Her Mad Baron (16 page)

“I am going to marry Florrie.”

She shuddered. “You’re acting like a hasty fool, and I know that is not your true nature.”

Taken aback by a rare event, something resembling a compliment from his mother, he didn’t speak.

She tapped his arm. “It is a sign of your continued weakness. Reconsider and when you do, recall it is wisest never to make such decisions in the heat of emotion.”

He studied her pink cheeks. “You are in the heat of emotion, not I.”

A dire insult.

She opened her mouth, closed it, then in a quiet strangled voice announced, “I forbid this union. This cannot be right, and the manner in which you have chosen to tell me is rude and disruptive. I shall not accept this Miss Cadero.”

“It’s too late,” he said lightly. “I made the offer today, and she’d have every right to sue me if I withdraw it. You would dislike a trial even more than a quiet wedding, I think. Lady Margaret’s son involved in a breach of contract?”

Lady Margaret gasped. “You are a disgrace.” She raised her still-attractive chin and didn’t speak, though the contempt on her face would have shocked most of the people who knew her.

He wanted to make certain he hadn’t overestimated her fear of scandal. “So do you understand? The least shameful course is the quiet marriage. She will be my wife.”

Slowly she gave a single nod, her face still frozen in a rictus of distaste. “I will return to my guests.”

Nathaniel gave her a bow and opened the door for her. She sailed from the room without another word, her head high.

He knew her guests would never suspect she’d been shaken to her core. Perhaps she’d allow herself to snap at her companion, but other than that, she’d keep the whole incident well hidden. He wasn’t safe yet, though. His mother would do what she could to stop him and perhaps enlist her brother.

He followed her into the hall to find Thackery and get his hat. Lady Margaret paused and spoke over her shoulder. “You will visit, but you won’t speak of this with my guests,” she said, and made her sedate way back to the drawing room.

Standing alone in the hall, he considered the peace offering of following her and exchanging pleasantries with her guests as she’d commanded, but he had too much to do. The Willsborne estate books, stolen or destroyed by Grub no doubt, had to be reconstructed.

Nathaniel found his mother’s butler and said, “Please inform Lady Margaret I’ve been called away on estate business.”

Nathaniel handed over a tip that would allow Thackery to forget the fact that no messenger had come to the house to find Nathaniel.

* * * *

Florrie’s day passed in a fog. She tried not to think about the fact that she’d promised to marry Baron Felston. She couldn’t think of anything else.

Mr. Wentworth didn’t press her beyond a simple, “All right, Miss Cadero?”

She nodded. “Er, what’s your sister’s husband’s cousin’s name? The one who works for Baron Felston?”

“Libby,” he said. “Why on earth do you ask?”

“Er, my brother and I paid a call upon the baron,” she said. Yet another truth that came prodigiously close to a lie. “I wonder if I saw her there.”

“Did you? She’s a slip of a girl with freckles and red hair.”

She shook her head.

“Next visit perhaps?” he said with a wink.

Thank goodness Mr. Kepler summoned Mr. Wentworth to help a customer at that moment. She didn’t feel ready to say more, even to him.

The exciting dread churning through her left her with so much energy that after work she trotted all the way home instead of walking like a lady. Last chance to be a hoyden, she thought as she climbed the stairs.

Duncan put down the paper the moment she came in the room. “Good evening, dear-heart.” He got to his feet. “So, did Lord Felston propose this morning?”

She hung up her hat and stripped off her gloves. “You followed me to his house.”

“Of course I did. You got that note a day or so ago and went into a fog. Not like you. And after you left this morning, I found two notes sitting on the floor of your wardrobe. Royal summons from his lordship. I knew what it was about, of course. Since I’d sent him that bill.”

“Duncan.” She closed her eyes which always prickled after a day spent in the starch-laden air of the store.

“Did you say yes to him? Are we to at last be marvelously wealthy, my girl? Did you make our fortunes? Tell me you said yes.”

She grabbed up her hat and the gloves, unable to stand another second of his company. “Tell Mrs. Parsons I am not going to be in for dinner.”

Jamming the pin through the hat, she left the sitting room they shared and slammed out of the boarding house.

The need to move still filled her. If only she could grab a rope and find a good wall. Or perhaps skewer her brother with a handy knife.

She’d rectify what she’d done. This hasty engagement was a mistake and not only because it made Duncan far too happy. The lure of Lord Felston’s body, of his money, of seeing that smile had been too much. She’d given up her freedom to a starchy, formal gentleman who’d nevertheless marry a near-stranger casually— primarily to annoy his family.

The bit about ending up as his care-taker. That was just a method to rouse her sympathy. The man was no more in danger of going insane than she was. Less likely, come to that.

She’d go to his too large, too impressive London house and tell him no thank you. He wouldn’t be hurt. He apparently did not believe in long engagements or marriage based on true love or perhaps even in marriage at all.

She didn’t know what she believed other than she wasn’t to be hurried into any cockamamie plans again. Duncan was bad enough, and at least he had some inclination to charm her when dragging her into his schemes.

Her time in London had taught her that a single female out walking was a bad idea and walking alone after dark was a very silly mistake. The only way to
cope was to move quickly and never look around. At least she wore wear loose-fitting clothes and her hat pin was a decent length.

She didn’t have to employ the hat pin, though she was out of breath by the time she’d covered the three long miles. Good. Some of the tension had left her body, and she could face that gloomy butler.

He put her in a comfortable small room. The chamber was clean and well dusted, but the furniture was almost shabby and the rug worn. She hadn’t understood how much she appreciated flaws in a room until found herself smiling in relief at the tattered fringe of the Turkish carpet as if she was greeting a friendly face.

