A Wedding by Dawn (17 page)

If this plan did not work, Millie would be in a very different position.

Her stomach turned, and she squeezed her legs together inside her voluminous nightgown. There was nothing
—nothing—
she wouldn’t do to prevent that. But time certainly was running short—certainly Lord Taggart did not intend to wait much longer before carrying his plans through.

She had to speak with him before that. Once he and India were married, he would have no reason to pay her what he’d agreed. Every day that passed, it seemed less likely that he planned to keep his end of the bargain. He might be waiting for the marriage to actually take place—which was not their agreement—and she couldn’t let him do that.

She imagined confronting him.
You’ve been of little use to me,
he might say.
I owe you nothing.

What would she do then? She had nothing to hold over him. No way to force the money from him. All she had to rely on—all there’d been from the beginning—was his honor.

A man’s honor meant very little.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Millie glanced at the mantel clock: ten minutes past one. What was India doing awake so late?

She went to answer, and admitted an India who looked decidedly strained.

“What’s happened?” Millie asked, hoping—please, God—the answer wasn’t a wedding. Not yet.

“We have to
do
something,” India said. “This can’t go on. I can’t let him take my dignity—I won’t.” No, definitely not a wedding.

Millie shut the door. “What are you talking about? What has he done?”

But India was in one of her not-listening tizzies. “I can’t let him make me feel like this,” she raged. “I’m not vulnerable—not anymore. We may not have succeeded, be we captained that ship all the way to Malta, Millie. And perhaps we had some trouble, but we did it, and we could do it again.
He’s
the one who’s vulnerable. Only think what will become of him without Father’s money. He should be
begging
me to marry him.”

“Is that what you want? Him to beg you?” Because if that was all it would take—

“Of course not.”

“You’re not going to convince him to change his mind. Surely you’ve realized that much.”

“I’m not completely dim-witted.”

“Then the sooner you accept there’s nothing you can do about it—”

“But there
is
something I can do about it.”

“India, posing half-nude for a room full of men was never going to work, and neither will whatever you’ve thought of now.”

“It isn’t something I’ve thought of.” Millie knew India well enough to know when India had latched on to a silly scheme and when she was considering something very serious. The look on India’s face said this was no silly scheme.

Millie stilled. “Then what is it?”

“You must promise you won’t breathe a word to anyone. Ever.”

God in heaven. If it wasn’t something India had thought of, it had to be something she’d done. “Of course.”

“Promise.”

“I
promise.
”

“I never imagined...” India started, then stopped. “I just never would have thought.”

Dear God. Millie imagined India in a room somewhere with a stranger—

Millie couldn’t help it. She threw her arms around India. “Just put it from your mind. It will be all right.... Nobody needs to find out. Some women do not bleed the first time, so Lord Taggart need never know, even if there are no stains on the marriage bed—”

“What are you talking about?” India pulled away.

“Did you not part with your virtue?”

“No! For heaven’s—
no.
And with him following me everywhere, I would hardly be able to even if I wished it. Which I don’t, not anymore, because— Never mind why. Millie...Nicholas Warre is not what he seems.”

Millie waited.

“That day we followed him into the church, I overheard something that could change everything if I told Auntie Phil. It could stop all of this. Father would never approve—not ever. I know he wouldn’t. But if I tell...it would ruin Nicholas Warre forever.”

And India proceeded to divulge information that would ensure Millie would not have to rely on Lord Taggart’s honor to get what she’d been promised.

Millie sat down. “I see.” The news was...unbelievable. Suddenly it was impossible to look India in the eye.

“Father would never want our family connected with Nicholas Warre if he knew,” India said now. She sat down, too, and hugged herself, rubbing her arms a little. “I could go to Auntie Phil right now. Well, not right this minute, but tomorrow morning. Then we would see who had the upper hand.” But India’s tone had lost its fervor, and it was obvious that India wasn’t sure she could ruin Lord Taggart, not even if it meant she would end up married to him.

Millie said, a bit hesitantly, “No wonder he is so desperate to save his estate. If what you say is true, without it he would be little more than a misbegotten good-for-naught.” She glanced at a scratch on her finger. Looked up, smiled a little. “You would certainly have your revenge by exposing him. Only think how it would destroy him.”

