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A Rose At Midnight
Jacqueline Navin


Dire Need Had Driven Caroline Wembly Into The Arms Of The Infamous Earl of Rutherford But though she was his lawfully wedded wife, Caroline was certain the desires Magnus aroused couldn't possibly be legal . This marriage of convenience was fast becoming more - much more - than she'd bargained for! "'Till death so us part."The phrase rang with irony for Magnus Eddington, for time appeared to be running out for the earl of Rutherford. He needed both heir and angel to redeem his devilish past, yet could heaven-sent Caroline Wembly be the balm for his broken soul?









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u21799e73-836b-59ee-b55f-5f42e9c01096)

Excerpt (#u14809de0-3f1f-509d-8cc6-24244b6c3f7b)

Dear Reader (#uc229d0ca-6937-5c06-ad61-14e54da59bc3)

Title Page (#u81da821b-5cbb-5225-a383-ea9501156253)

About the Author (#uf4410d80-a546-54d4-8ae4-b103badbd2f6)

Dedication (#ueb91fdd9-caca-5368-aadc-be4e8d0a98ca)

Prologue (#u54f85edd-c89d-5f1b-931f-da74351b8515)

Chapter One (#ucd38bcca-8143-5fc0-a439-90aabdc6be45)

Chapter Two (#u090ac3cb-8452-508b-865a-4d07932ed545)

Chapter Three (#ue9c5876e-629d-5817-ba3c-87f1e0103e54)

Chapter Four (#uf8d2c97c-712c-5b9a-9715-5f1551849139)

Chapter Five (#u877c3123-9a4d-5061-a031-46559214eb51)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




“Despite your opinion of me, I am not a barbarian.”


“That is not my opinion,” Carolyn corrected.



“Oh? Then I see I have been too tame.” Magnus came to her chair and, taking her hand, drew her to her feet. “I hope I have not left you with any misconceptions. Now, come and kiss me goodbye.”



She started at his boldness. He chuckled. “In less than a week, we shall share more than that, Cara. Having second thoughts?”



“No!” she declared a little too vehemently. He was close and she found it difficult to breathe. And his hand resting high on her waist, just under her breast, was giving off a scalding heat.



There was some vague knowledge that he was toying with her, trying to shock.her. Despite his tender courtship today, she must remember Magnus was the infamous Earl of Rutherford, of whom she had heard so much ill.


Dear Reader,



If you’ve never read a Harlequin Historical, you’re in for a treat. We offer compelling, richly developed stories that let you escape to the past-by some of the best writers in the field!



We are delighted with the return of Jacqueline Navin, who is quickly becoming known for her wonderfully stormy Medieval tales with “to-die-for” heroes. Her first Regency, A Rose at Midnight, has the same passion and charm. When the powerful, roguish Earl of Rutherford thinks he is dying, he finds a wife to have his child. A penniless countess marries him because she secretly needs the money to care for her ailing brother. Neither realize that their fateful marriage of convenience will blossom into a profound love…..

For Love of Anna by Sharon Harlow is the sweet, heartwarming story of a young widow with children who finds her happilyever-after in the arms of a cowboy who is running from his past. Elizabeth Mayne’s latest Medieval tale, The Highlander’s Maiden, features a fearless female mountain guide who, by royal decree, must join forces with a mapmaker from an enemy clan.

And don’t miss Hawken’s Wife, book three of THE WEDDING TRAIL series by RITA Award finalist Rae Muir. Here, tomboy Meggie Maclntyre falls for an amnesiac mountain man whose past life threatens their future together.

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical® novel.



Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor



Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3




A Rose at Midnight

Jacqueline Navin











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


JACQUELINE NAVIN

lives in Maryland with her husband and three small children, where she works in private practice as a psychologist. Writing has been her hobby since the sixth grade, and she has boxes full of incomplete manuscripts to prove it.



When asked, as she often is, how she finds time in her busy schedule to write, she replies that it is not a problem-thanks to the staunch support of her husband, who is not unused to doing the dinner dishes and tucking the kids into bed. However, finding time to do the laundry-that’s the problem. Jacqueline would love to hear from her readers. Please write to her at this address: P.O. Box 1611, Bel Air, MD 21014.


To family and friends

who have held nothing back in their support of me—

thanks for all of it.




Prologue (#ulink_ab17be2f-d482-5b0e-a011-ce3b6e28499f)


All actual heroes are essential men,and all men possible heroes.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning



Magnus Eddington, the sixth Earl of Rutherford, was not a nice man.

People knew this, but they were drawn to him just the same. Men admired him, for he had an easy mastery of all things masculine: financial success, an excellent seat on a horse, women vying for his attentions. What made it all the more dashedly enviable was that the young earl seemed not to expend one whit of effort in any of these accomplishments. For this reason, among others, he had his detractors. Though fair, Eddington was a hard man who had not shrunk from making an enemy or two in the pursuit of his ambitions.

As for women, they were attracted in droves, much as moths to the flame, and most times just as tragically, for he was not prone to romanticism. He was arrogant, but they forgave him; he was inattentive, but they excused. He was handsome, of course, with a fierce look about him. Dark brows hovered over intense eyes of emerald green, glossy rich hair so dark it appeared black curled loosely down to the nape of his neck, and his face was constructed of planes and angles to lend a most appealing aspect.

This accounted for his attractiveness to women, along with the air of tragedy that surrounded him like a subtle scent. Those of a more sensitive nature responded to it, intrigued. Yet no one knew the cause of this darkness, for he kept his demons well hidden.

His only spot of humanity, insofar as anyone could see, was his fondness for his younger brother. David was an exuberant, good-natured fellow and as simple a soul as his sibling was not.

When the news of Magnus Eddington’s fatal illness reached the ears of the London social set, it was met with a mixed reaction ranging from weeping and beating of breast to glasses raised high in triumphant salute. As for the mysterious earl himself, he ingested the results of his latest medical consultation with the expressionless equanimity for which he was so well-known. The physician, the fifth and last member of that noble profession to whom he had submitted himself for examination, delivered the unfortunate diagnosis and then sat in the ensuing silence, wriggling like a plump grub on the end of a fishing hook as he contended with the earl’s strange green stare.

“There is no mistake?” The earl’s voice was a rich baritone. He could raise it with tremendous effect, shaking the rafters and jarring his listener to the core. Yet, when he spoke in this soft, even tone, the quiet innuendo of threat made it all the more intimidating.

The poor doctor cleared his throat. “Ah, ah, no.that is to say, there cannot be any other conclusion, based on my examination. The evidence is persuasive, and with the history of heart ailment in your family, there is no question, I am sorry to say.”

Magnus stood. “Then allow me to thank you, Doctor. My man will show you to the door.”

The doctor all but leapt to his feet. His hands worried at the felt brim of his hat. “There is the matter of my fee.”

“Send me an accounting of the charges, and I will pay on the morrow. Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to be alone.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Dastardly news, to be sure. It will take some time to adjust, I expect. Yes, well then, my lord. Call upon me any time you wish. Any time a ‘tall.”

“By your own prognosis, I am going to be dead before long, Doctor. Time is not something at my disposal.”

Whether from the scathing tone Magnus used, or the withering glare he threw in for good measure, the doctor’s tentative smile was quelled. “Yes, quite right.” He moved toward the door. “I shall leave you, now. I will send my man round tomorrow.” He hesitated, turning back to his patient. “May I ask, if you do not mind. what it is you plan to do now?”

Magnus bestowed his laziest scrutiny upon his guest. He wished he would leave. He wanted a drink, badly, and as reproachable as his manners were, he could not very well partake without offering the doctor a similar indulgence and Magnus had no desire for company.

The diagnosis was not a surprise. The other four physicians had rendered identical decisions. Heart ailment, the same as his father. All the information these most distinguished healers had to offer was that the trend of his decline showed no promise of relenting and would, if it continued on its current course, lead him to his grave in less than a year. It seemed there would be no answers to the why of it. Only the when.

Magnus raised his eyebrows as he forced himself to speak civilly. “What shall I do? But of course, my good man, I plan to select a wife and marry as soon as possible. Then I shall plow the wench whenever my waning energies allow and with any luck I shall beget a child on her so that when I die, a small part of me lives on.”

The doctor simply gaped at him.

Magnus felt a twinge of regret at his harshness. Devil take it, why had he spoken so? he wondered. He was feeling a subtle rage, though he was not at all certain to whom it was directed. Right now, the doctor was bearing the brunt, which was unfair. It was no more this man’s fault than it was his own.

“Are you serious, sir?”

Magnus grinned lazily. “Deadly. Now, Doctor, if you would leave me. I wish to be alone.”

After the doctor had scurried out the door, Magnus poured himself a tall glass of whiskey, threw it back in one swallow, and filled it again. Then he walked to the fireplace and stared at the cold embers in the grate. Sweet sounds of birdsong filtered through the open windows and cheery light flooded the room, contrasting sharply with his mood. He placed a hand on the mantel, letting his fingers trace the carved stone. It was beautiful. He had never really noticed it before.

Good God, he was becoming maudlin already! He drank deeply, reducing the brown liquid by half and savoring the way it burned in his chest. Pain was life. Not pleasant, but so much better than nothingness.

Maudlin indeed.

He was a liar. He didn’t wish to be alone.

Was he afraid? To his surprise, he found he was, a little. Not of death. He had to admit, this was not from any great courageousness on his part, but rather the fact of his demise still being too far off to seem real. What he was afraid of was leaving nothing of himself behind. And though it was said with a defiant bravado, every word he had uttered to the doctor had been the truth. From the time the first physician had pronounced his death sentence, he had grappled with the most fundamental urge to not quit this earth without leaving behind a trace of himself. Each doctor he consulted had stolen hope that there could be some other way to interpret the strange attacks that had begun to plague him six months ago. In its place a strong desire grew, desire for the one thing—the last and only thing—of meaning.

A child.

It was a very basic aspiration, he supposed, just one to which he had never been subject before. He had always assumed those ambitions were reserved for men more worthy than himself.

Now, the need was growing into an obsession, and with it a sense of urgency. He was dying. He had precious little time.

He abandoned the pretense of the glass and sank into a leather chair with the bottle of fine whiskey in his fist, drinking steadily until David came in.

His brother said nothing. He took the other chair, sharing the silence until Magnus spoke.

“Find her for me, David. Find me a wife.”




Chapter One (#ulink_ab2d34e2-7750-51ef-934a-68948470f482)


Rutherford, Cambridgeshire, England 1847

With back ramrod straight and chin raised to give her courage, Caroline Wembly lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall with a resounding knell. She cast a look over her shoulder in time to see the coach and four being led away, leaving her alone in the semicircular driveway of the grand manor of Hawking Park. Turning back to the massive door, she hitched a trembling breath and waited.

Not wanting to seem gauche in front of the coachman, she had tried to appear unimpressed by the stylishness of the phaeton in which she had just ridden. Likewise, her first glimpse of the enormous house had drawn no comment from her, nor did any of the other trappings of the Earl of Rutherford’s fabulous wealth. Still, she could not deny utter shock when she noticed the knocker she had just made good use of was not brass, as she had first assumed, but gold.

