Regency Betrayal

‘Yes, I know. I certainly didn’t enjoy being mauled by Henshaw, but it might turn out for the best. We need only tell people what really happened, establishing that you had no part in it, and all will be well. I’ll still be ruined, but with Henshaw showing his character to be so despicable, no one could fault me for refusing to marry him.’

Frowning, Ransleigh shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that is not the case. Society would still believe the only way to salvage your reputation would be for you to marry your seducer. However deplorable his present conduct, Henshaw was born a gentleman, so much would be forgiven as long as you end up wed.’

‘But that’s appalling!’ Caro cried. ‘The victim is expected to marry her attacker?’

‘Rightly or wrongly, the blame usually attaches itself to the female. But it won’t come to that. Accusing Henshaw isn’t possible; he’s already left Barton Abbey. Any evidence that might confirm he was your attacker—bloody nose, ruined cravat—will have been put to rights by the time I could run him to ground. Since he can now have no doubt that you’d refuse to marry him, he has no reason to corroborate the truth, especially since Lady Melross is circulating a version of events that relieves him of responsibility. Indeed, he will probably think it a fine revenge to see me blamed for his transgressions.’

Caro nodded, distressed but not surprised that Ransleigh’s assessment of Henshaw’s character matched her own. ‘I imagine he would, though I have no intention of allowing him the satisfaction. Whether he admits his guilt or not, I still intend to accuse him. Why should you, who intervened only to help me, suffer for his loathsome behaviour?’

‘I don’t think accusing him would be wise.’

Puzzled, Caro frowned at him. ‘Why not?’

‘You were discovered in my embrace. I’m the son of an earl who exerts a powerful influence in government; you are the orphaned daughter of a rural baron. If you accuse Henshaw, who will justly claim he was in his room, preparing to depart when Lady Melross found us, there will be many who will whisper that I coerced you into naming another man to cover up my own bad conduct. Lady Melross in particular will be delighted to embellish the details of my supposed ravishment and assert such behaviour is only to be expected after my … previous scandal.’

‘You really think no one would believe me if I tell the truth?’ Caro asked incredulously.

‘What, allow such a salacious act to be blamed on some insignificant member of the ton rather than titillate the masses by accusing the well-known son of a very important man? No, I don’t think anyone would believe you. I can see the scurrilous cartoons in the London print-shop windows now,’ he finished bitterly.

‘But that’s so … unfair!’ she burst out.

He laughed shortly, no humour in the sound. ‘I have learned of late just how unfair life can be. Believe me, I like the solution as little as you do, but with your reputation destroyed and the blame for it laid at my door, the only way to salvage your position is for you to marry me.’

Alarmed as she was by his conclusion, Caro felt a flash of admiration for his willingness to do what he saw as right. ‘A noble offer and I do honour you for it. But I think it ridiculous to allow society’s expectations—based on a lie!—to force us into something neither of us desire.’

‘Miss Denby, let me remind you that you are ruined,’ he repeated, his tone now edged with an undercurrent of anger and frustration. ‘Fail to marry and you risk being exiled altogether from respectable society. Being cast out of the company of those with whom you have always associated is not a pleasant condition, as I have good reason to know.’

‘First, I’ve never really “associated” with the ton,’ she countered, ‘and, as I’ve assured you several times, polite society’s opinion does not matter to me. Certainly not when compared with losing the freedom to live life how—and with whom—I choose.’

‘But Lady Denby does live and move in that society and Miss Whitman’s future may well depend upon its opinions. We may be far removed from London here, but I assure you, Lady Melross will delight in dredging up every detail of this scandal when your relations arrive in London next spring.’

Caroline shook her head. ‘I’ve already discussed that problem with my stepmother. If they band together, I’m certain Lady Denby, your aunt and Lady Gilford can manage this affair so that no harm comes to Eugenia’s prospects. Since you are already accounted a rake, it shouldn’t much affect your reputation and ruining mine has been my goal from the outset.’

She’d hoped to persuade Max to accept her argument. Far from looking convinced, though, his expression turned even grimmer and his jaw flexed, as if he were trying not to grit his teeth.

