Faith (9 page)

He turned to stare at her. “That serene facade of yours, that calm, unruffled demeanor you continually present to the world is really nothing but a sham, isn’t it?”

Faith’s lips tightened imperceptibly.

“Deep inside,” he continued in a soft voice, “you’re really just a quivering mass of pent-up fury—aren’t you, princess?”

She didn’t answer.

“And I’d imagine the thing you’d most like to do is to walk across the room and slap my face right now, isn’t it?” Gareth took a step away from the window and looked pointedly at Faith, whose hands were no longer clasped loosely in front of her; they were now clenched so tightly into little fists at her sides that the knuckles were white. He smiled ruefully. “I rather thought so,” he said.

Faith took a deep breath and forced herself to unclench her hands, silently willing her pounding heart to slow. Unbidden, her mind returned to the optimistic thoughts she’d had before entering the parlor. Resolutely, she pushed those thoughts from her mind. The memory of how stupidly she had looked forward to seeing Gareth would only serve to further infuriate her.

Her fiancé watched her struggle to regain her composure, his stomach tightening convulsively. He’d hoped, on his way over to the Huntwick town house, that some miracle might have occurred during the night, that somehow Faith might have become happy they were to wed. Instead, he was forced to watch her attempts to hide her revulsion at simply being in the same room with him.

“I have to apologize for this whole fiasco,” he supplied in an even tone. “My brother is rarely so impulsive.”

“No,” agreed Faith, her voice frosty. “I rather assumed he had left
that
particular character trait to you.”

Gareth’s jaw clenched. “You don’t have to marry me, Faith.”

Faith raised delicate brows. “Of course I don’t, my lord,” she replied in a voice laced with sarcasm. “My options are certainly open, aren’t they? Shall I list them all for you?” Despite herself, she felt her anger rise when he didn’t respond. She tossed her head and took a small step forward, holding up a single, slim finger.

“One,” she began in a tight voice. “I can marry you to salvage my reputation.” She held up another finger and took a longer step in his direction. “Two: I can decide
not
to marry you, and by so doing allow myself to become an object of scorn the gossips will rake over the coals for years to come.” She smiled sweetly and took another step. “Option two has the added benefit of dragging my family’s good name through the dirt, ruining any future marriage prospects for myself, and possibly keeping my younger sisters from being accepted in Society.” She held up a third finger and stalked the rest of the way across the room until she stood directly in front of Gareth, her three raised fingers directly in his face. “Three, my lord…,” she said, her quavering voice betraying her loss of control. “Do you even know what option three is?”

Gareth said nothing, reacted in no way, but a twitching muscle in his clenched jaw betrayed the fact that he’d heard her.

Faith glared up at him for another moment, then dropped her hand and turned away, feeling suddenly deflated. “There is no option three, my lord,” she said quietly. “I was awake most of the night trying to find it.”

“So was I,” said Gareth. He stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her to face him. She lifted gray eyes huge with unshed tears. At the sight, he was instantly and completely defeated. Quietly he led her back to the settee, waited for her to sit down, and settled awkwardly in a chair facing her.

Faith bowed her head, unwilling for him to see her tears. Without warning, a handkerchief appeared under her nose. That was all it took.

Gareth watched as his fiancée buried her face in his handkerchief. Her slim shoulders began to shake. He moved over to sit next to her on the settee and gently pulled her head over to rest on his shoulder. He reached up and smoothed her silky hair. “We’ll think of a way out of this, Faith,” he soothed. “Somehow, we’ll find a way for you to not have to marry me and still keep your reputation intact.”

At that, Faith’s shoulders began to quake even harder. She pushed away from him, slumped back on the settee, and pulled the handkerchief from her face.

Gareth shook his head. Again, she was laughing when he’d thought she was crying. Unsure if her laughter was a reaction of hysteria, he sat still, a bemused expression on his face.

When Faith finally gasped for breath and opened her eyes, she looked at him. His expression was sobering, because she sat up, made a visible effort to compose herself and reached for his hand. “I’m sorry, Gareth,” she managed, then calmed herself a bit. “It’s really not funny at all,” she admitted, a glimmer of a smile still lurking about the corners of her mouth. “I was just realizing how inappropriately angry I’ve been with you. None of this is your fault, you see. As I pointed out last night, I lured you out to the garden and ruined your reputation.”

