The Marriage Lesson (32 page)

“Then what do we do?”

“I don’t know!”

The horses halted a few yards away.

“Thomas!” Marianne slid off her mount and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms. “Thank God we’re not too late.”

Perhaps he could salvage this after all.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He gently set her aside. “I cannot allow you to witness this.”

Pennington and Berkley dismounted and strode toward them. There was a peculiar gleam in Pennington’s eye, and Berkley’s lips twitched as if he were trying to hold back a grin. Surely these old friends of his didn’t find this amusing? No, of course not. He must be mistaken. Again. “You shouldn’t have brought her here.”

“Actually, she brought us,” Pennington said mildly. Far too mildly.

“Regardless.” Thomas’s voice was firm. “She should leave.”

“Absolutely not, my lord.” Marianne lifted her chin in a courageous manner. “I cannot allow you—”

“Well”—relief rushed through him—“perhaps we can settle this matter without bloodshed.”

“—to defend my honor—”

“I am willing to apologize,” Rand said quickly.

“—without my presence.” She beamed at him.

“Without your presence?” Thomas stared. She wanted him to duel?

Pennington nodded. “One can never be too certain of the course of flying bullets.”

“Wouldn’t want the wrong person shot,” Berkley added.

“No, indeed.” She placed her hand on Thomas’s arm and smiled up at him. “This is so very exciting. Imagine, a duel. A real adventure.”

“Marianne,” Thomas said slowly. “Perhaps, if Leopard is willing to apologize—”

“I am.” Rand nodded vigorously. “I was a cad. A bounder. A beast. And I am truly sorry. I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”

“Nonetheless”—she glared at Rand—“Lord Helmsley feels you have impugned my honor and you shall have to pay.” She moved back a few paces. Pennington and Berkley joined her. “Now, then, Thomas, shoot him.”

“What?” Thomas stared in disbelief. She did want him to duel.

“I said, shoot him.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Go ahead. We’re waiting.”

Rand leaned toward Thomas and spoke in a low voice. “She wants you to shoot me.”

“So I hear,” Thomas said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Perhaps we could both miss,” Rand said.

Thomas scoffed, “And you thought
my
plan was stupid?”

“Well, at least my idea will get us out of this,” Rand snapped. “Now, then, where are the pistols?”

“Oh, you are good at plans.” Rand rolled his gaze toward the sky.

“Did you forget pistols?” Marianne planted her hands on her hips. “I daresay, my lord, I am disappointed in you. How could you overlook such a thing?”

“The excitement, I suppose.” Thomas’s voice was weak.

Pennington waved his hand and called to them. “I believe I have pistols.”

“Do you really?” Marianne said brightly. “How wonderfully prepared of you.”

“Thank you.” Pennington smiled in a modest manner.

“I didn’t know you carried pistols.” Berkley frowned.

“Actually, I only have one.” Pennington shrugged. “One never knows when one might be accosted by a highwayman or other brigand.”

“That’s it, then. One will never do. Besides, I couldn’t possibly duel with weapons I am not familiar with,” Rand said loftily.

“Nor could I.” Thomas nodded with relief.

“What about fisticuffs?” Berkley suggested. “They could beat each other for a while.”

“No.” Marianne heaved a sigh. “It’s just not the same.” She moved toward Thomas. “I gather this means you’re not going to save my honor and shoot him?”

Thomas feigned regret. “I’m afraid not.”

“As delightful as the prospect is, on both counts”—he cast Thomas a scathing glare—“I’d say no.”

“I see,” she said thoughtfully and paused for a long moment. Her brow furrowed in thought. “Lord Pennington?”

“Yes, my lady?” Pennington stepped forward.

“Could I see that pistol of yours?” Her gaze met Thomas’s and a heavy weight settled in his stomach.

“Of course.” Pennington started toward his horse.

“Wait.” Thomas thrust out his hand to stop the man, his gaze never leaving hers. “Why?”

“Because, Thomas Effington, Marquess of Helmsley and future Duke of Roxborough”—her eyes narrowed and fury flared in her gaze—“I want to shoot you myself.”

Rand moved away to join Pennington and Berkley. Wise of him, no doubt.

Thomas’s heart dropped to his toes. She knew. And she was not amused. “Marianne, I—”

“You what?” She stepped closer and poked her finger at his chest. “You lied to me. You made me think you were in mortal danger. Do you have any idea how distraught I was at the thought that I had destroyed your life?”

“It does sound bad when she puts it that way,” Berkley murmured.

It did indeed. Thomas really hadn’t considered that aspect. And, in fact, hadn’t considered at all what would happen if his plan went awry. “Marianne, if you will—”

Rand looked like he preferred to be anywhere but here. “Yes, but, to my credit, I did not accept his offer.”

“Oh, that
is
to your credit!” she snapped, then turned back to Thomas and poked him again. “Then you had the audacity to attempt to peddle me to the dullest men in all of England.”

“It just gets better and better,” Pennington said under his breath.

“And all that nonsense about trying to be like a dashing hero from a book.” She poked again. “It was an act, wasn’t it? Every bit of it. Just to salvage your sense of honor and trap me into marriage.”

“Hold on just a minute.” At once he was as angry as she. He grabbed her hand. “First, you can stop poking me. I’ve told you before, I don’t like it and it hurts.”

