Not Quite Married (16 page)

Angela canted a look her way and Brien realized that she revealed too much by her silence and avoidance of the wretch’s gaze. She could not shrink from this challenge and survive.

Drawing a deep breath, she sat straighter and fired her first volley.

“Since I will be sailing with you, Captain, I believe I am entitled to know your qualifications. After all, there are unscrupulous people about, passing themselves off as things they are not.” She smiled emphatically as she read the surprise in his face.

“Really, Lady Brien, I can personally vouch for—” Lord Emery tried to intercede.

“No, no—I insist on answering,” Durham declared with a pacifying wave. “It is only fair that the lady know the qualifications of the man with whom she will spend many a starlit night at sea.” His smile carried a taunt that made her face flame.

“I left the university at nineteen to join the navy, alas, without a bought commission. I served aboard revenue cutters, frigates, and eventually a man-of-war, winning a commission and rising to the rank of captain. Not long ago, I came unexpectedly into some money and decided to pursue my lifelong dream of building ships.

My naval experience gave me insight into what would improve ship design and I was eager to try out my ideas. My ship was launched a month past, sailed from London to Bristol to take on cargo and make final adjustments for her maiden voyage.”

“You are too modest, Captain,” Lady Angela began. “Your background—”

“Is of no consequence to me now,” he interrupted, but so smoothly that his hostess merely smiled and shook her head. “I have no contact with my family and intend to keep it that way.”

He turned to Brien. “And what of you, my lady? Have you a family? Children?”

“Lady Brien is a widow,” Lady Evelyn contributed in subdued tones.

“Indeed?” Durham studied her for a moment before nodding with an enigmatic little smile. “Condolences, my lady.”

“It was some time ago, Captain.” She felt her skin prickle under the accusation cloaked by his look. “I am content to live with my father now and care for him.”

“But don’t think for a moment she is a recluse,” Angela said, imbibing more wine. “She stays quite busy.”

“Busy evading suitors,” Charlotte Wilton said with a giggle. She was apparently sliding into her cups as well.

“I’ve made it no secret that I harbor no desire for another bout of matrimony,” Brien declared firmly, avoiding her nemesis’s amusement.

“You speak of it as if it were the ague.” Angela laughed.

“Oh, but marriage and the ague are very much alike.” Brien narrowed her eyes in defiant emphasis. “Both require a woman to spend a great deal of time in bed.”

Lord Emery let out a hoot of surprised laughter and the others joined him a heartbeat later. When she looked his way, Aaron Durham was watching her with reappraisal in his expression.

With that riposte she served notice that she was no longer the desperate and vulnerable young woman he had met near the London docks, and he seemed to have gotten the message.

“Surely you will remarry, Lady Brien,” Emery said as he sobered. “You are too lovely, too full of life not to embrace all that this mortal coil has to offer. There will surely come a time when you wish to have children. . . .”

“Who can say what desires and wishes time will bring, my lord?”

she responded from the depths of her heart. “Fate is fickle and enjoys a jest on us all now and then. I refrain from testing her favor whenever possible.”

“A philosopher as well.” Aaron Durham studied her with deepening interest. “My lady, there is more to you than meets the eye.”

“Be careful, Aaron,” Emery warned, “or you may find out how much!”

The others laughed raucously, delighted by this tête-à-tête at her expense. The beauty and the beast paired and evenly matched.

Brien was vastly relieved when Aaron Durham declared he must leave early owing to pressing business the next morning. Her hand was the only one he failed to take before departing. She was torn between irrational disappointment and relief at being spared that test of her composure.

He had no sooner departed than Charlotte scoffed, “Captain Durham certainly lived up to his reputation this evening.” She turned to Brien. “I do hope he didn’t embarrass you too much, my dear. He is a bit of a rake.”

“Charlotte!” Jeremy Wilton scolded. “Lady Brien need not hear such gossip.”

“It’s more common knowledge than gossip,” Angela put in.

“Everyone knows his reckless behavior has strained his relations with his family.” She turned to Brien and took her by the hands.

