The Importance of Being Wicked (15 page)

“You‘re back! Is Eleanor with you? How are the children?”

“All is well. We returned this morning. I have a horse running tomorrow. What are you doing here?” He turned to Thomas, whom clearly he'd recognized, with a question on his face.

“Your Grace,” Caro said. Forgetting she wore breeches, she dropped an exaggerated curtsey. “Allow me to present Mr. Max Quinton. I came to Newmarket to find him. Now I have succeeded, and I have no doubt he will assist me in my affairs. I have no need to further trespass on your very condescending and extremely gracious hospitality.”

Chapter 13

H
ilsham Hall was a larger version of Little Tidmarsh Cottage, located five miles away, perhaps the work of the same local builder: a square, unpretentious house made of local stone and designed for a busy family of comfortable but not princely means. It suited Max and Eleanor Quinton and their children perfectly. Add the full complement of servants, including two harassed nursemaids, to the mix, and it was hard for the adult inhabitants to get a moment's peace until long after dinner was over and most of the household asleep.

By blatant prearrangement, Max Quinton retired to his study under excuse of work, leaving Caro alone with her cousin.

“Well, my love,” Eleanor said. “You've got yourself into a rare pickle this time.”

Caro pretended to misunderstand her. “I'm sorry about the debt to Sir Bernard Horner though I don't know how I could have been expected to know of it. But Max will do his best to persuade him to accept payment in installments.” She felt a little panicky about a new distraint on her slender income. Tomorrow, no doubt, she'd be summoned to Max's study and would have to confess that, whatever she did, somehow her debts grew rather than diminished.

“You know I'm not talking about Robert's debt.” Eleanor, serene and elegant in her simple evening gown, exuded the blunt sympathy that had always been such a contrast to Elizabeth Brotherton's condemnatory histrionics. Had Eleanor been her mother, Caro had the fleeting thought, she might never have considered an elopement. “You dined alone in an inn with Horner and left with the Duke of Castleton, in whose house you have spent two days without a hint of a chaperone.”

“Who will ever know?”

“Someone always knows. Even if the duke can keep your stay at his house a secret, all Newmarket is talking about you and Horner and Castleton. Max heard about it as soon as he reached the course this afternoon. About you emerging from Horner's rooms at the Greyhound and leaving the inn with Castleton.”

Of course. She'd been stupid to think no one would notice. There was no worse set of gossips in existence than a gathering of sports-minded gentlemen with nothing better to do than drink and exchange tales, especially racy ones.

“It doesn't matter,” she said. “I've never had much reputation to speak of.”

“What about Castleton's reputation? Max tells me the family is painfully correct, with never a breath of scandal. You, my dearest, have always gone your own merry way, but what of him?”

“It was by his choice, by his insistence, that I stayed at his house. I never asked for his help, and he burst in where it was none of his business to be.”

“Is he in love with you?”

“Of course not,” Caro replied with a bitter laugh. “He's simply a domineering nobleman with an overblown sense of self-consequence and a desire to bend others to his authority.”

“There's something I'm missing here. Why does he claim authority over you?”

“Because he is betrothed to my cousin!”

“Betrothed to Anne Brotherton? It certainly makes sense. A most suitable match for both of them.” Eleanor put her arm around Caro. “I am so sorry, my love. I thought perhaps you had finally found yourself a good man. Someone reliable.”

Tempted as she was to sink into Eleanor's comforting embrace and have a good cry, Caro summoned her pride and cloaked a gnawing sorrow with indignation.

“I was married to a good man, and I never regretted it for one single day. I don't fault Robert for his improvidence.”

Eleanor, who had said plenty on the subject in years past, was never one to pursue a fruitless argument. “I am a little shocked at Castleton's conduct. Surprised, too. When his servant brought your clothes this evening, he delivered a note from the duke to Max. He intends to call on you tomorrow. Max's reading of the letter, and mine too, is that he will make you an offer.”

“An offer? Of marriage?” Incredulity jolted Caro from her sulks. “Lord Stuffy would never offer me marriage.”

“Apparently not, if he is to wed your cousin. And I certainly hope he wouldn't have the poor taste to offer you anything else. Just to be certain, I shall have Max speak to him when he calls. He shall make it very clear that if the duke will not address you with respect, he won't see you at all.”