“Good evening.” Lord Felston, unlike this room, was not flawed. Dressed to go out, she supposed, in immaculate black that again seemed to make his eyes brilliant and his hair shine. Had his hair been so magnificent when he’d been locked away in Derbyshire?

She felt dusty, wrinkled, smelling of the shop, and she wished she’d stayed home and raged at Duncan instead.

“Miss Cadero?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I have come to talk.”

“We’ll go to a proper drawing-room then.” He looked around as if he’d never seen the room. “This is where Thompson puts the tradesmen.”

“I like this room. That’s the trouble. I like it.” She felt as if she were holding back tears. “This is where I’ve felt human in this place. Well. The library, I suppose.”

He didn’t laugh or look offended. “Then we’ll go to the library. There’s a fire there.”

He excused himself, and a moment later, the butler reappeared to take her shawl with an apologetic murmur. The stooped grey-haired gentleman was too well-trained to show any sort of agitation, so she had no idea if Nathaniel had spoken sharply to the man or not for putting her in the shabby room.

Nathaniel reappeared and escorted her to the library at the back of the house. He closed the door. “You know that even though we’re engaged, your visit by yourself in the evening and that closed door are very inappropriate.” He didn’t sound the least upset. “I’ve ordered refreshment for you. I hope you don’t mind?”

Her stomach grumbled.

He smiled. “Good. Won’t you sit?”

She went to the chair closest to the fire. He picked the one just on the other side of the fireplace, so they almost faced each other. If she leaned forward she could touch his knee.

“Were you going out?” she asked.

“I’d planned too. Nothing vital and no one will miss me.”

The butler and same two footmen came in, pushing the same cart she’d seen that morning. The plates and cups were different, more elaborate in design. She idly wondered how many sets of plates a man like Lord Felston owned.

He certainly seemed comfortable ordering the butler to fill her plate, only glancing at her now and then for direction. She nodded at the cucumber sandwich and shook her head at the fish-paste.

A footman put the cup of tea and a well-filled, neatly arranged plate on a table next to her and then the servants slipped out. Had Lord Felston given a signal?

The fire crackled.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“No.” He rose and stood near her chair.

“I feel odd eating alone.”

He went to a table of decanters and poured out a small glass of something dark. “I’ll drink with you then.”

As she sipped the tea, she wondered if Duncan would worry about her absence. She hoped so.

He swirled the stuff in his glass but didn’t seem to drink it. “Now you can tell me why you’ve come here. Alone again. Don’t you have a maid?”

“We have furnished rooms, my lord. The maids and cook work for our landlady.”

He nodded. “I suppose I should hire one for you. To lend you countenance once our engagement becomes public.”

There. That was it. Her opening.

“I think we’re acting too hastily,” she began.

But he’d gotten to his feet again and had picked up a poker.

“My lord?”

“I’m Nathaniel. Some people call me Nate,” he said as he stabbed at a log until it sent up sparks. The fire grew hotter. “You were saying too hastily? Would you like to wait to make the announcement?” He carefully placed the poker back in the brass container but didn’t sit back down.

“Must one make an announcement? Or perhaps we could put about that we would be married, and then, once we had accomplished the task you wanted to hire me for, we could part ways. Break the sham engagement.”

“And why, after shocking the world by becoming engaged to a shop-girl, would I want to bring more scandal down on my head by breaking off the engagement?” Despite his rigid posture, he sounded amused.

She tried to match his tone. “You could blame me. Tell them you discovered I had a collection of Toby jugs I refused to part with. Everyone would understand.”

He stood over her so she had to crane her neck to see into his face.

He was in front of her now. He rested his hand on either arm of her chair. She started with surprise as he dropped to his haunches. Now she had to look down into his face.

The light, bantering tone hadn’t worked. She swallowed hard and tried again. “You claim your judgment might be impaired and then you make an offer for me. To take you up on that offer might be despicable and… What are you doing?”

The firelight gleamed in the blue-green eyes. He was so close now, his midriff pressed to her knees. She instinctively tucked her feet back.

“You may tell me to stop, Florrie.” He didn’t smile, but his voice was mild and friendly. “Any moment at all.” His hands slid from the chair onto her thighs, and he gently pressed her legs apart so he could move closer.

“What are you doing?” she asked again. He took the sandwich from her hand and put it on the plate.

“What do you think?”

“Seducing me.”

He nodded, and the corners of his mouth crooked up. Not a sweet smile. The complacent look of a predator that’s spotted prey within easy reach. “I’ve wanted to touch you since yesterday morning. No, since that damnable night in hell. And I will, unless you tell me to keep my hands to myself.”

She shrank away and decided to ignore the way her heart was thumping like a frightened rabbit’s. This was just the way it had been in the room. Only now he was in his right senses so there was no excuse. She reached for the sandwich and wished her fingers were steadier. “You’re not a very elegant wooer.”

“I’m impatient. Shall I tell you?” His hands slid up and down on her legs over the cotton muslin dress, the two layers of petticoats and the thick stockings. The thick clothing might have been the sheerest silk. His firm touch was warm and had the most peculiar effect on her breathing and skin.

“Go on,” she said, hastily adding, “Tell me, I mean.”

“I was once a patient man. I was not prone to fits or starts or strong sensibility.”

“Admirable,” she murmured and nibbled on the sandwich. His hands circled around her thighs now, squeezing her flesh lightly.

“But no longer.” He rose onto his knees. “I have a temper. Worse, I go from giddy delight at my freedom to despair that I am still trapped.”

“By the strange fits?” More proof that someone should protect him from making decisions as life-changing as marriage until his disordered mind was calm.