The Marriage Truce

Huntington seemed to be frozen to the spot. Sarah ran forward and caught Henslowe’s hand. ‘No! Stop it! He…he did nothing wrong! He is not responsible for this!’

Henslowe shook off her hand. ‘You are defending this rogue?’ he demanded. ‘The devil! Has he seduced you already?’

‘No, of course not,’ Sarah said.

‘But, my dear, how did your gown become torn? And why are you in the garden and with him?’ Lady Henslowe asked. Her gaze was fixed on Sarah’s bodice with horrid fascination.

‘I…I went to the garden for a few minutes…I wished to be alone and then…’

Huntington’s cool voice cut in. ‘This is neither the time nor the place for this conversation. Miss Chandler is shaking. I suggest, Lady Henslowe, that you take her in and see she has some brandy.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Lady Henslowe bustled to Sarah’s side. ‘My dear, such a shock…you must come with me.’

‘I don’t want brandy,’ Sarah said.

‘You will remain with me, Huntington,’ Henslowe said, ignoring Sarah. ‘No use thinking you’re going to run off until this affair is settled.’

‘I wouldn’t think of it,’ Huntington drawled. His arms were crossed and his eyes held the faintly amused indifference Sarah was so accustomed to.

Sarah felt wretched. ‘Please, you must listen. Lord Huntington did not do this. You see, I was…’

‘Go in, Miss Chandler.’ Huntington’s eyes held a warning which Sarah completely planned to ignore.

‘No! Not until I explain the matter.’

The indifference left Huntington’s face. If anything, he looked as if he wanted to strangle her. ‘There is, Miss Chandler, nothing to explain. Lady Henslowe will take you in.’

Lady Henslowe tugged on her arm. ‘Come, my dear. You cannot stand here with your gown in such repair! Oh, Sarah, how could you do this? Whatever will Monteville say?’

Sarah stared at her. ‘Oh, no! Not Grandfather! You cannot tell him about this. He…he will probably murder me!’

‘My dear child, I hope I have done nothing to put such fear in you.’

Lady Henslowe stiffened and made a little moaning sound. Sarah froze, her gaze going to the man who had silently appeared behind them. For the second time that night, she wished she might vanish from the face of the earth.

The Earl of Monteville’s cool, impersonal gaze travelled over the group for a moment. It was only when his gaze fell to Sarah’s bodice that it hardened. He looked at Huntington. ‘I trust there is an explanation for why my granddaughter should be standing in a darkened garden with a rather large tear in her gown.’

Huntington’s own gaze was equally hard and direct. ‘I believe, my lord, we had best meet in private.’ He did not look at Sarah.

Sarah shook off Lady Henslowe’s arm. ‘No, there is no need, I can explain…Lord Huntington has done nothing…he only wished to help me!’

‘The rogue tried to seduce her!’ Henslowe said.

‘It is not true!’ Sarah glared at him. His mouth fell open.

The look Lord Monteville turned on her was not unkind. ‘My dear child, it is best that you go in. You are undoubtedly cold. Penelope can take you in and find your shawl.’

‘Oh…oh, yes!’ Lady Henslowe, who had been watching in stunned silence, sprang to life. ‘My dear, come with me.’

Sarah allowed Lady Henslowe to take her arm without protest. It was no use arguing with her grandfather. She had seen that look too many times to know that any sort of resistance was in vain. She only prayed that he would talk Huntington out of the ridiculous notion he must marry her.

Dev stepped past Monteville into Henslowe’s private study. A candle on the massive mahogany desk cast a dim light in the dark panelled room. Monteville closed the door and moved to the sideboard. He poured two glasses of brandy and held one out to Dev. ‘I believe this might be in order.’

Dev accepted the glass. Apparently Monteville had no intention of calling him out, at least not yet. Despite the Earl’s age, he was reputed to be a master with a sword. Although Dev possessed no mean skills in that regard, he had no desire to duel with a man several decades his senior. He took a neat shot of the liquor, its warmth burning down his throat, then turned his gaze on the Earl.

Monteville watched him without touching his own drink. Although in his mid sixties, he was still a formidable presence with a lean, upright figure and a pair of piercing grey eyes. Now they were fixed on Dev. ‘So, Lord Huntington, perhaps you will explain the little drama in the garden and Lord Henslowe’s rather confused desire to either evict you from his house or run you through.’