“You see, Aaron Durham is no ordinary sea captain. He’s the eldest son of the earl of Wilton.”

“Eldest son? You mean heir to a title?” She looked from Angela to Emery. “But he captains a ship. How can that be?”

“He does so because he loves ships and the sea. Before he ran off to join the navy, he seemed determined to flout his father’s rule—and debauch half the maids in Cardiff and Bristol.” Angela waved aside her husband’s sputter of disapproval. “He seems to truly enjoy women and—in truth—women seem to find him irresistible.”

“I hope you will forgive me for putting you in such a delicate position, Lady Brien,” Emery declared in a way that made it impossible to resist his apology. “But I honestly believe you will have a safe and comfortable passage to the colonies on Durham’s ship. Knowing that his actions will be scrutinized and reported, he will certainly behave in a circumspect manner. I’d stake my life on it.”

Brien made her way upstairs later, numb with fatigue and the constant tension of the evening. Aaron Durham had barely behaved within the bounds of convention, even under the scrutiny of a noble audience. Despite Lord Emery’s assurances, there would be no check on his behavior at sea. And the glint in his eyes said he would be harder to rebuff with his own deck under his feet.

She rubbed the back of her neck as she opened the door to her room. Jeannie had been ordered not to wait up for her and she faced her evening toilette alone. Eyes downcast, nerves frayed and twitching with unspent tension, she plopped down on the bench in front of the vanity and slipped out of her shoes. With a sigh she closed her eyes, rubbed one foot over the other, and massaged her aching shoulders.

“Would you like me to rub it for you?” A deep voice rumbled behind her.

She whirled about to find Aaron Durham sprawled on his side across her shadow-draped bed.

“You!” she exclaimed, rising. “How did you get—what are you doing here?”

“Is that any way to greet an old
husband
?”

She blanched with indignation. “Get out this minute or—”

“Or what? You’ll scream?” The only part of him that moved was his mouth . . . which curled into a fierce little smile. “I have something to say and I’ll not leave until I’ve said it. But if you feel the need to explain me to your friends, by all means.” He swept a hand toward the door. “I’d love to watch.”

“How dare you come here?”

“How dare
you
declare me a Frenchman and then conveniently kill me off?” He snapped upright, a fierce light ignited in his eyes.

“I did no such thing,” she snapped, backing a step. “But what right would you have to complain if I did? You who gulled me out of thousands of pounds—that money you ‘unexpectedly came into’—and left me at the mercy of—” Outrage gave way to alarm inside her and she mentally measured the distance to the door. “If you think to extort more money from me—”

“I’m not here for your money, my lady.” He rolled from the bed and when he stood up, she felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. She had trouble getting her breath. “I want to know why you’ve declared me dead.”

“I didn’t declare
you
dead. My husband—the man I married shortly after you and your cohorts betrayed me—died in a fire almost two years ago.”

“Betrayed you?” He planted his hands on his hips and leaned back on one leg, looking bemused. “You married someone else shortly after speaking vows with me, and you accuse
me
of betrayal? Lady, look to the beam in your own eye.”

“I married Raoul Trechaud because there was no record of the vows we spoke or of the vicar who presided over them. The Bishop of London himself said that the Church of St. Agrippa of the Apostles had been closed for two years before that night. The whole thing was a fabrication. A fake. A sham.” She stalked toward him with her hands curled into fists at her sides. “Don’t insult me by pretending that you weren’t in on the swindle.”

“I wasn’t in on anyth—” He halted, searching her anger and finding it all too real. “You’re serious. You think the marriage was all a dodge and I was part of the scheme.”

“I don’t think it, I know it. My father went to the church himself and the place was empty and locked tight. He asked around and no one had ever heard of a ‘Reverend Stephenson.’ He managed to get inside and search the parish register himself. There was no mention of the vows we spoke that night.”

He studied her for a moment, allowing the ramifications of the news to unfold in his mind. That night at the church she had said she married him in order to forestall marriage to another.

Curiosity about why she had been so determined to avoid that marriage had deviled him in the wee hours of many a night since.

