The Regency Season: Convenient Marriages: Marriage Made in Money / Marriage Made in Shame

His kiss was not gentle or tentative or kind. It was raw and masculine with an edge of anger demanding response. It was deep and unexpected, his tongue finding hers as the angle of the kiss changed, slanting on to another plane, splayed palms guiding her in, the sound of breath, the dissolution of the world around them, the focus of heat and want and need.

Another language that she had had no notion of. The clock in the corner with its heavy beat seemed to stop as she tasted him in return, his strength, his toughness, the sheer and potent force of a man who understood the power he wielded. There was no question of resisting. When her nails traced a runnel in his skin to bring him closer, his lips slid down the sensitive line of her neck. They would mark each other with this moment, she thought, as she tipped her head, the column of her throat exposed to the hard pull of his mouth.

But as his hand wandered to trace the line of her bottom under her billowing skirt she jerked back, the hue on her cheeks rising. This was unlike anything she had imagined. The danger of her response made her feel dizzy.

She needed to be gone, away from this room, away from the things that she knew must be reflected in her eyes and on her face and in the hard twin buds of desire that pushed against the material in her bodice.

She was pleased both for the coat and for the fact that he had turned to face the window so that she did not need to see his expression. Not yet. With shaking hands she opened the door.

‘I am glad we had this...t-talk, my lord, but now I must go.’

Then she was outside, her footman following closely behind down the steps of the Montcliffe town house. As they gained the road the servant gestured to the Cameron conveyance a good hundred yards away to collect them. She had asked the driver to park there, away from the prying eyes of others.

She prayed Daniel Wylde would not follow to demand an answer to all that had transpired between them. Her father was dying and she would do anything at all in her power to make him happy, even marry a man who, she knew in that very second, could only break her heart. Wiping away a tear, she swallowed and took a deep breath, the strength she had always kept a hold on returning.

At least he understood now the parameters of this relationship. Or did he?

* * *

‘Hell.’ Daniel adjusted the fit of his trousers over a growing hardness. She had dumbfounded him with her reaction to his kiss, no tepid chaste reply, but a full-blown taking of everything he had offered, the promise of lust in the way her teeth had come down on his bottom lip, egging on all that he had held restrained.

Like a siren. Like a courtesan. Like a woman of far more experience than she was admitting to.

His plain little intended mouse-to-be was baring her claws and turning into a lioness and all before they had even got up the matrimonial aisle. Nothing made sense any more because the only thing he was thinking about was following her and demanding the completion of an intimacy that had left him reeling.

He was glad that her scent lingered in the room, glad to keep the promise of Amethyst Cameron for a little while longer. The cloth bag she had brought in was still beside the sofa, abandoned in her moment of panic, some item of clothing spilling out on to his thick burgundy Aubusson carpet.

As he hauled the thing upwards, one handle broke and the contents tumbled out. An apron and a tattered Bible were the first things that had fallen at his feet, Amethyst’s name printed in the frontispiece of the book and underlined in different colours. He smiled, imagining her doing such a thing. Beneath that was a ragdoll with a torn dress and another toy whose identity he could not determine—a cat perhaps, its paws missing. Incredibly, a diamond ring also sat there amongst the folds of cloth, the carat weight sizeable, and the cut, colour and clarity unmatched. Valuable and forgotten, strands of cotton and dust caught in the clasps of gold.

Any other woman of his acquaintance would have worn the thing on her finger, showing it off, enjoying the admiration of others, but not Amethyst Cameron. No, to her the dismembered cat probably had more of a value and the Bible a better use.

Stuffing the lot back in the bag, he called to his footman.

‘Have this delivered to the Camerons’ home in Grosvenor Square immediately.’ Daniel did not wish to take the thing himself, an unaccustomed fragility setting his countenance on edge after the last few minutes with his bride-to-be.

He tried not to notice the curiosity in his man’s eyes as he handed the bag over.

* * *

Her father was still up when she got home and Amethyst’s heart sank. Of all the nights he had delayed retiring to his bedchamber, why did it have to be this one?