‘Miss Denby,’ he began again after a moment, ‘I don’t mean to seem overbearing or argumentative, but the very fact that you have not much associated with society means you are in no position to accurately predict its reaction. I have lived all my life under its scrutiny and I promise you, once Lady Denby has thought through the matter, she will agree with me that our marriage is the only solution that will safeguard the reputations of everyone involved.’

He paused and took a deep breath, as if armouring himself. ‘So you may assure her that I have done the proper thing and made a formal offer for your hand.’

If the situation had not been so serious, Caro might have laughed, for he spat out the declaration as if each word were a hot coal that burned his tongue as he uttered it. His obvious reluctance might even have been considered insulting, if her own desire to avoid marriage hadn’t exceeded his.

But then, as if realising that his grudging offer was hardly lover-like, he shook his head and sighed. ‘Let me try this again,’ he said, then reached over to tangle his fingers with hers.

Immediately, heat rushed up her arm, while her heart accelerated so rapidly, she felt dizzy.

‘Won’t you honour me by giving me your hand?’ he said. ‘I know neither of us came to Barton Abbey with marriage in mind. But during our brief acquaintance, I’ve come to admire and respect you. I flatter myself that you’ve come to like me, too, at least a little.’

‘I do like and … and admire you,’ she replied disjointedly, wishing he’d release her fingers. They seemed somehow connected to her chest and her brain, for she was finding it hard to breathe and even harder to think as he retained them.

His thumb was rubbing lazy circles of wonderment around her palm, setting off little shocks of sensation that seemed to radiate straight to the core of her.

She should pull free, but she didn’t seem able to move. So he continued, his touch mesmerising, until all the clear reasons against marriage dissolved into a porridge-like muddle in her brain. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but the press of his thumb and the delights it created.

‘I think we could rub together tolerably well,’ he went on, obviously not at all affected by the touch that was wreaking such havoc in her. ‘I admire you, too, and from what I’ve seen of your Sultan, you are excellent with horses. You could run Denby Stud with my blessing.’

That assurance was as seductively appealing as the thumb caressing her palm, which was now making her body hot and her nipples ache. An insidious longing welled up within her, a yearning for him to kiss her, for her to kiss him back.

Without question, he knew society better than she did, and, for a moment, her certainty that she ought to refuse him wavered. She struggled to recapture her purpose and remember why marrying him was such a bad idea.

Unable to order her thoughts in Max’s disturbing presence, she pulled her fingers free, sprang up and paced to the window.

How could she become his wife and not let him touch her? Was she really ready to test the power of the Curse for a man who merely ‘admired’ her? Besides, the experience of their last two meetings suggested that her ability to resist him, if he did make overtures toward her, would be feeble at best, regardless of how tepid his feelings for her might be.

She could tell him why she was so opposed to marriage. But after his courage in rescuing her and resolutely facing the consequences, she really didn’t wish to appear a coward by admitting that it was the strong probability that she would die in childbed, as so many of her maternal relations had, that made her leery of wedlock.

No, the very fact that he affected her so strongly was reason enough not to marry Max Ransleigh.

Reminding herself of her conviction that Lady Denby could protect Eugenia, she said, ‘I know you make your offer hastily and under duress. If you will but think longer about it, you will agree that it isn’t wise to take a step that will permanently compromise our futures in order to avoid a scandal that will soon enough be overshadowed by some other.’

‘It will have to be some scandal,’ he said drily.

‘Only think if I were to accept you!’ she continued, avoiding his gaze in the hope that not meeting his eyes might lessen the disturbing physical hold he exerted over her. ‘I’m not being modest when I assert that a huge divide exists between Miss Denby, countrified, unfashionable daughter of minor gentry, and Max Ransleigh, an earl’s son accustomed to moving in the first circles of society. I have neither the skills nor the background to be the sort of wife you deserve.’

Before he could insert some patently false reassurance, she rushed on, ‘Nor, frankly, do I wish to acquire them. My world isn’t Drury Lane, but the lane that leads from the barns to the paddocks. Not the odour of expensive perfume, but the scent of leather polish, sawdust and new hay. Not the murmur of political conversation, but the jingle of harness, the neighing of horses, the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. I have no desire to give that up for your world, London’s parlours and theatre boxes and its endless round of dinner parties, routs and balls.’

