Season For Surrender (A Danby Family Novella Book 2) (3 page)

“What?” The man’s jaw dropped open.

Somehow she managed to suppress her
laugher. “It’s simple. I have one week left to marry a titled gentleman or my
money and theatre go to Mr. Scotsby, the owner of The Royal Theatre, who was
and is our biggest competition. I’m sure my father did this to force my hand.
He always wanted me to marry a rich, decrepit, easily manipulated, childless,
titled lord who was on his deathbed, so we could get all the lord’s money when
he died. I refused to do it. Father never forgave me, and he never forgot to
punish me for being disobedient. This was his last and final punishment. He
thought I’d not marry in a month’s time, therefore Mr. Scotsby would get the
theatre and disperse me and my father’s small but loyal staff. Mr. Scotsby
won’t want us to stay, because he hated my father and therefore all of us.”

Tension knotted her shoulders and her
head pounded. She rubbed her temples with a sigh. “I grew up in the theatre. It’s
my home. I have no family now that my father is gone and the people at the
theatre are like my family. They count on me. Many of them are old and will
never be offered another position. They could become homeless. I cannot let
them down.”

“That’s awful.”

His shocked tone swelled her heart with
hope. “If worse comes to worse I’ll marry the lord who offered for me.” She
couldn’t repress the small shudder that ran though her. Embarrassed to appear
weak, she glanced down and forced herself to continue. “I’d rather marry you.
Charlotte says you’re kind.”

“Many lords are kind.”

His emotionless tone didn’t surprise
her, given what Charlotte had confided. She ran a finger back and forth over
the dented, dull wood. “Yes, but I require a husband who will let me go my
separate way, as if we were never married. Someone who would only wed me in
order to avoid being forced by their family to align themselves with a woman
who’d likely desire love and affection. If you marry me, all I desire is your
name.”

His strong grip on her arms startled her.
Fear tried to take hold, but she fought against it. She looked up as he slowly
turned her on the stool to face him.

“What if I desire more from you?” The
question slid like silk from his lips.

No doubt he meant to scare her. She’d
thought he might say such a thing. Staring, she forced herself to speak. “I’ll
submit to you in bed. But I don’t want a child. You’d have to vow to use
preventative measures.”

He tightened his grip. Not painfully,
but she hated being clutched by any man. “Please let me go.” She tried to
unclench her teeth, but as long as he held her so, it was useless.

He released her at once with a hiss of
breath and yanked his hands through his hair. “I take it you’ve been with other
men to know that there are ways to avoid conceiving a child.”

She nodded, feeling very much dead
inside, like a puppet whose strings were being pulled. She’d hoped not to
reveal the nastiest parts of her life, but it appeared she had no choice. “My
father, as I said, was cruel. The theatre was bankrupt when I was eighteen. He
told me we were all going to be homeless unless I slept with a wealthy older
patron who wanted my favors in exchange for saving the theatre.” Her lips
trembled as she spoke, from humiliation brought on by the memory. “I resisted
at first, but then Father started dismissing people and not paying the actors
and actresses. An older seamstress there was like a mother to me, and one night
I heard her crying because she didn’t have the money to pay her rent. It was
December and snowing. I couldn’t allow her to be put out on the streets.”

Lillian swallowed hard, her stomach
twisting with the painful memory of her father’s cruelty. “That night and for
seven nights after, I slept with the man and collected enough money to pay all
the people my father owed, save the theatre and give Beatrice, the seamstress,
enough money to retire on. Father, thank God, hired a reputable accountant to
manage the money. I vowed to him no matter how much it would pain me to leave
the theatre I would do so before ever playing whore again.”

Lord Edgeworth stared at her without
speaking. His face had gone white and sweat ran down his brow. Worry turned her
stomach. After a moment, he blinked and cupped her face.

“Lord Edgeworth?” She shot a gaze around
the room, but no one paid them any mind.

“Two things.” He spoke softly, a steely
thread beneath his noble accent.

Did he mean two things and he’d agree?
His warm hands against her cheeks were oddly comforting and did not make her
feel threatened as she usually felt when a man touched her. Her heart nearly
burst from her chest. “Yes?”

“No one could ever force me to marry
anyone. Do you understand?”

She did, and she liked him even more for
it. He was a man who would rather be penniless than submit to the demands of
others. If she only had herself to consider, she’d be the sort of woman who had
uncompromising principles like he did. “I understand perfectly.”

“Good.” His tone had gentled. “I’ll
marry you on the condition you tell me the name of the patron who bought your
favors.”

She would have pulled away, but Lord
Edgeworth moved swiftly and gripped her arms. He brought his face mere inches
from hers. His right temple beat furiously. “It’s my right to know who had my
wife before I did.”

