Married By Midnight (2 page)

“
I beg your pardon?”

He took a moment to explain. “Our brother needs a wife, but he does not desire a love match, nor does he wish to enter the marriage mart and begin a complicated courtship. He simply wants a contractual arrangement with a woman who understands the situation and desires the same sort of freedom.”

“
What sort of freedom are you referring to?” she asked. “I do not understand.”

“
No, of course you do not,” Hawthorne replied. “I fear we have not explained ourselves adequately. Please allow me to tell you everything. This time I shall start at the beginning.”

* * *

“Did I hear you correctly?” Anne said. “Your father is going mad?”

She could not believe it. The Duke of Pembroke was one of the greatest aristocrats in England. The family had a celebrated history, like no other. The Duchess of Pembroke enjoyed an intimate friendship with the queen.

“
That is correct,” the marquess replied. “He believes all four of his sons must marry before Christmas in order to thwart a family curse.”

“
What sort of curse?”

Appearing uncertain how best to explain, Hawthorne paused.

“
In the spring,” he said, “our father believed we would all be washed away in a flood. Now we are in danger of freezing to death, and he expects the palace to shatter like glass if this weather continues. Under any other circumstances it would not matter, except that he has changed his will to disinherit us if we do not respect his wishes. Thankfully, Blake, Vincent, and I found matrimonial bliss earlier this year, but there is one more.”

“
Another brother? What is his name?”

“
Garrett. He is the youngest, and has been living abroad for a number of years. Until very recently, he refused to yield to our father’s demands, for he is not exactly...
compliant
. But we received a letter from him eight days ago. He has finally agreed to come home and fulfill his duty. He is ready to take a wife and secure all of our inheritances. There is also a substantial sum of money he will receive on his wedding day if he marries in time, so he is motivated.”

Anne could not help herself. She laughed out loud. “Why in God’s name have you chosen
me
? Surely the son of a duke could have any woman he wanted.”

“
As I said before,” the marquess replied, “he has no interest in a love match. He wants a woman who will not need to be romanced—a practical woman who will agree to perform a charade, so to speak, and who will leave Pembroke Palace when he returns to Greece, shortly after the wedding takes place.”

“
We will live separate lives?” she said, to confirm her understanding.

“
That is correct, but you, too, will have freedom. With the allowance Garrett receives as a wedding gift, and the inheritance due upon our father’s death, he will provide you with a lifetime annuity. You will be free to live wherever you please. You could purchase a house in London, for example. Or perhaps you would prefer the country. Either way, there will be funds for a very comfortable living with a house full of servants—for the rest of your life.”

Anne took a moment to consider all of this. It was not an unattractive offer. Quite the contrary, she felt as if she had just discovered a buried treasure in the garden. It did not seem real.

“
What about children?” she asked. “Would I be expected to bear him sons?”

“
No. He is the youngest of four. I am the eldest and my wife and I are already expecting a child.”

“
Congratulations.”

“
Thank you.” He paused.

“
Will the marriage have to be consummated?”

“
Yes,” he replied. “It must be legally binding to fulfil the terms of our father’s will.”

Anne swallowed uneasily. “What if I become pregnant?”

Lord Blake cleared his throat uneasily. “All of that is outlined in the contract. If a child is conceived, you may choose to raise him yourself, or relinquish him to the care of our family, whereby he would be raised at Pembroke.”

Anne gazed toward the door and wondered if her uncle was outside, listening to these details.

“
Do you require time to consider it, Lady Anne?” Lord Hawthorne asked. “Because if you wish to accept our proposition, we have the contracts already drawn up. If you are not inclined, however, we would prefer to know immediately so that we can move on to the next candidate as quickly as possible.”

She glanced at Lord Blake, who tapped his finger on the leather portfolio that rested on the table beside him. “The contracts are right here, my lady, awaiting your perusal.”

“
You don’t waste time, do you?”

“
No,” he said. “Christmas is not long off. We have only three weeks to satisfy the terms of the will.”

She rolled the idea over in her mind. “Mmm...I do see the basis for your impatience. If there is no wedding, you will all be cursed. Financially, at least.”

“
Indeed.”

She folded her hands together on her lap. “What if your brother does not approve of me? Does he know about my sordid past? My shocking reputation?”

She had no illusions about her reputation and her marriage prospects, for she had done the unthinkable four years ago when she ran off to elope with her handsome young tutor. Since then, she had given up all romantic fantasies about her future. Until this moment, she had been fully prepared to live out the rest of her days as a spinster.

“
He has already indicated that any past scandals are not relevant,” Hawthorne replied.

“
He cares only for the money,” she surmised. “And his freedom.”

“
That is correct.”

“
But why me? Why am I first choice?”

They hesitated. “Because we know our brother. He prefers women with dark features. He finds them attractive.”

Anne scoffed. “I thought he didn’t want romance.”