Already India was shaking her head. “I can’t, Millie. I’ve got to find another way to stop the marriage, because I simply couldn’t do that to him. To
anyone.
”

And Millie felt about as honorable as a maggot, because if Lord Taggart refused to pay her, she would not have the same qualms.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

B
Y
THE
NEXT
day, despite being somewhat comforted by Millie before finally returning to bed, India was in no mood for a stroll in the gardens with Auntie Phil and a bevy of admirers.

Auntie Phil made flirting look like such fun. But it wasn’t, not anymore. India was so tired of this. She didn’t want the marquis’ attentions, didn’t want these other Parisian gallants flocking around her the way they gathered around Auntie Phil—the way they were doing now, while Auntie Phil laughed with them as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

All of India’s flirtations weren’t even having an effect on Nicholas. Perhaps because everything she told him was a lie. She didn’t plan to have an affair. She only wanted him to
think
she planned to.

But if her strategy at the painter’s studio hadn’t affected Nicholas...what possibly would? How outrageously would she have to behave in order to crack his mask of indifference?

The sun filtered through high, hazy clouds as they stood in an opening where several paths converged. Auntie Phil entertained the men with lighthearted nothings, fluttering her fan and touching it occasionally to her décolletage. India didn’t have the heart to follow suit.

Perhaps she could feign a terrible illness and be finished with all this nonsense. Nicholas could hardly force a marriage if she were confined to her bed, sick with a possibly contagious disease. It could last for days. Weeks, even. And by the time she was well enough to accept visitors, Nicholas would—

“Lord Taggart,” Auntie Phil said, and now India heard the crunch of footsteps behind her. “What a relief to see you. I daresay my niece has been pining over that pond these past fifteen minutes—” she pointed across the clearing with her fan “—and you are just the man to escort her. Do take India to see the ducks, will you?”

No—

“A pleasure.”

Nicholas offered India his arm, and there didn’t seem a way to refuse
—because you don’t really want to refuse—
and moments later they were walking together toward a pool where a group of ducks paddled peacefully, poking in the water for food.

She reached deep for the will to continue the game. “The number of times we’ve been thrown together by chance since arriving in Paris is positively uncanny, Mr. Warre,” she told him.

“I was just thinking the same thing.” He smiled a little. “Uncanny.”

“Imagine, you deciding to take some air in the gardens at the exact same moment my aunt and I planned to meet the marquis. If one did not know better, one might almost think you wanted to interfere in our fledgling
amour.
”

“Spoiling your plans for an intimate rendezvous was the furthest thing from my mind, I assure you,” Nicholas said. He glanced over his shoulder. “Although it would seem your plans were already spoiled.”

Being this close to him was madness. It took all her concentration not to simply stare up at him. Every sense seemed focused on the point where her fingers touched his arm, on the solid flex of muscle beneath her hand.

“The more the merrier, I always think.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, “you’ve demonstrated that opinion quite successfully.” His tone left no doubt that he was thinking of her portrait sitting. Remembering.

Her body’s secret places stirred.

“I only wonder that you did not seem as enthusiastic last night as you did earlier in the day,” he added. “Perhaps studying modern philosophers is not a favorite pastime?”

Just that quickly, her secret places were forgotten. Too late she realized she’d tensed her fingers around his arm. Deliberately she relaxed them. “Mr. Warre, based on your knowledge of me—” she laughed “—would you expect me to be interested in philosophy?”

“I might have expected you to prepare for the evening, as your aunt did.”

And now Nicholas was looking at her more intently than he had before, as if perhaps he knew there were things India wasn’t telling him—personal things she would
never
tell him.

She waved his notion away and looked at the ducks. “After my grueling afternoon yesterday, I was hardly in any condition to study.” She looked up at him brazenly. He couldn’t possibly have figured out her failure from that single incident. Could he? “Sitting for a portrait is more tiring than one might expect.”

“Mmm.” His eyes were so green, so full of temptation. “I can certainly confirm that
watching
someone sit for a portrait is tiring.”

She raised her chin. “You needn’t have stayed.”