Lillian frowned. He had a point, but he
sounded too angry. She didn’t want him doing anything stupid, such as calling
Lord Derwent out.

Lord Edgeworth’s gaze bored into hers.
“It’s about honor. I simply would rather know and be aware of who he is.” His
tone was steady, the anger seemingly gone.

“You’re sure you just want to know his
name?” She was almost afraid to hope this marriage was going to work out.

He nodded as he released her. “Positive.
I’d rather not lose all my money, and you’ve just offered me the perfect
solution. A wife who wants separate lives but is willing to offer conjugal
relations so long as I take steps to ensure I don’t get you with child. It’s
the best luck I’ve had in years.” He sounded chipper. “My mother, and more
importantly my grandfather, will be satisfied and unable to complain. I’ll keep
my money
and
you and I can live separately. Many a bachelor’s fantasy, I
assure you. Thank you for seeking me out.”

Her heart raced. “I forgot to mention
I’d need you to stipulate in the marriage settlement that the money from my
father and the theatre are mine to do with as I wish. Not yours. I know the
law.”

He waved a hand in dismissal.
“Absolutely not a problem, my dear. I’ll have my solicitor draw up the
paperwork immediately, so you can view it before we’re married.” He smiled
slowly. “Do we have an agreement?”

Disbelief seized her and nearly stole
her ability to speak. She was going to marry, and not only that, she was going
to wed a man she’d known for less than an hour. She squared her shoulders and
held out a hand. “We do.”

He glanced from her hand to her face and
then brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I’ll have the man’s name now, if
you please.”

Dazed from the tingles his lips caused
throughout her body, she swallowed and gently pulled her hand away. Leaning towards
him, she whispered, “His name is Lord Derwent. He’s the lord who bought my
favors and recently offered me marriage. The one I told you had a penchant for
cruelty. Do you know him?”

He locked his gaze on her, piercing her
to her soul. Never had anyone given her a protective look, let alone a fiercely
protective one. An odd thrill ran through her.
Silly nitwit
. She didn’t
want him to care about defending her. “You did only want this for information,
correct?”

He gave her a distracted nod that didn’t
make her feel a bit better.

“Lord Edgeworth.”

Looking past her, he snapped his fingers,
stood and held a hand out to her. She took it, only just noticing how large his
was. He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed. “My driver will see you
home. I’ll call on you tomorrow to work out the details of the wedding.” A man
dressed in gold livery came up behind Lord Edgeworth. Lillian stiffened. She
didn’t want Lord Edgeworth to think he could ever dictate what she did, and if
he wasn’t as true to his word as Charlotte believed, Lillian couldn’t risk
being trapped for life with another man legally able to control her actions.

She notched up her chin, silly given that
he towered over her. “I’ll see myself home.”

He studied her for a silent moment.
Finally, he shrugged. “As you wish. I’ll never command you to do anything.”

“On your honor?” Her question was
hushed.

“On my honor.” His lips twisted into an
ironic smile. “Though I’m obligated as a supposed gentleman to tell you, you
should demand a different guarantee from me. I misplaced my honor long ago.”

“I think not.” She wrapped her hands
around her waist to hide their trembling. Being near him made her feel
funny―lightheaded and rather discomfited. He was exactly as Charlotte had
promised, bless her dear friend. “Any man who’d admit such a thing has exactly
as much honor as I require.” Before he could say anything to make her like him
more, she brushed past him, hurried through the tavern and out the door into
the cold night.

As the wind gusted, she pulled her coat
tight under her chin and strode to the hackney she’d hired. On the ride to her
townhome, she made a mental list of what she needed to do tomorrow, and then
turned her thoughts to her future husband. Recalling his beautiful green eyes
and wolfish smile, she experienced the same odd thrill as earlier. She scowled
into the darkness. The less time they spent together, the better. She suspected
she could grow to like him and that frightened her a great deal.

The next morning around the time most
reasonable men were climbing out of their warm, comfortable beds, Nick stood in
the foggy, damp green of Hamstead Heath as Blakely, his second, loaded the
pistol Derwent’s man had delivered for the duel. Nick followed Blakely’s
actions to guarantee a step wasn’t missed. He’d hoped Salisbury, his closest
friend, would be his second. Nick had sent word to him last night with the
request, but when he hadn’t received the immediate response he needed to set
things in motion he’d asked Blakely to stand in. The barkeep had proven he
could keep a secret, and Nick preferred not to burden Drew, who was the only
other person Nick would trust with this. With Charlotte expecting soon, Drew
had enough on his mind.

“You ever killed a man?” Blakely asked
as he ran a finger down the length of the pistol.