The massive portal swung inward, and a tall serious chap with a thick topping of salt-and-pepper hair stood in front of her.

“Miss Wembly?” he inquired.

She inclined her head. The man stepped backward, a sign she was to enter.

Complying, she found herself in a large circular foyer that dazzled with light from the leaded panes of countless windows. “I am Arthur,” the man said in his clipped, precise tone. “The master is expecting you. Follow me, please.” Dutifully, Caroline trailed after the majordomo, down the long, vaulted hallway. Silent except for the click of her heeled slippers on the marble floor, they proceeded past a row of arched embrasures housing a series of exquisite sculptures, alabaster nymphs whose writhing naked forms skated perilously close to the edges of decency. She was shocked by the sensuous bodies, and had to keep her gaze averted until they passed through a groaning set of mahogany doors and into a palatial salon. Arthur indicated a chair, and Caroline seated herself.

“The master shall be in momentarily,” he stated. He backed out of the room, closing the door without producing the slightest sound.

Blowing out her held breath, Caroline Wembly deflated, bowing her head and almost doubling over. Gloved hands dug into the brocade upholstery at her side, finding no purchase in the stiff cushion. Throwing back her head, she breathed deeply to steady her nerves as she looked about her.

Never had she been to a place such as this! As if her present mission were not harrowing enough, finding herself amidst all this mind-numbing grandeur nearly reduced her to a quivering mass of anxiety.

Praying the earl would not be arriving too quickly, she rushed to a gilded mirror to check her appearance. The crisp swish of her skirts seemed to echo in the cavernous room. A critical perusal in the silvered glass reassured her all was in order. She ran her hands down the clean line of her gown, frowned, then adjusted her bosom so a generous swelling of each breast loomed over the top. It was, of course, unthinkable to be showing one’s bosom at this time of day, but Caroline was determined to exploit all of her assets to the best advantage.

After all, she mused as she adjusted a blond curl at her temple, if one is going to act the whore, one should look the part.

Her eyes caught their own reflection then. Blue orbs, so deep in color they had been called violet by more than one admirer, appeared overlarge, dominating her tense, pinched features. Good Lord, this would never do! She looked petrified. The image staring back at her from the glass was of a pale-faced, round-eyed waif frightened out of her wits.

No matter if it were true by half, the Earl of Rutherford would not want an awestruck ninny. It was worry over James, written in her face, making her appear less than her twenty-two years. Grimacing, she narrowed her eyes and firmly turned her thoughts to her father—that wretch! It was he who was most to blame for her having to come here and prostrate herself in a most humiliating fashion in front of a stranger. As the bitterness congealed inside her chest, she watched her wan face harden. Her soft mouth set, her eyes turned cold.

Satisfied, she shifted her attention to her gown. This was the one detail where she was the least sure of herself. She had purchased it only last week from Mrs. Rensacker’s shop in London. It had stood on the rack with the other abandoned garments which had been ordered by frivolous patrons and never collected. The material was a deep blue silk, a shade which provided a striking foil for her unusual eye color, and offset the paleness of her cornsilk-colored hair. Caroline and her mother had labored around the clock to rework the castoff into some semblance of style and fit for her slender form. However, neither she nor her mother were clever with a needle, and the niggling fear that she would split a seam was distracting. Even with this concern, the dress was lovely, truly worth every penny.

A pang of conscience at the cost hit her hard. She had spent nearly all of the proceeds from her greatgrandmother’s brooch. The sadness at the loss of such a precious keepsake was overshadowed by the thought of the amount of money she had invested in this insane scheme, money they could ill afford. Reminding herself it was all for James, she pushed the regret aside. No cost was too high for him.

She gave herself a last long look, deciding that she had, after all, turned out satisfactorily.

From behind her she detected a sound: someone—a male someone—clearing his throat. She whirled.and found herself staring at a darkly clad form of a man.

He had her pinned by a pair of iridescent green eyes that seemed to glow with an inner mischief. From the cut of his clothing and the haughty expression, Caroline concluded he could be none other than Magnus Eddington, Earl of Rutherford, himself!

But this could not be the earl. This man was not what she had expected.

In fact, he was amazingly robust for a dying man, younger than she had anticipated—perhaps a score and ten. Caroline guessed he might stand a head taller than the average male, and thus herself, for she could meet most men on eye level. The crisply starched lawn of his shirt and loosely tied cravat seemed a gratuitous semblance of civility encasing a massive chest and shoulders as broad as the mighty Atlas. A carefully tailored morning coat stretched snugly across the breadth of these assets, showing them to advantage then tapering to accentuate a narrower waist and hips. Oh yes, a man in excellent physical health to be sure. Caroline was certain she must be mistaken.

“My lord?” she asked. Her voice sounded high and unnatural in her own ears. Goodness, she had suffered a shock.

He bowed slightly, almost mockingly. “Magnus Eddington, at your service, Miss Wembly.”

This was the earl! His face was fascinating, for there was hardness in the cut of his jaw and the contemptuous curl of his nostrils, yet the strange green eyes, held as they were in frames of sooty lashes, looked haunted and the sensuous curve of his mouth belied a soft, sensitive aspect as if twin natures were at war within him, each claiming different features. A peculiar observation, as was the certainty of mystery, of something withheld, behind the aristocratic bearing and devastatingly handsome face.

That was another surprise. Her mental image of the earl had been of a frail, sickly man prone to vanity, for she had heard rumors of his amorous conquests and questionable reputation. A popinjay, perhaps; what used to be called a “fop” in her grandmother’s day. The man before her was the quintessential opposite of such a dandy, for he exuded an air of unrefined masculinity that seemed to steal across the room and entwine itself around her, choking away her courage.

And he had seen her preening like a court peacock! Ignoring the shame flooding through her, she pulled herself up into a rigid posture and met his gaze head-on. It was an old reflex; just when she felt the most vulnerable did she become the most reckless.

“Miss Wembly,” he said again as he strode into the room. “Please have a seat.”

She was grateful to do so, for her faux pas left her feeling off-balance. She perched on the edge of the chair and watched as he moved, as stealthily as any feline, to recline comfortably in the opposite chair. Crossing his long legs, he cocked his elbows on the tufted arms of the chair and folded his hands in front of his chin. Saying not a word, he gazed at her mercilessly until she spoke to fill the void.

“You have many beautiful pieces.” Waving an arm toward a pedestal, she indicated the gorgeous sculpture set upon it. She was mortified to realize the piece was a particularly vivid depiction of two unclothed lovers in each other’s embrace. Quickly, she returned her hand to her lap.

The half smile reappeared on his face. “Yes, I noticed you admiring them.” He meant, as she well knew, that he had seen her fussing over her appearance. It was this quip which caught her up short and enabled her to regain her head.

She forced herself to sit back in her seat and return his stare with what she hoped was a look of defiance. She would be damned if she would flutter and gab to fill the silence. After all, it was his interview. Let him take the lead.

Best not to think how desperately she wanted, needed, to win this position. How odd, to think of it that way, but it was the truth. She was applying for the position of his wife and future mother of his heir.

Forcing aside discomfort, she sat unmoving under that strange stare of his until he finally spoke.

“Please tell me about yourself, Miss Wembly.”

She had prepared for this. “My name is Arabella Caroline Wembly, but I have been called Caroline since birth. I am twenty-two years old. I was born in London, and have lived there since I was a babe. My father was the second son of a marquess, and made his money in shipping, so we were somewhat well-off, though by no means wealthy. I was educated by a governess until the age of eleven, when I was sent to-”

“Why are you unmarried at such an age as twentytwo?” the earl interrupted.

The question was insufferably rude. Yet in this strange, almost absurd situation, common courtesies could not stand unaltered. Caroline drew in a bracing breath and answered. “1 did have two seasons when I was seventeen and eighteen, but no one caught my fancy.”

“But I’ll wager you caught theirs, did you not?” He moved suddenly, leaning forward to peer at her more intently. How like a cat his movements were. A cat eyeing its prey. “How many marriage proposals did you receive?”

“Several,” Caroline countered curtly.

“Several, meaning two? Or several meaning twenty?”

Caroline glared at him. The maddening way his gaze held her almost as tightly as a stifling embrace wore on her nerves. She notched up her chin and said, “I received nine marriage proposals, my lord.”

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed, but she could see he was pleased at having baited her so well. “And did none suit?”

“No, my lord.”

“May I ask why not?”

She gritted her teeth. “No, my lord, you may not.”

He was deciding whether to anger or be amused, she could see. Damn him, and his impertinent questions. She wanted this so badly, but already he was prompting a most unattractive aspect of her nature to assert itself—pride.

He finally shrugged. “I was merely curious. Now, tell me, Miss Wembly, how is it you came to hear of my.predicament?”

This too, she had anticipated. “A friend of mine who is acquainted with a clerk in your solicitor’s office was told your lawyer was making inquiries as to young ladies of good breeding and poor situation to consider a marriage of convenience. As I matched that description, I went round to see Mr. Green and eventually was persuaded to make my application.”

She was surprised she could say all of this without fluster, for thinking of the studious grilling she had submitted herself to under that vile Caractacus Green was most unpleasant.

Think of James, she reminded herself, and managed a smile.

“Ah, good. I instructed him to be discreet. I am already the target of much gossip. Pray tell, what precisely is your unfortunate situation.”

Caroline cast her eyes downward. It was not difficult to speak of her circumstances, but she must tread carefully, for the full reason behind her presence here today, he must never know. “Upon my father’s death, my mother found his estates heavily mortgaged, and after the debts were settled, there was no annuity to provide for us. We had to sell our house and lease apartments in a modest neighborhood.” She did not explain about her father’s gambling debts, nor did she recount how the creditors had descended upon the house, swarming like a cloud of vultures and plucking up valuables like apples from a tree, before it, too, was taken. “I am presently employed at a bookseller’s shop. There is no longer any money for my portion, so marriage to a man of breeding is out of the question.”

He took all of this in, nodding as if he understood. He did not. No one could. Who could imagine what it was like to see one’s life disassembled before one’s eyes?

“All of your erstwhile suitors deserted you, did they?”

he said in a quiet voice that was almost compassionate.

“Which leaves you to come to me, a man who will be dead within the year, most likely. A stranger, and a wellknown reprobate at that. Which brings up an interesting point.” He cocked his head to one side, affecting a look of helpless appeal. “Which of the rumors about me, if any, have reached your ears? It is important to clear the air of these matters, so please, feel free to tell me.”

He was trying to charm her, and she had to admit the lopsided smile and soft-eyed expression were incredibly bemusing. Even as she named it for the manipulation it was, her heart started to beat faster.

“I have heard nothing,” she lied. She didn’t even care if he knew it.

They were interrupted just then by the arrival of a troop of servants.

“I took the liberty of ordering tea, as I assumed you would be in need of refreshment after your journey. Tell me, how do you find the accommodations at the Barrister’s Ordinary?” He relaxed now, leaning back as the butler and a pair of maids rolled in the cart and began spreading all the essentials on the teakwood table between them.