‘Papa.’ She tried to keep her voice steady, but knew that she had not succeeded as he stood.

‘What has happened? You look...different.’

She almost smiled at that. Different. Such a word came nowhere near the heart of all that she felt.

‘I went to see Lord Montcliffe.’

‘And?’

‘I am not certain if he was the right choice after all. I think he might want a lot from me, more than I should be willing to give.’

Her father laughed. ‘Your mother said that of me.’

‘He kissed me.’

The stillness in his eyes was foreign. ‘Did you like it?’

Her heart thudded as she nodded.

‘Then he was the right choice, Amy, for although society is disparaging in allowing any intimate contact between intending couples I think that it should be mandatory. As long as it is a consenting thing. He did not force you?’

‘No.’

‘If your mother was here, she would tell you of the power of feelings between a man and a woman and she would say it better than I. Whitely knew nothing about you, my dear. He did not appreciate the layers in a woman or the complexities.’

Anger rose where only guilt had lingered. Until this moment Amethyst had always thought their broken marriage was her fault, but after Daniel Wylde’s kiss she wondered. Gerald had kissed her a few times in the very early days of their courtship, but his pecks were tepid reflections of all she had felt in the heated atmosphere of Lord Montcliffe’s library. The breath constricted in her throat and she swallowed back worry. If she could react this way to one of the Earl’s kisses, what might happen if things went further? The teachers at Gaskell Street had always drilled her upon the proper and correct reactions a lady might show to the world and she was certain that her response tonight would have been well outside any appropriate boundary.

Decorum and seemliness were the building stones of the aristocracy. The gentler sex was supposed to be exactly that, after all—women devoid of all the more natural vices men were renowned for. She wished her mother was here to give some advice and direction. Her father, however, seemed, more than ready to supply some.

‘Whitely was a conniving liar, that was the problem. He was no more than an acquaintance when you married him and nothing more when he died. I tried to warn you, but you would not listen. If your mother had still been alive, I am certain things would have been different, but it is hard to advise anyone against something they have their very heart set upon.’

His words dug into Amethyst’s centre. Her fault. Her mistake. Her deficiency to tumble into a relationship that had been patently wrong from the very start.

With Gerald there had been no true underpinning attraction. With Daniel it was the opposite. She did not know him at all and yet... She shook away the justification. Lust was shaky ground to build a relationship upon and she could not afford another disaster.

Her father’s coughing started in a little way at first, a clearing of a throat, a slight impediment. But then his eyes rolled back and he simply dropped, folding in on himself, a slight man with his jacket askew and his spectacles crushed underfoot.

She shouted out as the doorbell rang and the Cameron butler and a stranger rushed into the room, the bag she had left at the Montcliffe town house abandoned at their feet as they both lifted her father to the chaise longue. Wilson untied his cravat and loosened his collar, arranging Robert on his side so that his breathing was eased.

Amethyst could not move. She was frozen in fear as the numbness spreading across her chest emptied her of rational thought. Was it his heart? Was this the final moment of which the specialist had spoken?

‘Get a doctor.’ Their butler seemed to have taken charge and the man she did not know nodded and left the room. A Montcliffe servant, she supposed, returning her bag. Nothing made sense any more. The housekeeper scurried in with a hot towel and a bowl, the maid kneeling with new wood to stoke up the heat of the fire, Wilson trying to awaken her father from the stupor he had fallen into. The moments turned into a good half an hour.

* * *

And then Lord Montcliffe was there, his voice calm with authority as he took in the situation, a doctor at his side.

Amethyst’s jaw ached from where she held it tightly together, but when he took her arm and led her across to her father, she went.

‘Hold his hand and sit beside him. Talk to him so that he knows you are there.’

When Robert’s wilted fingers came into her grasp she held on. Cold. Familiar. The scar upon his little finger where he had fallen through glass, a nail pulled out by heavy timber. A working man’s hand and the hand of a father who had loved her well. She brought the back of it to her lips, paper-thin skin marred by brown spots, age drawn into years of outside work. Kissing him, she willed him back, willed him to open his eyes and see her. The doctor frowned as he felt for a pulse.