“I don’t intend to end Derwent’s
pathetic life. Just maim him permanently. But if an infection does kill him, I won’t
lose any sleep over it. If he lives, he’ll walk with a limp and never sit a
horse again. A dire punishment for an avid hunter like Derwent. His pain will
eat at him day after day, and he’ll wish he’d never dishonored my wife.”

Blakely went slack-jawed. “I didn’t know
you were married. I thought you said this duel was over the chit from last
night.”

Nick chuckled, his breath coming out in
a white ring of air in front of him. Once it dissipated he spoke. “I’m not
married.
Yet.
But I will be in two days if all goes according to plan.
And this duel
is
over the chit from last night.”

“Wedding of necessity, huh?”

Nick frowned. He’d never met a woman in
more need of protection than the beautiful and bold Lillian Lancaster, so, yes,
it was a necessary wedding, but not in the way Blakely meant.

Blakely gave him a knowing, cheeky grin.
“I’d not thought that dark-headed dolly from the pub capable of being cajoled
into a bed, especially before a right an’ proper wedding. From a distance she
appeared stiff as the stick of my broom handle. Beautiful, but in an
unapproachable sort of way, if you know what I mean.”

Nick resisted the urge to punch Blakely
in the face. Instead, he inhaled slowly and reined in his temper. “I like you,
Blakely.”

The barkeep started to speak, so Nick
held up a silencing hand. “My fondness for the way you pour a drink, never ask
me about my life―which, by the by, is why I asked you to be my
second―doesn’t mean I won’t plant you a facer if you ever make unseemly
insinuations about my wife-to-be again.” He leaned towards the man, allowing
his height and size to help make his point. “Are we clear?”

Blakely tossed his hair out of his eyes,
his eyebrows furrowing. “As a cloudless day. Lewd jokes ended. Here you are.” Blakely
handed the pistol to Nick. “Satisfied?”

Nick turned the weapon over, the touch
of the cold metal making his chest tighten in anticipation. “You can notify
Derwent’s second.”

Blakely raised a hand, gave the signal
they’d agreed upon and moved well out of the line of fire. Across the field,
Derwent’s second did the same. The call for the duel to begin pierced through
the roar of blood in his ears and made him flinch.

He whipped his pistol up a second later
than he would have liked and fired. The recoil made his right arm jerk. Damn
and hell. Derwent’s pistol was raised straight and true. A thousand thoughts
flew across Nick’s mind. The last―had Derwent already fired―ceased
to require an answer as a bullet sliced over Nick’s skin.

Across the clearing, Derwent’s howl
filled the silence. Through his pain, Nick smiled as the man’s legs folded
underneath him and he fell to the ground. Blakely raced to Nick. “Will you
live?”

“For now.” Nick ignored the burn inching
up his arm as he stared across the grass at the hunched over form of physician who
hovered over Derwent. The sound of a rushing carriage filled the silent
morning. Nick shielded his eyes against the sun. Salisbury’s carriage came to a
shuttering halt across the park. As the door opened, Nick smiled. It was good
to know his friend had come rushing to his aid, however belatedly.

With his uninjured arm, Nick nudged
Blakely in the side. “Come. I’ll introduce you to a friend of mine.”

Blakely eyed Nick’s arm, where blood had
soaked through the material. “Shouldn’t you get your wound tended to first?”

Nick glanced back at the physician still
stooped over Derwent, jerked off his cravat with one hand and handed it to
Blakely. “Tie this around my arm. It will stem the flow of blood until the
physician can tend me.”

Nick winced as Blakely bound his
throbbing arm. Once the man was finished, they made their way across the
clearing. Nick whistled a merry tune as he walked. His injury was paltry, and
from what he could tell of Derwent, the man’s leg was badly injured. What would
Miss Lancaster think when she heard? His pulse pounded. He couldn’t remember
having felt this protective of a woman since Katherine, but that had been
understandable. He’d known Katherine all his life and loved her more than half of
it. Yet he had been acquainted with Miss Lancaster less than twenty-four hours.
Considering how things had turned out with Katherine, it didn’t bode well for
him that Miss Lancaster had already managed to capture his lust, and moreover, with
her sad tale of mistreatment and daring in asking him to marry her, she’d also seized
his admiration and need to protect her from those who would harm her.

Ever since he’d witnessed Beth’s abuse, he
couldn’t turn away from a woman in the throes of distress. Yet, he’d ignored
Amelia’s suffering. She’d been in misery, and he’d been too preoccupied trying
to make Katherine regret turning down his proposal of marriage for an ancient man
of greater social standing, Nick hadn’t noticed how his antics had appeared to
Amelia, whom he’d impulsively asked to marry him simply to hurt Katherine.

