A Scandalous Marriage (4 page)

“No. Well, yes,” he admitted. He had told himself that he’d started this venture because of Julian Carrollton’s bragging. But he was also honest enough to realize that his wanting to be near Leah had nothing to do with her brother. “Our families have feuded for centuries. The Carrolltons think we robbed them of an estate and title that should have been theirs. We say we didn’t. I doubt if anyone remembers the source of the argument.”

“Ah, yes,” she agreed, and then added thoughtfully, “but there is also the race that cost your parents’

lives. That was not so long ago. Was not Richard Carrollton driving against your father?”

Devon shrugged. He shouldn’t attempt to disassemble in front of Charlotte. She was too shrewd. “Yes.”

“Are you seeking revenge,
mon ami
?”

Was he? Devon had to consider the question a moment. “No.”

“Then explain yourself.”

Devon capitulated. He had no choice. “I saw her one night at a ball. I can’t shake the memory of her.”

“You,
cher
?”

His good humor vanished. “Is it so amazing? Does everyone believe me completely beyond redemption?”

Her lips curved into a generous smile. “No. It’s just sad.”

“Why do you say that?”

She reached over and brushed an errant lock of his hair off his forehead before saying, “Because a man like you only falls in love once.”

Devon rose from the cushions, dismissing her words as foolishness. “I’m not in love. Especially with a Carrollton. I mean, she is the last person I would want to involve myself with.”

“But you are interested?”

“I have been interested many times before.”

“Like this?” she delved.

No, not like this. The words almost leapt to his lips. He bit them back. “It is not what you think.”

“I’m certain,” she answered soberly, but her eyes were alive with Gallic conjecture. However, she did not press the issue. Instead, she came to her feet and crossed to a wine table. She poured two glasses of wine and handed one to him.
“Tiens.
The problem is that you wish to pursue this girl but you do not want to go to the balls and affairs where others will observe you.”

Wise Charlotte. She understood his dilemma. “Her brother has already made a scene that had people gossiping. Besides—” and he couldn’t help smiling as he said this “—she hates me.”

Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “She might as well have waved a red flag in front of a matador’s bull.”

“I admit to being challenged. By the by, I must also keep my interest from my family. My aunt Venetia would relish any opportunity to further blacken my name to my grandfather.”

“She still wishes to see you disinherited?”

Devon frowned. “She would dearly love such a thing. Then her son Rex would inherit the title, the money… but it would never happen. Grandfather will not disinherit a legitimate heir no matter how much he disapproves of me.”

Charlotte sipped her wine, her mind mulling over the problem at hand. “What is it this Miss Carrollton wants? If we offer it to her, she will come to us.”

“The only thing Carrolltons ever want is money. They are in over their heads in debt.”

“You have plenty of money,” Charlotte answered. In fact, she was one of the few people who knew that contrary to the negligent way he knotted his neckcloth, or the plain cut of his jacket, or the scuffed toes of his boots, Devon was a canny investor. She’d followed his advice and made quite a tidy fortune from it.

Devon remembered the fire in Leah’s eyes when she had confronted him. “She won’t ever come to me for money, even if I offered marriage—which I would never do.”

“Then your title holds no attraction either.”

He grinned. “Though the Carrollton complaint is we stole it from them years ago, I imagine Leah has too much pride to chase after it now.”

“Then she must be convinced to want you for yourself.”

“Is that bad?” he asked, laughing at himself.

“I think you are prize, but your best qualities are not something a virgin would be knowledgeable enough to appreciate. Think,
cher.
What else do these people want?”

Devon sank down on the pillows, holding the wine glass on one bent leg. He thought of Julian boasting, basking in the attention of anyone who would listen to him. Of Leah’s head bowed in prayer… and the straightness of her back as she sat in church… and the way she stood a little apart from the other debutantes.

“They want to be respected,” he said slowly. “They feel they should travel in the highest circles.”

“And do they?”

Devon frowned. “Of course not. Few people accept the Carrolltons since the racing accident, even though it happened two decades ago. The courts may have claimed there was no evidence, but enough people agree with my grandfather that Richard Carrollton caused the accident.”