‘Is there other family we can call?’

She shook her head.

Just her and just Papa. The horror of loss ran through her like sharpened swords and her teeth had begun to chatter, shock searing into trauma. For a moment the next breath just would not come.

* * *

Daniel kneeled down before her, hoping the panic he could see in her eyes might allow her more of an ease of breath. ‘Anything that can be done for your father will be, Miss Cameron. MacKenzie, my physician, is the best doctor there is in London. Do you understand?’

Her eyes focused upon him, a tiny flare of hope scrambling over alarm.

‘Already with the blankets and the fire he is becoming warmer and the blueness is leaving his lips.’

This time she nodded her head, one slow tear leaking from her left eye and tracing its way down her cheek.

Both of the Camerons looked as pale as the other and as thin. He had not noticed her thinness until this moment, when devoid of her coat in the bright light he could see her arms and her collarbones and the meagreness of her waist.

She did not court fashion, that much was certain. Her boots were sturdy leather and well worn, as though they had covered many a mile, and still had some life left in them. But sitting there in the grip of tragedy, there was a fineness about Amethyst Cameron that was mesmerising. All he wanted to do was to hold her away from the hurt and make things better. To protect her against a world that was often cruel, complex and dishonest. To shield her from pain, duplicity and scorn.

When the doctor gestured him over he stood.

‘Mr Cameron will need to be watched, my lord, but I think we have passed the worst of it. All his vital signs are settling and I should well imagine that he will recover from this turn.’

Daniel knew Amethyst had heard the given words even though she was a good distance away. He also knew that if he stayed in the house without a chaperone for any longer then tongues would begin to wag. It was late after all.

‘I will leave the doctor with you then, Miss Cameron, and hope your father has a good night.’ He met her eyes only briefly and her countenance was one of worry, no glimpse at all alluding to the kiss they had shared less than an hour earlier. He was pleased for it.

‘I appreciate your help, Lord Montcliffe.’

So formal and distant, he thought, as she escorted him to the front lobby, one of the servants finding his coat and hat. Her hair looked odd too, the front of it hitched askew in a strange fashion. Nothing about this woman seemed to make sense to him and he was relieved to slip through the door and into the coolness of the night air.

* * *

Leaning against the portal and closing her eyes for just a moment Amethyst listened to the Montcliffe carriage pull away. ‘One second, two seconds, three seconds,’ she counted, holding the world back from all that was crashing in upon her. Her mama had taught her this years before, a small space of time in which to collect one’s thoughts or feelings. The feeling of Daniel Wylde’s kiss snaked into her consciousness even as she tried to shut it out.

When at length she gathered herself, Amethyst caught her reflection in a mirror opposite and horror and laughter mingled on her face in equal measure.

Her wig had been snagged at some point and was sitting at an angle on her head, the right side dragging the left down and giving her an appearance of someone out of sorts with the world.

With care she readjusted the hairpiece. Had this just happened or had Lord Montcliffe seen it as well? The whole evening had been tumultuous; her father’s strange malady counterbalanced against the Earl of Montcliffe’s unexpected kiss.

Wiping her forefinger along the lines of her lips, she then held it still, the impression of flesh sending small shards of want into a sense that had long been dormant.

She was known for her composure and her unruffled calm. She seldom let things bother her and always managed people with acumen and honesty.

Unflappable Amethyst. Until Lord Daniel Wylde.

He made her think of possibilities that would not come to pass. She was ruined goods and she was plain. Without the Montcliffe financial problems and the collection by her father of the extensive Goldsmith debts, he would never have given her a second glance.

She could not allow herself to be one of those pathetic women who didn’t see the truth of their loveless marriages and held on for year after year for something that was impossible.

Two years was what she could give him. Two years in which her father would not be sad or worried or unhappy. If he even lived that long, which was doubtful.

The Earl of Montcliffe would not love her and she would not let herself love him. But together they could manage. The kiss had thrown her, that was all, an unexpected chink in the armour she had long pulled about her.