Dev set his glass down and looked directly at Monteville. ‘He believes I tried to ravish or seduce your granddaughter. I am not certain he’s yet decided which.’

‘And did you?’

Dev scowled. ‘No.’

‘Then perhaps you will enlighten me as to what did happen.’ He looked merely curious, a sign Dev found more disconcerting than all of Henslowe’s blustering.

‘Lord and Lady Henslowe found us alone in the garden,’ Dev said.

Monteville raised a brow. ‘And was that all? Although secreted alone in a dark garden is somewhat improper, I cannot quite fathom how the position could be described as damnably compromising. I would imagine a man with your intelligence could come up with a plausible explanation for your, er, situation.’

‘My hand was at her breast,’ Dev said bluntly.

Monteville’s brow shot up further. ‘Ah, I can see that might present a more delicate dilemma. I trust you had a reason for doing so?’

‘I was attempting to remove a brooch. She needed it to repair a tear in her bodice.’ He would not have been surprised if Monteville demanded satisfaction. Even to his own ears the explanation sounded feeble.

‘And precisely how did that tear come to be in her bodice?’

He had no intention of revealing Blanton’s role. ‘I haven’t the damnedest idea. I did not do it if that is what you wish to know. I have every intention of marrying her,’ he added stiffly.

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve no desire to be held responsible for seducing your granddaughter.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘There’s enough tension already between our families—it would probably make the Battle of Waterloo look like a tea party.’ He fixed Monteville with a hard look. ‘Nor do I intend to let my damnable sins interfere with my sister’s happiness. Henslowe has not only made it clear I’m not welcome here, but he would stop the marriage if he could.’

Monteville moved towards the sideboard and set down his glass and picked up the decanter. ‘More, my lord?’

‘No.’

He set the decanter down. ‘I am still at a loss to know exactly why you were in the garden with Sarah?’

‘I saw her quit the ballroom, and when it was time to go into supper, she still had not returned. I decided to look for her.’ He undoubtedly sounded like a complete fool or a liar.

‘I see.’ Monteville looked at him. ‘Tell me, my lord, do you hold any fondness at all for my granddaughter?’

Dev nearly staggered back. It was the last question he’d expected from the man. ‘I hardly know her.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I fear our relationship could best be characterised as an armed truce.’

‘Quite understandable under the circumstances,’ Monteville said. He looked at Dev carefully. ‘You see, I have had a rather interesting evening. Shortly before I joined your little party in the garden, another gentleman, who, er, claimed he had also been alone with my granddaughter, accosted me, saying they had been interrupted by a witness who would have no scruples in spreading the tale about that he’d seen my granddaughter and this gentleman locked in an embrace. Under the circumstances, the gentleman seemed to feel I was obligated to give my consent to a match between himself and my granddaughter.’

Cold fury rose in Dev. ‘You may rest assured that his witness would sooner sell his soul to the devil than spread such tales about. Nor was the embrace willing, at least not on your granddaughter’s part.’

‘I thought not,’ Monteville said. He continued to regard Dev with his bland gaze. ‘I am concerned for her happiness. I would not want her marriage to you, for instance, to be a notch better than a marriage to this other gentleman.’

Dev had the sudden image of her struggling in Blanton’s embrace. He took a step towards Monteville. ‘If you want her happiness, then keep her away from Blanton. I wouldn’t allow a dog in his care, much less a woman. He would make her miserable. At least, I would not—’ He realised Monteville was regarding him oddly. It would not do to let anything but cool logic show. He frowned. ‘I will not make her unhappy,’ he added stiffly.

‘I trust not,’ Monteville said. ‘She has a kind and generous heart. I would not want that changed.’ His eyes had lost their bland indifference and Dev suddenly knew why Monteville could be such a formidable enemy.

‘No.’ Dev understood. He would not hesitate to strangle any man that dared to hurt his sister Jessica.

‘Good,’ Monteville said softly. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘It is late. I suggest we continue this conversation in the morning. By the way, did you give my granddaughter any indication of your intentions?’

‘Yes. She was not pleased.’ An understatement. She had looked as if he’d said he was going to imprison her.

