Mutual Consent (9 page)

It had surprised her that his lordship should be situated in such a way that he needed that kind of aid. She had not known he was in financial straits. But she had also been pleased. It meant that the wife had brought a fortune with her, one that now belonged to the earl and much of which she herself would undoubtedly profit by. So she was content enough to allow matters to rest as they were for the moment.

As for her former aspirations of becoming the Countess of Chatworth, she saw no reason to doubt that she still would not one day capture the prize. Undoubtedly quite unaware that he had done so, the earl had given her the distinct impression that his marriage was one that he did not expect to last. She was too levelheaded to suppose that the wife was in indifferent health, the sort that might shorten her life span, but there were such conveniences as annulment and divorce.

Lady Cartier toyed with the idea of annulment. After this night she had a fair notion that the earl had not bedded his wife. But that could not be expected to continue forever. If the wife had any pretension at all to looks, she had no doubts that his lordship would naturally take advantage of his marital rights. It was a pity, of course, but one must make the most of the situation.

Lady Cartier glanced at herself in the long cheval glass and ran her hands over her curving hips. She rather thought that his lordship would quickly discover that bedding an inexperienced wife simply did not compare to making love to his mistress.

She turned away from the mirror to sit down at her vanity. A candle burned on either side of its small mirror so that her face appeared a wan shadow in the light. She chose one of the lotion pots and opened it. She started to cover her face with lotion, a ritual that she had made certain her lover had never been privy to.

Her actions were mechanical as her thoughts pushed on. Divorce was naturally frowned upon, but she was too immured to scandal to be quailed by the thought of tying the knot with a nobleman who would dare such social stigma. All in all, the situation could have proven far worse, she thought complacently.

When Lady Cartier eventually rose from her vanity, she bore little resemblance to the siren who had greeted the Earl of Chatworth earlier that evening. Her face and neck were covered with lotion; her hair was tucked tightly under a muslin cap; her hands and arms had been slathered with oil and were completely encased in long cotton gloves.

Lady Cartier got into bed, careful not to disturb her lotions and accoutrements. She always slept late after one of her assignations with the earl, and her maid knew better than to wake her before she was called. She fell into a contented sleep.

The Earl of Chatworth was preparing to go out with one of his friends, the Honorable Simon Oliver Hadwicke, when the package from his man of business arrived. Lord Chatworth took the package from his footman and went into the study, throwing over his shoulder, “Come in, Simon. This won’t take but a moment.”

Hadwicke followed him into the study and closed the door. He sauntered across the carpet to drop into a chair close to the desk. “Important, is it?” he asked, nodding at the package the earl was opening.

The earl shrugged, a twisted smile touching his lips. He lifted a folded sheet that had been tucked into the package. “If you consider the reason behind my hasty marriage to be important, I suppose it is.”

Hadwicke’s brows shot up. As much as anyone else, he had idly speculated over why the Earl of Chatworth had chosen to wed so abruptly and in such a hole-in-the-wall fashion, but he had been too well-bred and too much of a friend to press the earl about it. Now he glanced quickly at the earl’s face to see if his lordship was joking, but there was no sign of lazy humor in his countenance. Instead, there was a gathering frown on the earl’s face as his eyes ran quickly over the sheet of paper. Hadwicke stiffened, aware of a premonitory prickle between his shoulders.

“Damnation!’’ The earl dropped the sheet to the desktop. He dug through the parchments in the box, glancing at each swiftly. He threw down the parchments in a violent gesture, scattering them over the desk. With one stride he reached the bell rope and tugged it viciously.

“I apprehend that there is a difficulty of some sort,” Hadwicke said delicately.

Lord Chatworth barked a short laugh. There was a bitter light in his eyes. “Quite!” The door opened. The footman stepped in, but the earl did not give the man time to inquire his need. He snapped, “I wish Lady Chatworth to join me here on the instant.’’ The footman hurriedly exited, sped on his way by his master’s obvious black temper.

Hadwicke rose from his seat, thoroughly convinced that it had come time to make a graceful exit. He knew himself unsuited to be witness of the impending trouble. “Perhaps I should return later, Marcus. I have no wish to become embroiled in your domestic trials.”