His gaze touched her cheeks, her lips. “I daresay we both know I did need to.”

A keen yearning curled inside her, tight and warm and wanting. If they were married, if she simply let this happen, the fight would be over. And there would be nothing to stop her from reaching out to him. Touching his face. Tracing the line of his jaw or the curve of his lip. Nothing to stop her from simply staring at him for as long as she wished.

As she watched, the calculation in his eyes softened.

“India,” he started—in a new tone, a quiet and serious tone she’d never heard him use— “I want you to know that, as your husband, I shall never do anything to hurt you.”

She stared at him. The look in his eyes—the tone, those words, they wrapped around her. Tempting. Making her heart beat faster.

“Don’t...don’t be ridiculous.” Certainly his idea of
hurt
was different than hers. Obviously it was. “Only look at all you’ve done already, and without the benefit of that title. Need I remind you about the ribbons? And in any case, we both know you’ve changed your mind about...that agreement.”

Would he finally confess—here, now—that he hadn’t changed his mind?

If they married, and there would be no more India. There would only be Lord and Lady Taggart.

Which was why she needed to turn around, have him walk her back toward Auntie Phil and the men, and resume showing him exactly what kind of Lady Taggart she might become.

Nicholas’s lips tightened. “India—”

“Taggart,” a familiar voice called, and his gaze shot behind her, to the speaker, whose voice she recognized easily. She glanced over her shoulder at the Duke of Winston, ambling toward them. Relief tangled with frustration—what had Nicholas been about to say?

“Good afternoon,” the duke said, joining them at the pond’s edge.

“What a pleasure to see you, Your Grace,” India said, and the two men began a conversation about the merits of the day’s light cloud cover.

Whatever Nicholas had been going to say, she did not want to hear. And the duke— Yes, she realized now that the duke presented the perfect opportunity to turn the conversation in a new direction.

She waited until a few more pleasantries had been exchanged, and then she asked, “Have you been enjoying your evenings at Madame Gravelle’s?” Her heart raced a little faster.

The duke’s brows edged upward. He looked at Nicholas, then back at India, and amusement touched the corners of his mouth. “Evenings in the plural may be taking things a bit far,” he said. “I doubt even I could survive such entertainments on a nightly basis.”

Good. Excellent. Madam Gravelle’s, she’d learned, was a house of ill repute. That made it the perfect subject to show Nicholas she wasn’t interested in his declarations.

That you’re afraid of them.

Oh, fie. “What a fascinating thing to imagine. I’ve been thinking of attending myself, despite my aunt’s opinion, and now I am all the more intrigued.”

She felt Nicholas looking at her but refused to turn her eyes in his direction.

What if he’s sincere?

It wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything. It couldn’t.

“Far be it from me to dissuade you, Lady India,” the duke said, humor dancing in his dark eyes. “But I fear you might not find it to your liking. It appeals to women with an entirely different sort of...shall we say...education.”

Finally she looked at Nicholas, making herself smile up at him—but she could hardly breathe, and now her entire mind seemed filled with what he’d actually said to her a few minutes ago and how he’d said it. “I’m quite certain Lord Taggart would wish me to be well educated,” she said as saucily as she could manage.

“Absolutely,” Nicholas said. His lips curved. “I’ve always viewed education as most valuable.”

And now they were back to pretending, and she would never know what he’d been about to say.

She was supposed to feel relieved. “Then you won’t have any objection to my visiting Madame Gravelle’s with His Grace.”

“Not at all,” Nicholas said evenly.

The duke made a noise and rubbed his hand over his jaw, and a quick cut of dimple gave away that he was only hiding his laughter. “As a compromise,” he said to her, sobering, “perhaps Taggart will join me there in your stead—say, tonight?—and he can pass along the essentials.”

“I feel certain that solution would never suffice for Lady India,” Nicholas said.

“Certainly not,” she agreed. “I suggest we make it a threesome.”

“Good God,” the duke said, looking at Nicholas, who only smiled pleasantly.

“We can hardly refuse a lady’s wishes.”

The duke shook his head, laughing, and bowed quickly. “Until tonight, then. This has been most entertaining.”

