Love's Promise (12 page)

“I want you to watch over Miss Carrington throughout the night and assist her in any fashion necessary.” As an incentive to obey, he offered her all the coins in his purse, and he was pleased when she huffed in offense.

“It’s my job to serve the Duke’s guests. I need no bribe to do my duty.”

Phillip urged the cash on her again, less stridently, and she selected the smallest coin and pushed the others away.

He grinned, encouraged, and as he slipped out, she was saying, “There now, Miss, the cook sent up a delicious broth. Let’s see if we can get some of it into your empty tummy.”

Satisfied that he’d done what he could for the moment, he started down the hall. As he rounded the corner, Anne was standing there, but he was in no mood to speak with her and he meant to simply walk on by, but she stepped forward and blocked his path.

“Hadn’t you best hurry back to your party, Anne? The Duke will be upset, and we couldn’t have that, could we?”

“The Duke can wait.”

“Can he?”

“Yes. I’m a grown woman. I’m fully capable of deciding when I’ll return to the supper table.” She gnawed on her bottom lip, clearly biting down a more caustic reply. “How is Miss Carrington?”

“Awake. Befuddled. Hungry. I’ve asked a maid to sit with her until morning. Don’t you dare countermand my order.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Highness. How long is she going to be here?”

“Why? Are you afraid she’ll devour too much of your bloody food? That she’ll take up too much space? What?”

“I was just wondering.” She scowled, exasperated by his spurt of temper. “Stop being such a beast. The Duke will want to know what’s happening. I thought I should have an answer.”

“She’ll probably be with you for a week or so. I told her that
you
want her to stay until she’s sufficiently convalesced. I expect you to be courteous and at least act as if you extended the invitation.”

“I don’t need any lectures from you on how to behave. I’m not a barbarian.”

“You couldn’t prove it by me.”

He tried to continue on, but she laid her hand on his arm, the slight gesture stopping him in his tracks.

He’d known her for two decades, and he could vividly recollect the few occasions she’d actually touched him. Of course
he
had made frequent childish advances, bumping into her, or helping her as she climbed into a carriage, but she was never so bold as to reciprocate the contact that always thrilled him.

“Why are you so angry with me?” she queried.

“Because I wish you were someone you’re not.”

She looked confused. “Who do you wish I was?”

If he’d had an eternity, he couldn’t have explained his comment. He was sick as a dog with his infatuation for her, but when she didn’t have a clue as to how she tormented him, he couldn’t figure out why his attraction persisted.

Perhaps she merely represented all that he could never have. She was a constant and stark reminder that no matter what he did, or how tremendously he succeeded, he’d never be good enough for her—simply because his father hadn’t wed his mother.

The knowledge was like a tough piece of meat, stuck in his throat. He couldn’t put it aside; he couldn’t move beyond it.

He wanted to shock her, or rage at her, and his expression must have been frightening, because she took a step back, then another, until she was against the wall and could go no farther.

He braced his palms on either side of her, and he leaned in, the front of his body flattened to hers, and the sensation was electrifying.

They shared a strident affinity that was driving him mad with desire. How many more times could he pretend no interest? How many more times could he bear to suffer her cool disdain? Suddenly, he felt that if he didn’t act, he just might explode.

“What are you doing?” She sounded scared and breathless. “Release me at once. You’re crushing me.”

“No.”

She shoved at him, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Are you insane?”

“Very likely.”

He bent down and kissed her, but there was no finesse to it. He wasn’t gentle or affectionate. Nor did he allow an ounce of his joy to show through. He was a drowning man, sinking fast, with no hope of rescue.

Briefly, she tolerated the groping, then she groaned with dismay, pushing with all her might, and he stumbled away. They glared, chests heaving, respirations labored. Her cheeks were bright red, her blue eyes glittering with fury and another emotion he couldn’t identify.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?” she seethed, stunning him with her cursing.

She wiped her fingers across her mouth, as if rubbing away his taste, but he refused to let her see his humiliation and hurt.

“Nothing is
wrong
with me,” he claimed. “I’m just dandy. What about you?”

“How dare you maul me!”

“Somebody ought to. How old are you? Thirty-five? Forty?”

“I’m twenty-five, and you know it.”

“So what are you waiting for? Doomsday?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Not a damned thing.” He turned and proceeded toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” she demanded, but he kept on.

“Home.”

“Home! But...but...why?”

“Because I am weary of you and your brother and your father, and I’d like to be somewhere where I don’t have to look at you across the supper table.” He halted and whipped around. “Try to find some backbone, would you?”

“I can’t understand you. You might as well be speaking in a foreign language.”

“If you sit quietly in the corner, and let them harm Miss Carrington more than they already have, you’ll answer to me.”

“Don’t threaten me, you pompous ass.”

She was staring at him as she always did, as if she were the lady of the manor, and he her servant. He’d finally worked up the courage to kiss her, and it had been so disappointing that he felt ill with regret.

Wasn’t that just his luck? For a whole decade, he’d fretted about kissing her, and now that he’d forged ahead, he’d rather poke his eye out than ever attempt it again.

“How could he do this to me! How could he!”

Rebecca Talbot slammed her hand on the seat of her father’s coach.

As usual, he was very drunk, and he dozed against the squab. Her palm smacking the soft leather roused him.

After the drama in the dining room, when Phillip Sinclair had carried the pathetic beggar into the hall, Michael had followed them, and he hadn’t come back. Apparently, attending to a vagrant was more important than making Rebecca happy at her engagement party.