Monteville’s mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile. ‘I imagine not. You will need to pay your addresses in the more conventional manner. You will call tomorrow.’ He moved towards the door, indicating the conversation was finished. He paused and looked back at Dev. ‘And if you are wondering where you are to sleep tonight, I can assure you Lord Henslowe will be quite amenable to having you remain under his roof.’ He departed, silently closing the door behind him.

Dev stared after him, wondering if he’d lost his mind. Had Monteville just commanded him to properly offer Sarah Chandler marriage? He’d hardly known what to expect when he’d entered the study with the man—Monteville calling him a libertine and a liar, perhaps even a threat to his life…but never such ready acquiescence.

He knew the Chandlers had no more love for him than he had for them. No matter that it had been Nicholas who had been his wife’s lover, the Chandlers had blamed him as well. Rumours had circulated that it was Dev’s own cold treatment of Mary that had driven her into Nicholas’s arms.

And then there was the duel between himself and Nicholas. He smiled grimly. There had nearly been another duel tonight. From the look on Henslowe’s face, he had no doubt it was still a possibility.

He stalked to the sideboard and picked up the decanter. What the devil had he done? He should have followed his instincts and stayed away from Sarah Chandler. But if he hadn’t—Blanton might be the man who was calling on Sarah tomorrow. He set the decanter down, the thought making another shot of brandy unpalatable.

Chapter Three

S arah attempted to force a piece of toast down her throat and finally gave up. She fell back against her pillows. Morning sunlight streamed across the patterned green quilt covering her bed. Usually on such lovely days she looked forward to spending a few happy hours painting or drawing in the magnificent gardens surrounding Monteville House.

But not today. She wanted nothing more than to crawl back under her covers. Or wish herself back to yesterday, when the sky had been leaden and grey, a day when it had still been possible to plead a headache and forgo the Henslowe ball. No matter that it would have upset Lady Henslowe and insulted the St Clairs. At least she wouldn’t be awaking today with the events of last night fresh in her memory like a bad dream.

Lady Henslowe’s expression of horrified shock, Lord Henslowe’s threats, her grandfather’s cool, impersonal assessment. And, worse of all, the cold look on Huntington’s face.

Even Blanton’s declaration of love and his repugnant kiss had dimmed compared to the subsequent events. She’d had no chance to speak to her grandfather. Lady Henslowe had led her to a small private saloon and bustled off to find a servant. And then her aunt, Lady Omberley, had appeared, Amelia in her wake. The worried look on their faces had been almost too much to bear. Lady Omberley had insisted that Sarah must leave immediately and had routed John, Amelia’s husband, from his card game to escort them home. His face was grim, although he said nothing. In fact, none of them had said a thing and instead treated her with a solicitude which was more frightening than if they had scolded her.

It wasn’t until Sarah was in bed that Amelia finally spoke. She still had that careful concerned look on her face, as if Sarah was some sort of porcelain figure that might break any moment. ‘Sarah, are you all right? I do not wish to overset you, but what did happen? Mama and I had just finished supper when Cousin Penelope sent for us. She was quite hysterical and moaning about vipers in her bosom and said we must go to you right away as Lord Huntington had tried to seduce you! And then Grandfather sent word we should bring you home.’ Her face momentarily lost its worried look, and she suddenly looked fierce. ‘And if Huntington has harmed you, I vow I will call him out myself!’

‘No, he…he did nothing wrong.’ Except come to her rescue. She took a deep breath. ‘He was trying to help me. When Lord and Lady Henslowe found us he was trying to remove my brooch. I…I wished to use it to pin my bodice. It had a tear.’

‘Yes, my dear,’ Amelia said in patient tones. ‘But, Sarah, how did it come to be torn? And why ever were you in the garden with Huntington?’

‘I wasn’t. I went out by myself and then Cedric Blanton came. He started saying the most ridiculous things about how I was a vision of loveliness in the moonlight and when I said I must go in, he…he grabbed my wrist.’ She bit her lip and looked away, ashamed at the memory. ‘And then he…he kissed me.’

‘Oh, Sarah, how awful!’

It had been. Blanton had had a most peculiar look in his eye, almost as if he’d enjoyed her struggles. She had felt a clutch of fear that he meant to ravish her. And then Huntington had stepped in. She had felt such relief until she realised how the situation must look to him and then she had felt nothing but shame.

‘Sarah?’