“Very fine, my lord. It is a lovely inn.”

“I trust your journey from London was not too tiresome.”

“Not at all.”

“Would you do me the honor of pouring out?”

Caroline almost groaned, fearful her hand would tremble and not only betray her inner feelings, but scald the man whom she was so trying to impress.

And not doing a very good job of it, she thought miserably. How she would have liked to stand right now and stalk out of this place with her dignity intact, but so very much counted on this.

Thankfully, she did not disgrace herself. After the servants had laid out silver teapot, sugar, creamer along with two sets of china cups and saucers so thin she could almost see through them, Caroline determinedly took hold of the pot and poured two perfect cups of tea.

Giving silent thanks for that small miracle, she settled back.

“So, you have heard none of the gossip, eh?”

“No, my lord.”

“Not even the duel on the continent? I must say, I like that one. Rather dashing, I think. Completely preposterous, of course, but amusing.”

“Oh?” she queried, angling a look up at him as she stirred cream into her tea.

“You will hear a number of things about me, most, if not all of them, unflattering. I am what they call a controversial figure, that is to say my associates cannot decide whether I am a rogue or a scoundrel or a bounder or a cad. The truth is I am all of these, and none, if you will allow such a statement to stand without explanation. Those who hold a good opinion of me will no doubt regale you with my virtuous qualities, none of which I can think of at the moment. Others, in fact most, would frighten you witless with tales of my misdeeds. It is, of course, relevant to mention the rumors of my criminal nature are greatly exaggerated.”

Indeed, she had heard plenty about this man, including the incredible claim that he had been Queen Victoria’s first crush. Some said it was for wanting of him the young monarch went into decline just before she met and married her precious Albert, and that she had allowed the earl to affectionately call her “Drina,” a nickname from her childhood when she was the impoverished, isolated Princess Alexandrina Victoria. Caroline laid her silver spoon on the fine bone saucer. “And what of the ‘duel on the continent?”‘

He laughed, revealing the flash of strong white teeth and eyes that crinkled merrily and.impossible! Yes, there was one dimple in his right cheek. A dimple! The summation of all those attributes left her nearly breathless. Her cup stalled on its way to her lips and her mouth stayed open as she stared.

He really was a splendid-looking man! So, why had he found it so difficult to find a bride, even if he was dying—which was difficult to believe in and of itself, for never had she seen a man so hale and hearty. Surely a few score besotted souls would have vied for the privilege of easing his last days on earth and bringing forth his child.

“The duel,” he said, raising one dark eyebrow in a rakish manner, “never took place. The story goes that a certain gentleman, with whom I had a. shall we say, disagreement, challenged me to a contest of pistols, and we traveled to the continent in order to do the thing legally. There, it is told, we chose our weapons, paced off the deadly field, and I killed him in cold blood. Depending on the teller, you may have heard versions where I spit on his corpse, or spent the following sennight in an orgy of carousing to celebrate the poor chap’s demise.”

She had to give him credit. He certainly hadn’t stinted on the details. If she had been ignorant of this particular tale, which she was not, he had done a fair job of relating it.

“None of it is true.” He was momentarily distracted by a small particle of lint on his arm. He frowned at it, pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and set it adrift on the air. “It is based on fact. A certain gentleman accused me of improper behavior with his wife. He did challenge me to a duel, and he did die on the continent while I was also there, but that is where the verity of the tale ends. In actuality, the chap went to Provence where I was supposed to have been visiting friends, for he intended to catch me there and throw down the gauntlet. I was still in Paris, however, and while searching me out, he fell in with a band of miscreants who slit his throat for the purse he held. Since attaching the murder to me was much more romantic, I am afraid the gossipmongers had their way, and it became a much more exciting story.”

Now it was Caroline’s turn to question him. “Would you have fought him, had he caught up with you?”

His expression was only a little surprised. He blinked, then smiled. “I do not know, Miss Wembly. I suppose so. I am only glad I did not have to find out. Contrary to my reputation, had I needed to kill him in order to protect myself, I would not have enjoyed it. After all, the man was half-mad with grief.” He paused, adding in a softer, almost penitent voice, “and he did have cause.”

He seemed to catch himself, jerking his gaze back to her. Caroline took a long, thoughtful moment to sip her tea.

She peered at him over the gilded rim of the cup, her lashes shielding her eyes as she studied him. “So then you do have a conscience?” she asked.

“Now, there is no cause to be insulting,” he replied as he shifted in his seat. Giving her a sideways glance, he added, “I thought you said you had not heard tell of my vile nature.”

Caught off guard, she had to confess. “I suppose I did hear a few things. I thought it unkind to mention it.”

He was staring at her again over his interlaced fingers. She hated herself for fidgeting, but she couldn’t help it.

“How wise.”

She inclined her head in a regal fashion. She could swear it amused him, drat the man. It seemed no matter how she tried, she could not manage to get the upper hand.

He continued, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth. “I offer this information, for it is important you have an understanding of my character as we are about to , enter into a most. intimate business arrangement, and these matters are inarguably pertinent.”

“It is kind of you to explain,” Caroline stated. She caught the flash of pride in his eyes, could almost hear his thoughts: Magnus Eddington does not explain himself to anyone! She smiled, deceptively demure.

She had provoked him, it seemed. His brows slanted down wickedly as he leaned forward, rubbing his thumb and forefinger along his chin. “Tell me more about yourself, Miss Wembly. I hardly feel you have disclosed the equal of what I have shared with you, and it is I who am the one to make the choice of your suitability.”

“I have told you of myself, all there is to tell.” Setting down her cup, she was uncomfortably aware of the way his eyes could bore into her, seemingly able to plumb the depths of her thoughts and bare her secrets. She looked away.

“Your answer as to why you wish to marry a complete stranger was incomplete. In short, you never said why it is you desire to enter into this.what did Mr. Green call it? Ah, yes. ‘Odd alliance.”‘

She forced herself to face him calmly, but her hands grabbed fistfuls of the lovely blue silk dress as she said simply, “Money.”

He liked her directness, she surmised, for he whooped in delight and rocked back in his chair. “And what, pray tell, do you wish with my money?”

It was a laughing matter, was it? Her temper raced hot and dangerous. How well the wealthy were amused by the grasping need of the less fortunate. They never had to go hungry, had they? Or wear dresses that hung threadbare and short, so tight across a burgeoning breast it was almost impossible to breathe. Or bury all dignity and come to an earl’s house and offer oneself like a brood mare for a chance at life for someone they loved.

Her bitterness almost choked her. “Why does anyone need money?” she spat. “To buy things.”

Things like medicines. Things like life for a dying child.

He narrowed his eyes, those seemingly omnipotent orbs that saw all. Good God, she had gone too far!

She would be foolish to forget her precarious position. Oh, what had made her think she could do this? She was hardly the deferential type—the very kind of woman whom the earl would desire, she had no doubt. Swallowing hard, she began to stutter an apology.

The earl cut her off. “Do not! Groveling does not become you.” Stunned, she snapped her mouth shut. “I am not displeased by your strong character. It is an asset, for my son will need a firm hand to guide him through life since I will not be able to do it. I am not looking for an agreeable partner for myself, Miss Wembly, but a surrogate for myself in my child’s life.”

There was something chilling about his casual tone when speaking of his own death. It stopped her.

“You are being interviewed for the position of mother for my son, nothing more, nothing less.”

Worried at this statement, she asked, “What if the child is female?”

“She will be likewise endowed with my fortune.”

“What if there is no child?”

An odd look passed over his features. Pain. “It would be regrettable, but we can hardly control all of it, can we? We must merely do our best, and leave the rest to the Almighty. Which brings me to the rather delicate matter of lovemaking.”

The word made her start. She actually jumped and a small sound like a tiny squeak escaped her. As if to calm her, the earl held his hands up. “It must be discussed. I need to know the prospect of being intimate with me is not, how shall I put this? Distasteful?”

Suddenly, the swell of flesh gushing over her décolletage felt glaringly conspicuous and completely too much. She couldn’t stop staring at his hands. They were large, capable, callused—now how did an aristocrat acquire calluses?—and wondered what it would be like to have him touch her, hold her in the manner in which, as she understood it, a husband holds a wife. He was not a tender man. Submitting to him.that way, well, it could be unpleasant, she imagined. Yet her blood raced and a strange heat stole up her neck as she continued to stare.

Thankfully, he did not seem to notice her inconvenient diversion. “It must be stated openly that though this is a marriage of convenience for both of us, there can be no question of separate bedrooms or continued chastity. Nor, until my death, shall there be any lovers, discreetly met or otherwise. Are you agreed?”

She snapped her head up, focusing on his handsome face. Taking refuge in a haughty look, she answered, “Sir, I assure you I am well aware of the process by which babes are made. I would not have troubled you with my application in the first place if I were not prepared to submit to such doings, knowing as I do the importance of a child to be conceived before your death.”

He eyed her speculatively. “You say you are knowledgeable about the act of sex. I must respectfully inquire if you are a virgin.”

She bristled. “I said I was aware of the process, not an expert. Yes, my lord, I assure you I am a virgin.”

“Good,” he asserted, “there can be no question of another man’s child precluding the conception of my seed. And now, I must inquire if you are in good health.”

“I am.”

“Is there any history of madness in your family?”

“No, my lord.”

“I will require a detailed accounting of your family history. Do not worry, I shall commission an agent to research it. I merely ask you to cooperate fully with him.”

This was good news. She had much in her family heritage to recommend her. She just hoped he didn’t dig too deep and find out about James.

He continued, “Again I must broach a delicate topic. Are females in your family prone to ill health? Are they typically fertile? Do you have what the doctors refer to as ‘childbearing’ hips?”

Caroline did not blink. He had only inquired as to the health of the females of her family and so she could answer honestly, “No, yes. And.” Realization of his last query dawned. Had he actually inquired about her hips? “I-I do not know.” She paused, struggling with a hot flush of humiliation and an overwhelming urge to. She lost the battle. “Would you like to examine my teeth?”

Good Lord, there was that smile again. Devastating. “Perhaps later,” he drawled.

She had the notion she had impressed him favorably, this in spite of her many gaffes. He was staring at her again, with that same intent concentration. It was most disturbing, as was its potent effect on her. She found herself trembling, her body atingle, and her heart seemed not to want to beat a steady rhythm. She was acutely aware of him as a man.

All of a sudden, she was very angry with herself. Why, she was behaving like an idiot! How well she knew the temperament of men, having been adequately acquainted with the dominant sex through the example of her father. At his knee she had learned of the callow nature of the male beast, his selfishness, his inability to allow another’s need to supersede his most capricious whim.

Yet this man, with bald need and strangely pained eyes and soft mouth made her feel so strange, sparking to life something unidentifiable, yet not unpleasant. No, not unpleasant. But frightening all the same.

“Well,” he said somewhat loudly, slapping his thighs and rising, “I must say, I am most pleased with our interview, Miss Wembly. May I have the references I requested? Ah, thank you. These appear to be in order. Yes, well, I shall be in contact with you as soon as the tasks are completed.”

