His Lady Mistress (15 page)

‘Let me get this straight,’ he said harshly. ‘All you wanted of me was safety and security? And you don’t wish to marry me.’

He thought she hesitated, but then she lifted her chin.

‘Yes. I mean, no.’

An awful thought came to him. She didn’t want a career as a courtesan—thank God—but neither did she want to marry…He felt sick. Had he…?

‘Verity—I know I hurt you. If I’d known—it won’t be like that again…’ His voice shuddered into silence. It wouldn’t be like that at all. He couldn’t take the risk of a child. Not if he was married to her.

‘It’s not that!’ she broke in. ‘You didn’t…it wasn’t…I can’t marry you. If you want me, I will be your mistress, but…’

‘
The hell you will
…What the devil is going on out there?’

An indistinct uproar in the hall resolved itself into a single voice that Max recognised, but couldn’t quite identify.

‘Out of my way, sirrah! I’ll see his lordship and be damned to the lot of you!’

Verity’s cheeks turned grey, and her eyes dilated so much they turned black with fear.

Faringdon.

The time to think, to reason with her, had flown. Only action could save her now.

Max gripped Verity’s shoulders. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘There’s no time. In the last ditch, do you wish to remain free of your relatives? At any cost?’

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The con
vulsive movement of her throat stabbed at him, but he said harshly, ‘Quickly, Verity. Do you trust me?’

She nodded.

‘Very well. I’ll invite Faringdon in. Follow my lead and don’t volunteer anything. Above all, don’t contradict anything I say.’ He bent over her and caught her chin, forcing it up. ‘Remember. Back me up. It’s your only chance.’ Unable to help himself, he caressed the silky soft skin, lingering on the delicate line of her jaw, the suddenly fluttering pulse in her throat. The fierce surge of desire shocked him.

Grimly he wrenched his fingers back and stood up. ‘Whatever I say, Verity.’ Then he walked to the door and opened it.

Lord Faringdon stood in the centre of the hall, covered in dust, his face red with fury.

‘Do come in, Lord Faringdon. Did I leave something behind? I rather thought I had everything needful.’

Max noted with savage pleasure that his calm voice had an anything-but-calming effect on Faringdon. His hectic flush became purple and his fists clenched.

The moment he crossed the threshold of the library his gaze fell on Verity. His jaw dropped and his eyes bulged as his Adam’s apple worked convulsively. Speech exploded from him.

‘By God, you carry your little affairs with a high hand, Blakehurst! But you’ve gone too far this time! Stupid, too. Did you think I wouldn’t realise she’d gone with you?’

Max pretended to consider this. ‘No. I didn’t really think you that lacking in wit. Honesty, yes. I confess that I do have a query there.’

Faringdon swung around. ‘What the devil do you mean, sir?’

Anger coursed through Max. ‘I asked you, Lord Faringdon, for news of Miss Scott and you informed me that she had died…’

His lordship pounced on that. ‘Nothing of the sort! Said
she was no longer with us. You were the one who assumed—’

‘An assumption you did nothing to correct and, indeed, fostered!’ snapped Max. ‘In fact you implied that she had taken her own life!’

‘Nothing to do with you!’ roared Faringdon. ‘She’s under my guardianship and—’

‘Not now she isn’t,’ Max informed him. He stepped to Verity’s side and picked up her hand, pressing it in warning. ‘She’s under my protection now.’

Faringdon smiled knowingly and his voice took on an oily tone. ‘Of course she is. But do you really want it known that you seduced an innocent girl away from the care of her family? That you had her openly in your house? I think not, Blakehurst. You see, your reputation is well known. Naturally I lied to you. To protect my ward from your, er,
dishonourable
intentions. Of course, if you wished to make me a little payment, a contribution to the care she has received…’ He smirked knowingly. ‘After all, according to the bed linen, you got your money’s worth!’

For a moment Max could not quite believe his ears—that Faringdon would bargain Verity’s lost innocence to sell her into whoredom. Right on the heels of a threat to claim he had only been trying to protect her virtue.

Verity’s sharply indrawn breath warned Max that she had understood as well and he spoke straight over her. ‘I will take leave to inform you that your ward has done me the honour of becoming my wife. The notice will be in the papers shortly. Any further insults and you will meet me!’