His expression softened to a smile. ‘You are quite eloquent in defence of “your world”, Miss Denby.’

‘I don’t mean to disparage yours!’ she said quickly. ‘Only to point out how different we are. All I want is to remain at Denby Lodge, where I belong, sharing my life with someone who loves and appreciates that world as I do.’ Someone to whom, she added silently, I have long been bound by a comfortable affection, not a man as disturbing and far-too-insidiously appealing as you.

Turning from the window, she said, ‘Though I am fully conscious of the honour of your offer, as I told you from the beginning, I wish to marry Harry. By the time he returns from India, this furore will have calmed. And even if it has not, Harry will not care.’

‘I don’t know that you can be certain about that,’ he objected. ‘If it doesn’t, and he marries you, he will share in your notoriety. Being banished from society is no little thing. Would you choose exile for him? Would he suffer it for you?’

‘Harry would suffer anything for me.’

‘How can you commit Harry to such a course without giving him a choice?’

‘How can you ask me to give him up without giving him a chance? No, Mr Ransleigh, I will not do it. I will leave it to ladies better placed than I to protect my stepsister and to Harry to settle my future when he returns. And lest you think to argue your position with her, Lady Denby would not compel me to marry against my will.’

Hoping to finally convince him, she chanced gazing into his eyes. ‘It really is more sensible this way, surely you can see that! Some day you, too, will encounter a lady you wish to marry, one who can be the perfect helpmate and government hostess. You’ll be happy then that I did not allow you to sway me. So, though I am sorry to be disobliging, I must refuse your very flattering offer.’

He studied her a long moment; she couldn’t tell from his face whether he felt relief or exasperation. ‘You needn’t give me a final answer now. Why not think on the matter for a few days?’

‘That won’t be necessary; I am resolved on this. As soon as my stepmother recovers from the shock, we will pack and leave for Denby Lodge.’

For another long moment he said nothing. ‘I am no Henshaw to try to force your hand, even though I believe your leaving here without the protection of an engagement is absolutely the wrong course of action. However, if you insist on refusing it, know that if at any time you decide to reconsider, my offer will remain open.’

Truly, he was the kindest of men. The shock and outrage and dismay of the day taking its toll, she felt an annoyingly missish desire to burst into tears.

‘I will do so. Thank you.’

He bowed. ‘I will send a note to Lady Denby, offering to call and tender my apologies if she permits. Will you let me know before you leave, so I might bid you goodbye?’

‘It would probably be wiser if we go our separate ways as quickly as possible.’

‘As you wish.’ He approached her then, halting one step away. Her body quivered in response to his nearness.

‘It has been a most … interesting association, Miss Denby.’ He held out his hand and reluctantly she laid hers in his as he brought her fingers to his lips. Little sparks danced and tingled and shivered from her fingernails outwards.

‘I will remain always your most devoted servant.’

Snatching back the hand that didn’t want to follow her instructions to remove itself from his grasp, she curtsied and watched him stride out of the room, telling herself this was for the best.

And the sooner she got back to Denby Lodge, the better.

Chapter Nine

Max stalked from Lady Denby’s sitting room towards the library, anger, outrage and frustration churning in his gut. Encountering one of the guests in the hallway, avid curiosity in his eyes, Max gave him such a thunderous glare, the man pivoted without speaking and fled in the opposite direction.

Stomping into his haven, he went straight to the brandy decanter, poured and downed a glass, then poured another, welcoming the burn of the liquor down his throat.

What a calamity of a day.

Throwing himself into one of the wing chairs by the fire, he wondered despairingly how everything could have gone so wrong. It seemed impossible that, just a few bare hours ago, he’d halted on the threshold of the conservatory and breathed deeply of the fragrant air, his spirits rising on its scented promise that life was going to get better.

Instead, events had taken a turn that could end up anywhere from worse to disastrous.