She rose, taking her cue to leave. The interview was over, and amazingly, he was telling her he would be proceeding to the next step.

“Thank you for seeing me, my lord,” she said, moving to the door. As she did so, it was necessary to pass close to the earl, who seemed to be watching her with that unusual feral look he favored. As she did so, she caught a breath of his scent—a hint of soap from his morning shave and masculinely pleasant. It was then she was aware of a pressure at her waist as his large hands came to rest at the place where her skirts just started to swell. She jerked her head around, too shocked at first to protest. Firmly, he ran his hands down along the gentle flare of her hips.

“Slim,” he murmured, his lips only inches from hers. “Hmm. I must speak to the doctors about this.”

Outrage crept upon her as she realized he was groping her to feel if she had hips wide enough for birthing! Without thinking, she drew back her hand and let it fly, landing a smart slap upon his left cheek. His head snapped back, but otherwise he did not react.

They both froze. Caroline was horrified by what she had done—what he had done, was still doing, in fact, for his hands remained on the sides of her derriere.

Through gritted teeth, she snapped, “I am afraid I will not permit a trial tumble, my lord. I come to you a virgin, and will remain so until properly wed.”

His breath fanned her face as he laughed softly. “I expected a fiery answer, and you do not disappoint me. Quite right, a proper mother of the future Earl of Rutherford should never allow a man to handle her so.” This said, he stepped back, releasing her. “Still, those hips are quite narrow. Ah, I shall speak to the authorities on these matters and decide. Until then, I trust you will be well taken care of at the inn.”

Every nerve screamed to unleash another blow and wipe that infuriating look off his face. Instead she calmly met his eye. “As you wish, my lord.”

He laughed at her docility, seeing it for the act it was. “You are a spitfire, Miss Wembly, and I think you could give me a fine, spirited boy.” He reached out and picked up a small bell from the table beside her and rang it.

“Arthur will show you out. I look forward to our next encounter, Miss Wembly.” He bowed. “Until then.”

Arthur materialized in the doorway and waited for his charge.

“Thank you, my lord,” Caroline said and followed the manservant out of the room.

And there it was, all so very correct. A perfectly respectable farewell. Who would have thought they had just discussed her virtue, bandied about the topic of lovemaking and suffered through gropes and blows?

As Arthur arranged for the carriage to be brought round, Caroline cast a look about her. The magnificence of Hawking Park no longer daunted her, for it could not hold a candle to the man who owned it.




Chapter Two (#ulink_9b49ad8e-6c65-55a6-93aa-f04553b39555)


When the earl’s phaeton dropped her at the door of the Barrister’s Ordinary, Caroline headed straight through the common room and up the stairs. She knew her mother and brother would be anxious for her return.

The Earl of Rutherford had arranged for a suite of rooms for Caroline’s use. The parlor and two bedrooms were welcoming and infinitely pleasant after the crowded place where they had been living in London’s meanest section.

Inside the room, Caroline only glanced at the small, thin woman by the window before moving quickly to the bed. James was sitting up, propped with a half-dozen goose down pillows behind him. His blue eyes sparkled with ex- citement. The splash of color from his auburn curls was beautiful against the crisp white linen. Every tense line of his small body spoke of his anticipation, as did the brilliant smile he gave her when she entered. From her spot by the window, Caroline’s mother took a step forward, as if to intercept her daughter, then stopped. Her hands grasped one another under her breasts as she looked her over.

Avoiding her mother’s assessing gaze, Caroline sat on the bed. “Well, how are you doing?” she said cheerfully as she took the seven-year-old’s hands in hers. “You look wonderful. Did you eat today?”

“I felt grand today. I ate a whole bowl of porridge and even some cheese,” James answered. He was exuberant, a state which delighted Caroline. His small face had a flush of color and the dark circles under his eyes had faded considerably. “I think it was all the excitement. It made me hungry. Now, please Cara, tell me what happened. Are you going to be a countess?”

Feigning a lighthearted laugh, Caroline gave her brother’s hands a reassuring squeeze. “It went well, James.” She darted a glance up at her mother, who still stood motionless, before she continued. “Very well indeed. The earl said he wanted to examine our family and contact the references I gave him, but otherwise I believe he was favorably impressed.”

Audrae Wembly gasped and turned away, her short steps clicking loudly on the bare floor. James glanced over, then leveled a wizened look at his sister. “She doesn’t know if she should be happy or sad,” he explained solemnly. “She doesn’t want you to have to marry him, but we need the money.”

A feeling so powerful it was almost blinding came over Caroline—pure love, exquisitely bittersweet. It actually hurt.

They often teased James about being an “old soul,” for he had wisdom and perception beyond his years. Perhaps it came from so many years of illness, or from the unhappiness in their home when Father was alive. However he had accomplished such uncanny maturity, it never ceased to amaze and humble his sister. It frightened her as well, for she could not help but think—only at night and when she was feeling particularly anxious—that a child as unique and wondrous as James was too unearthly, too perfect, too precious to dwell long in this world.

“Yes, perhaps,” she replied, “but had you seen Hawking Park, James, you would know there is no cause for any such reservation.”

“Is it very beautiful?” he asked excitedly. “More beautiful than here?”

“Yes, it is. It is the most grand place I have ever seen. Why, it is like a palace.” She told him all about it, the towering columns and marble floors and beautiful objets d’art wherever you looked. She even told him about the unclothed nymphs, which made him gasp in shock and clamp a small hand over his mouth. Delighted giggles escaped just the same, warming Caroline’s heart.

If she had any misgivings about today’s business, they were gone now that she was in the company of her brother. He listened with rapt attention, asking only the occasional question as he digested all of the details as if it were some fantastic fairy tale come true.

Caroline noticed he was most keenly interested in the character of the earl himself.

“I wonder why he does not appear ill,” he mused, his brow furrowed. “You did not discuss his sickness?”

With a start, Caroline realized she did not even know the nature of the malady which afflicted the earl. “You know, I didn’t think to. I suspect I was a bit overwhelmed. It is a good thing I have you to remind me. I shall ask him the next time we meet.”

His little chest puffed up, so pleased was he that he had been of service. “When will that be?” he inquired.

She could see from the heaviness of his eyelids James was starting to tire. She tousled his hair. “He told me he will review my references, and I suppose there is the family to be looked into. When these things are accomplished, he will send for me.”

“Oh, Cara! How can you wait? I wish to know right now if we are going to live in a palace!”

Caroline glanced nervously at her mother, who looked away. She had not mentioned James to the earl, and with very good reason. In order to make the best appearance possible, she had decided that the earl should not know about him. Oh, certainly his inquiries would reveal that she had a brother, but it was almost impossible for him to learn of James’ consumption. It was imperative that he not know of it. Not only did she fear that if her possible future husband thought her encumbered with such a heavy family obligation as a sick child, he would look disfavorably on her, thinking perhaps that she would not be able to devote herself completely to her own child, but there was also the question of James’ illness tainting the purity of her heredity.

“You are tiring,” Caroline said. “I’ll wager you did not nap all day, did you? Now, rest, my darling, and when you wake, we’ll talk more.”

Yawning, James protested. “But I’m not tired at all.”

“No? Hmm. Perhaps I was wrong then. Well, settle back and I shall tell you more.” Caroline smiled, softly speaking of the sleek phaeton and the other wonders of the day as she rubbed gentle circles at his temple. It was an old trick discovered when James was a babe. He could never seem to keep his eyes open for long when sleepy and the featherlight touch was applied to the side of his face. Within minutes, his eyes drifted shut and his breathing slowed, deepened, as he slipped into sleep.

“Thank goodness,” Audrae whispered beside her. “He refused to rest. He was so determined to be awake when you returned.”

“I’m glad he was able to do it. They are so important to him, these little victories.”

The two women exchanged a long look. Without speaking, Audrae turned to leave. Caroline lingered, gazing at the angelic face of her brother. His cheeks were flushed, his small mouth like a tiny rosebud. His lashes were dark where they lay like small fans against his cheek. She frowned as she fingered his red-gold curls. His hair was too long. She must see about cutting it for him.

Her fingers froze and she withdrew her hand. A pain that was jagged and familiar lanced through her body. Her eyes blurred, obscuring the vision of James cradled in slumber, such an innocent, so very precious and fragile-she had to marry the earl. They needed the money so desperately!

Blinking away the moisture from her eyes, Caroline followed her mother into the other room.

“Now,” Audrae said definitively as she closed the door, “tell me about him.”

Caroline drew in a deep breath. Her mother was a good five inches shorter, and slight of frame, yet she held herself with an air of uncompromising authority that brooked no hesitation. She had been a beauty of renown in her day, whose looks had weathered a disastrous marriage well, but not unscathed. Her once fiery hair was now almost gray and lines of worry had been etched across her brow and around her mouth. Still a handsome woman, strong and sharp, she nevertheless wore the burdens of her unhappy life.

“He was very forthright, Mother. He conducted the interview like any for a position for hire, asking me pertinent questions and offering some explanations as to his own character.” She recalled some of those questions, then went on quickly, “He explained his need to foster an heir, as he has had no issue. He was polite overall, if a bit challenging at times. I have no idea how many women he has interviewed, but I believe I did well. He even said so.”

Her mother’s shrewd eyes missed nothing. “Why did you blush just now?”

Caroline silently groaned. By nature a private person, she could however never keep a thing from her mother. Except one secret. The darkest secret of all she had kept in utter solitude for ten years.

“I am afraid the position of wife—or more precisely mother of his future heir—did necessitate some unorthodox topics of conversation.”

Her mother’s eyes snapped wide. “Did he make untoward suggestions?”

“No, no, nothing like that, Mother. He did ask some. unconventional questions regarding.well, my virtue.” At her mother’s incensed look, Caroline rushed, “Which was completely understandable, given I could be a woman who found herself in an inconvenient condition, and saw this as an excellent way to salvage her name and bring legitimacy to her unborn babe.”

Audrae narrowed her eyes. “What other improprieties did he commit?”

Caroline waved her hand ineffectually in the air, trying to appear casual. “He wanted to know about my hips.”

“You. your. he. hips?”

“You know, for birthing the babe,” Caroline explained, attempting for all the world to sound as if this were the most natural curiosity for any prospective husband.

Her mother was still sputtering when Caroline let her shoulders slump and gave up. “Oh, all right, if you must know it was wretched. But Mother, what does it matter? It could have been far worse, and still I cannot regret it. We have been given a marvelous opportunity. And the earl was not bad, not at all. A tad arrogant, perhaps, and more than a little imperious, but had he been a demon I would still wed him and gladly.”

Audrae controlled her trembling lip with a quick sniff. She held her hands out for her daughter. Caroline moved into the embrace. It was familiar and soothing. She lay her head upon the slight shoulder, remembering the comfort that coveted place had afforded her through the years. Yet, now it seemed so small.

Audrae smoothed the silken strands of Caroline’s hair and sighed. “Ah, my beautiful child. I wanted so much for you, so much more than this.”

“Hush, Mother,” Caroline said bravely, pulling away with back straight and chin held high. “We are blessed to have this chance to save James. So, don’t think of it as any hardship for me. Think upon how wonderful it all is.”