“Then this Miss Carrollton would find an invitation to an exclusive soiree given by none other than our friend the imminently respectable Lady Dorchester irresistible.”

“Of course!” Devon agreed with growing elation. “Lady Mary would be perfect.” He used the nickname Lady Dorchester adored. “She’s so romantic she won’t be able to resist helping me. And Leah’s mother would jump at the bait.”

“Bait?” The baroness’s eyebrows raised in mild disapproval.
“Cher,
this girl is an innocent. I do not want her to come to harm.”

“I would never harm a woman,” he answered, irritated that she would even think him able to do such a thing.

“Every man is capable of hurting a woman… sometimes they can’t help themselves,” Charlotte said softly, her dark eyes sad. She gracefully sat on the cushions next to him. “If I did not believe this was more of an affair of the heart than you wish to let on, I would not help you. A broken heart can be more painful than any physical harm.”

“It won’t come to that,” he answered, dismissing her concerns with a wave of his glass before he drained it. His mind was already too full of plans to heed warnings. Besides, women worried incessantly. “I think it best we have a masquerade,” he answered. “And invite everyone of importance.”

“Ah, Devon,” Charlotte said with a sigh. “Do you know—really know—what you are doing?”

He laughed. Charlotte needn’t worry about him. He was going to see Miss Carrollton again.

Lady Mary leapt at the idea of helping star-crossed lovers caught in the grip of a family feud. She embraced Devon’s plea for help with passion and planned a masquerade so elaborate and exclusive that everyone who was anyone would be there.

It was an invitation the Carrolltons would not refuse—and they didn’t. The acceptance of Mrs.

Carrollton and daughter were among the first to be delivered.

Devon wasn’t much for masquerades, but it was the only way he could woo Leah without her recognizing him.

The night of the ball, he was the first to arrive. Lady Mary met him at the door with a gruff “Where’s your costume?”

He held up the snowy white ruff he had yet to fasten around his neck and the midnight blue domino. “I’m Sir Francis Drake.”

She snorted her opinion before turning to the baroness. “Charlotte, look at him. His neckcloth isn’t even starched. What shall we do?”

The baroness took a moment to right the botched knot of Devon’s neckcloth with a skilled hand before pronouncing, “Never mind, Mary, he appears his usually masculine self. Although, Devon, you might consider spending money on a decent valet.”

Devon gave a mock shiver. “I prefer being my own man,” he answered as he walked into the empty ballroom, where the servants were moving flowers and performing the last finishing touches.

Lady Mary made a disgusted sound and hurried off to give orders to her butler. Charlotte watched him from the doorway. “Nervous,
cher?”

“No, excited. I haven’t felt this sense of anticipation since I was a boy and Grandfather promised to take me hunting for the first time.”

She laughed. “An apt comparison. May you have a successful hunt.” She toasted him with her wine glass. At that moment, there was a knock on the door, and the first of a crowd of guests arrived.

Devon kept to himself through the first part of the evening. He decided not to wear the silly ruff and stashed it behind a potted palm before putting on his domino. With each guest, the costumes seemed more and more elaborate. Everyone was delighted with the silliness of pretending to be someone else.

Music and laughter quickly filled the room.

Waiting impatiently from his vantage point, where he could see the entrance to the ballroom, Devon decided Mrs. Carrollton obviously understood the importance of arriving late. He was absolutely certain that Leah couldn’t enter the room without his recognizing her.

And he was right. Almost two hours into the party, Leah Carrollton and her parents arrived.

Her costume was no disguise at all. She’d dressed as Titania, Shakespeare’s Queen of the Fairies. The spangles on her dress caught the light and sparkled with her every movement. Tiny paste jewels had been glued around her eyes, and one had strategically been placed at the corner of her mouth—close to her dimple. Already, before she could enter the room, she was surrounded by a bevy of male admirers. She laughed at what one gentleman said to her, the sound ringing with joie de vivre. In that moment, every man in the room fell in love with her.