It was to have been the greatest evening of her life, was to have been her glowing triumph, yet Michael had wrecked everything! Why was she still so intent on allying herself with the despicable Wainwright family?

John had betrothed himself to her, then he’d dithered and delayed for three years without setting a wedding date. Now, she’d become engaged to Michael, and he ignored her.

She wasn’t some common girl whom he could embarrass and offend, and she was so furious that steam was practically coming out of her ears. “Stop your fussing,” her father grouched, his words slurred. “I’m not about to suffer your complaints all the way home.”

“If you think I’ll silently accept this outrage, you’re mad.”

“Who was that street urchin, anyway?”

“She’s the aunt of that bastard boy who’s had Michael obsessing.”

“John’s son, isn’t it?”

“So I’m told, although when the mother was such a doxy, I don’t see how they could ever be positive.”

“What was the girl’s name?” he mused. “Frances something-or-other. How did such a disreputable person sneak in? I certainly hope Clarendon fires his butler.”

“To Hades with his butler! My party was ruined! Have you any idea how people will laugh when they hear what happened?”

He yawned. “Who cares?”

“I care! How could he treat me like this? When we’re married, I’ll make him so sorry.”

“Just be sure you do it
after
the wedding. You wouldn’t want to give him a hint of all this temper before you’ve got him shackled. Despite what you suppose, he won’t let you lead him about by the nose.”

She gazed out the window at the moonlit road, wishing her father would commiserate, but he never took her side. With his having found her a good match, he acted as if his job was finished, and he’d left the morass of details to her. With her mother being deceased, she didn’t have any female assistance, and the burden was her own.

John had been charming and sweet, dashing and flirtatious, and he hadn’t been bothered by much of anything. He’d been easy to manipulate, and as his wife, she’d have been able to do as she liked without any interference from him.

Michael was a different story entirely. He was curt and surly, boorish and aloof, and he never asked what she wanted, never considered her opinion. Actually, she doubted he ever thought about her at all.

She felt so ill-used!

“Why did we have to invite that awful Phillip Sinclair?” she fumed.

Her father sighed. “He’s Michael’s best friend. You couldn’t have avoided it.”

“He could have let the servants throw her out. He didn’t have to butt in and spoil my celebration.”

“It was rather discourteous of him.”

“When Michael and I are wed,” she vowed, “I won’t allow Sinclair in the house.”

“I’m sure that will endear you to your new husband.”

“I won’t be gracious to his lowborn companions! And I’m not about to tend John’s little bastard either. Michael can plead until he’s blue in the face, but I won’t do it.”

“Has he suggested you take the boy in?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.”

Finally, she had his attention. He looked shocked and insulted—and even a tad sober—which made her feel vindicated. She’d explained to Michael that he shouldn’t shelter the boy, but he wouldn’t heed her, and she’d been afraid to insist.

“Michael thinks we should become the child’s parents,” she stated, aghast at the prospect. “He thinks we should...should...
adopt
him!”

It was the most scandalous notion she’d ever heard.

“That’s absurd,” her father huffed.

“I told him it was, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

Well, things would change once they were married. When she was his wife, she wouldn’t permit him to drag some wretched orphan into their front parlor and expect her to welcome him. She wouldn’t be ordered about in the running of her own home.

She sat back, her expression grim. Michael would discover—to his detriment—that she wouldn’t be commanded, wouldn’t be bullied or harassed. She didn’t care if he was her husband; she didn’t intend that he would have any genuine authority over her.

If he assumed otherwise, he was in for a huge surprise.

CHAPTER NINE

Michael walked down the hall toward the room where Fanny had spent the night.

Initially, with her showing up as she had, without warning or notice, he’d been livid at her for her audacity, but after his fury had faded, he’d been intrigued by her sudden appearance.

From the day he’d left her in the country, he’d thought of her every second. For some reason, he couldn’t get her out of his head, and his physical attraction to her hadn’t waned in the slightest.

He’d been preoccupied with Thomas and Rebecca, but that hadn’t kept him from obsessing over her. How was she faring? Was she living at her cottage? Or had she joined her sister in London?

Most particularly, he was curious as to how angry she was. His behavior must have seemed very callous to her. Had she come to terms with Michael having taken Thomas? Was she beginning to grasp why it was for the best?

He’d hoped she would have calmed and forgiven him, but from her display of temper the prior evening, it was clear that she was still reeling. He had some explanations to tender, as well as some apologies to make, but all in all, he was delighted that she’d arrived.

When he’d flirted with her over the summer, he’d considered asking her to be his mistress, but decency and decorum had caused him to hesitate. Her life had been difficult, but relatively stable, and he’d been certain she’d refuse.

But if he asked now, with her in a very different and more perilous situation, what would be her reply? Thomas was being cared for, and she no longer needed to worry about Camilla. Why not have an affair? What was there to prevent her? There were worse fates than allying herself with him.

He was nearing her closed door, when it opened and Phillip emerged. On seeing his friend, his first and immediate reaction was irritation, which he tamped down. While their fathers’ most recent fight shouldn’t have affected their relationship, it had. It seemed that every time they were together, they argued.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Michael said.

“I had told Miss Carrington I’d stop by.”

“Is she well?”

“Better.”

Phillip was being deliberately enigmatic, and Michael scowled.

When Fanny had fainted in the dining room, he’d been disturbed by her disheveled condition. Obviously, she’d endured numerous calamites since his departure, which he couldn’t understand. Camilla had grudgingly agreed to send Fanny money. She should have been fine.