Her mother gazed at her with eyes shining. She opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it and simply smiled, nodding, then turning away. “I have waited luncheon for you, Cara.”

“Very good.” In truth, Caroline was not the least bit desirous of food. What she wanted more than anything was to be by herself. To think. To ingest what had happened this morning at Hawking Park, let it settle in her brain. To reflect on the enigmatic and incorrigible man who just might become her husband.



Hawking Park was dark when the midnight hour struck, save for a miserly gas lamp in the library which was turned way down low. Magnus prowled among the shadows, traveling the length of the book-lined shelves, rounding, then heading back to his desk. The remains of his meal were littered among an untidy scatter of papers. He picked up a particular document, brushed off some crumbs and fingered it thoughtfully. Miss Wembly’s preliminary history, he saw. He had read it already, twice in fact. Tossing it back onto the desk, he watched dispassionately as it fluttered onto the mess of documents like a feather settling after a brisk ride on the wind.

He sighed, turned away and refilled his glass with three fingers of whiskey. It burned its way down to his stomach, warming him.

Miss Wembly. Just a girl, really. Only twenty and two, she had said. Not so very young, then, but making him feel, at three and thirty, like he was robbing the cradle.

Well, he thought as he threw back the last drops of his drink, turnabout is fair play. After all, she is robbing the grave!

God, he was in a foul mood tonight. He sat down at his desk and shuffled through the papers, thinking the work would distract him. It didn’t.

Why was he feeling like smashing every priceless object in the house? He should be delighted! The report on Miss Wembly was promising. He had been given a thorough review of her background—quite august—her family-blessedly small, and her character. Everything had shown her to advantage. This was a tremendous relief after the two applicants he had interviewed so far. Completely unacceptable, both of them. One, a thin wisp of a woman who looked as if the sight of her own shadow would send her into fits, and the other a strange, quirky girl of good breeding who had the annoying habit of twisting her nose, as if she were smelling something foul. Miss Wembly was far and away the best candidate.

Not only that, but he was favorably impressed with the woman herself. Perhaps too much so. He might as well admit it. Might as well also admit he had known she was the one from the first.

Well maybe not from the very first. When he had caught her gazing at her own reflection, he assumed she was some vapid, inadequately-bred chit. What he found on subsequent acquaintance was a woman who could match his wit. A woman who wanted his money, but was brave enough to say so directly. She had not breached propriety, yet neither had she fainted when he had laid his hands on her, showing herself able to handle herself in difficult situations.

And she could set his blood on fire.

That was what had him on edge tonight. Miss Wembly.

Lovely Miss Wembly, who dressed like a siren, acted the prig and yet looked at him with such challenge. An excellent choice to bear his child.

Miss Wembly who could tempt a saint with her pouting mouth and flashing eyes and who was—damn her—making him feel a new and terrible dread of leaving this world.

He pushed the thought away, crossed quickly to the decanter and splashed more whiskey in his glass. He downed it in a single swallow.

He must not think of dying. He would lose his focus, his mission. He would lose himself.

Glancing at the stack of papers on his desk, he swiped them off with a growl. Dishes and scraps of food scattered onto the floor, ruining the documents.

It made no difference. Caroline Wembly would be his wife. Waiting had merely been a formality, and his investigation of her halfhearted. It did not matter if a dozen fullblooded princesses wanted the position. He had decided. Miss Wembly’s mother could sport a cockney accent and her dead father turn out to be a fishmonger, and still Magnus knew he would have no other.

Impatiently, he unfastened the studs at his collar, opening the fine lawn shirt to midchest. He was growing warm. Perhaps he had drunk too much. Even as he thought it, he knew otherwise.

His suspicion was borne out when he began to sweat and his stomach curled gently, a teasing premonition of what was to come.

This is how it always started. His pulse quickened, as if his blood had grown thick and unwieldy in his veins. His heart felt ready to burst out of his chest, he struggled to his feet. He needed to call Arthur. Assessing his position quickly, he saw he was closer to the door than to the bell-. pull.

He made his way to the hallway, advancing only a few steps before he was able to go no farther. Cursing himself for waiting too long to summon help, he stumbled as his legs began to buckle. He was falling. Reaching out, he grabbed at a marble pedestal, knocking it askew and bringing the Chinese vase which had been set upon it down with him. The sound of it breaking into countless shards was satisfying, and sufficient to wake the entire house. He smiled wryly. He had been wanting to break something all night.

A young parlor-maid, Wendy, was the first to arrive. Arthur was fast on her heels, barking for her to return to her room. The manservant called for two burly footmen who hurried out of the attics in their nightshirts. With the efficiency and care of much practice, they hauled Magnus to his feet and bore him to his rooms.

“Get me the chamber pot,” Magnus managed to say. Arthur cleared the room, locked the door and brought his master the basin, holding it as Magnus retched in violent spasms. He was on fire, feeling as if his skin were suddenly too small for his organs. It was a nasty attack, one of the worst. How many more would he endure? When he felt well, he could scarcely fathom the fact that he was ill, but in these moments when his whole being screamed in torment, he knew with certainty he would not survive long.

Arthur gave him his paltry measure of laudanum. The beneficial effects set in immediately. The valet was summoned and undressed his master, laying Magnus carefully on the bed. Cool cloths were placed on his feverish skin. He slept, occasionally waking to vomit and shiver and wait until it was safe to administer another dose of soothing medication.

It went on like this throughout the night and most of the next day. In his waking moments, Magnus could think only of the woman who had sat with him in the grand salon. He feared he would never have the chance to act on the carnal desires which she stirred in his blood, making him crave a lifetime of such pleasures as she offered. Worse, if he died now, he would not be given the opportunity to lay his seed in her belly to take root and bring forth his redemption.




Chapter Three (#ulink_23c98480-b8bc-57f4-a7b2-f45143c302e2)


Magnus straightened the pile of papers on his desk before answering the knock at his study door. “Come,” he said, leaning back in the tufted leather chair and watching as the slender woman entered. He smiled. “Miss Wembly.”

“My lord.”

“Please have a seat.” He indicated one of the two tapestry chairs situated in front of his massive desk.

She was dressed more soberly today, and Magnus was grateful her décolletage was more in keeping with convention. A modest fichu of starched lace frothed at her throat, crowning a simple gown of fawn muslin. He would not be distracted by that enticing swell of exposed breasts, at least. Yet, his mind savored the taunting memory even as the corners of his mouth drew down in disappointment.

“Thank you for coming so promptly,” he stated without inflection. “I have completed my investigation of your application, and can inform you.” Here he paused, conscious that this was no way to propose to a woman. “Of my decision to accept you as my wife.”

She was silent. Stunned, probably, but she recovered quickly. “Th-thank you, my lord.”

She didn’t smile. He wanted to see her smile. Ever since he had first laid eyes on her a week ago, he had wondered what that gorgeous face would look like lit up with laughter. He had seen her angry, wary, prideful and bristling with indignation, but he had not seen a whisper of happiness on those striking features.

“Are you not pleased, Miss Wembly?” he drawled.

“Yes, I am, of course, my lord.”

“You seem as if I just asked you if you would stop stepping on my foot.”

A faltering smile, which was worse than her seriousness, appeared. “I apologize. I suppose I was simply surprised. I thought it would take longer.”

“I began the necessary inquiries when your application was first made. Other than your family history, everything I require has been completed, and after some preliminary investigation, I have decided not to pursue it. I really do not see the need to wait, as time is of the essence.”

Her mouth made a small O, but she said nothing.

“I have taken the liberty of applying for a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury, who is an excellent friend. The dispensation will be granted posthaste, and we will be free to marry anytime after that. I would, of course, wish to have the ceremony soon so that we may begin our wedded life.”

His pulse quickened just thinking about the implications of those words. He could see she was reacting too, a little, by the pink tinge which spread up her neck to those delicate ears.

My God, he was like a randy youth hot after his first woman. In fact, his body was responding much as it had in his adolescence at the sight of a desirable female. He was grateful he was seated safely behind the desk.

Her next words offered another explanation for the pretty flush of color. “There are some arrangements I need to discuss, of course. Financial arrangements.”

Like ice water, those words killed his brewing desire. “Of course,” he said crisply. He withdrew a document from a stack of files. “You remember Mr. Caractacus Green, the solicitor handling this transaction? I have asked him to draw up an agreement by which all will be made clear to you. In addition, I am giving you a copy of my will, so that you will know exactly the settlement I have arranged for you and the child upon my death.”

“And if there is no child?”

His mouth tensed. “You will be given a generous annuity, which I have arranged with David, who will inherit the title. It is all explained here.” He proffered the document.

Slender hands reached out and took it from him. She perused it. “It does not mention a specific amount.”

Coldness settled in deeper. “No,” he said. “We can amend that if you prefer. I simply thought we would leave it open. I do not imagine there are any expenses I cannot afford. However, if you feel the need to have it stipulated clearly.”

“I do,” she nodded definitely. “What amount had you in mind?”

He laced his fingers in front of his chin, regarding her steadily for a moment. “You name a figure.”

She was startled, and he grinned maliciously. He wanted her off guard, uncertain.

His glee at forcing her to ask for a monetary amount was cut off when she named a figure no larger than one of his footman’s salaries. She sat unmoving under his glare, and only by her preternatural stillness could he detect the crucial nature of these proceedings. He didn’t understand it. Not yet. But, Lord, she did intrigue him.

He reached out his hand for the document. Taking up his quill, he inserted an addendum. “I’ll double it,” he stated as he scrawled the amount, still remarkably small to his way of thinking, on the contract.

When he raised his head, his heart stopped dead in his chest and his arm, halfway extended to return the document to her, suspended in midmotion. She was staring at him with the most exquisite expression, a mingling of joy and gratitude, with a sheen in her eyes as if there were tears building. He had not thought it possible for her to be lovelier than when she had hissed and spat at him like a cornered she-cat, but there it was.

After a long moment, her hand came up to take the document, and the spell was broken. He let out the breath that had caught in his throat and busied himself with shuffling papers while she read over the rest of the agreement and affixed her neat signature. He in turn impatiently scrawled his own name.

The deal was done.

“Now,” he began, “there are some details which we have to contend with. Namely, the disposition of your mother. I would prefer if she did not reside at Hawking Park. I am a private man, and my illness makes me more so.”

“About that,” she interrupted softly, “your illness, I mean, I was wondering.that is, I do not know.”

Something gentle made him save her from the discomfiture of her question. “Is it the nature of my illness you wish to know about?” She nodded. “I am afraid I cannot tell you that, Miss Wembly.” At her self-conscious glance downward, he explained, “I do not know for certain, nor do any of my physicians. My symptoms indicate a weak heart, but the weakness does not follow the usual course. It is generally agreed that it is an atypical disease of the heart. However, there is one aspect upon which there is complete agreement. The attacks are coming more frequently, more severely, and will in time result in my heart ceasing to function. Just as my father’s did. It is hereditary you see—a wretched curse. How lucky for you that you come from healthy stock and have nothing to worry about.”

