Loving the Marquess (5 page)

She didn’t have to wait long.

“Maybe there is something you can do for me.” His gaze moved
over her, lingering on her breasts. When he raised his eyes to hers again their
piercing intensity caused her blood to freeze.

“I have always been very curious about you, Miss Evans. I
have a feeling you are hiding more beneath that innocent exterior than you
would have others believe.”

She said nothing.

He took a step closer but she stood her ground. He would not
see her cower.

“Surely we can find out,” he said.

“I think not.”

He stared at her intently for a moment before taking a step
back.

“Of course not,” he said. “Well, perhaps your sister will be
of a different mind. She is no longer a child, after all. And I am sure she
would be very eager to help keep her family from being tossed out of their home
without a shilling to their name.”

That will never happen,
Louisa vowed silently. She
would not allow him to approach Catherine with his lewd proposal.

She tried one last time to appeal to whatever scrap of
decency he might possess, knowing all along it would be futile.

“Please,” she said, trying to mask her desperation. “Hasn’t
your family taken enough from us? Can you not leave us in peace?”

His cool gaze flickered over her once more.

“I will be by on Friday. You will either have the rent then,
or you will have to think of another way to pay me. Good day.”

He strode toward his coach without a backward glance.

Sickened, she hurried into the house and closed the door
behind her. Leaning against it for support, she closed her eyes and swallowed
deeply, trying, without success, to achieve a measure of calm. She would never
be able to solve this new dilemma if she panicked.

It was Monday. She still had four days to find a solution.
But try as she might, she couldn’t think of a way out of their predicament.

She needed to sit down. She took a few deep breaths to
steady herself before moving into the sitting room. When she did, her gaze fell
on the calling card lying on the side table.

A flurry of activity broke out when
Nicholas rode into the open courtyard of Overlea Manor. A groom rushed out to
see to his horse, while the head gardener slipped away to let the staff know
the marquess had returned. Within minutes every servant on the estate would
know. He smiled wryly. His arrival had never commanded such attention before
he’d inherited the title. When his father and brother were alive he’d been free
to come and go as he pleased. He missed that freedom.

He dismounted and handed the reins to the groom, who bowed
and led the animal away. He turned toward the manor house where the butler was
waiting patiently by the open door.

Sommers bowed as Nicholas approached.

“Lady Overlea has been expecting you, my lord.”

Nicholas knew that meant his grandmother wanted to see him
as soon as possible. He had given up trying to remember what had been in her
letter. He could remember breaking the letter’s seal but had no memory of
reading it. The letter could only have been a summons or news that she was ill.
Nothing else would have caused him to ride home to Kent on horseback while in
the grip of one of his cursed headaches.

“Grandmother is well?”

“Yes, my lord, as always.”

Of course. His grandmother had always been strong as an ox.
She had outlived her husband, her two sons, and one of her grandsons. She would
probably outlive him as well. That meant Grandmother had summoned him home, but
why? She wouldn’t have called him there on estate business. She left that side
of things to him and he had never neglected his duties. She was up to
something. Something he hadn’t liked. He just wished he could remember what so
he could meet her on even ground.

“Harrison arrived this morning,” the butler continued. “He
was surprised to find you had not yet arrived.”

He grimaced inwardly. He couldn’t remember the details
surrounding his departure from town, but it sounded as though his valet’s
arrival had the entire household entertaining visions of yet another dead
marquess. He only hoped they hadn’t said anything to his grandmother that would
cause her to worry. He glanced down at his badly rumpled and dusty clothes. He
should go up and change first before seeing her, but at that moment all he
wanted was to get this meeting over with as soon as possible.

“I knew Grandmother wouldn’t be up when I arrived, so I
decided to put up at an inn instead of coming here directly,” he said by way of
excuse. It wasn’t a good one, but Sommers would never dare question him
further. “I’ll see her now.”