Reviewing the scene in the glasshouse, he swore again. Hadn’t Vienna taught him not to embroil himself in the problems of females wholly unrelated to him? Apparently not, for though, unlike Madame Lefevre, he acquitted the Denby girl of deliberately drawing him into this fiasco, by watching over her he’d been dragged in anyway.

And might very well be forced into wedding a lady with whom, by her own admission, he had virtually nothing in common.

True, Miss Denby had turned down his offer. But he placed no reliance on her continuing to do so, once her stepmother brought home to her just how difficult her situation would be if they didn’t marry.

His wouldn’t be as dire, but the resulting scandal certainly wouldn’t be helpful. With a sardonic curl of his lip, he recalled Miss Denby’s blithe assumption that since he already had a reputation as a rake, the scandal wouldn’t affect him at all. He’d been on the point of explaining that, even for a rake, there were limits to acceptable behaviour and ruining a young lady of quality went rather beyond them.

But if the danger to her own reputation wasn’t enough to convince her, he wasn’t about to whine to her about the damage not wedding her would do to his own.

There might be some small benefit to be squeezed from disaster: if he were thought to be a heartless seducer, he’d no longer be a target for the schemes of matchmaking mamas and their devious daughters. However, for someone about to go hat in hand looking for a government posting, the timing couldn’t be worse. Being branded as a man unable to regulate his behaviour around women certainly wouldn’t help his chances of finding a sponsor … or winning back Wellington’s favour.

He seized his empty glass and threw it into the fireplace.

He was still brooding over what to do when Alastair came in.

‘Devil’s teeth, Max, what fandango occurred while I was out today? Even the grooms are buzzing with it—some crazy tale of you trying to ravish some chit in the conservatory?’

Max debated telling Alastair the truth, but his hot-headed cousin would probably head out straight away to track down Henshaw and challenge him to a duel, pressing the issue until the man was forced to face him or leave the country in disgrace.

Of course, being an excellent shot as well as a superior swordsman, if Alastair prevailed upon Henshaw to meet him, his cousin would kill the weasel for certain—and then he’d be forced to leave England.

He’d complicated his own life sufficiently; he didn’t intend to ruin Alastair’s as well.

‘I … got a bit carried away. Lady Melross and her crony came running in before I could set the young lady to rights.’

Alastair studied his face. ‘I heard the chit’s bodice was torn to her bosom, the buttons of her pelisse scattered all over the floor. Devil take it, Max, don’t try to gammon me. You’ve infinitely more finesse than that … and if you wanted a woman, you wouldn’t have to rip her out of her gown—in a public place, no less!’

Wishing he hadn’t tossed away his perfectly good glass, Max rummaged for one on the sideboard and poured himself another brandy. ‘I’m really not at liberty to say any more.’

‘Damn and blast, you can’t think I’d believe that Banbury tale! Did the Denby chit deliberately try to trap you? Dammit, I liked her! Surely you’re not going to let her get away with this!’

‘If by “getting away with it”, you mean forcing me to marry her, you’re out there. I made her an offer, as any gentleman of honour would in such a situation, but thus far, she’s refused it.’

Alastair stared at him for a long moment, then poured himself a brandy. ‘This whole story,’ he said, downing a large swallow, ‘makes no sense at all.’

‘With that, I can agree,’ Max said.

Suddenly, Alastair threw back his head and laughed. ‘Won’t need to worry about the Melross hag blackening your character in town. After bringing her party to such a scandalous conclusion, Jane’s going to murder you.’

‘Maybe I’ll hand her the pistol,’ Max muttered.

‘To women!’ Alastair held up his glass before tossing down the rest of the brandy. ‘One of the greatest scourges on the face of the earth. I don’t know what in hell happened today in the conservatory and, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s an end to it. But I do know you’d never do anything to harm a female and I’ll stand beside you, no matter what lies that dragon Melross and her pack of seditious gossips spread.’

Suddenly a wave of weariness come over Max … as it had in the wake of the Vienna disaster, when he’d wandered back to his rooms, numbed by shock, disbelief and a sense of incredulity that things could possibly have turned out so badly when he’d done nothing wrong. ‘Thank you,’ he said, setting down his glass.

