Love With a Scandalous Lord (23 page)

Lydia stopped frantically trying to gather up her hair. She cast a quick look at Rhys as he came around to stand in front of her. He gave her a curt nod, and she dropped her hands to her lap.

Camilla made herself at home by sitting in a nearby chair. Lord Sachse moved in to stand beside her, but Rhys was acutely aware the man’s gaze never strayed from Lydia.

“Archie has never been to London before,” Camilla began. “I can’t quite fathom that myself, but be that as it may, I decided to show him a bit of the city, so we’ve
been out riding about in the carriage.”

“It’s a nice day for it,” Rhys murmured, striving not to show how much he resented the intrusion, while at the same time immensely grateful for it. Touching Lydia always seemed to be an unfortunate way to go, because he seemed to have no restraint whatsoever where she was concerned.

“Indeed it is,” Camilla said. “And while we were out, I was struck with the most splendid idea. I thought the four of us—you and I, and Miss Westland and Lord Sachse—might attend the concert at Royal Albert Hall this evening.”

Rhys shook his head. “As I’ve indicated, I wish to find a suitable match for Miss Westland. Sitting in a theater hardly suits that purpose.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Rhys. The Royal Albert Hall is a splendid place to be seen. You don’t want the London gentlemen to believe Miss Westland cares about nothing more than dancing. Being American, she is at a decided disadvantage. She needs to be seen as having a bit of culture, not being totally barbaric.”

“I assume you’re aware that I
am
in the room,” Lydia stated defiantly.

Rhys snapped his attention to her. Camilla did the same. Sachse’s attention had never wavered from Lydia.

Lydia gave Rhys a pointed look. “I’d like to attend the concert.” She looked at Camilla. “As for my having a bit of culture, I’ll have you know that a traveling Shakespearean theater group put on a wonderful performance of
Hamlet
in Uncle Harry’s saloon. I enjoyed it immensely.”

Sachse coughed, no doubt trying to hide his laugh
ter, while Camilla seemed uncertain what she should say. Rhys as always was charmed with his little dreamer.

Camilla finally managed, “I’m not sure how the Royal Albert Hall will compare with Uncle Harry’s
saloon
. You will no doubt find it lacking, but shall we give it a go?”

“Retract your claws, Camilla,” Rhys said, his voice vibrating with warning.

“I believe Miss Westland is fully capable of defending herself, Your Grace,” Sachse said. He smiled warmly at Lydia. “I must admit to being entirely without culture. Although Shakespeare is one of my passions, I’ve never had the luxury of attending a play. Neither have I attended a concert such as I hear this one is. I would be honored if you would accompany me this evening.”

“I would be honored to do so, my lord,” Lydia said, returning his smile.

“Then it’s all settled,” Camilla announced as she stood. “You will send your carriage around for us, won’t you, Rhys?”

“Of course.”

She smiled brightly. “Then we’ll see you this evening.”

She began strolling from the room. Sachse gave a polite bow. “Your Grace. Miss Westland. I look forward to this evening.”

He followed Camilla out and shut the door. Lydia came to her feet, and her hair tumbled around her, down her back, stopping short once it had curled over her backside. Rhys grasped his hands behind his back to stop himself from reaching for her.

“You won’t be happy if you marry her,” Lydia said.

His happiness never had been a consideration. His only concern remained
her
happiness. “She and I are cut of the same cloth.”

“She acts as though she owns you.”

In many ways, perhaps she did. Certainly she knew more about him than most.

“How is your head now?” he asked, having no interest in a discourse on his selection of a bride.

She rubbed her neck. “It’s fine. I think I’ll see if Aunt Elizabeth is ready to leave, so I’ll have time to take a nap before we go out tonight.”

He took a hesitant step toward her. “How are you feeling otherwise?”

Sadness touched her eyes. “I should have had my menses by now.”

“Perhaps your body simply has not adjusted to being in England.”

She gave him what he thought she intended to be a smile, but instead looked like a weary, disappointed imitation. “We’ll hope that’s what it is.”

She strolled from the room without another word. He strode to the cabinet to fix himself a stiff drink.

Damnation! Part of him desperately wished he’d be forced to marry her, while a part of him feared dragging her into his hell.

“Truthfully, my dear, how does this compare with Uncle Harry’s
saloon
?” Camilla asked.