She forced her mind back to Amelia. ‘He wouldn’t let me go and when I tried to break away, he…he tore my gown. And then Lord Huntington came. Mr Blanton said I was his fiancée because Lord Huntington would undoubtedly tell everyone I was ruined out of revenge. Lord Huntington became very angry and said he would not, and finally Mr Blanton left. And Lord Huntington thought I could use my brooch to repair my tear and he tried to help me remove it. That was when Lord and Lady Henslowe came.’

‘Oh, Sarah!’ Amelia repeated. She looked stunned. ‘When I suggested we create a diversion, I hardly expected this!’

‘No.’ Sarah hugged her knees. She shuddered. ‘It was horrible. Lord Henslowe said that Lord Huntington would never set foot in his house again. That was after he demanded to know if there would be a betrothal.’

‘And what did Huntington say?’

Sarah flushed. ‘He said there would be. But, of course, there will not be.’

‘But, Sarah, I do not think you will have a choice! When this gets about…’

‘But why must it? Only Lord and Lady Henslowe know and you and Aunt and Grandfather, of course. But no one else need know and once I explain it to Grandfather…’

‘Oh, Sarah, I fear it is far too late! Cousin Penelope has already told Serena and, although she means well, she can never keep a secret!’

‘Oh, no,’ Sarah said faintly. It might as well be announced in front of the entire neighbourhood. Lady Henslowe’s only daughter was kind-hearted in her own way, but she was an incessant talker and could never keep a confidence. And, unfortunately, Lady Henslowe always told her daughter everything. Sarah had realised that there was no hope of keeping anything secret.

Even now, in the sanctuary of her bedchamber, she felt the same helplessness. And worse, she had no idea what Huntington had said to her grandfather. The thought had kept her awake much of the night. She only prayed he had not felt obligated to offer marriage again. In fact, she could think of no conceivable reason why he’d taken the blame for a situation which was none of his doing. Despite the rumours that he had driven his wife into the arms of another man, he had every reason to desire revenge upon her family.

But his behaviour last night had been that of a gentleman.

Her only hope was that her grandfather would see there was no need for an offer after he understood Huntington was innocent of all wrong. Her grandfather had a strong sense of justice. Surely holding Huntington responsible for any of last night’s disaster was anything but just?

Which was why she must speak to him as soon as possible. She had already learned from the maid that Lord Monteville had gone out for his customary morning walk. Surely he would be back by now. As soon as she dressed she would go to his study. Her stomach churned at the thought. He had never been anything but kind to her in the three years she had lived with him since her mother’s death, but she still found him intimidating. He did not tolerate fools or foolish behaviour. And her behaviour last night had been nothing but foolish.

She had just put her nearly untouched tray aside and climbed out of bed when the door opened. Amelia peered around the corner. She looked fresh and pretty in a dress of pink sprigged muslin. She came into the room and looked at Sarah, her face worried.

‘Sarah? Are you well?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘You look terribly pale.’

‘I am just rather tired.’

Amelia looked sympathetic. ‘I daresay you did not sleep well.’

‘Not particularly.’ Sarah managed a wan smile. ‘But I’ve had worse nights.’ Not many, however. ‘I thought I would see Grandfather.’

‘That is what I came to tell you. He wants to see you as soon as you are presentable. And, Sarah, Lady Beatrice is here.’ She knotted her hands together and looked as if she was about to deliver news of a death. ‘With Lord Huntington.’

Sarah stood outside her grandfather’s study and took a deep breath. It was all she could do to keep from turning tail and scrambling back to her room. But that would be of little use. She had to face him some time, unless she planned to disappear forever. She only prayed Lord Huntington and his formidable aunt, Lady Beatrice, were not with him.

She stepped inside and her stomach leaped to her throat. Heaven had not seen fit to answer in a favourable fashion. Her grandfather stood near his desk with Lady Beatrice seated in a wing chair in front of it. And Huntington stood near the mantelpiece. His cool, unfathomable gaze met hers before she tore her eyes away.

She looked at her grandfather and forced herself to speak. ‘You wished to see me, sir?’

‘Yes. However, you may come forward, my dear. I assure you none of us will bite.’ There was nothing in his face that indicated any sort of disgust of her.

‘No, sir.’ She moved across the room, taking care not to glance Huntington’s way, although every nerve in her body tingled with awareness of him.

