An Unwilling Baroness (4 page)

"Wealth?" She snatched the handkerchief, and
blotted her eyes, the delicious scent of sandalwood touching her
senses and sending desperate sorrow pressing low against her
abdomen. "Jude, you know me better than that. I don’t wish to marry
for wealth. I want to be in love." She looked at him, needing him
to understand. "Don't you remember how bad it felt when your mother
wanted you to marry the duchess? It was horrible. You ran
away."

"I didn’t leave because of that," Jude
replied. "I left because the woman I loved didn't love me in
return. I believe she thought I wasn't a man." His voice cracked
with emotion and her breath sped from her lungs as guilt saturated
every cell in her body.

"You left because of me? I told you I was
sorry." This time the ache surged so deep she was forced to sit
down upon the settee
.
"I didn't believe
you loved me as a man loves a woman…"

"I told you I was in love with you." He
pushed open the doors to the garden, a small burst of air swirled
in the room carrying with it the strong scent of lavender. "But
that's neither here nor there. That is the past and not likely to
repeat itself. Love is one thing, security is another, and if you
want your leave of my mother and her….machinations, take your
freedom on the arm of Fredrick. He will love you and if you allow
yourself, you will grow to love him. He's indeed a passionate
fellow and you could do far worse."

She dabbed at her eyes and stared at him
through tear soaked lashes. "I could do better."

He turned, standing there amongst the
lilies. A picture she’d seen often before. But in the past his face
had been relaxed, laughing. "Deal with the present, Chloe. It is,
after all, the only thing you can truly be certain of."

She glared at him
.
This wasn't the Jude she missed and she wished him back to America,
for his betrayal hurt far worse than the betrayal of her stepmother
and even her father. This hurt cut her to her core. "That's not
true. I am certain of one other fact."

"What is that?" Jude asked, tilting his
head, a smirk marring his usually pleasant countenance.

"That there is far more of your mother in
you then I ever wanted to recognize."

CHAPTER THREE

"It's my great pleasure to meet you."
Fredrick Von Richter was a handsome fellow, with raven black hair
and the bluest of eyes. Shorter than Jude but every bit as broad
and strong, he cut an imposing figure in his slate gray morning
coat and matching slacks. A single curl fell across his tanned
forehead and a full mustache covered his upper lip. He bowed low,
yet his attention never wavered from her face.

"Thank you, Baron. It's good to meet you, as
well."

He straightened and took a step closer to
her, presenting her with a daisy, plucked no doubt from her garden.
Charming.

"It's a humble flower, from a man humbled by
your beauty, Lady Chloe." His voice was deep with only the
slightest hint of a foreign accent. She had expected a swarthy
brute that smelled of bratwurst and spoke with a thick German
tongue. He was not at all what she expected, and for that she was
terminally grateful. Yet it would've been easier if he had been an
ogre. Easier to hate Dorothea and loathe her son.

She cast a glance at Jude.

"She is rather lovely," Jude remarked. "You
two carry on. I’m going to see to it that Mother and Lord Pembridge
don't get too carried away. Will I see you at dinner, Lady
Chloe?"

She ignored the question and turned her
focus upon the baron. "So, you're from Germany. Where?" Despite her
anger, her heart sank when Jude left and punctuated his exit with a
slam of the conservatory door.

"Bavaria, but I have not been home in some
months having been at sea. I'm only recently back from the Orient
and now that I've seen Jude, I do believe my next stop will be
America."

He offered her his arm and she
hesitated.

"It’s all right, Lady Chloe. I know this is
a rather odd predicament in which you find yourself. But allow me
to assure you, nothing will happen between us that you don’t wish
to happen. All I ask is that you spend a little time with me. Get
to know me and then decide if I'm a man you could marry." He said
the words, his tone earnest, his gaze soft and comforting. "Please
understand, I want an amicable marriage and I want my wife to be
happy."

He tilted his head and raised his arm a bit
higher. "Please indulge me in a turn around the garden."

She fought back her anxiety and slid her
fingers into the crook of his arm, his woolen coat rough against
her fingertips. "The Orient? I have always longed to see the
world."