“You also pointed out that you were about to relieve yourself of my unwanted attentions,” he added.

She had the grace to blush. “I can explain that, my lord,” she said. She lowered her voice as though she were telling him the most important secret of her life. “Most people don’t know this about me, but usually I’m really very much in control of things.”

Gareth fought back a smile and raised his eyebrows. “Really?” he drawled. “I hadn’t noticed.”

If Faith heard the grain of sarcasm in his voice, she chose to ignore it. “It’s true,” she confided. And the way I’ve been reacting to nearly everything you do has been something I’ve had a great deal of trouble controlling, so I thought it prudent that we no longer interact.”

She looked down for a moment, then squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and looked bravely into his eyes. “In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve exhibited every emotion I know, and done and said things I never thought I would. But in that space of time, out of everything that’s happened, one thing stands out more than all the others.” His eyes met hers, held them, and she suddenly found she was unable to summon the courage to tell him that she’d been looking forward to seeing him this morning. Instead, she looked down at her tightly clasped hands and forced herself to relax.

Gareth sensed she was about to tell him something very important, but that for some reason, the moment passed. He waited quietly, hoping she’d look up, hoping she’d speak. When she didn’t, he leaned back and decided not to pursue it. Because what she had done, whether she knew it or not, was far more significant than her words could have possibly been. She’d given him hope. By admitting she could not control her reactions to him, she gave him the reason he needed: the possibility that she might someday love him. They might yet be able to forge a relationship like the one his parents had shared.

Abruptly, there were voices in the hall. Faith raised startled eyes to Gareth’s rueful ones.

“It sounds as though my brother and your sister have arrived,” he said with a twinge of regret. Then he took her hand and gave her a slow, encouraging smile. Standing, he drew her up next to him. “I think we can make this work, princess,” he offered, his voice husky.

Faith looked up into his warm, dark eyes and felt suddenly as if he were the very best friend she’d ever had. She nodded once and let him draw her arm through his as they turned together to face their families.

Thirteen

G
areth fanned his cards and considered his options. It was the first time in the four weeks since the announcement of his engagement that he’d found time to meet his friends at White’s for an afternoon of fine spirits and good-natured wagering. Although the wedding preparations were mostly being handled by the Ackerly women, he’d tried to find as much time to spend with Faith as possible.

His fiancée, instead of softening toward him, had become increasingly distant and wary as the date approached. Several times, when he sensed she’d decided to toss her reputation to the winds and call the whole thing off, he’d found himself scrambling to tease and cajole her into reluctant laughter. He frowned and wondered, not for the first time, why he was working so hard to salvage a marriage that had not yet taken place.

“Cards not to your liking, Roth?”

He shook his head and tossed them facedown on the table. “Fold. The cards are fine. I can’t keep my mind on the game. Now would be an excellent opportunity for both of you to fleece me out of some of my unexpected inheritance.”

“Mind if we join you?”

Trevor Caldwell looked up from his cards to see Sebastian Tremaine, the Duke of Blackthorne, standing on the other side of the green-baize-covered table. He smiled in surprised pleasure and stood to extend a hand to his good friend. “Perfect timing! You know new blood is always welcome at this table, especially when it is that of an old friend.” He turned and signaled a footman, who hastened to bring more chairs and take the newcomers’ requests for drinks.

As the footman hurried off, Sebastian turned and gestured to the silent man who stood slightly behind him. “Permit me to introduce my distant cousin, Lachlan Kimball, Marquess of Asheburton, in town from Scotland for a couple weeks on business.” Sebastian introduced Trevor, then turned to Jonathon and Gareth, who were also seated at the table.

Gareth looked up from shuffling the cards. “Good to meet you, Asheburton.” Lachlan gave a small nod and took a seat.

Gareth exchanged a surprised look with Trevor, who shrugged. Of the five men, the Marquess of Asheburton was easily the wealthiest. He was also the most reclusive, seldom leaving his estate in the wild Scottish Highlands. Rumors constantly made the rounds about the secretive marquess. One recent on-dit even said he’d married a poor but beautiful Scottish girl, and that he kept her locked in one of the towers of his ancient castle.