Fresh shame rolled through him. He’d
never forgive himself for Amelia’s death. If he’d not bragged how she could
outride Katherine any day of the year, Amelia would still be alive. He’d had no
right to ask her to marry him. He winced and swiped at his eyes. Damned sun was
making them water.

His thoughts turned to Miss Lancaster. Five
seconds before she’d walked into his life last night he’d been certain he would
never marry, but after meeting her and hearing her story, he knew, without a
doubt, marrying her was a chance to atone for his past. He’d failed to save his
friend and he’d helped to cause Amelia’s death. He could help Miss Lancaster.
She wasn’t a sheltered woman. She didn’t expect or want his love, which was
rather convenient since he had none to give. No. This marriage was perfect.
Miss Lancaster would have his protection, her theatre, the money her father
left her and the money Nick would insist on giving her. Nick’s problem of his
grandfather’s preposterous demands and his mother’s complaining would be
silenced for good. Maybe now, his demons would quiet enough that he could sleep
at night once again.

He stopped in front of Salisbury. “Nice
of you to make an appearance.”

Salisbury glared. “I just returned to
London and received your note. Had I gotten here sooner, I would have talked some
sense into your thick head. Whatever this is about, talking is a much more
effective way of solving differences.”

Nick chuckled. Salisbury was not known
for keeping his opinions to himself, and it seemed this morning was no
exception. “I couldn’t agree more, and normally, I strive to avoid violence.
But Derwent ill-used the woman I intend to marry.”

Salisbury’s face took on a comical
expression of shock. Nick struggled not to smile but it was useless. He did so
love shocking the unflappable Salisbury.

The marquess opened and closed his mouth
several times before speaking. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you
intend to marry a chit?”

“Well, I don’t intend to marry a
gentleman. I’m marrying a lovely woman named Lillian Lancaster,” Nick replied,
grinning.

“I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses.”

Nick’s smiled faded with Salisbury’s
serious words. His senses were just fine. He glanced over his shoulder at
Blakely, who had paused a few feet behind him. Nick didn’t particularly care to
discuss the intimacies of his impending marriage in front of Blakely. He
motioned the man forward. Nick introduced the men and Blakely excused himself
to see if the physician would be able to attend Nick anytime soon. Nick looked
at Salisbury. “My desire to marry hasn’t changed. My circumstances have.”

“I understand. Pressure from the family
can be hard to resist. Don’t feel bad.” Salisbury’s tone had turned insulting.

Nick gritted his teeth. “I don’t bow to
pressure from anyone, you ought to know that.”

Salisbury cocked his right eyebrow. “I
thought I did. If not guilt from your family and your view on marriage hasn’t
changed, then why are you marrying a chit I’ve never heard of?”

“Because she doesn’t want to be married
any more than I do. It’s perfect. We’ll wed and go our separate ways. Her
problems will be solved and so will mine.” The other more personal details were
his private affair.

Salisbury snorted. “You’re fooling
yourself. No man fights a duel for a woman he’s marrying simply for
convenience.”

“I do.” Nick didn’t like the questions
Salisbury’s comment had immediately brought to mind. Why
did
he fight this
duel? Why not just marry the chit and forget avenging her honor? He didn’t love
her. Hell, he barely knew her. He shoved the questions out of his mind.
Salisbury could bugger off. Nick would fight a duel for any woman who’d been
wrongfully used as Miss Lancaster had. It had nothing to do with her. It was
about honor and making amends for his past.

“Thank, God,” Nick muttered as Blakely
and the physician approached them and spared Nick any more prying questions
from Salisbury.

The physician set down his case and
motioned for Nick to hold out his arm. After getting the binding off, Nick
rolled up his sleeve to be poked and prodded. The pain caused beads of sweat to
roll down his forehead but his thoughts were focused on one detail he needed to
know. “How badly hurt is Derwent?”

The physician raised his head and gazed
at Nick with a frown. “His wound is much worse than your surface wound. He’ll
likely never properly use his right leg again.”

Nick struggled not to grin. It was
disgraceful that Derwent’s misfortune made him happy, but any man who bedded an
unwilling woman was a dog who deserved to be punished.

Lost in his thoughts, he jerked when
liquid poured over his skin making it feel as if it melted from his bones. Nick
bared his teeth against the agony. “Devil take it, man. You could’ve warned
me.”

The man’s bushy eyebrows rose. “I find that
warning people only makes it worse.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Nick snapped and
stepped backwards as the doctor tried to grab his arm. “What happens now?”

“Now, I sew you up.”

Nick slung out his arm, belatedly
realizing what a stupid move it was. Pain caused him to curl his arm back in a
bit, but he forced himself to straighten it out. No time to be weak. “Make it
quick. My work here is done and my future wife is expecting me by ten.”