Lord Chatworth made an abrupt gesture. “No, stay! Your presence must stop me from committing murder.”

Hadwicke stared at him a moment before he gave an uncertain laugh. “Come, Marcus, the jest ill becomes you.”

Lord Chatworth smiled, but the expression in his hard eyes was not pleasant. “I scarcely jest, Simon.”

Hadwicke was distinctly uncomfortable. He awaited the countess’s arrival with increasing unease as he cast several glances at the earl’s stony face. He could not recall ever seeing Lord Chatworth in such a patent fury.

The door opened and a lady entered. Hadwicke experienced a distinct shock when he glanced at her. He had glimpsed on the occasion of the wedding the bride’s white and strained face when her veil was lifted. She had been stiff and mechanical in her responses, and her demeanor when they had been hurriedly introduced had not led him to believe that she was anything more than a cipher.

The woman who advanced toward them now bore little resemblance to that pale uninteresting creature. The countess was lovely, he thought in astonishment, momentarily forgetting his previous discomfort. She was stylishly dressed and her movements were graceful. There was an inquiring look on her face as she came up.

“My lord? You have requested my presence?” she asked. Her glance touched on Hadwicke in a friendly fashion before returning to her husband’s face.

Hadwicke saw the instant that she realized that all was not well. Her green eyes widened and he could have sworn that he glimpsed a fleeting touch of fear in their gold-flecked depths.

“Indeed, madam! You will explain to me the meaning of this.” The earl seized her arm and pulled her over to the desk. Unheeding of the strangled gasp that she gave at his rough treatment, he snatched up the note and thrust it under her nose.

Barbara took the paper in her fingers, which unaccountably trembled. She saw that it was a list of some sort and she read it over quickly. Babs realized that she was looking at an inventory of estate titles, undoubtedly those possessed by the Earl of Chatworth.

She lifted her head to meet the earl’s cold gray eyes. She gestured in bewilderment. “I do not understand, my lord. What is it you are trying to say to me?” Lord Chatworth’s fingers tightened about her arm and she bit off a cry of mingled surprise and pain.

Unnoticed by the couple standing at the desk, Hadwicke took a hasty step toward them. He caught himself before he had actually interfered, however, and he waited in a state of rare indecision. There was a scarcely controlled rage in the earl’s eyes that he did not like, but he could hardly believe that his lordship would do the lady a damage while he stood by.

“My dear lady, there is nothing in that list about my vowels. Nor is there any sign of them in the package that my solicitor has sent to me, per my instructions.” Lord Chatworth’s voice slipped lower, turned menacingly silky. “But I think that does not surprise you.”

Babs turned appalled eyes to the open box lying on the desktop. There was a tumbled bunch of papers in and around it. She started to reach out, but restrained the impulse as her numbed mind realized that the earl must have thoroughly searched through the papers already. His accusations hit her broadside and she protested dazedly, “But that cannot be! You told me that the price included everything—the titles and the vowels—did you not? There must be some mistake.”

“Yes, and you have made it, my girl. You and that hellhound father of yours between you!”

Lord Chatworth threw her aside as though he could not stand to touch her any longer. He brushed his hands against his thighs as though they had become soiled.

Babs stumbled awkwardly and she would have fallen except that she was caught by Hadwicke.

She was hardly aware that a stranger’s hands steadied her. All of her attention was focused on the Earl of Chatworth and her desperate need to make him believe that she had nothing to do with her father’s betrayal. If she could not persuade him, than all that she had hoped to gain through their agreement was utterly destroyed. There could be no basis for trust, nor for a united front against her father and his machinations. In light of what she had just learned, it was more imperative than ever that trust exist between herself and the Earl of Chatworth. “My lord, you must believe me. I knew nothing of this—this—” She gestured at the box and its tumbled contents.

The earl looked down at her, his eyes glacial. His expression was closed and hard. “Save your breath, madam! I do not play the fool twice,” he said contemptuously.