He escorted her down a narrow path that led
to a small, secluded pond. "Yes. It’s a fantastic world. Where
would you like to visit? Perhaps some day you would see fit to
visit my homeland? My house is magnificent. It has been in my
family since the seventeenth century."

"Ahh, much like Pembridge House," she said
looking over her shoulder, the glorious stone house still awed her
with its imposing columns and turrets. It aged but it never got
old. She would happily live and die with the house as the backdrop
to her life.

He nodded. "Your home is amazing and your
father tells me that he wants it to stay in his direct lineage.
That means you and your children."

She knew what it meant and she knew what he
meant and despite his innocent tone and expression, her stomach
once again knotted and her heart fluttered. "Yes, that's what it
means."

He offered her the smallest of smiles but
his gaze was direct and unnerving. "Do you like children?"

She stopped walking and allowed her hands to
fall to her sides. He was moving too fast. He had gone from
pleasantries to the guts of his intentions in less than a ten foot
stroll. "I know you want marriage and heirs, isn't that what all
titled gentlemen want? Isn't that what they look for in a match?"
Suddenly it was too much. All of it. Her father had turned on her.
Her stepmother would see her sold to the highest bidder and the one
man she thought she could trust had pushed her away…and now this
man, this stranger, wanted only to breed with her. Anger scorched
her heart and she stepped back, opening her arms wide. "Do I have
the hips of a breeder, Baron?"

His face blanched and his mouth opened wide.
"Och mein Gott, Lady Chloe, you wound me with your anger. I’m a
good man seeking to improve my fortunes and the fortunes of my
children. I came here wanting nothing more than to meet someone who
wanted the same. Instead, I get—" He pointed an accusing finger
toward her. "I get a woman who would rather not marry, who would
watch the family home she claims to love be taken over by the
highest bidder. A person who would see her father in debtor’s
prison."

"Debtors prison?" she shouted. "Where did
you hear such a lie? We may be struggling but surely it isn't that
bad."

His cheeks grew a dark red, his blue eyes
narrow slits. "You call me a liar?"

"No, sir…" She looked back at the house and
then to Fredrick. "I…"

"You know so little of your father's debts?
Of your mother's overwhelming charges? You, Lady Chloe, offer
little in this deal with the exception of your lovely face and your
title. Why, Pembridge House has liens against it." He pointed
toward the manor. "Have you not noticed the slates missing from the
roof? The shutters in need of paint? Even the garden, as lovely as
it is, is in need of weeding."

She stared dumbfounded at the house. Dear
God, he was right. How had she not seen how shabby it had become?
Indeed, all of the shutters were faded. Some even hung at an angle,
the rusty hinges no longer able to hold the weight. The house, the
gardens, the stables all needed of attention. Attention that cost
money.

She moved numbly away from Fredrick and
toward the heart of the garden for a place to sit. Finding the
small wooden bench, she lowered herself down, her legs too leaden
to take another step. Surely, the gossip Fredrick had heard had
been wrong. Yes, they struggled. Some staff had to be let go. A few
horses sold. A plot of land was auctioned here and there…but liens
against Pembridge House itself?

She set her hand to her breast, her heart
thrummed hard against her fingers as sweat gathered on her forehead
and waves of nausea settled deep in her stomach.

Was she truly the only hope of saving
Pembridge? Was she the only one who had anything to offer? And why
then did she have to offer herself? Tears sped to her eyes and she
allowed them to fall, unchecked. This was her duty to her family.
"Give me strength," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry, Lady Chloe."

She didn't look up, refusing to meet
Fredrick's gaze. He lowered himself down at her side and despite
her irritation, the warmth of his body next to hers offered a
strange sort of comfort. "I speak too bluntly sometimes. I meant no
disrespect."

He touched her sleeve, his hand
outstretched, offering her his handkerchief.

"Thank you," she said, dabbing her eyes with
the lacy linen. Where Jude's handkerchief smelled of sandalwood and
comfort, Fredrick's offered nothing but citrus and starch.