Sitting with Lord Sachse on her left, Rhys on her right, Lydia stared in wonder at the majestic domed ceiling, the balconies circling above her. She might have thanked Rhys for separating her from the she-cat, but Lydia was determined that nothing would spoil her
evening.

She could hardly take it all in. “It’s magnificent.”

“Does it hold a few more people than Uncle Harry’s
saloon
?”

“Camilla,” Rhys said softly, a warning purring in his voice.

Lydia looked past him to where Camilla sat. “You can be as mean-spirited as you like, you won’t ruin my enjoyment of the evening.”

Camilla angled her head haughtily. “My dear, I had no plans to even attempt to ruin this night for you.”

Liar
, Lydia thought. Unable to contain her excitement over the building, she squeezed Rhys’s arm. “I wish Mama could have seen this place. Much more impressive than the Chamber of Horrors.”

“Perhaps she’ll have reason to return to London, and we’ll be sure to bring her.”

We’ll?
She’d thought once she married someone else that Rhys would be out of her life completely, forever. Spending any time at all with him now was bittersweet.

She greedily devoured any moment he gave her, knowing each success carried him further away. She still couldn’t understand why he’d subject himself to life with such a coldhearted woman as the one who sat beside him now.

What was it that gave Camilla such a strong hold on him?

With Rhys looking into her eyes, Lydia was in danger of forgetting another person completed their party. She turned to Lord Sachse, who seemed inordinately pleased she’d done so.

“What do you think of the place?” she asked.

He smiled warmly. “I feel quite overwhelmed.”

“I think I could use every complimentary word in
the dictionary and fall short of giving this building its due.”

He leaned a little nearer, as though to impart a secret. “I have heard it said that the organ should be considered the eighth wonder of the world.”

“Do you think they’ll play it tonight?”

“I should hope so.”

She sat back and sighed deeply. “I think it’s magnificent.” She laughed lightly. “I said that already, didn’t I?”

“Indeed you did, but I, for one, never tire of hearing your enthusiasm.”

“Sometimes my enthusiasm can be very unladylike,” she assured him.

“I should never find honest enthusiasm such. What of you, Your Grace? Do you not find the lady’s enthusiasm most enjoyable?”

Rhys was watching her intently, and she wondered if he was remembering the times he’d curbed her enthusiasm—and the times he hadn’t.

“Her enthusiasm adds immensely to the enjoyment of my evening,” he said.

“And you, Lady Sachse?” Lord Sachse asked.

She pressed a hand to her chest. “For a moment there, I thought everyone had forgotten I was here.”

“You must forgive us, dear lady,” Sachse said. “I suspect you find it rather tedious to have to listen to those of us who are not accustomed to the majesty this building offers.”

“On the contrary, I am pleased my suggestion to attend tonight has met with such approval.”

“You were very kind to include me in your plans,” Lydia said, trying to set aside her dislike for the woman, striving to be as gracious as she believed a lady
should be.

“Not at all, my dear. The more you are seen, the more likely you are to catch someone’s fancy. The sooner you are wed, the sooner shall I be.”

Lydia snapped her gaze to Rhys. She saw a muscle in his cheek tighten as he stared straight ahead. His situation with Lady Sachse was beginning to make sense. He’d told her many among the aristocracy married for reasons other than love. His reason for marrying Lady Sachse was suddenly obviously, painfully clear.

Lydia had been mistaken. Lady Sachse did have the power to ruin her enjoyment of the evening.

Rhys had despised watching Lydia’s enthusiasm for the evening wane. She blamed exhaustion from her earlier excitement, claiming it had worn her out.

But as the carriage traveled through London, Rhys suspected Camilla’s unfortunate comment was more to blame. Damn the woman for not knowing when to hold her tongue.

Lydia was no fool. She would piece the puzzle together, and in all likelihood, she would not fancy the picture she saw.

Sachse sat beside him now while the ladies sat opposite. Camilla, at least, was keeping her sharp tongue behind her teeth. He was of a good mind not to carry through on his offer to marry her, but he understood Camilla’s claws were far reaching. He’d bargained with Satan’s bride, and now he would reign in hell.

The carriage slowed and stopped. Before Sachse could react, Rhys said, “I’ll see Miss Westland to the door.”

The footman helped her out of the carriage. Rhys followed, walking beside her. He’d expected to have to
rush after her, but there was no hurry to her step. He was not certain what he wanted to say or why it had bothered him so much to notice that Sachse had not taken his eyes off Lydia during the entire concert.