Liar. Liar. Liar. The words ran together as a refrain as she hurried back to her father.

* * *

Lucien Howard, Earl of Ross, sat beside Daniel in the card room of White’s an hour later. Smoke swirled around in curls and the smell of strong liquor filled any space left as some patrons won a little and others lost a lot.

‘I hear you bought those remarkable Arabian greys at Tattersall’s?’ There was a good measure of curiosity in his friend’s query.

‘You know enough about my present circumstances, Luce, to know I could never afford them.’

‘Then why are they in your care?’

‘Have you heard of the trader, Mr Robert Cameron?’

‘No. Who is he?’

‘A man who sells timber to the world.’

‘Lucrative, then?’

‘Very. He wants me to marry his daughter.’

Brandy slopped against the side of the glass as Lucien lurched forward. ‘You agreed?’

‘The matching pair of greys came as a sweetener. Montcliffe Manor is bankrupt and it will only be a matter of months before the rest of the world knows the fact.’ He raised his glass and then swallowed a good part of the contents of the bottle he had ordered. ‘If I do nothing, it will all be gone.’

Lucien was quiet for a moment, but then he smiled. ‘What does the daughter look like?’

‘Passable.’

‘Your bastard of a father must be laughing in the afterlife then. At least he was a man of his word. I remember him insisting that you wouldn’t inherit a farthing of his fortune and he meant it.’

‘The curse of the Wyldes?’ Daniel’s thoughts fell into words.

‘How long do you have left, do you think, if you sat it out and did nothing?’

‘It will only be a matter of weeks before the first creditors arrive.’ Leaning back against soft leather, he ran his hands through his hair. ‘I have had word that they are already circling.’

‘I’d lend you money if I had any, but my situation is about as dire as your own.’

‘Your grandfather wants to disinherit your side of the family again? I heard about it from Francis before he left for Bath.’

‘Where he has gone to try to sort out his own financial woes, no doubt. Seems he has a cousin a few times removed there causing him some trouble.’

Daniel smiled. ‘The three of us have our problems then, though mine could be solved before the month is up.’

‘You will go through with it? This betrothal?’

‘Marriage or bankruptcy? I have little choice.’

‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were all going to travel to the Far East and make our fortunes, remember? God, that sort of innocence seems so long ago.’

‘The naivety of youth.’

‘Or the hope of it. Marriage is a big step, Daniel. Is this bride-to-be at least intelligent?’

‘Undeniably.’

‘Does she simper?’

‘No.’

‘An heiress who has brains and is not prone to whining? Perhaps you have made more of a match than you imagine. What colour is her hair?’

‘A dull mouse.’

Lucien began to laugh. ‘And her eyes?’

‘Brown.’

‘Is she fat?’

‘Thin.’

‘Short?’

‘No.’

‘Mama was always certain you would marry the moody but beautiful Charlotte Hughes. She is back, you know, from Scotland and without the husband.’

‘Spenser Mackay died by all accounts.’

‘But in doing so he left her a fortune which she probably needs about as much as you do. The ton likes to think you were heartbroken when she left, Daniel.’

‘A good tale is often more interesting than a truthful one.’

‘Have you told the Countess about your upcoming nuptials?’

‘I haven’t.’

‘But you will?’

‘No. The wedding is in a few weeks’ time. Mother would need at least a month to get ready for it and even that might not be enough. Would you be the best man, Luce?’

‘I would be honoured to.’

‘Francis will be the usher, I hope. I sent a message to Bath yesterday telling him of the plans. The announcement will be in The Times next week.’

‘A few more hours of peace, then. When can I meet your intended?’

‘I’m calling on her on Monday. Perhaps you might accompany me?’

A furore at the other end of the room caught their attention and Lord Gabriel Hughes, the fourth Earl of Wesley, strode in, a tall stranger hanging on his shoulder and pushed off with a nonchalance that was surprising.

‘London is not as it was, my lords. Nordmeyer insists that I insulted his sister and wants to call me out for it.’