As he turned away, Babs caught at his sleeve. She said urgently, “Pray think, my lord! How could I know? My father would never confide what he planned to anyone, let alone to me! You have talked to him—you must know how he regards me—how he detests me!” She broke off on a swift hard intake of breath, almost a dry sob.

His lordship caught her fingers in an ungentle grip. She plunged on before he could fling her aside yet again. “Why did not your solicitor catch the error? Surely he was made aware of what the terms were to be—surely you instructed him!” She saw something shift suddenly in the earl’s expression. She broke off, staring up at him.

There was an arrested look in the earl’s eyes, and a growing comprehension. “Lord, what a colossal fool I have been,” he enunciated slowly. He glanced down to see his wife’s fearful and anxious expression. Despite the harsh punishment of his fingers, she had still kept hold of his sleeve, apparently determined that he should listen to her. He felt unexpected remorse for treating her so hardily and the nature of his grasp on her hand altered. “I am sorry, my dear. I had not sufficiently thought about it. I am to blame in every regard. As I recall, I left it in your father’s hands to contact my man of business and communicate the terms. Obviously he seized the opportunity that I so stupidly granted to him, and arranged matters more to his liking.”

Babs was acutely aware of the difference in the pressure of his fingers; they were almost caressing. The warmth generated within her by his apology astounded and confused her. She instinctively sought to distance herself and she slipped her hand free of his lightened grasp. “I cannot altogether blame you for a natural assumption, my lord.” Her attempt at cool graciousness slipped with the appalling realization of their circumstances and she blurted, “How I wish that it had not turned out in such a way!”

“Your consternation cannot begin to compare to the depth of my own regret, my lady,” Lord Chatworth said in a clipped fashion, the icy distance in his eyes returning.

Babs was rocked back into her isolated pride. “Of course not, my lord. It was not my intention to imply otherwise,” she managed through the constriction in her throat. For a moment she had felt herself truly allied with his lordship, but that had been foolish, she realized.

Lord Chatworth looked at his wife sharply. There was an electric moment of silence as their eyes met and locked. There was something indefinable but arresting in the earl’s study of her, and Babs felt difficulty in breathing.

Lord Chatworth broke the contact and with a gesture transferred her attention to the gentleman who had stood as silent witness throughout. “I believe you might recall Hadwicke, my lady. He stood in as my best man at our wedding.”

“Oh, Mr. Hadwicke. Of course,” stammered Babs, giving the gentleman her hand. She felt the telltale heat rise in her face. She was embarrassed on two counts. She could not honestly recall the gentleman’s face, but that was a minor thing to the realization that he had been witness to what had gone on a few minutes before.

Hadwicke was nothing if not a tactful gentleman. He made it easy for her, saying as he took her hand, “I shall not be offended if you do not remember me, Lady Chatworth. It was the fleetest of meetings, and it took place during a most momentous occasion, besides. I could wish, however, that this second opportunity to meet you was not held under still more extraordinary circumstances.”

“I could not agree with you more, sir,” said Babs. She cast a swift glance up at her husband’s face to gauge how her answer had struck him, and she was reassured by the faint smile that touched his mouth.

Lord Chatworth sat down on the edge of the desk. Swinging his booted toe, he regarded the immaculate, mirror-bright polish with a reflective expression. “I trust that I may count upon your complete discretion, Simon.” He looked up suddenly, his eyes hard.

Hadwicke smiled lazily at his lordship. There was deep amusement in his voice. “My dear Marcus, need you ask it of me? I would be a fool indeed to jeopardize our long friendship only to add fuel to the gossip wheel.” He paused a moment, as though the thought had just struck him, but the laughter in his eyes was unmistakable.”I have a healthy respect for your skill with a sword, besides.”

Lord Chatworth threw back his head in laughter. He replied, still grinning, “Indeed! I wish I may see the day that weighs with you. Why, you have only to point that small pistol of yours at me and be done with the business altogether.”

“Ah, but that would hardly be sporting. I never miss,” said Hadwicke quietly.

The gentlemen smiled at each other in complete understanding while Babs listened with mingled alarm and amusement. “What nonsense is this, my lord?” she demanded, not considering that she was trespassing into the earl’s domain. “Why should there be swords and pistols at all?”