She stopped tentatively in front of the cherrywood desk. Lady Beatrice rose. ‘Miss Chandler, I trust you are well.’ It was more of a statement than a question.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Sarah replied. She managed to meet Lady Beatrice’s sharp blue eyes. ‘And you, my lady?’

‘Well enough.’ She looked at Sarah closely. She was a large, imposing woman with a forthright manner and a reputation for outspokenness. ‘I will be much better as soon as this affair is settled. I wish, however, that you and my nephew had chosen a more suitable time to discover your mutual affection for one another.’

Sarah started. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Lord Monteville moved forward in a leisurely way. ‘I imagine it came as a shock to both of them to discover the feelings they had tried to keep suppressed were reciprocated. I believe they can be forgiven for their lapse in discretion.’ He looked at Lady Beatrice. ‘I am certain many of us have had a similar experience.’

Lady Beatrice actually looked taken aback. ‘I assure you I never have,’ she snapped.

‘No?’ Monteville turned his gaze to Sarah. ‘My dear, Lord Huntington is here to properly pay his addresses. I hope you will not let the unfortunate circumstances of the past influence your answer. I have given my consent to the match and I have hopes it may serve to heal the breach between the families.’

Sarah stared at him, wondering if she had taken leave of her senses. Whatever were they talking about? Mutual affection? Between her and Lord Huntington? She realised he was waiting for her to say something. ‘You…you have given your consent?’

‘Yes.’ There was the slightest warning in his cool eyes.

She stepped back. ‘Oh, dear.’

It was obviously not the correct answer. Lady Beatrice’s sharp, suspicious gaze swung to Sarah’s face. ‘You are not pleased?’

‘She is just shocked. As I was.’ Huntington had stepped to Sarah’s side. ‘We had never expected that Lord Monteville or you would consent to the match so readily.’ His hand came to rest on Sarah’s shoulder, his fingers exerting a slight pressure as if he warning her to say nothing. ‘I would like to speak to Miss Chandler alone.’

‘Very wise,’ Monteville said. ‘Come, Lady Beatrice, we will repair to the drawing room. Perhaps some refreshment would be in order.’ He moved towards the door and held it open. Lady Beatrice had no option but to follow. However, when she reached the doorway, she paused and looked back.

‘I trust there will be no repeat of last night. I should not want to find you have been engaging in such indecorous liberties again before you are properly wed.’ She stared at Sarah as if she suspected Sarah would throw herself at Huntington’s person as soon as the door was closed.

‘Miss Chandler will be quite safe,’ Huntington said drily. ‘I generally do not ravish ladies before dinner.’

Lady Beatrice frowned at him. ‘This is not the time for levity.’ She followed Monteville out, leaving the door open.

Huntington moved to the door and shut it firmly, then leaned against it as if he thought Sarah planned to escape. His handsome face had that unsmiling, remote expression she was so accustomed to; if it weren’t for the slightly dark shadows under his eye, as if he’d slept no better than herself, she would have thought he was completely unaffected.

Sarah finally spoke. ‘Would you please tell me what is going on, my lord?’ At least her voice was cool and steady, despite the feeling she had wandered into a strange dream where nothing made the least sense.

‘It seems we are betrothed, Miss Chandler,’ he said, his voice equally cool. ‘And in love.’

She stared at him. ‘In love? What…what sort of ridiculous notion is that?’

He folded his arms across his chest. ‘It was the only thing I could think of to explain last night’s débâcle, particularly after my aunt accused you of trying to seduce me.’

‘She thought I tried to seduce you?’ Had she even heard correctly? The sensation that she was in a bizarre dream only increased.

‘Yes.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? Your family thinks I tried to seduce you and mine is equally convinced you tried to seduce me.’

‘How…how odd.’

His brow shot up. ‘That is one way of putting it.’ He uncrossed his arms and moved from the door, coming to stand on the other side of the wing chair from Sarah. ‘I decided the best way to defuse the mounting storm was to confess we have been harbouring a secret but hopeless passion for each other and finally last night in Henslowe’s garden our finer feelings overcame our reservations. Unfortunately, my aunt insisted on accompanying me over here. Thank God, your grandfather asked no questions and went along with the scheme.’ His gaze swept over her face. ‘And you did not swoon or run shrieking from the room. I must compliment you, Miss Chandler.’