That the man was quite taken with her was obvious. But he knew as little of London as she did. He was not nearly worldly enough. Rhys could only hope another gentleman would offer for her. And soon.

Gracefully she ascended the steps, stopping well short of the door.

“You bargained with her,” she said softly, not meeting his gaze.

“She is well connected with the Marlborough House Set. She has influence where I do not.”

“She’s the one who is making sure that I have invitations to more balls than I could possibly attend.”

“Yes.”

She glanced up at him then. “In exchange for what?”

He shrugged as though it was of no consequence. “She will become my duchess.”

“She’ll make you miserable.”

“I’ll see you happy, Lydia, at any and all cost.”

“You don’t love her.”

“No, but neither does she love me. It is a fair trade.”

He saw tears welling in her eyes, before she looked away. “The price is too high to you.”

“Not if I say it isn’t.”

“If I don’t get married—”

“Nothing will change for me. I will still marry Camilla. Our agreement was that she would see you accepted into polite society. She has succeeded. That she has graciously agreed to wait for our wedding until you are settled is a credit to her.”

She shook her head.

“Whether you marry or return to Texas, I shall wed her. You might as well finish the Season and continue your search for a suitable husband.”

“You’re selling yourself.”

“It is not the first time.”

Her head snapped around, her eyes searching his face.

“You have not lived in the world I have seen, Lydia. Not all of London is glitter and gold. Marriage to Camilla will be silver at best.”

“And at worst?”

“Tolerable.” He cupped her chin, holding her gaze. “Find your happiness, so I might rejoice in it. For the price has already been paid.”

R
hys was not one to panic easily, but as he alighted from his carriage in front of Ravenleigh’s house, he couldn’t help but be alarmed. Lydia’s note had been delivered to him only a short while ago. It had simply stated she was not up to receiving gentlemen today.

What the deuce did that mean?

He had a strong suspicion that after her discovery the night before—the bargain he’d struck with Camilla in order to reap benefits on Lydia—she’d decided she no longer wanted to be the belle of London. She was too independent by half, too certain her love could withstand all things.

How tempted he was to put her to the test.

He strode through Ravenleigh’s door—a man on a mission. It did not improve his disposition to see Lauren gliding down the stairs.

“Your Grace, I saw your carriage arrive. Is something amiss?”

“I’ve come to talk with Miss Westland. If you will please fetch her for me.”

“I can’t do that.”

In the process of removing his gloves, he stilled. “Pardon?”

“She’s not quite well.”

“What do you mean she’s not well?”

Lauren blushed. “She simply wants to stay in bed.”

“Is she fevered?” he asked as he rushed past her and up the stairs.

“No, Your Grace.”

“Is food not agreeing with her?”

“I don’t believe she’s tried to eat.”

“Breathing, then. Is she having difficulty breathing?”

“No, Your Grace.”

All sorts of images ran through his mind. Devastating illnesses. The air in London was not as fresh as the air in the country. He would return her to the country where she could breathe the purest of air.

He reached the hallway. “Which room is hers?”

“Your Grace, this is entirely inappropriate—”

He spun around and pinned her with his most intimidating glare. “Which room?”

She pointed to a nearby door.

He gave her a brusque nod. “Thank you.”

He crossed over to it and flung it open without begging entrance. She was curled on her side on the bed. The only light was that which spilled in from the hallway, and yet he could still see that she was incredibly pale.

His throat tightened as he knelt beside the bed and
took her limp hand in his. “Lydia?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him a weak smile. “I sent you a note. Didn’t you get it?”

“It told me nothing.” He brushed strands of hair from her brow. “You’re ill?”

“No, not really. But neither am I with child.”

He heard the disappointment in her soft voice, felt a stab of regret in his own heart. He slid his gaze to where he knew her hips were resting beneath the covers. “It’s for the best,” he said distractedly, unconvincingly.

He shifted his attention back to her. “Is it this bad for you every month?”

He could see a little color returning to her cheeks.

“Not usually. I guess it’s just all the traveling and excitement. I’m just worn out.”

Nodding, he glanced toward the doorway where Lauren hovered. “Keep the door open. Fetch Lydia a cup of hot tea. Three teaspoons of sugar, half a teaspoon of cream, and two drops of lemon.”

Lauren promptly left.

“You know exactly how I like my tea,” Lydia said with wonder in her voice.

Lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I know a good many things about you.”

“Did you know I go swimming in the nude?”

His eyes widened as the image scalded his senses.

“In the creek back home,” she added. “Everyone does.”

“All I had at Harrington were a pond and some rivers.”

“I wanted to be a lady so badly, Rhys.”

“You are the finest lady I have ever known.”

“A lady wouldn’t have been distracted worrying about whether or not she was with child.”

“I believe you are quite mistaken. I think a good many ladies worry about that very thing. Gentlemen can be persuasive when they set their minds to it, and most are adept at escaping chaperones now and then.”

“I always thought my mother must have been mortified, because everyone in Fortune knew what had gone on between her and Grayson when they weren’t married. My father, John Westland, made no secret that it wasn’t his baby she carried.”

“You say that as though you no longer hold the same misgivings.”

“Understanding now how badly it hurts to know I’ll never have your child…I would have gladly borne the shame of his birth and loved him all the more because he was yours.”

Her declaration almost robbed him of speech. “You shall have children. Lots of children.”

“But they won’t be yours. You can’t comprehend how much I love you, can you?”

“I understand you can’t possibly know how much you would come to loathe me.”

“With all my heart, I believe you’re wrong.”

“Fortunately, I have not the courage or strength of conviction to test you.”

“I’d win.”

And in the winning, she’d eventually lose.

“I’m totally confused,” Lauren said.

She sat on the edge of Lydia’s bed while Lydia sipped her tea. Rhys had only recently left, after ensuring she would be well cared for.

“By what?” Lydia asked.

“The Duke. My God, Lydia, you should have seen him.
Nothing
was going to keep him away from you.
Absolutely nothing. I know it was inappropriate to allow him into your room, but he was like a man possessed.” She leaned nearer. “Or a man madly in love.”

“I know he cares for me, Lauren. I simply don’t know how to convince him that I’m willing to risk everything for him. When I opened my eyes and saw him here, I felt such gladness. I can’t explain it. He touches something so deep inside of me. The gentlemen I’ve met make me smile, make me feel happy, but Rhys manages to make me feel as though I could soar.” She sighed. “Listen to me, prattling on like Sabrina.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She took another sip of tea. “I suppose I’ll simply have to fall in love with someone else.”

“Do you think that’s possible?”

“I don’t know, Lauren. But I don’t want to think that I’ll spend the remainder of my life this miserable, this disappointed.”

Lydia much preferred being courted outdoors. She strolled through Hyde Park with her latest suitor. The lovely park seemed to be
the
place where everyone who was anyone happened to walk by.

Although she wasn’t exactly certain she was being courted. Lord Sachse walked alongside her, very stately looking in his top hat.

Lady Sachse had arrived mid-afternoon and announced that a stroll through the park was in order. Rhys had consented, and so here they were, with him and his intended ambling along behind Lydia and her escort.

The park wasn’t nearly as stuffy as the cluttered parlor where she constantly feared knocking something over and breaking it. She enjoyed the fresh air and the
twittering of the birds in the trees. Life surrounded her here, and she could almost overlook her disappointment that she wasn’t carrying Rhys’s child, that he wouldn’t set his intended aside for her.

“If I may speak boldly, Miss Westland, your heart does not seem to be in the husband hunt,” Sachse said quietly.

She darted a quick glance over at him. “I had a vision of London with its balls and glitter. Sometimes I wish I’d held on to the dream instead of touching the reality.”

“I am a scholar, Miss Westland, more comfortable with my books. I certainly never expected to have such fortune land in my lap, as it were. I must confess that securing myself a wife so I may leave the glitter behind appeals to me greatly.”

She angled her head thoughtfully. “So how is your wife hunt going?”

“Not at all well, I’m afraid.”

Smiling, she patted his arm sympathetically. “I can’t imagine why. You’re handsome, intelligent, enjoyable—”

“But I am not the Duke of Harrington.”

She stumbled over her feet, and he quickly grabbed her elbow, helping her to balance herself.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” she said, although she was afraid she knew exactly what he’d meant.

He grinned. “I have an older sister, Nancy. She is a dear girl, Miss Westland. Beautiful, really. Like you. Although her outer appearance is appealing, it is her inner beauty radiating outward which truly makes her lovely to behold. You remind me of her.”

She blushed. “Thank you for the compliment, my
lord.”