“Very well, my lord,” Sommers said with a slight bow. “She
is in her sitting room.”

Nicholas headed toward the staircase but stopped and turned
back to the butler.

“One more thing, Sommers. Do you remember the Evans family?
They had the estate bordering this one before my uncle acquired it.”

“Certainly, my lord,” Sommers said, hiding the disdain
Nicholas knew he had for what his uncle had done. He’d learned most of the
servants felt the same way after overhearing Sommers speaking of it once, years
before, to the housekeeper.

“If a message should arrive from them, I would like to be
notified immediately.”

“Would that be this afternoon, my lord?”

“No,” Nicholas said, frowning slightly. “I don’t know when
it will come, or even if it ever will.”

“Yes, my lord.”

With that, Nicholas turned back to the stairs and took them
two at a time to the second floor and proceeded to the east wing where his
grandmother had her rooms. He stood outside the door for several moments,
attempting one final time to recall what she had written in her letter. He
could almost see the words on the page, but the harder he concentrated, the
more elusive the memory became.

Shaking off his frustration, Nicholas rapped twice on his
grandmother’s sitting room door. She answered immediately, bidding him to
enter. He found her reclining on a chaise lounge, her eyes closed. Against the
deep red of the chaise, her snowy white hair and pale complexion stood out in
stark relief.

He could have kicked himself for not remembering his
grandmother had taken to resting in the afternoon. He should have waited to see
her. Though she would never admit it, his parents’ deaths, followed so closely
by his brother’s, had taken their toll on her.

She looked so small and frail and Nicholas felt a sudden
rush of love for her. Aside from his cousins, with whom he had never been
close, she was his only surviving relative.

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

“I see you received my letter,” she said, drawing herself
into a sitting position. She waved off the arm he held out to assist her. “I
thought that would get your attention.”

“Grandmother,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek
before taking a seat opposite her on a ridiculously ornate chair he wasn’t sure
would hold his weight. “I hope I didn’t disturb your rest.”

She frowned at him. “You aren’t furious with me?” She peered
at him closely. “What are you playing at?”

“Should I be angry with you?”

“Livid. Unless…” Her eyes lit up. “Unless you already have
news for me?” She leaned forward and took hold of his hand. “Who is she?”

“Who is who?”

The dowager marchioness threw his hand back in exasperation.

“Don’t toy with me, Nicholas. Who are you marrying?”

Surprise couldn’t begin to describe his reaction to her
question. He may have forgotten what she had written in her letter, but he
wouldn’t have forgotten a betrothal. His lapses in memory weren’t that far
along. Worried, he moved to sit next to her on the chaise. Grandmother was old,
yes, but she’d never suffered from delusions before. He knew some were prone to
them as they aged, but somehow he’d never thought his strong-willed, mentally
acute grandmother would be one of them.

“What makes you think I am getting married?” he asked, his
tone gentle.

She stiffened. “Don’t treat me like an old woman.”

He smiled at that and she swatted his arm.

“I forbid you to say it.” She frowned again. “Did you
receive my letter?”

He wasn’t sure how to hedge that one. He didn’t want to lie
to her, but he also didn’t want her to worry. She didn’t have to know yet that
he’d started having headaches or that they were starting to affect his memory.

“Your letter?”

She sighed with resignation. “It must have missed you. But
if you didn’t come because of my letter, why are you here?”

“Maybe I just wanted to spend some time with my favorite
grandmother.”

“I am your only grandmother. And you are not going to want
to have anything to do with me soon.”

This was what he’d been waiting for. He stood and faced her,
bracing himself for the worst.

“What have you done, Grandmother?”

“I have arranged for an announcement to appear in the papers
tomorrow morning about the ball I’ll be hosting here at the end of the month.”

His confusion deepened. “Most people send out invitations to
announce a ball.”

She didn’t react to the sarcasm in his tone. “I have sent
out invitations, but I wanted everyone to hear our happy news before then.”