Alastair poured them both another. ‘Ransleigh Rogues,’ he said, touching his glass to Max’s.

Before Max could take another sip, a footman entered, handing him a note written on Barton Abbey stationery. A flash of foreboding filled him—had Miss Denby already reconsidered?

But when he broke the seal, he discovered the note came from Lady Denby.

After thanking him for his offer to apologise and his assurance that he stood by his proposal to marry her stepdaughter, since Miss Denby informed her she had no intention of accepting him, there was really nothing else to be said. As both Miss Denby and her own daughter were most anxious to depart as soon as possible, she intended to leave immediately, but reserved the privilege of writing to him again when she’d had more opportunity to Sort Matters Out, at which time she trusted he would still be willing, as a Man of Honour, to Do The Right Thing.

An almost euphoric sense of relief filled Max. Apparently Lady Denby hadn’t managed to convince her stepdaughter to ‘Do the Right Thing’ before leaving Barton Abbey. With Miss Denby about to get everything she wanted—a return to her beloved Denby Lodge and a ruination that would allow her to wait in peace for the return of her Harry—Max was nearly certain no amount of Sorting Things Out later would convince Miss Denby to reconsider.

He’d remain a free man after all.

The misery of the day lightened just a trifle. Now he must concentrate on trying to limit the damage to his prospects of a career.

‘Good news?’ Alastair asked.

Max grinned at him. ‘The best. It appears I will not have to get leg-shackled after all. Amazingly, Miss Denby has resisted her stepmother’s attempts to convince her to marry me.’

Alastair whistled. ‘Amazing indeed! She must be dicked in the nob to discard a foolproof hand for forcing the Magnificent Max Ransleigh into marriage, but no matter.’

‘There’s an army sweetheart she’s waiting to marry.’

‘Better him than you,’ Alastair said as he refilled their glasses. ‘Here’s to Miss Denby’s resistance and remaining unwed!’

‘Add a government position to that and I’ll be a happy man.’

Max knew the worst wasn’t over yet. Whispers about the scandal in the conservatory would doubtless have raced through the rest of the company like a wildfire through parched grass. At some point, Aunt Grace would summon him in response to the note he’d sent her, wanting to know why he’d created such an uproar at her house party.

The two cousins remained barricaded in the library, from which stronghold they occasionally heard the thumps and bangs of footmen descending the stairs with the baggage of departing guests. But as the hour grew later without his aunt summoning him, Max guessed that some guests had chosen to remain another night, doubtless eager to grill their hostess for every detail over dinner, embarrassing Felicity, making Jane simmer and contemplate murder.

Alastair, ever loyal, kept him company, playing a few desultory hands of cards after he’d declined the offer of billiards. He wasn’t sure he’d trust himself with a cue in hand without trying to break it over someone’s head.

Probably his own.

So it was nearly midnight when a footman bowed himself in to tell him Mrs Ransleigh begged the indulgence of a few words with him in her sitting room.

Max swallowed hard. Now he must face the lady who’d stood by him, disparaging his father’s conduct and insisting he deserved better. And just like Vienna, though all he had done was assist a woman in distress, this time he’d ended up miring not just himself, but also his aunt, in embarrassment and scandal.

He’d not whined to Miss Denby about the black mark that would be left on his character by her refusal to wed; he wasn’t going to make excuses to his aunt, either. Girding himself to endure anger and recriminations, he crossed the room.

Alastair, who knew only too well what he’d face, gave him an encouraging slap on the shoulder as he walked by.

He found his aunt reclining on her couch in a dressing gown, eyes closed. She sat up with a start as the footman announced him, her eyes shadowed with fatigue, filling with tears as he approached.

His chest tightening, he felt about as miserable as he’d ever felt in his life. Rather than cause his aunt pain, he almost wished he’d fallen with the valiant at Hougoumont.

‘Aunt Grace,’ he murmured, kissing her outstretched fingers. ‘I am so sorry.’

But instead of the reproaches he’d steeled himself to endure, she pushed herself from her seat and enveloped him in a hug. ‘Oh, my poor Max, under which unlucky star were you born that such trouble has come into your life?’