W
hatever Max Quinton heard from Castleton, he must have found it satisfactory. Caro waited in the Quintons' drawing room, a formal room used mostly for entertaining. She supposed she was to receive an apology, though a night's sleep had made her less certain one was required.

Yes, the duke was an interfering, high-handed . . . duke. Yes, he'd kissed her when he was betrothed to another. But he'd also offered his assistance, and she could hardly be sorry at this point that she had not, in fact, gone to bed with Horner. Now she had Max's help, that idea seemed more and more like a bad dream. As for the kiss, she'd happily reciprocated and, the truth be known, was sorry it couldn't be repeated.

“Mrs. Townsend.” Castleton was at his Lord-Stuffiest, his bow military in its stiff precision. She curtseyed back but refused to cast her eyes modestly floorward. A slight quiver of the lips cracked the impassivity of his demeanor, but it wasn't mirth. She believed that the Duke of Castleton was a little nervous about approaching her.

Of course, the last time she'd been in his company, she'd attacked him with a hat.

“Duke.”

“His Grace has something he wishes to say to you,” Max said. “I shall leave you alone.”

“I cannot imagine what. Won't you sit down, Duke?”

“Thank you. I prefer to stand.” Actually, he paced for at least a minute after Max departed, closing the door behind him. “First,” he said finally, clearing his throat, “I am pleased to inform you that Sir Bernard Horner need no longer concern you. I saw him on my way here and discharged your debt.” He removed a familiar paper from his pocket and presented it to her with a bow.

“That's very good of you, Castleton. Max was going to talk to Horner about letting me pay him over time. I hope you'll allow me the same latitude.” A pride she didn't know she possessed had come to the fore. It was damnably inconvenient, but she felt an unaccountable aversion to being in his debt.

“No. You are debt-free, at least as regards this sum.”

“Why have you done this?”

“Bear with me, and the reason will be plain.”

He stopped pacing and planted himself with his back to the fireplace, hands behind his back, chin square, radiating the solidity she found so unaccountably desirable. She barely held back a sigh of pleasure at the sight. She wished he wasn't betrothed. If it weren't for Anne, she'd agree to be his mistress like a shot.

“Mrs. Townsend, Caro. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

“What did you say?”

“Will you marry me?”

She was flabbergasted. “Anne,” she managed to blurt out. “What about Anne?”

A hint of color heightened his cheekbones. “As to that,” he said sheepishly, “I have a confession. Anne Brotherton and I did not, and never have, come to an understanding. I never proposed to her, and we are not engaged.”

“Why did you say you were?”

“Initially, so that I could give Horner an excuse for my intervention in your affairs.” This drew a brief snort from her. “Afterward, it seemed prudent to continue the charade. An engagement was the best defense against the very powerful feelings you arouse in me. I had every intention of continuing my courtship of your cousin, so my attraction to you was insupportable.”

“I'll acknowledge feeling the same way. I'm afraid I find you hard to resist, Castleton.”

“Thomas, Caro, please.”

A little bubble of joy pushed its way up through the weight of disbelief that the Duke of Castleton wished to marry her.

“What changed your mind?”

“Quinton, I'm afraid, is correct. Word of our recent sojourn together is bound to get out.”

The bubble popped. “Fear of what people will say has always seemed to me to be a remarkably poor reason for two people to be joined together for a lifetime. Don't worry on my account. My life has been a scandal for years.” She exaggerated, true, but she wanted to be sure Thomas knew what he was getting and yet still wanted her.

“Since the Fitzcharleses have lived without causing any stir, since our admittedly scandalous beginnings, I think we can rub through. Once we are wed and have lived in the country for a few years, no one will even remember.”

“Only two nights ago you talked about matrimony as a means of increasing wealth and influence. I can bring you neither.”

“Wealth, no. But I am a man of means. We shall do very well. As for influence, your father was brother to the Earl of Camber, and you were born a Brotherton. You certainly don't lack for noble blood and connections.”

“No, merely common propriety. I'd be nothing like the kind of duchess Anne would make. Oh, goodness, Anne. I cannot steal my dearest cousin's suitor.”