"Do you accept my humblest apologies?"

She sniffled and finally forced herself to
meet his gaze. His blue eyes were heavy with concern and the slight
tilt of his head and curl of his lips had him exuding a boyish
charm she'd not have thought him capable of.

"You must forgive me as well. This is a
trying time. I knew there were difficulties, I simply refused to
see how desperate times were." She studied the man’s handsome face,
looking for answers. "Why would someone like you want to marry into
such a debt?"

"Oh my dear Lady Chloe, any woman who has
captured the lasting admiration of Jude Arden must be special. And
having seen your fire, charm, and beauty, for the life of me I
don't understand why he'd choose to marry the woman to whom he's
engaged."

The reminder of his engagement brought with
it a fresh wave of anxiety and despair so strong, she felt the sob
start in her toes and was unable to halt it as it sped to her lips.
She again buried her face in her hands and rose, unsteadily to her
feet.

Fredrick came to her aid, his large hands on
her waist, his strong frame a support she was grateful to have.
"Bitte, Frauline…please, I don't know how to help you."

The pleading tone in his voice calmed her.
What a fool she was making of herself. He would no doubt be leaving
on his next adventure a single man. For why would anyone wish to
marry her knowing all he did…having seen all he'd seen?

Dear Lord, she wasn't this simpering goose.
Until this marriage nonsense she couldn't remember the last time
she actually cried. Of course she'd moaned and groaned about her
stepmother. But shed actual tears? And then she realized, the last
time she cried was when Jude had left her, his goodbye a short note
with a promise to write.

She forced down the wave of agony and held
tight to his arm. "Please Baron, forgive my outburst. You have
learned far too much about me this day."

He gingerly touched her hand and offered it
a reassuring squeeze. "You’re a woman carrying the burden of your
father's expectations. I understand that sentiment only too well.
It’s my father's desire that I wed an English woman…or it was."

She offered him a curious look and what she
saw in his countenance was not disgust or irritation but a smile,
the sweetest of smiles. "Baron Von Richter, whatever do you
mean?"

"I mean, I will now happily do his bidding
if the object of my affection has brown eyes, auburn hair and a
penchant for the dramatic."

She pulled away, relieved to finally be able
to fully meet his gaze. "Are you speaking of me? After all you've
witnessed, you're still considering me a decent match?" She
sniffled and dabbed at her eyes and nose with the handkerchief.
Like the baron, it grew softer and more comforting the longer she
had it.

"I know no other English woman with all
three of those attributes. Will you, Lady Chloe Pembridge, consider
seeing me again? Spend a little time with me, won't you?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "How can I tell
a man with such a forgiving spirit no?"

He slid his touch down her arm, his fingers
wrapping her hand in the warmth of his grip. Lifting her hand to
his lips, he gently kissed the knuckles, the hairs of his mustache
bristly against her skin. "Will you join me for a picnic tomorrow
afternoon?"

Her lips parted to protest, there would have
to be more than just the two of them alone. It wasn't proper. Her
heart hammered against her ribs but was it from worry or
excitement? She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, well aware
that it was a mixture of the two. "Well, I would like to say
yes."

"Then you should say yes," he said, letting
go of her hand, but still standing close. His broad chest blocked
her view of the house. A cool breeze rustled the leaves of a nearby
maple and sent the brisk, clean scent of Fredrick's citrus cologne
swirling around her muddled senses.

"Who-who else will be in attendance?"

"Who Who." He chuckled. "Is that why you
hesitate, my little owl? Are you afraid I am like the wolf?" He
lifted a dark brow, his eyes taunting her with mischief.

Squaring her shoulders she returned his
handkerchief. "Actually, yes that is why I hesitate. No, I mean…I’m
not afraid of you, but there is protocol."

He took the hankie and shoved it into his
pocket. "I am well aware of protocol. It has already kept me from
kissing more than just your hand."

Heat sped into her cheeks and her heart
again raced. No one, not even her drunken suitor had been so bold.
A small, shocked laugh popped from her lips. "Baron, you are a
wolf."