‘And did you insult her?’

‘She sent me a note arranging a meeting and he found it. I hardly think that was my fault.’

‘But you would have met her if the letter had arrived?’

‘Undoubtedly.’

Laughter was as good a medicine as any, Daniel thought as Gabe ordered a drink. A few years ago he and Gabriel Hughes had been good friends, but he hadn’t seen much of him lately. Charlotte’s influence, perhaps. The women in the family had always been surprisingly persuasive.

‘I hear you were the one who bought the pair of greys showing at Tattersall’s a few weeks back, Montcliffe. Richard Tattersall had designs to procure them himself, but it seems you beat him to it with an irrefusable offer.’

Daniel wondered where this story had originated. Robert Cameron, perhaps, for the man was as wily as he was rich.

‘The Montcliffe coffers must be in good shape, then, for they would have not come cheap,’ Gabriel remarked. An undercurrent of question lay in the words. ‘And speaking of good shape, my sister is home again and had hoped that you might call upon her?’

‘I saw her today. In Regent Street.’

‘How did she appear to you?’ The heavy frown on Gabriel’s forehead was worrying.

‘In good health. Your mother was with her.’

‘She seldom allows Charlotte out of her sight. I think she is worried that grief might get the better of her.’

‘Grief for the death of her husband?’

The short bark of laughter was disconcerting. ‘She realised that Spenser Mackay was a mistake before she had even come within a cooee of the Borderlands.’

‘Another man, then?’ Lucien joined in the conversation now.

But as if realising he had said too much, Gabriel Hughes gestured to the waiter and ordered another drink.

‘I propose a toast to our bachelorhood, gentlemen, and long may it last.’ As Lucien lifted his glass Daniel caught his eyes and the deep humour obvious in the blue depths was disconcerting.

Chapter Five

Daniel Wylde and she were in bed at Dunstan House, candlelight covering their bodies and her hair to the waist.

‘Love me for ever, my beautiful Amethyst,’ he said as he brought his lips down upon her own, hard and slanted, desire moulding her body into his, asking for all that she knew he would give her. His fingers framed her face, tilting her into the caress, building the connection. ‘Love me as I love you, my darling, never let us be apart.’

And then she was awake in her own chamber at Grosvenor Square, the moon high outside. Alone. The dream of Lord Montcliffe dissolved into a formless want and the need that she had no hope in wishing for dissipated. He would not love her like that, he could not.

Pushing back the covers, she stood and lit a candle before crossing to the bookshelves on one side of the room.

Here behind a row of burgundy leather tomes she found what she had hidden. Her diary. A narrative of Gerald Whitely and their time together, every emotion she had felt for him penned in black and white. And in red, too, her blood smeared across one page mixed in troth with his. A small cut below the nail of her thumb. Sometimes she felt it with the pad of her opposing finger. He had laughed at the time and told her she was being melodramatic. Then he had stopped laughing altogether. The small book fell open at one of the pages.

I hate him. I hate everything about him. I hate his drunkenness and his anger. I hate it that I was stupid enough to become his wife. I think Papa suspects that there is something wrong between us and I hate that, too.

As she riffled through to the end of the book, there seemed to be a myriad of variations on that theme and she remembered again exactly what hopelessness felt like.

After his death she had not trusted anyone except for her father. After Gerald the world of possibility and expectation had shrunk into a formless mist, her big mistake relegated to that part of her mind which refused to be hurt again, but even thirteen months later the horror had left an indelible mark.

The business of making money had been healing, saving her from the ignominy of venturing back into the pursuit of another mate. Oh, she had gone to Gerald’s funeral and attended his grave, placing flowers and small offerings because it was expected. She had also worn her mourning garb for the obligatory year because she could have not borne the questions that might have occurred otherwise. Even in death she had not betrayed him.

A single tear dropped upon the sheet below, blurring the careful writing.

A blemished bride. Then and now. Granted, she came to this next union with a dowry that was substantial and with the means to save a family on the brink of devastation. It must count for something.