“I don't believe Anne wishes to marry me. We are patently ill suited, and it's for the good of both that I came to my senses. Even if you refuse me, I shall not offer for your cousin.”

“I'm happy for that reassurance. I would hate to think that every time I got into a scrape that angered you, you were wishing you'd married her instead.”

He interpreted her statement as consent, or near enough, for he came over to her chair and knelt in front of her, lifting her clasped hands in both his and softly kissing her knuckles.

“I could never regret wedding you,” he said. Her heart skipped a beat. “And with my help, you'll have no trouble regulating your conduct and becoming every bit as fine a duchess as Anne could be.” She gasped. “At least you won't wish to dig up my arable lands in search of broken Roman tiles.”

Whatever the object of his little joke, it failed to amuse. She snatched away her hand, stood, and escaped his dangerous proximity, almost stumbling as she pushed past him.

“You expect me to change!” she cried. “And that is why our marriage could not work. You are His High-and-Mighty Grace the Duke, and I am the same Caro who eloped to Gretna Green with a mad boy. We will never suit.” She cut off an attempted interruption. “Even if I could be the kind of duchess you want, I wouldn't want to be. As for your flattering offer, I fear it is nothing but condescension. You don't really want me as I am.”

Thomas gaped at her, unable to believe she'd turned him down!

He had spent much of the night awake, struggling with doubts that threatened to tear him apart. Following his conscience, doing the “right thing,” had never presented much difficulty. The temptation to misbehave had never challenged his powers of resistance.

The minute Quinton made his appearance at the racecourse, he'd realized he was living in a fool's paradise if he expected his little adventure to remain a secret. As a gentleman, he owed Caro marriage. But as the head of his family, a good marriage was a duty so ingrained that to give it up was like scraping away a layer of skin. And as a brother, he couldn't forget the necessity of providing for the twins.

Complicating the decision were his own wishes. As the night progressed, he gave up trying to deceive himself.

He wanted Caro. He wanted her forever. And that made him doubt his moral judgment. When he placed the competing arguments in the balance, his own desires were like the thumb of a dishonest shopkeeper, slipping into the balance to weigh the outcome in his favor.

Enlightenment had come close to dawn. He could have everything. He could wed Caro Townsend and fulfill his duty to his family. It would simply require a little contrivance on his part. He came into the interview on edge, from shortage of sleep and anxiety about the future. The result was a degree of arrogance in his proposal that Caro, perceptive creature that she was, had noted.

When he'd entered the room, she'd stood infinitely desirable in her white muslin, the red curls framing her piquant face, her golden eyes huge and filled with the passion with which she attacked life. He couldn't wait to propose and hear her say yes, so that he could sweep her into his arms and call this rare and wonderful creature his.

He'd said the wrong thing, and now she was slipping away from him. He'd thought she would be flattered, honored by his offer to make her a duchess. But Caro was ever unpredictable. It was part of her charm. He needed to find the words to persuade her to say yes.

“I
do
want you as you are,” he said, leaping to his feet. “From the first time I saw you, I've wanted you. I came into the room at Conduit Street and thought you were Anne Brotherton. It was a sore disappointment when I learned you were not.”

“You thought I was Anne and liked the look of me?” His revelation pleased her. He searched his mind for other persuasive anecdotes. “I wanted to kill Horner. At the Pantheon, at the Soaneses', and at the inn. I want to kill any man who touches you, and I want to be the only one who has the right.”

Her flight had been arrested. She stood just a few feet away, her eyes softened from fiery disdain to dawning pleasure. He went to her, took her hand, and this time she didn't pull away.

“I had to kiss you. Even though I knew it was wrong and might be the only time. I had to kiss you because I wanted to taste your lips once. Once, to remember for the rest of my days.”

“You didn't say a word afterward.”

“What could I say? That I regretted the best moment of my life?”

He would have raised her hand to his lips, even taken her into his arms, but she escaped again, skipped away like a skittish foal. “It won't do, Castleton, you know it won't. You think you want me. I believe you want me. But I shall disappoint you, and you will end up hating me.”

“Never!”

“I want to believe it, you have no idea how much. Convince me, Thomas. Tell me why our marriage would not end in disaster.”