There was a long, broad silence. She simply returned his regard with a strange look on her face and the unexpected desire to know her thoughts registered in his brain.

“I am so sorry,” she said at last.

God, there was true regret in her eyes! “There is nothing to be done about my condition. As for my most profound wish, you are providing it for me, so do not apologize.” His tone was harsh, and he immediately regretted it. “About my condition,” he continued, unable to disaffect the curtness in his voice, “there is one expectation we have not discussed. I hope it will not be a hardship for you, but I will wish you to attend me during the episodes of my illness.”

She blinked, seeming to be taken aback. “Attend you?”

“As a nurse. A companion, really, for there are servants to do the more onerous duties.” For an instant, her gaze melted into his, and he knew she understood. He himself had not anticipated the desire to have her close to him at his death, but it was there as a sudden, urgent need to not die alone. She nodded and said, “Of course.”

“Thank you. Now, are there any questions you have?”

“Yes. If my mother is not allowed at Hawking Park, where shall she live? I was hoping she would be provided a better home than the place where she presently resides.”

He considered her request for a moment. “There is my London house, which is quite spacious, and a staff of servants remain year round. Also, I have a lodge in the Cumbrian Lake district. It is a more than modest residence and also comes with an intact staff.”

“Someplace close, if you please,” she asked, biting her lip as if she hardly dared request more than was already being so generously offered.

“Hmm. Someplace close.” He thought for a moment. “I cannot think of a thing. Unless.”

“Yes?”

“Until something suitable can be agreed upon, or until my death, I will continue to make the suite at the Ordinary available to her.”

It was then it happened. The smile he had wished for, fulfilling the promise of all he had dreamt it would be. She clasped her hands together and nodded, as if speech failed her.

It certainly failed him. There was a long pause as he studied her unguarded delight. Recovering, he cleared his throat. “Very well, I will make the necessary arrangements.”

When they had signed the papers, he called in Mr. Green, whom he had kept waiting in the parlor, much to the solicitor’s obvious and abundant displeasure. The sourfaced man looked over the adjustments, giving Caroline a slow, disdainful perusal when, Magnus guessed, he came to the annotation about her allowance. Shifting his gaze to his client, Green opened his mouth and was about to say something. Magnus bestowed a quelling glare, stopping the objections before they were spoken. With a snort and a “Harumph!”, Green stuffed the papers into his portfolio.

“I shall see to these, my lord,” he said, darting one more disapproving glance toward the future countess before taking his leave.

Caroline visibly relaxed in his absence. Catching Magnus’s eye, she gave a sheepish smile. “He does not like me, I am afraid.”

But I do, Miss Wembly.

“He is merely looking out for my interests,” Magnus explained. “Come, I shall take you on a tour of the house. My brother said he would be arriving today, and with any luck he will be here in time to join us at luncheon.”

“Oh,” Caroline said, surprised.

“That is, if you do not have other plans?” He meant his tone to communicate she would certainly break any other commitments should that be the case.

“No, as a matter of fact I had nothing other than returning to the Barrister’s Ordinary to take luncheon with Mother.”

Pushing his chair away from his desk, he rose. “I will send a man to inform her you are spending the afternoon with me. Would that be acceptable?” Before she could agree or disagree, he came to take her elbow and proceed with her out into the corridor. “Would you care for tea now?”

“N-no,” she answered. “I am not hungry just yet.”

“Excellent. Then we shall start on this floor and work our way up.”

She stopped. “Up?”

He turned. Her eyes, those magnificent depths which had seemed indigo or violet or some indefinable color he had never witnessed before, were in fact a deep blue shot through with swirling gray, rather like a storm cloud. Thickly fringed with dark blond lashes, they possessed a haunted, otherworldly quality. She stared at him now, her features signaling mild alarm.

He chuckled. “I assure you, Miss Wembly, I am content to wait out the week until you are my wife, properly wed. The tour is not a ruse to compromise your sterling respectability.”

Those eyes he had just studied flashed blue fire. Ah, yes, they were nearly violet. “Are you mocking me, sir?”

“Not at all. Simply trying to reassure you I am not half the reprobate I am reputed to be. Have I not acted the gentleman thus far?”

She seemed unsure. “Yes,” she admitted.

“See? It is just that my circumstances defy propriety’s dictates. I haven’t the time to import my great-aunt, who is the reigning matriarch and acknowledged authority on the family history. Thus, I must do it myself. Besides,” he said, pausing as he gave her a lazy look, “it will give us time to become better acquainted.”

She regarded him for a moment, her face unmoving and unreadable. At last, she said, “Very well, my lord.”

They started in the huge, circular entryway with its twostory Palladian windows and Ionic columns. As they wandered, the earl kept up a running monologue of the history of the house.

“This is my mother’s salon, which you’ve seen. She used to gather with her friends here each day. They were all artists and musicians—Bohemian types. That is why there is no music room, it was incorporated as part of this one. Now, down here is the grand dining room. I rarely use it.” He paused, looking about. “Come to think of it, I have never used it.”

He showed her the other rooms: a smaller dining room, a cozy parlor, a large mirrored ballroom with so much leaded glass and gilt it made her dizzy. He introduced her to every servant they came across and even took her into the kitchens where his appearance was met with an enthusiastic reception from Mrs. Bronson, the cook.

“Mercy, aren’t you a love?” she cooed to Caroline, smiling and clasping her pudgy hands together. “It’s wonderful, we all say. What a lovely thing, the two of you meetin’ like that and decidin’ to marry right off. Oh, terrible romantic it is!”

Caroline’s eyes rounded and shot to Magnus. He merely grinned back at her and purred, “Yes, isn’t it?”

“Oh, heavens, you poor ducky, you’ve gone all pink. Well, of course she has, my lord, when an old woman rattles on at her, don’t ya know. All right, I’ll get back to my puddings. I hope you’re hungry, miss. I’m whipping up a rack of lamb.”

“For luncheon?” Caroline asked, her voice almost a whisper, having not yet recovered from her former shock at hearing how she and the earl were so enamored of each other.

Magnus beamed at the older woman. “Mrs. Bronson is a wonderful cook. She loves to spoil me.”

“Ah, be gone with ya.” Mrs. Bronson blushed, shooing them out of the kitchen. She could be heard fussing to the scullery maids as they headed down the corridor.

“My lord?”

“Magnus.”

She paused. “Pardon me?”

“Please call me Magnus. It is unseemly for you to be referring to me as ‘my lord’ all the time.”

“Yes, well,” she stammered. “I-I shall call you. Magnus.”

She was unsure of herself, a new facet to her he had not glimpsed before, and he enjoyed the girlish way her teeth worried at her bottom lip.

“I wish you had informed me you planned to put out the story that we were.ah.”

“In love,” he supplied.

“Yes, exactly.”

“My dear Miss Wembly—or may I call you Caroline? I think it would be best. Caroline, why else would we wish to marry in such a hurry if not for the sheer impatience of true love?”

The dripping sarcasm in his tone caused her to flinch, and in an instant of pure understanding he knew this was a woman who had always thought to marry for that most tender of emotions. Love. Magnus was not certain if he even believed it existed. It hardly mattered, having no relevance in his life. There was duty, there was need, there was pleasure. Love was not a part of any of it.

“I see,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I am not criticizing. I only wish you had told me. I was caught unawares.”

“You are correct, of course. You should have been prepared. I apologize.”

She seemed relieved, and even slightly amused. “Tell me, my lord—” She stopped. “Magnus,” she corrected with determination, “where did we meet?”

He laughed. “Don’t you recall? A mutual friend of ours in London presented us to one another at a small gathering.”

They ascended the grand staircase, Magnus pointing out various paintings and describing the painter, the subject, and the manner in which each was either obtained or commissioned. It was all too much for Caroline to take in, and she told him so.

“You are not expected to learn it at once, but I should like you to try to remember as much as you can. When the child is born, he shall wish to know these things.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I will not bother to show all the guest rooms. Your rooms, however, you must be anxious to see. Here we are.”

He swung open the double doors. They entered into a sitting room, elegant, plush, exquisitely furnished in shades of yellow and rose. “Beyond there is the bedroom, and a large dressing room which connects to my apartments. There is a water closet through there.”

She was openly gaping, which satisfied Magnus. For himself, he was having a difficult time acclimating himself to his surroundings. He hadn’t been in this part of the house in years. Since his mother’s death. And he had lied to Caroline. His rooms were not through the connecting dressing door. He had never taken his father’s place in the master’s chamber, but he would have to now, as was fitting. What an irony that it was only in death he found himself worthy to do so.

He had had the room redecorated when he had first decided to take a wife, so everything, from the plush carpet to the silk draperies to the last embroidered pillow, was new. As Caroline walked about, studying this aspect or that, he waited. At last, she swung toward him, almost knocking him senseless with another of her smiles. “It is beautiful, my lord.”

He felt his heart do something queer in his chest. “Magnus,” he corrected, his voice almost a croak. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, I am sorry. Magnus.”

He caught himself staring and said roughly, “Come. All Mrs. Bronson’s talk of lamb has stoked my appetite. You will want to see the nursery before we go.”

“Yes, yes of course,” she said, and for the first time, Magnus saw the spark of excitement in her eye. As she passed him, he caught her scent, a gentle hint of rose water mingled with musk. His body tightened slightly, and he smiled as they continued the tour.




Chapter Four (#ulink_e126e3fc-11d0-5636-837d-4ae13db49f85)


The formal dining hall was set with leaded crystal, Limoges china, crisp linen and brilliantly polished silverware. Caroline was a bit astonished at all this fuss just for luncheon. As soon as the thought registered, she chided herself. Really, she must stop acting like an awestruck child every time the earl’s wealth showed. She hoped it was not obvious, and endeavored to appear relaxed and comfortable as Arthur pulled out her chair and placed her napkin on her lap.

“The weather is quite cool,” the earl said. His rich baritone carried over the length of the table. He was seated at the opposite end, gazing at her in that way he favored, with his fingers laced at his lips as if studying an intriguing specimen.

“Yes, rather,” she agreed. They were served soup, and a piping hot loaf of bread was placed on her plate along with a cup of sweet butter. Her mouth watered. This alone was a meal to her—more than enough by the standards she had grown used to in the lean years since her father’s death.

The earl said, “Unseasonably cool.”

“Winter is not far off,” she replied, picking up her spoon.

When the majordomo had gone, she heard a low chuckle. “Now that we are clear on the state of the clime, and—not incidentally—alone, perhaps we can discuss matters of some consequence.”

“Yes, my lord?”

He paused, frowning. Caroline stared back at him, puzzled, until she realized what was the matter. “Pardon me. Magnus.”

“Much better. You know, it sounds quite nice coming from you. Your voice is husky, as if you have a sore throat.”

“I am in excellent health,” she assured him.

His eyes danced. “Yes, I know, Caroline. Anyone can see that.”

He was mocking her again, and she lowered her gaze to her bowl. As she ate, she heard the clatter of china and looked up to find him gathering his place setting. To her amazement, he carried his bowl and plate down to the seat on her right, returned for the other items, then settled himself at his new place.