“What an excellent plan,” India said the moment he was gone, hoping to cut off any more talk of marriage. Pretending, which was so much better than...

I want you to know that, as your husband—

“I simply cannot wait,” she added. “What fun we shall all have.”

“I’m sure the visit will be most enlightening for you.” India stared at him. He was going to allow this?

“And diverting,” she agreed. “Perhaps the very kind of diversions a married lady might take advantage of.”

There was a moment of something in Nicholas’s eyes—a weariness that said he’d grown tired of their game. And yet, “The company at Madame Gravelle’s will certainly put your ‘the more the merrier’ maxim to the test,” he told her.

A nerve pulsed at the base of her throat. She raised her chin. “Excellent. I hope there are dozens of people there.
Hundreds.
”

“No doubt there will be plenty—” he stepped closer, so they stood face-to-face with barely a hairbreadth between them “—all expecting to see a good deal more than the outline of your breasts through a swathe of blue fabric.”

“I shall look forward to it.” Her breath turned shallow. If he hadn’t been concerned enough to stop the portrait painting, what else might he stand by and allow?

“You’ll need an excuse to escape the Comte d’Anterry’s ball, of course,” he pointed out reasonably.

“I shall sneak away and hire a chair. Balls last for hours—I can return before I’m missed.”

“No need for that.” Now his eyes roamed over her, dark with a hunger she recognized too well. “We can escape the ball together, and I will take you to Madame Gravelle’s myself.”

“Indeed? Or will you escort me back to my aunt’s?”
Tell me again,
she thought.
Tell me again how we might be married and you’ll never hurt me.

Instead, he turned finally and offered her his arm once more. “Lady India,” he said, starting back toward Auntie Phil and her admirers, “you have my word I will do no such thing.”

* * *

T
HE
MOMENT
HE
got India into the carriage tonight, Nick would instruct the driver to take a long and winding route through the city, and he would seduce her.

Right there, in the carriage. Never mind that despite everything she was a lady, and a virgin, and she would be his wife, and that plundering beneath her skirts in a moving carriage was not the way a woman fitting any of those descriptions should be treated.

She’d been so bloody close to acquiescence. He’d seen the way she’d been looking at him—the desire in her eyes, the softening of her face.

She was nearer to being a willing bride than she’d ever been. If Winston hadn’t come along when he had...

There was no certainty Nick would have convinced India of anything. He hadn’t even planned exactly what to say. The words about not hurting her—they had risen up from somewhere deep inside him.

And the next thing he’d known, she’d been proposing a debauch with Winston.

He escorted her back to her aunt, made his excuses and left the gardens, imagining India at Madame Gravelle’s amid all that raw sensualism, and—

God.

As he walked back to his hotel, his mind took him to that dangerous place where India was beneath him, wide-eyed and gasping as he stoked her desire, readying her, introducing her to all the things she claimed she wanted to know, sinking into her and hearing her cry out as he took that damnable virtue she spoke so carelessly of tossing away.

God.

He inhaled deeply and turned the last corner before he reached his hotel.

It was time. She wasn’t going to Madame Bloody Gravelle’s, and they weren’t playing this game anymore. It was clear enough that given the opportunity, he could stoke India’s desire until she was begging him to take her, just as she’d begged that night in the hayloft.

Letting her glimpse his feelings just now had been a mistake. He already knew that touching her would not be. She would respond—there was no doubt about that—and soon she would be standing in front of Père Valentine, saying the necessary vows without any coercion except the promise of more pleasure to come.

He opened the door to the hotel, nodded to the hotelier, started up the stairs.

India wanted him to admit he hadn’t changed his plan to marry her? Very well.

He would show her tonight—very, very thoroughly—exactly what he intended their relationship to be.

* * *

F
ROM
THE
SHADOW
of an alley, Millie watched Nicholas Warre disappear through a pair of doors with peeling blue paint and almost
—almost—
felt sorry for him. Hôtel Bernard looked like a medieval seedbed for the plague.

But his own desperation didn’t change the facts. He’d made her an offer, and she’d fulfilled her end of the bargain. She picked up her skirts and hurried across the street, feeling comfortingly nondescript in the old brown cloak she’d bought from a woman selling secondhand clothes at the market.