“You are most welcome. Although I must confess it is not your beauty which so much reminds me of her.”

“My wit?”

He shook his head, his grin growing. “Her husband is the homeliest fellow you’ll ever see.”

Wide-eyed, Lydia stared at him, hardly knowing how to respond to so caustic a statement.

He tilted his head toward her. “It’s true, I’m afraid. No one in the family could believe it when this chap caught her attention, but my sister looks at him the way you look at the Duke, and her husband looks at her the way Harrington looks upon you.”

She glanced away. “And how is that?”

“As though no greater love existed.”

She dared to meet his gaze. “I’m certain you’re mistaken.”

“I’m certain I’m not.”

“You’re impertinent.”

He had the audacity to grin broadly. “It is my lack of breeding. I should probably apologize.”

“Yes, I think you should.”

“I would if I thought you were truly insulted. Now tell me if I have judged correctly.”

“Harrington has announced his intention to take Lady Sachse as his wife,” she reminded him succinctly.

“Indeed, he has.”

They continued on. Lydia thought when she returned to Texas she would discuss with her family the possibility of setting aside some land for a park. They had an abundance of farmland where she could walk whenever she wanted, but she liked the idea of landscaping an area simply for the enjoyment of people to amble through.

Although here some people traveled by in carriages and others rode on horses. All were dressed in their finery as though on display. She supposed that was part of the reason Lady Sachse had suggested the stroll through the park.

“You know, Miss Westland,” Lord Sachse began, and she looked over at him, “I have been pondering your situation, and it has occurred to me that the fastest way to bring a dog to heel is to yank on his leash.”

Startled by his comment, she said, “I beg your pardon?”

“I would very much like to offer myself to you in marriage.”

As though he’d anticipated that she’d stumble again, he’d already placed his hand beneath her elbow and was offering her support.

“What?”

“I think we are well suited. Certainly you are beautiful and intelligent. I enjoy your company, and I think you enjoy mine.”

She didn’t know what to say. She’d always romanticized that her love would go down on one knee and whisper poetry before asking her to spend the remainder of her life with him.

“This is quite unexpected, my lord.”

“You need not look so frightened. I don’t think our marriage will come about.”

She nodded. “You’re probably right. Rhys has managed to find fault with every gentleman who has called on me.”

“He shan’t find fault with me. Lady Sachse will see to that. Although I suspect when faced with the reality of losing you, Harrington will step in and offer his own
suit.”

“What if Rhys doesn’t ‘come to heel’ as you suggested?”

He shrugged. “Then I marry a very lovely lady with whom I think I would be quite happy.”

She shook her head. “He won’t marry me.”

Reaching out, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You did not see the way he watched you when we were at the concert. My dear Miss Westland, I believe he would die for you.”

“Do stop scowling, Rhys. It doesn’t become you,” Camilla said, her hand resting on his arm.

Rhys concentrated on relaxing his facial muscles—not an easy task when Lydia’s laughter continued to float back toward him. What the deuce was Sachse saying to her that caused her such delight?

“Is there anything about me that you feel does become me?” he asked drolly.

“Your title,” she answered without hesitation.

He sighed heavily. “I have the impression that ours will be a cold marriage.”

“Colder than you think. I shan’t be sharing your bed.”

He snapped his head around. “Pardon?”

She angled her chin slightly without meeting his gaze. “I have no objection to your finding your diversions elsewhere.”

“I should hope not, if you’re not willing. You can’t be serious. Never? You have no plans whatsoever to ever share my bed?”

She darted a quick glance up at him, coloring rising in her cheeks. “I have my reasons.”

“Suppose you enlighten me.”

“I have no desire to be compared against every other woman who has graced your bed.”

“You placed them there,” he reminded her. “Afraid your performance might fall short? Is that the reason you never visited my bed?”

“My reasons are personal and have nothing whatsoever to do with you. We shall simply continue where we left off when Quentin, may he rest in hell, took his fall into the pond.”

“I was not aware you knew Quentin well.”

“There is much about me that you don’t know. It’s best if we keep it that way.”

“Is there anything about you, anything that I don’t know, that will come back to haunt Lydia?”

“Of course not. But they are my secrets, and I prefer to keep them to myself.”

He wasn’t certain why a sense of foreboding came over him. He needed to see Lydia well situated, and then whatever his marriage to Camilla became, he would accept. After all, she had twice helped him when no one else would.