“Much cozier, don’t you think?”

“Certainly.” She concentrated on her meal. “You were correct about Mrs. Bronson’s cooking. This is delicious.”

“Good. Now, as I was saying, there are certain matters I wish to discuss with you, namely the wedding.”

She stiffened. Was he reconsidering his decision? “What about the wedding?”

His shrewd eyes narrowed. “I merely meant the details, Caroline. We must limit it to a small gathering, as there is no time to invite guests nor prepare for a gala celebration. However, I have determined it should be an occasion of note and you will be properly outfitted—” He cut off as the servants came in to collect the dishes and lay out the second course. The earl’s changed seat caused some dismay, which he ignored. When the food was in place, the servers filed out, leaving them once again to themselves.

“As I was saying, I will have some sketches sent to you, and some scraps of material so you can choose a proper wedding dress. You and your mother can take care of the gown and all the other various and sundry accessories. Also, you must choose the flowers. I shall take care of arranging the ceremony and a small reception here at the house. Just your family, the parson and a few of those who live close by should suffice. And David, of course.”

“David? Oh, your brother.”

“Yes,” he said, glancing at the clock on the sideboard. “I wonder where he is. Ah well, I shall tell you more tales of my ancestors. Boring, I know, but necessary for you to learn. Now, there was the first earl, my great-great. I cannot recall just how many greats, and in fact he was not at all great from the stories that have survived him, but my grandfather just the same.”

Caroline found herself smiling. She was surprised to observe he possessed a certain charm, and she had to admit she found him more than passably engaging.

The meal was delicious. Though comfortably sated, she found she could not forego the lamb. It was spectacular, seasoned to perfection and complemented with the subtle taste of mint.

The earl continued to relate stories of his family in his quirky, almost self-deprecating way, then switched to outline his plans for her installment as his wife. He seemed to have thought of every detail. It was quite overwhelming and she was glad to let him take the lead, carefully nodding in agreement while her mind wandered.

She still had to marvel at the miracle of it all. The earl had chosen her. And the best of it was that he had agreed to allow her mother—and James—to stay at the Barrister’s Ordinary where they would be close by. Why, she could visit every day!

“Caroline?”

She was suddenly aware he was addressing her. “What? Oh, yes, my lord. Magnus. I am sorry, I am afraid I became a little lost.”

Emerald eyes raked over her. “I suppose it is a great deal to take in at once.”

“No, it is not that. I—I simply was—”

“Nonsense, Caroline, there is no need to explain. It is my terrible sense of urgency, which cannot be helped. It must cause much confusion. I shall have my secretary draw up a schedule and deliver it to you.”

“Thank you.”

After coffee and dessert, which was a thick slab of butter cake soaked in heavy cream and topped with fresh berries, Magnus offered to show Caroline the gardens.

“I don’t know if I can move. I am afraid I am quite full,” she said as he drew out her chair for her.

“Then a bit of exercise should. be just the thing.”.

They walked through the library to the glass doors. Arthur brought in her cloak and Magnus drew it around her, the fleeting brush of his fingers on her shoulder sending a shiver coursing down her spine.

“Chilled already?” he inquired.

Did nothing escape his notice?

“Fleetingly.” She gave him a smile. “I shall be fine.”

“Splendid.” He led her out into the flagstone porch. A soft breeze played among the turning leaves. It was only September, and although cool, the bright kiss of the sun lent a lingering memory of summer as they walked across the well-tended lawn and into the formal garden.

He pointed out the different flora, displaying acute pride in the tranquil place. From time to time he would stop to finger a wilted flower or faltering perennial. He seemed most enthusiastic about the plethora of rosebushes, blowzy things with their sagging blooms and naked branches, saying how lovely they were in the spring. It was the sadness in his voice—just a trace—which caught her attention, and Caroline was struck with the realization that he would never see them bloom again.

And suddenly her delight in her fantastic good fortune faded. Angling a covert glance at him, she felt a pang of stark regret. He seemed so invincible, strong and handsome, profiled against the azure of the sky as he surveyed his beloved garden. Noble, mysterious, and today he had shown he could be charming. Dangerous, too, she reminded herself. This was no weeping philosopher. This was the infamous Earl of Rutherford. Yet, in this moment, she had never seen a person look so vulnerable.

Then he turned and the moment was gone. His green eyes caught hers, perhaps read the sympathetic look, and he said, “All this will be yours shortly. Not bad for a few months’ work, eh?”

She was saved from having to make a reply to that outrageous statement by the call of a new voice. “Halloo!”

Caroline turned around to find a lanky young man coming toward them. He waved. She felt the possessive grasp of Magnus’s fingers at her elbow and his low voice whispered in her ear. “David.” Her flesh tingled as she tried to suppress the shudder caused by his caressing breath.

“So this is the delightful Miss Caroline Wembly of whom I have heard so much good,” David said as he drew up to them. Caroline noted his boyish good looks, ready grin, and lean, graceful form. She mentally compared him with his elder brother, seeing a resemblance, but the differences were far more striking. Where Magnus was broad and tall, this man was rather rangy and elegant, almost dandified. His dark hair was not as lustrous as the earl’s, and his eyes were an ordinary brown. On the whole, he appeared to be a thinner, more amicable and somewhat lesser version of his commanding brother.

“I am pleased to meet you,” Caroline murmured. David bowed. When he straightened, he took her hand in his. “Who would have thought old Caractacus Green could do such a marvelous thing as find you?” He swung toward the earl. “I apologize for not being here for luncheon, Magnus. I set out later than I had planned.”

“Mrs. Bronson was disappointed. She cooked enough for an army.”

“I shall ask her to fix something for me later. And I will not be able to stay but overnight.” Turning back to Caroline, he smiled. “Not to worry, sister-to-be, I will be on hand for the wedding.”

They began to walk back toward the house. “I have been meaning to ask you about Mr. Green,” Magnus said. “Chiefly, I am wondering why you chose such a disagreeable old coot for this job.”

“You did not get on well with Caractacus?” David gasped in mock horror. “I chose him for his agreeable nature, of course.” Caroline stifled a giggle as they entered the house. She liked this man, with his easy wit and bedeviling manner. Yet something about his good humor gave her the impression he was trying too hard. To impress her, or ingratiate himself with his dour brother? Caroline wondered. Or perhaps, she silently amended, it was the forced cheerfulness people sometimes used to patronize the ill. Goodness knew she was guilty of the same with her own brother.

David crossed the library to fling himself onto one of the leather chairs. “I thought the two of you might have a small conflict of wills. Bossy fellow, isn’t he? But he fills two very important qualifications which you specifically asked for. One, he is not in our usual circle, and therefore unlikely to have any clients who might know you.” Looking to Caroline, he explained, “Discretion is a valuable asset in a solicitor, but not always a realistic one.”

“What was the second qualification?” Caroline asked.

“He was willing to do the job.”

Magnus scowled. Turning his back to them, he walked to the large window as David broke into peals of laughter. Awkwardly, Caroline shifted her gaze between the two. Magnus grumbled, “His fees are outrageous. For a solicitor not in fashion with society, he has an awfully high opinion of himself.”

“Oh, Magnus,” David said when he had sobered, “Lady Sarah Gleason has told me to send her regards, as well as her wishes for a speedy recovery. She was distressed when she heard you were ill.”

Magnus merely grunted, apparently unimpressed with. Lady Sarah’s concern. David continued, “And Carstairs was asking after you. Did I tell you about the railroad he has invested in? Made him a fortune.” As David launched into a report on the latest London gossip, Caroline relaxed. For the first time since she had come to Hawking Park, she was free of the earl’s intense and undivided scrutiny. Indulging her curiosity, she studied her future husband.

He was standing perfectly still, looking out of the window. Since their walk, he had been pensive. She sensed him withdrawing into himself as if beset by a deep melancholy. Yet there also was an edge to him, hinting at a keen, biting rage just below the surface.

How difficult it must be for such a man to lean on others. Even his brother, with his lighthearted manner, did not understand this. Magnus Eddington was proud to a fault. It was something Caroline could understand. And identify with. When the bottom had fallen out of her world, she had carried on with nothing but stubborn determination to get her through.

He looked over just then, and caught her staring. His face was, for once, blank and open. Unreadable. She wondered what he was thinking.

David was still talking about their society acquaintances when Magnus cut in. “Miss Wembly wishes to return to the Barrister’s Ordinary.”

David stopped in midsentence. “Oh. Of course. Do you want me to take her there?”

“No need. She is quite accustomed to my phaeton.”

David shrugged. “Surely she would prefer companionship for the ride.”

“It is only a half hour to the village,” Magnus countered.

“Even so, she may enjoy it better—”

“Gentlemen!” Caroline cut in. “Miss Wembly is standing right here, and is not an incompetent. Therefore, your disagreement over my preferences can be easily resolved simply by asking me. Yes, I am quite used to the ride and do not mind taking it alone, but I would welcome company if you are so disposed, Mr. Eddington.”

“Excellent,” David declared, jumping to his feet. “It shall give me the opportunity to tell you all the stories of my brother any future bride of his is in need of knowing.”

“That was what I feared,” Magnus mumbled. “Very well, David. Send Billy to fetch the phaeton.”

David gave a short bow and exited, presumably to find Billy.

Magnus came to Caroline’s side. “I shall arrange to have the items we discussed sent to the Ordinary. Also, I will have my man come round to make arrangements as to the flowers. If you need anything else, simply send me a message and I will see to it. I will be in the village later on this week, so I expect to visit you then.”

She nodded, still a bit put out with the detached way he and his brother had discussed her. What did she expect, when she was merely an employee of sorts—a wife-for-hire?

“Do not sulk, Cara. It is much too attractive on you.” He smiled, a hint of his earlier charm softening the harsh lines of his face. “With that luscious mouth all tense, it makes me want to kiss you.”

A strangled, shocked sound came from her gaping mouth. Sulk? Luscious mouth? Kiss her?

And how had he known she was called Cara?

Playfully, he reached out a finger, set it under her chin, and with a twitch, closed her jaw. “Now go.”

His fingertips brushed her face, not quite by accident. All at once, she was aware that in a week’s time she would lie with him. He would kiss her then. And touch her. How could she bear it when only the slightest contact sent such wild tremors through her?

He raised one brow when she did not obey. “Unless you are waiting for that kiss?”

She took one step back, her fingers touching her lips, betraying the fact that he had, indeed, read her thoughts. “No!” she declared.

“Then good day, Caroline.”

“Good day, Magnus.”

She was almost at the door when he called, “Caroline.”

Pausing, she did not turn around. “Yes, Magnus?”

“When you choose your gown, make certain it is grand, and do not mind the expense. You must have something worthy of you.”

She shot him a glance over her shoulder. He stood with his feet braced apart, hands clasped behind him, looking every bit the aristocrat. “I mean worthy of the Countess of Rutherford,” he amended.




Chapter Five (#ulink_5aeef361-03a5-5bd7-9ec0-0006909d8298)


“So, how do you find my brother?” David asked once they were bumping down the dirt road to the village.

“Quite agreeable,” Caroline answered.

