts hadn’t worked with her again last night. Whatever that Windlesham wench had done to him this time, it had affected him in a most distressing way.
Marianne, with all her tricks, had been astonished at how his formerly randy member had refused to cooperate.
Honestly, a girl could be insulted.
She had assured the poor lad it wasn’t his fault, but nevertheless, George had proceeded to get drunk and curse Callie Windlesham for this shocking new affliction.
All Marianne knew was better safe than sorry.
She straightened her posture, opened her robe just enough to give a glimpse of her cleavage, then continued languidly to the door.
When she opened it, however, and saw who was standing there, she gasped in horror and immediately tried to slam it shut.
“Hullo, love. Miss me?” Jimmy Lynch planted one tattooed hand on the door. His eyes glinted with cruelty as he smiled, one foot thrust in the doorway, clad in his usual snakeskin boots.