“
Correct. We simply don’t want to give him any reason to change his mind. That is all.”

She thought about it another moment and imagined herself remaining here with her uncle for the rest of her days.

“
Money and freedom can have their uses.” She eyed that mysterious black portfolio with growing interest. “I do wish to take a look at your offer, Lord Hawthorne. Will there be any room for negotiation?”

The marquess raised an eyebrow in surprise, while his brother quickly opened the leather case.

Chapter Two

Seven days later

In the crisp early evening air, a heavy crested coach, conveying Lord Garrett Sinclair from the train station, rumbled up the steep hill on its final approach to Pembroke Palace. The young golden-haired lord, who had come all the way from the Greek island of Santorini, was sound asleep inside.

There was neither a breath of wind, nor a single cloud in the sky. The moon’s bluish glow glistened upon the ice crystals that shimmered on the surface of the snow, while the sound of the coach wheels rolling over the frozen rutted road remained the only disturbance.

When at last the vehicle passed under the impressive triumphal arch and the horses’ hooves clattered over the icy stones on the cobbled court, Lord Garrett woke with a start and sucked in a deep gulp of air.

The dream was always the same...
The relentless roar of the wind in the sails, the taste and grit of the salt on his lips, Johnny’s small wet hand slipping from his grip
...

Like every other night since the accident, it woke him, haunted him, tortured him—like a violent, spiteful ghost.

Drenched in sweat, shivering in the chill of this punishing English weather, Garrett sat forward and worked to calm his breathing. When would it end? he wondered. Not just the weather, but this terrible torment inside of him. Would he know happiness again? He prayed to God that this Christmas would deliver a gift, a reprieve from the agony he’d endured since spring. Otherwise he wasn’t sure he could go on living.

Sitting back, desperate for a distraction from the memory of that day on the water, he cupped his hands to the cold glass and peered out at the courtyard and palace, brightly lit up in the night.

Not much had changed since he quit this house seven years ago. It was still the same ostentatious braggart of wealth and social position—a sickening display of showy baroque architecture with giant towers and turrets, a commanding clock tower over a massive portico at the entrance, and enough steps to intimidate even the most privileged aristocrat—not to mention any decent common man of typical upbringing.

All this belonged to his family alone, while thousands of decent, hard-working people starved in the poverty-stricken streets of London. He wanted no part of this world, yet he needed the funds that his father had offered out of the strange depths of his madness. Garrett had come home to do what he must in order to attain them and put them to good use.

Nevertheless, what he must do plagued yet another part of him, for he supposed he was no better than a whore—selling himself for money—and he feared he was about to marry a woman cut from the same cloth. He didn’t know what to expect and was quite certain this was the second lowest point in his life. Not to be outdone, of course, by the first.
Never
to be outdone by that.

The coach crossed the courtyard and pulled to a careful halt at the front entrance. Garrett did not wait for the driver or a footman to open the door. He had been living too long outside this world of class distinctions and chose instead to flick the latch and alight from the vehicle on his own.

Tugging his coat collar tighter about his neck, he stepped out and exhaled sharply. His breath puffed out of him like thick smoke on the chilly night air.

Just then the doors of the palace were flung open, and he braced himself for the enthusiastic welcome he did not wish to receive...until he saw his sister Charlotte approaching.

His twin.

At the shocking sight of her—so grown up and lovely in her lavender dinner gown and jewels—whatever was left of his long-suffering heart snapped in two.

Heaven help him, this was not going to be an easy Christmas. He wished he could leap forward in time to when it would be over, but that, unfortunately, was not possible. He would simply have to muddle through.

* * *

“
Garrett!”

His sister ran toward him without shawl or cloak and nearly knocked him over as she launched herself into his arms. Somehow he managed to keep his footing on the icy ground, and held onto her more tightly than he’d expected.

“
Charlotte...” he softly said. “How I’ve missed you.” She was always the one he longed for most.

“
And I, you,” she whispered in his ear. “Oh, Garrett. I feel whole again at last.”

He was vaguely aware of the servants collecting his bags, a footman speaking to the driver. Then all at once the world came back into focus and he found himself stepping out of his sister’s embrace to behold the other members of his family. They were all crowded around, shivering in the cold, waiting to welcome him home.

“
Mother, it is good to see you.” He stepped forward to kiss her on the cheek.

She looked older. Still beautiful, though.

God, his head was spinning. Had it really been seven years?

As he backed away from his mother, he turned to face his two older brothers, Devon and Blake. They had dark coloring and tall, broad-shouldered frames. Like their father.

Garrett, on the other hand—for reasons no one wished to talk about—bore no resemblance to the duke whatsoever. He and Charlotte were golden-haired like their mother.

“
You two look well.” He glanced toward the palace door. “Is Vincent here?”

“
No,” Charlotte explained. “He and Cassandra have traveled abroad for an extended honeymoon. We are not certain when they will return. They seemed very determined to enjoy themselves.”