‘What?’
shrieked Faringdon. ‘I forbid it! You have no right!’

Max took an even firmer grip on Verity’s suddenly trembling hand. Faringdon’s reaction stunned him. Surely, surely the man couldn’t be this stupid!

‘She’s under age,’ sneered Faringdon, recovering himself somewhat. ‘I’ll have it set aside. And she’s returning with
me at once. I don’t know what pack of lies she’s told you, Blakehurst, but—’

Max shrugged. ‘You could set it aside, but what reason would you give? That I’m after her money and took advantage of her? That I am unable to support her in the style to which she is accustomed?’ He snorted. ‘You might have me there. It would certainly never occur to me to treat her the way you did.’

‘Damn it, Blakehurst! You can’t just—’

‘I can and have.’ Max cut him off. ‘And you may like to consider the esteem in which his Grace, the Duke of Wellington, held Colonel Scott. Believe me, if I carry this story to him, you will be hard pressed to set foot in society again, Faringdon. The notice will appear in the papers and unless you wish to ruin yourself you will accept it with a good grace. Good day, my lord.’

‘Not so fast, Blakehurst,’ said Faringdon. ‘As Miss Scott’s guardian, I demand to hear what she has to say. I find her in your house and you inform me that you are married, but I’ve yet to hear a word out of my niece.’ He turned on Verity.

The door flew open and Max swore mentally as Richard limped in.

‘Everything quite well, Blakehurst? Clipstone seemed to feel my presence desirable.’

Consigning his over-zealous butler to the devil, Max said, ‘Lord Faringdon wishes to assure himself that I have not offered his ward marriage with the left hand only. As a witness to our marriage earlier today, Richard, perhaps you might care to assure his lordship that
all is as it should be
.’

Richard stared. ‘I…I beg your pardon, Max?’

God help us!
Max manufactured a world-weary smile and sigh. ‘Yes, I know, Richard. Shocking, is it not, that he feels compelled to doubt my word, but never mind. You shall set him right and all shall be forgotten.’

Richard held his gaze straitly. ‘Are you sure, Blakehurst?’

Max returned that challenging look. ‘Quite sure, Richard.
Calling him out would be the only alternative. So tedious.’ Silently he prayed that Richard would do as he was bid. Would not baulk at the lie, thinking to avert disaster.

Shrugging, Richard turned to Faringdon. ‘I can’t think why you would question Blakehurst’s word. The marriage has taken place. Are you satisfied?’

For an answer Faringdon spun on his heel and strode out, slamming the door behind him.

Richard exploded. ‘You damned—’

Max waved him to silence. Senses straining, he waited…A reverberating crash informed him that Lord Faringdon had shut the front door himself. Reluctantly he met Richard’s glare.

‘And just what do you intend now?’ asked Richard through gritted teeth.

Max glanced at the clock on the chimney piece. ‘Five o’clock. Ricky, have the travelling carriage brought around and send Harding to me. You and Almeria will take Verity straight down to Blakeney. I’ll be down as soon as I can get the licence. You can give the bride away and act as a witness with Almeria.’

‘What?’

The cry broke from two shocked throats.

‘Ricky!’ snapped Max. ‘Just go. Now.’ He held Richard’s gaze and said, ‘There’s no help for it. I have to act before Faringdon realises we lied. I wouldn’t abandon a stray dog to that cur.’

Swearing, Richard turned to Verity. ‘Welcome to the family.’ And he limped out. At the door he looked back. ‘Even
you
can’t get married that fast! What if Faringdon realises?’

Max shrugged. ‘Faringdon’s a fool. By the time someone tells him, with a bit of luck we
will
be married.’

Richard’s choice of epithet suggested that Max’s idea of good luck didn’t tally with his own.

Verity saw her entire world collapsing around her even more thoroughly. ‘My lord, earls don’t—’

‘Oh, yes, they do,’ he told her. ‘Take my word for it.’

‘Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife…?’

Three days later Verity stood shaking beside Max in the drawing room at Blakeney and listened to the minister’s measured tones. This couldn’t be happening. She must have been insane to let him sacrifice his freedom for her. He should never have been permitted to do it. At her back she was savagely aware that the bridegroom’s aunt and brother agreed wholeheartedly.