“Good!”

“And secondly”—he glared down at her—“I am not the one who courted scandal by putting our entire relationship in the papers for public consumption!”

“You paid Mr. Cadwallender to stop printing my work!”

“I did not,” he said indignantly. “I have a legitimate business interest with Cadwallender that has nothing to do with you. Besides, he wouldn’t take money to cease publishing those blasted stories of yours. Stories about us!”

“True enough that anyone with half a brain could figure out exactly who the country miss was, and Lord W!” He called to Berkley, “Isn’t that right?”

“Well, it did take a while,” Berkley muttered.

“And that’s another thing.” He jerked her closer. “Why is it you called me by a mere initial? A
W
, no less—bottom of the barrel, if you ask me—and you give the villain in your piece a dashing, romantic name?”

“I thought it was rather silly,” Rand murmured.

“Lord W.” He blew a disdainful breath. “What does the
W
stand for, anyway?”

“At the moment,
witless
, I should think,” Pennington said.

“Definitely not
wise
,” Rand added.

“Well, it certainly isn’t
wonderful
.” She wrenched out of his grasp and stepped back.

Frustration surged through him. “All I wanted was to marry you!”

“All you wanted was to redeem yourself!”

“There are better ways to do it. I’ve barely survived.” He clenched his jaw. “I have been scraped and scratched and bruised and battered and bit for you!”

“Stung,” she said scathingly. “Not bit, stung. And a child would have handled it better!”

“And why did I put myself through all that?”

“I don’t know? Why?” Her voice rose.

“Because I want you to be my wife!” he yelled.

“Why?” She shot the word at him.

“Why?” she demanded again.

“I don’t know.” There was a helpless note in his voice. “Fate?”

“Is he really as dim as he seems?” Rand said to Pennington.

Pennington shrugged. “It would appear so.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Intensity gleamed in her eyes, but he couldn’t find the right answer there. He didn’t know what she wanted. “It’s not enough.” She shook her head, resignation replacing the anger in her voice. “It’s not nearly enough.” She turned and started toward the horses. “Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to accompany me back to town.”

“Of course.” Berkley stepped to her side.

Pennington studied Thomas for a moment with sympathy and disbelief, then shook his head and joined them.

Thomas watched the trio ride off. Rand heaved a sigh beside him. “That didn’t go well.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know.” What was he going to do? He couldn’t let her ride out of his life. He couldn’t live his life without her.

“It seems to me, old man, if there was ever a time that called for a good plan, this is it.”

“I seem to be out of plans at the moment.” Thomas uttered a disparaging laugh. “Good or otherwise.”

And
Lord Witless
seemed entirely appropriate.

Becky started to leave.

“Where are you going?” Marianne snapped.

“I thought you could use the help of a maid.” Becky’s eyes widened in innocence. “Jocelyn’s right, you know, everything will be dreadfully wrinkled, and I thought—”

“You thought you’d fetch Aunt Louella.”

Becky and Jocelyn exchanged guilty glances.

“I’d prefer not to deal with her, but I will if need be.” Marianne drew a deep breath. “She will not stop me, and neither will you.”

“Where exactly are you going?” Jocelyn came closer and sank down on the edge of the bed.

“Italy, eventually.” Marianne folded the gowns haphazardly. Her mind was anywhere but on what she was doing. “I shall take a carriage to Dover and a packet to France. It shall be a most adventuresome journey.”

“Why?” Becky crossed her arms and leaned against the bedpost. Henry plopped down at her feet.

“Well, there are any number of interesting things that can occur. Just crossing the channel shall be exciting.”

“No.” Becky heaved an exasperated sigh. “Why are you going?”

Marianne knew full well what she’d meant. “Because I can, and because I want to. I have enough money to get to Paris and, after that, I intend to get my dowry from Richard. This is what I’ve always wanted and the time is right. And because”—her voice wavered and she ignored it—“there’s nothing here for me.”

Becky studied her. “We thought perhaps you and he . . . ”

“Then you thought wrong.” Marianne tossed the clothes in her hand into the case.

Jocelyn drew a deep breath. “But he does want to marry you, doesn’t he?”

“So he says.” Marianne’s gaze met her sister’s. “How do you know that?”

“We know everything,” Jocelyn said. “All of it.”

“And we were rather shocked, too.” Becky shook her head. “How could you? We never dreamed you would make your
Country Miss
stories so . . .  so . . . ”

“Authentic.” Jocelyn said the word as if it were obscene.

“They weren’t absolutely true,” Marianne muttered.

Jocelyn narrowed her eyes. “True enough.”

“And I shall pay the price for them,” Marianne said firmly. A terrible price. A life without Thomas.

Yet what choice did she have? Wouldn’t the cost be far greater to live the rest of her days loving a man who did not love her? A cost that would destroy her soul. And the one price she refused to pay.

The back of her throat ached with unshed tears at the thought of the years ahead without him. She ignored it and pulled a steadying breath.

“Now, then, I have a great deal to do, and I could use your assistance. I intend to leave tonight.”

“Tonight?” Becky’s gaze filled with concern. “So soon?”

“How can you possibly leave tonight?” Jocelyn’s voice rose in dismay.

Even Henry stared at her with a mournful look.