The quintet sat in silence for a few moments while Gareth deftly dealt a new hand to include Sebastian and Lachlan. All five men sat back, studied and arranged their hands.

“You’ve been away from town longer than usual, Thorne,” remarked Gareth. Jonathon laid two cards facedown on the table and nodded for his brother to deal him two more.

Sebastian raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Hunt’s young sister-in-law has been in town far too often lately, I’m afraid.”

Trevor, Jon, and Gareth laughed. Mercy Ackerly, Grace and Faith’s youngest sister, had a pronounced crush on the duke and was constantly devising elaborate strategies to get Blackthorne to fall in love with her.

Asheburton gave Sebastian a questioning look. When the duke remained silent, refusing to satisfy his cousin’s curiosity, Gareth gladly jumped in to provide the answers. “Last year, Thorne did his level best to run over Hunt’s youngest sister-in-law with his carriage.” Gareth caught Sebastian’s dampening glower, smirked, and continued. “He was, of course, instantly regretful and stopped the carriage to rush to her aid. When she regained consciousness from the blow to her head, Mercy was smart enough to realize how a rescued damsel in distress ought to act, and as required by all such damsels, obligingly fell instantly in love with our brooding hero.”

Trevor grinned. “Unfortunately, little Mercy was only twelve at the time.”

Sebastian finally spoke up. “
Nearly
thirteen,” he corrected.

Trevor’s grin widened.

Gareth looked at Lachlan. “I suspect Thorne now wishes he’d done a better job of running her down, because she’s almost fourteen now and more determined than ever to have hi—”

“Which is why,” interrupted Jon with a quelling frown at his younger brother, “he shows enormous wisdom in avoiding her.” He turned to Sebastian. “You should know—,” he began.

“That we will all be meeting at my town house tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” interrupted Trevor hastily before Jonathon could ruin the fun. “You’ll both be there, of course.” He nodded to include Asheburton.

“Of course,” replied Sebastian with a curious look. “What’s the occasion?”

Trevor raised his brows. “Would you believe you will be attending the Marquess of Roth’s wedding?”

Sebastian glanced across the table at the man he’d often considered an insolent pup. “Well, young Roth. A title, a fortune,
and
a wife, all in short order.” He sipped his brandy and pushed back his chair, stretching out his legs. “Appears to have been a banner year for you.”

Lachlan looked from Gareth’s smug face to Trevor’s amused one, then from Jonathon’s grim face to Sebastian’s bored countenance. “All right,” he said finally. “If Thorne won’t ask, I will. Who’s the happy bride?”

“My sister-in-law,” said Trevor.

Sebastian pulled in his legs and sat up straight.

A look of cold revulsion crossed Lachlan’s face. “Did I not hear you say she was only fourteen?” he asked incredulously.

“
Nearly
fourteen,” drawled Trevor.

Sebastian regained his composure. He reached into his pocket for his cheroot case, flipped it open, selected one, and offered the case to Lachlan. “Not to worry, cousin. There are quite enough Ackerly sisters around for me to be assured that Roth is robbing no cradle.” He inclined his head toward Gareth. “Faith, is it?”

Gareth nodded. Trevor opened his mouth to say something, but Jonathon leveled him with a stern look. “That’s what I wished to tell you, Thorne. The entire Ackerly clan will be in attendance tomorrow—including Mercy.”

Gareth made a dour face at his brother and signaled a footman to bring his coat. “I would enjoy having all of my friends at my wedding,” he said, standing and shrugging into the garment the footman produced. He paused a moment, looking directly at Sebastian. “Of course, I’ll completely understand if you find Mercy’s presence a bit…intimidating.” As the figurative glove he’d tossed settled lightly to the ground, he tipped his hat to the rest of the men at the table. “Again, good to meet you, Asheburton. Gentlemen.” And with a last challenging grin, he left.

Sebastian stared at his retreating back and slowly stamped out his cheroot, glancing at Trevor with resignation. “Ten o’clock, did you say?”