‘Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?’

‘I will.’

Max’s calm response jarred on her. He had never intended to marry—

So what will change for him? Nothing. He will be free to pursue whatever mode of life he chooses.
The knowledge gave no comfort. Her alternative was to return to Faringdon Hall. A sharply indrawn breath from Max jerked her back.

The minister was staring at her with an expectant look on his face. She looked back blankly.

‘I will!’
Richard muttered behind her.

‘I…I will.’

It was little more than a whisper, but it satisfied the minister, for he continued. ‘Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?’

Verity stiffened as Richard came forward, possessed himself of her right hand and gave it to the minister. She stiffened still further as the minister placed her hand in Max’s. Her mouth dried and a choking lump rose in her throat. How he must hate her! He had not looked at her so much as once, since she had reached the altar.

Max felt the small, shaking hand placed in his and went cold with shock. He had avoided looking at her, but now he did. She looked calm enough, but pale, so pale. And her hand
in his felt as though it might shatter with the tension. He could feel the fine trembling. Damn. Was she that frightened of him?

Gently he stroked his thumb over her knuckles and concentrated on repeating his vows. ‘I, Maxwell James Blakehurst, take thee, Verity Anne, to my wedded wife…’ Another vow. Before God and man. Somehow he would have to try to reconcile it with the other promises he had made. ‘…to love and to cherish…’ he dismissed the frisson of shame. Plenty of people took these vows every day with not the least notion of keeping to all of them ‘…and thereto I plight thee my troth.’

Could he dishonour himself in that way? A queer thought came to him—could he do that to Verity? Force her into marriage and continue to entertain himself as he pleased?

Verity’s husky whisper, repeating her vows, pierced him. No hesitation, just that shattered note in her voice, as though her throat hurt. She hadn’t wanted this marriage. She had begged him to release her. He had refused, insisted on marriage. And then Lord Faringdon had arrived, demanding her return. Max didn’t doubt that her fear of being forced to return to the Faringdons had broken her resistance to the marriage. It didn’t make him feel any better.

‘…and thereto I give thee my troth.’

Carefully Max took the glove from her left hand, his heart contracted at the reddened, work-roughened state of her slender fingers, the cracking. Steeling himself, he turned to Richard and found the ring waiting for him. He laid it upon the prayerbook for the minister to bless.

Then he was placing it on Verity’s fourth finger. Grimly he saw that there was an especially deep crack at the base of that finger. The ring stuck a little going over her knuckle, then went on with a rush. The only sign she gave that he had hurt her was a sharp little gasp, but it stabbed deep into Max and without thinking he lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed it.

Startled grey eyes met his.

He forced a smile and repeated after the minister, ‘With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship…’ Steadily he continued, holding the ring on her finger.

There was no going back now. He listened as the minister concluded, pronouncing them ‘…man and wife together.’

With aching control he brushed the lightest of kisses over her trembling lips. Verity was his. For better or for worse. All he could do was try to make sure it wasn’t worse for her.

By the end of dinner that evening Verity had made several discoveries about dining in polite company. Amongst other things, one must remember to rise at the end of the last course so that the gentlemen might be left to their wine. Neither did one leave one’s food on one’s plate without even the pretence of eating it. These last two pieces of information were imparted to Verity in the drawing room after the ladies had retired.

‘It will require a great deal of application on your part,’ intoned Lady Arnsworth, ‘if you are to take your place in Society without rendering Max a laughing stock.’

Verity concentrated on not knocking over her teacup, or letting it rattle in its saucer as she set it down. She had no intention of going anywhere near fashionable London.

Lady Arnsworth continued to chart her social course. ‘It will be vital that you are seen at all the right places. And with the right people. There is bound to be gossip, but if you behave with decorum, Max’s influence should quell the worst.’ She fixed Verity with a warning eye. ‘We must, however, be realistic. It is in the highest degree unlikely that vouchers can be procured for you.’ She sipped her tea, a monument of virtuous resignation.

‘Vouchers?’ asked Verity.

Lady Arnsworth gave a superior sort of smile. ‘For Almack’s. Given the likely scandal attending your marriage, it is most unlikely that I will be able to persuade any of the
Patronesses to extend their approval. You may,
perhaps
, be invited to larger gatherings at their homes.’