Devon cursed his own cleverness, especially as Lord Redgrave took Leah’s hand and led her to the dance floor. He knew Redgrave. The older man had come to town looking for a wife. He stared down at Leah as if she were a piece of almond marzipan he’d like to gobble up—or marry.

Devon couldn’t waste time.

Worse, there was a line of gentlemen forming to claim the next set the moment Redgrave walked her off the dance floor. Devon was in danger of losing her before he had a chance to even speak to her!

He stepped out onto the dance floor just as Leah and Lord Redgrave circled each other in the pattern before skipping off to their respective lines. With a daring that would have done Sir Francis proud, he stepped in front of Leah and whisked her off in another direction before Redgrave or the others in the set knew what was happening.

She felt incredibly light in his arms. He could have picked her up and carried her. Instead, he twirled her out through a side door and onto a private terrace.

He glanced back. He’d moved so swiftly that few knew his path. Redgrave stood comically in the middle of the dance floor, searching for his partner.

“Let me go back in there,” an indignant voice said. He looked down at his captive. She jerked her arm out of his hand as ready to hiss and spit as an angry kitten.

It was dark here, the only light coming from the ballroom through the glass doors and the quarter moon above.

Devon leaned his back against the door, his hand on the handle, thankful for the domino that hid all of his face but his mouth. “I will,” he assured her. “If you will grant me a few moments.”

Her mouth curled with pride. “You are wasting your time, Lord Huxhold.”

That caught his attention. “You know who I am?”

She gave a ladylike snort. “Of course. Your costume isn’t very good.”

“I’m supposed to be Sir Francis Drake,” he answered.

She laughed as if he were to be pitied. “And you have pirated me away.” She craned her neck to see in the windows of the French door. “Lord Redgrave will be upset. I must return and give my apologies.”

He did not move.

She showed no fear. “Why are you doing this? You know I would rather kiss a pig than spend a moment longer with a Marshall. Besides, if my father or brothers, especially Julian, were to discover what you’ve done, they would call you out.”

Her obvious disdain pricked his male vanity, especially when he was so completely aware of her. “And you would like that, wouldn’t you?” he snapped back with uncharacteristic peevishness.

“To see blood on the ground over begging a moment of your time.”

Hands on hips, she answered, “Well, the idea does have merit if it’s
your
blood. But then that priggish cousin of yours would inherit. Julian says that would be worse than seeing you as Kirkeby.” She referred to his grandfather’s title, the one that would be his someday.

“Well, if I ever decide to disappoint Julian, I know how to do it,” he said dryly and surprised a laugh out of her.

For a second, she stared at him with her diamond-bright eyes, and then she said softly, “I must return.

This is not good.”

Devon held up a finger. “All I’m asking is one moment. One.”

“Lord Huxhold, you are wasting your time.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so.”

“Hold out your hand.”

“Why?”

“So young and yet so suspicious.” He risked softly.

“I have been kidnapped off the dance floor by one of London’s most notorious rakes and you believe I am behaving in a suspicious manner?”

“I am not a rake.”

“You are not a choirboy, either.”

Devon was charmed. “Julian should be so lucky to have your wits.”

“My brother is very well respected,” she shot back, revealing her Achilles heel. “But then,” she countered with a condescending smile, “you wouldn’t understand loyalty, since the Marshalls can’t stand each other.”

“I think family loyalty is a good thing,” Devon protested. “I just don’t practice it often. You said yourself my cousin is a prig.”

“I think family is the only thing worth valuing,” she replied stiffly.

Devon shrugged. “Perhaps, but then, I’m the one with the prig for a cousin. You can only value a prig so much.”

Her small, even teeth flashed white in the night. “I should not laugh.”

“Yet you can’t resist my charm.”

She disagreed. “You are completely resistible. Especially since Julian will have your head if you don’t let me return.”

“Julian isn’t here this evening.”

“But he will find out.”

“It may be worth the risk.”

She sighed with exasperation. “Lord Huxhold, I am very serious. I will give you a count of three, and if you don’t open the door, I will scream.” She said the words almost pleasantly.

“Miss Carrollton—”

“One.”