Her plan apparently hadn’t worked. After her father brought news that
their
vows were invalid, she was forced to marry the very man that she had tried so desperately to avoid.

“I cannot speak for the others’ honesty or intentions, but I assure you, I had no knowledge of, nor would I have participated in, a fraudulent wedding. I believed then—I still believe—that we were legally and morally bound by the words we spoke that night.

If that is not so, it is news to me as much as it was to you.”

“You expect me to believe you weren’t in league with ‘Uncle Billy Rye’?”

“I swear to you, I had never met him before that night.” His face grew somber. “An hour before we arrived at the church together, I sent his partner—apparently the man he intended for you—sprawling senseless onto a tavern floor. He asked me a number of questions and when he learned I needed money and wasn’t married, he made me a proposition. I had no desire for a marriage, but I desperately needed the money. So I agreed to his plan and said I would say vows . . .
if I liked what I saw when we
reached the church.
”

Brien searched his angular face, wanting that to be the truth and bewildered by her weakness in wanting it. He was a blackguard and a cad, a seagoing Lothario with a pack of eager females in every port. He would probably say anything to pacify her and keep her from revealing to his respectable acquaintances the source of the money that had made his precious new ship possible.

“And I did like what I saw,” he said softly, moving closer.

His unusual eyes filled with light from the flickering candles, and the movements of his big, well-knit body were lithe and assured.

A frisson of what could only be called excitement raced through her shoulders. Every line, every motion of him recalled forbidden knowledge of the pleasure that had sealed their faithless marriage bargain.

“Nothing you can say will make me believe you didn’t know the vows were false,” she said, her throat dry and her voice a whisper.

“Then I won’t say that,” he responded, edging still closer. “I’ll say instead that the vows were anything but false. The promises I spoke were made with true and honorable intent. So unless you plighted your troth with malice of deception in
your
heart—”

“You know I did not.”

“Then we both spoke earnest and binding vows before God Almighty. We are married, my lady. Always have been. If anyone has dishonored those vows it was you, with your bigamous second marriage.”

She staggered back a step, astonished by his claim and its resulting charge against her. That he might uphold their vows and insist they were truly and still married, was the last thing she would have expected!

“You’re mad.”

“On the contrary. I am the very pinnacle of logic and reason.” He produced a defiantly pleasant smile. “And temperance. What other man, upon learning that his wife had wedded someone else, would be so willing to forgive and forget?”

“I did not— We are not now, nor have we ever been legally married!”

“I beg to differ. If you will recall, that night I inquired as to what constituted a legal marriage.”

“The man was a fraud, a charlatan—he might have said anything to—”

“As it happens, I made inquiries of a trusted cleric since then. It seems our questionable vicar was truthful on at least that account. A legal marriage requires three things in British common law: consent, witnessed promises, and consummation. We fulfilled all three requirements. Rather thoroughly, as I recall.”

His gaze sent a trill of sensual panic through her as it swept her from head to toe. “We are now and have always been legally and morally wedded. What we are lacking, it seems, is documentation.”

Alarm shot through her. “You wouldn’t.” Oh, but he would.

“You cannot possibly think to press a claim of— I warn you, you’ll not have another cent from me!” She was suddenly quaking with fury.

“Money? You think that is what this is about?” He laughed softly. “Ah, my lady. You disparage both the refinement of my tastes and the abundance of your charms, to imply that money is my only motivation.” He edged closer and she backed away by the same amount.

“I saw you at New Year’s, in London.” His tone softened, becoming intimate. He took another step closer, but this time she was too absorbed in what he was saying to counter his movement. “Hearing you were a widow, I decided you must have good reason for killing me off and decided to let the past lie.”

It
had
been him!

“But now we have been thrown together again. The fates must find us an entertaining combination. And as a charming lady once advised . . . it is always wise to avoid questioning fate’s choices for us. Especially when those choices are so full of pleasurable possibilities.”

She fought a treacherous surge of warmth. His presence seemed to envelop her, flooding her senses, causing her to look up into his face. He was so near. So male. So very different from the men she had met in London’s powdered and posturing society.