Dread crept up his spine. “News?”

 “Yes. News of your upcoming nuptials.”

“My
what?
”

She really had gone mad. It was bound to happen at her age,
but that it should occur in so public a manner was beyond embarrassing.

“Please, Grandmother, say you didn’t.”

The dowager marchioness held firm. “I did.”

His mind began to race. He paced to the door, hands combing
through his hair. He darted a glance at the clock on the mantel. It was almost
one o’clock.

“If I leave now I might be able to reach London before they
go to press.” Presuming, of course, he didn’t suffer a relapse. His headache
was only marginally better, but he did feel steadier on his feet. He had no
idea how a newspaper was run, but he had to try to stop that announcement from
appearing.

“You’ll stay right here,” his grandmother said, her tone
firm.

Nicholas spun to face her.

“I may be old, Nicholas, but I haven’t lost my senses.
Tomorrow’s item is not precisely an announcement. I merely arranged to have it
known that you plan to announce your betrothal at this ball. It will appear as
a bit of gossip.”

That admission went a long way toward relieving some of his
concern.

“Surely you don’t expect me to manufacture a bride-to-be
before then,” he said, exasperated by her meddling. She’d been trying to get
him to marry since his brother’s death, but this was going too far.

“I know the Earl of Raymond would consent to a match between
you and his eldest daughter. And Lady Strathmore has been hinting broadly that
her daughter would favor a match with you. My preference would be for you to
wed your cousin Mary, as your brother had planned to do, to mend the rift
between the two families. I cannot force you to do that, however.”

“How kind of you,” Nicholas said, unable to keep his
annoyance from his voice.

His grandmother continued as though he hadn’t spoken.

“I am sure speculation will be rife. I suggest you finalize
who your betrothed will be soon.”

Nicholas could only stare at her, incredulous. The memory of
what had been in that damnable letter had come crashing back to him as she
spoke. How could he have forgotten the announcement of an upcoming marriage?
His marriage. Of course, Grandmother had led him to believe she would soon be
making a formal announcement. She had also neglected to mention she’d already
set her plan into motion.

“I will not be forced into marrying someone I cannot
tolerate, and I most definitely will not be marrying my cousin. James was the
martyr in this family, not I.”

He ignored the stab of guilt that went through him when he
saw the sorrow that crossed her face at the mention of his older brother. It
had only been a year since his death.

“I hate to mention this, but you must be aware that I have
not led a monkish life and am not unused to having gossip connected to my name.
Surely you know someone’s speculation that I intend to marry would hardly be
enough to force my hand.”

His grandmother sighed deeply. “Nicholas,” she said, her
tone now a placating one, “please understand. I have always wished for you to
find someone special. Someone you could love as your grandfather and I loved
each other and as your parents loved. I do not want to do this.”

“Then why do it?”

“You are twenty-eight years old. It is time for you to be
settled and beget an heir.”

Twenty-eight was hardly an advanced age, but he knew his
grandmother was thinking of his father and brother’s unexpected deaths.

“We already have an heir if something should happen to me.”

The dowager marchioness grimaced.

“Edward is my grandson and I love him, but your cousin would
never be a good marquess.”

“We agree there, but I will not allow you to force me into
this.” He turned and strode toward the door. “I will be returning to London
tomorrow.”

He was about to leave when his grandmother’s words stopped
him.

“I have told you my plans in advance this time, Nicholas. If
you do not comply now, there will be no warning next time. The first you hear
of it will be a formal announcement that will include the bride’s name.”

“I see,” he said stiffly, turning to face her. “I suppose I
should be grateful you’ve allowed me some choice in the matter.”

“Nicholas…”

He didn’t stay to hear more. He opened the door and walked
out, closing it soundly behind him. A swift, burning anger had replaced the
concern he’d felt for his grandmother upon entering her sitting room. He
couldn’t believe she actually sought to blackmail him into marrying.