“Agreeable? Magnus must be dusting off the old Eddington charm. Hasn’t used it in. years. Usually in a sulk, is Magnus, at least until he sets his sight on a beautiful woman. Then, he’s formidable.” He seemed to catch himself, casting her an apologetic look. “Sorry, bad form to mention that sort of thing. Anyhow, the Eddington charm is actually inherited from our mother, which would make it the Coulter charm. Now, she actually worked at it. Had a bevy of sycophants who adored her. Oh, nothing improper. She just attracted admirers in droves. We grew up with it, so it seemed quite natural.”

“Did your father not mind?”

“He tolerated it. You see, he was besotted himself.”

Caroline smiled slightly. “I see you have a touch of your mother’s charm as well.”

“Ah, bless you. Now, tell me about you. You are a Londoner.”

“Yes.” Caroline’s guard went up. Was this friendly escort simply a ruse to delve into her life on Magnus’ behalf? “I have lived there all my life.”

“I love the town. So much to do. How is it we have never met?”.

“I had two seasons several years ago. Since the death of my father, I have been working at a bookseller’s shop.”

“What? Not as an old lady’s companion? I suppose your looks made that impossible. Governess, too. No wife wants a beauty hovering about. How awful—I have made you blush.”

She was. She could feel the heat on her face and at the tips of her ears. She said, “Actually, the reason I took the position of clerk was to be able to be close to my family.”

“Oh?” She had raised his curiosity.

“My mother needs me.”

“Ah.” Whether he was satisfied with that or tactful enough not to pursue it, David allowed the matter to drop. However, his next question was even more unsettling. “Do you like children, Miss Wembly?”

She blinked as he chuckled. “I only ask because it will make a great deal of difference to my nephew—or niece. Magnus hates children as a rule. He has none of his own. By-blows, I mean. You must have wondered. Am I shocking you? No, you are made of sterner stuff, aren’t you?”

“He hates children?” she asked.

“He is not cruel to them, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just doesn’t particularly care for their company. Me, now, I find their crafty little minds charming. Refreshing to have them come right out and tell you what’s what. I like that.”

“Children are very honest,” Caroline agreed.

“That they are. You mustn’t worry about Magnus. He is a good man, and he will do his duty and beyond for his child and you.”

“He has assured me of it.” She didn’t mention the contract.

“Magnus is a man of his word.”

The conversation turned to lighter topics, helping to pass the drive until they pulled up to the Ordinary. David sprang out of his seat and leapt to the ground, gallantly holding out his arm to hand her down. “Allow me to take you safely to your rooms.”

“Thank you, Mr. Eddington, but I can find my way from here. It was good of you to accompany me. I enjoyed it most thoroughly. I hope I will see you again soon.”

“Yes, Miss Wembly. I suppose you shall. At your wedding.” He took her hand, bowed over it and brushed a light kiss to her fingers. “You will be lovely, I know.”

“Thank you again. Good day, Mr. Eddington.”

“And to you, Miss Wembly.”

When she entered her room, her mother’s face was lined with concern.

“Yes, Mother. He asked me to marry him. We are to be wed in a week’s time.”

The only response her mother made was a hard swallow. “So it is to be.” She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Was that he who brought you home?”

“It was David Eddington, Magnus’ brother. How is James?”

“He is sleeping.” She gave her daughter a measured look. “Magnus?”

“The earl. He insisted. And Mother, he called me Cara. I didn’t tell him to. He just knew.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Caroline, darling, he said he was going to thoroughly check your background. It was probably a fact he uncovered.” She motioned for Caroline to sit with her over by the small hearth. Two chairs and a soft, overstuffed settee clustered about a deep fireplace, creating a cozy grouping. “Now tell me everything.”

“So much happened, Mother.” Caroline began with the curious exchange over her allowance and related everything. When she reached the part about James and she being allowed to stay at the Ordinary, Audrae clasped her hands over her mouth and her eyes shone.

“Goodness! It is such an expense!”

“And he was rather charming today. Not so dour. He said he would be coming to the village later on this week, so you shall meet him then.”

A small voice cut in. “Can I meet him, Cara?”

James was standing at the portal to his room, hair mussed, eyes puffy with sleep. His small bare feet peeked out from under his nightshirt.

Caroline jumped to her feet. “James, darling, what are you doing out of bed?”

“I wanted to hear more about the earl. I want to meet him. Can I?”

Kneeling in front of his slight body, Caroline lightly grasped his shoulders. “Listen to me, James. I need you to understand something which may seem quite strange to you. The earl is very ill. He is dying. He has arranged for me to be his wife, and he told me today he wishes me to attend him when the sickness is upon him. Now, I know I can help take care of you and still have plenty of time for the earl, but I am afraid he will not think so.” She didn’t like the furrowing of the little boy’s brow. “Now you mustn’t worry. It is only that we must keep you a bit of a secret. So the earl will not consider he has made a bad bargain. Do you understand, love?”

His head bobbed solemnly. “Yes, Cara. He does not want me about.”

Caroline cast a helpless glance at her mother. Audrae stepped forward. “You mustn’t pout, James. I know you are disappointed at not seeing the earl, but Caroline has met him and has decided this is best.”

His frown deepened and his lip quivered. “Then, I am not to live in the palace?”

“No, not at first,” Caroline said. She smoothed his tousled hair and chucked him on the chin. “But only for a little while. Then you will live there forever and ever!” He still seemed uncertain. Caroline had an inspiration. “You know, this is like a grand adventure, don’t you think? It is as if you are a secret prince, whom we must hide while we fight to restore you to your kingdom so you can rule from your lovely palace.”

It worked. His eyes lightened. “Hurrah! And can I fight with a sword?” He paused, perplexed. “Who are we fighting?”

In truth, the only person who stood between James and his “palace” was Magnus, but Caroline was not about to say so. “A legion of dragons!”

Catching the excitement, James exclaimed, “Oh, yes! And they have a sorcerer to do their bidding, who has cast a spell on me to make me ill!”

Caroline’s breath caught. “Y-yes, darling. Come, let me carry you back to bed, and I will tell you the whole story.”

It took hours to hammer out the elaborate plot, but between the two of them they conjured a wondrous fantasy. Audrae stood beside her children, sometimes listening, other times looking lost in thought. They ate dinner and played a lively game of cards, after which James was exhausted. Caroline went to change for bed while her mother crooned a lullaby in her soft, lilting voice.

Alone, Caroline reflected on David, whom she found to be a congenial fellow, and she hoped she had made a friend. The servants were well-mannered and polite, with ready smiles for her and respectful curtsies. And the house was magnificent. Overall, she was quite satisfied with what she had learned of Hawking Park.

Yet, most of her thoughts this night were of Magnus Eddington. She could still see him in her mind’s eye. Dragging his bowl and water goblet down to sit by her. Guiding her proudly through his ancestral home. Or silhouetted against the sky as he studied the garden he would never again see in its glory.

She was feeling less than elated when her mother came in. “Mother,” she began, “do you think I am doing a terrible thing?”

Audrae’s voice held surprise. “Why, child?”

“To benefit from this man’s tragedy. It seems wrong.”

Audrae walked to the bed, pensive. She sat with a sigh. “The Earl of Rutherford will die. His tragedy exists with or without you, Cara.” Turning to her daughter, she patted the space beside her. When Caroline sat, she held her hand. “I know I have had my doubts about all this, but they were doubts about whether this was the right thing for you, darling. For the earl, I truly know you will indeed be a blessing to him in his last days, for he has a chance to leave this earth knowing his most heartfelt desire has been realized.”

“I know,” Caroline whispered.

Audrae nodded, giving Caroline’s hand a pat. “You are a good girl, Cara. And smart. Smarter than I. I married your father because I confused lust with love, and I thought I knew everything the world had to offer. I was such a young fool, and forgive me for speaking ill of your father, but I lived to regret it so.”

“Oh, Mother.” Caroline knew her mother had been miserable with Louis Wembly, but they had never spoken so openly about it before.

“I tell you this not for sympathy, but so you know you could be doing far worse than a dying earl. God forgive me, but I thank the Lord for taking Louis, for he grew more dissolute each year. Drinking and gambling, and there were other women, you might as well know, a string of mistresses.”

Caroline gasped in rage. “How dare he spend a farthing on other women when his own family was in need!”

“He cared for no one but himself. Nothing that man did would surprise me.”

That last statement slammed into Caroline’s brain. Her eyes snapped wide and she stared at her mother, wondering if Audrae were trying to hint at something. Does she know?

Audrae continued. “So you see, I have made peace with your decision by telling myself of the advantages of widowhood. As the countess, you would have power and money, and with it, something no woman achieves alone—the right to your own destiny. Your life would be your own.”

Her heartbeat slowed as Caroline realized her mother suspected nothing.

“You just make certain the earl is kind to you.” Audrae wagged her finger at her daughter, as if she were but eight years old and caught pilfering a biscuit before supper. “If he does anything to harm you, or humiliate you, or cause you strife, you come home.”

Amused at the heated admonishment, Caroline grinned. “Yes, Mother.”

Catching herself, Audrae stared at her finger and offered her daughter a baleful look. “Habits die hard.”

They fell to laughing then readied themselves for sleep. It was not long, however, before Caroline’s thoughts turned once again to the earl. The image of his proud, handsome face would not leave her, following her into sleep and haunting her dreams.

On Wednesday morning, Magnus sent a message requesting she receive him at one o’clock, and invited Audrae to join them at four for high tea in one of the Ordinary’s private dining rooms.

“Finally,” Audrae said. “Now I shall see him and judge for myself. It is about time he instituted some semblance of propriety. I know this whole marriage is unconventional, but I believe I should at least meet the man who is to be my son-in-law before the actual wedding.”

Caroline set about choosing something from her meager wardrobe. He had already seen her in the fabulous blue gown she had worn at her first interview, and subsequently in the more sober muslin, which was her second best. That left the drab gray wool skirt with its matching short jacket. Once elegant, it was now downright shabby, a bit too short and only still wearable because the loose-fitting white shirtwaist did not pull across her breasts, as all her other old dresses did.

She knew the earl did not expect her to be glamorously dressed, as her needful state was precisely the reason she was marrying him, yet she did not want to shame him. She told herself this was the reason she fussed with her toilette and spent much longer than was her habit dressing her hair.

The maid came up to tell her Magnus was waiting below in the hall.

“I shall see you at four,” her mother said. Her eyes swept over Caroline critically. She adjusted an errant curl at Caroline’s temple and said, “You are lovely.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Her hand came over her stomach to still the wild fluttering. Taking a deep breath, she descended the stairs.

He was waiting for her at the bottom. Dressed impeccably in dark waistcoat and breeches, he looked every inch an earl. Caroline faltered, and he glanced up just then, his gaze flickering over her in a quick assessment. Selfconsciously, she smoothed her hands down her skirt, wishing it were not so plain, or worn, or outdated.

“Good afternoon,” he said, reaching his hand out for her.

She placed her fingers in his broad, warm palm, feeling a tremor of reaction shoot up her arm. “Good day, Magnus.”




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