The Bachelor's Bargain (18 page)

“The little emperor’s name is Napoleon Bonaparte. You must learn to call him Boney among your new friends.”

“Friends? You once called them predators ready to tear me apart with fangs and claws.” Anne could not deny how much she dreaded the coming weeks in London, but she dared not allow the marquess to sense any trepidation in her, lest he use it to gain the upper hand. “So, this Boney . . . how can he possibly help you?”

“I am counting on him to blunder into a war with England and Prussia.”

“Good heavens,” she said aloud. Catching a glance from Sir Alexander, she lowered her voice again. “I cannot cherish the prospect of touring France in the midst of such hostilities.”

“There are a great many things about this venture I cannot cherish.” He studied her so intently that Anne felt her cheeks grow warm. “I suppose you bade your farewells to everyone at Slocombe House.”

“I was sorry to leave Mrs. Davies and Mr. Errand. Even Mrs. Smythe, for all her blustering, was good to me. The kitchen staff, too, became dear friends, many of them.”

“And the gamekeeper?”

“William Green? He shot the both of us, you will recall. Why should I be sorry to leave such a man as that?”

“You expect me to believe you were not in love with him?”

“In love with the gamekeeper?” she said. “Upon my honor, sir, that is absurd.”

Without speaking, Ruel turned to the window. “Marston House at last. I see Miss Watson’s sister is just arriving at Trenton House as well. How fortunate for us all.”

“Sarah!” Prudence squealed at the sight of her sister’s carriage. “Oh, Sarah is home at last! Look, Anne! She is come!”

Anne grabbed the edge of the leather seat as the carriage slowed. Though Prudence was pulling on her arm and bouncing up and down on the seat, all she could think of was William Green. In love with a man like that? How could Ruel possibly think such a thing? Where had he gotten so ridiculous a notion? But he had said it with such confidence . . . tossed it between them like a gauntlet. She had no weapons with which to duel such a man as the marquess. How could she prove him wrong? For that matter, why did he even care?

Ruel stepped out of the carriage and tugged the tails of his coat into place. Then he held out one gloved hand to Anne. At the sight of his cold eyes and rigid mouth, her dismay changed to anger. She set her hand in his and leaned through the door.

“I rejected the gamekeeper two times,” she hissed in his ear as she descended. “That is why he shot me.”

“I saw you go into the arboretum—”

“Sarah!” The young woman fairly flew out of the carriage, knocking Anne and Ruel aside in a rush to see her sister.

“Prudence!” The mahogany-haired beauty running across the crescent-shaped sward of green park between Marston House and Trenton House stole their attention. Picking up her skirts, she hurtled headlong at her sister.

“Oh, my dearest Sarah!” Prudence cried, bursting into tears and sobbing on the other’s shoulder as they met in a fond embrace. “You cannot imagine how happy I am to see you! After you and Mr. Locke left me all alone at Trenton House, I became utterly despondent, and thank goodness for the Duke of Marston who invited me to Slocombe in the country to recover my health. Anne Webster was given to me as lady’s maid, but she is no longer Anne at all, for she has married the marquess! Oh, Sarah!”

“Prudence, my poor sister.” Mrs. Locke made no attempt to muffle emotion. “Oh, Pru, how you must have suffered.”

“I feared for your life every day. Dear Sarah, I am so glad you came back!”

“How could I not? Oh, but you are thin! Let me look at you.” She held her sister at arm’s length, her brown eyes misty and her lips trembling. “Goodness me, you are dreadfully wan.” She pressed her fingers to Prudence’s cheeks. “What has happened to my little sister? My darling Pru with her golden locks and happy smile . . . my precious, silly girl!”

Prudence sniffled. “Sarah, now that you are home, I shall be myself again.”

“Of course you shall! And who is this?” She caught Anne’s hands. “My dear friend, are you now a marchioness? Can such a thing be true? But you are a lovely girl and of such a pleasant disposition. Of course, the marquess adores you. I can see it perfectly. What a sweet companionship! Oh, my dear Lady Blackthorne, I am so happy for you!”

Anne could hardly resist the flood of warmth she felt as she was swept into Sarah’s embrace. Enveloped in the scent of roses, she slipped her arms around the woman and held her tightly. “Please call me Anne, as you did before. I am not so very different from the lady’s maid who once waited upon you.”

“Then you must call me Sarah, and we shall consider ourselves equals and friends.” She beckoned the handsome gentleman who now strode across the green. “Charles, I have wonderful news. My dear lady’s maid has become a bride! She has wed Lord Blackthorne.”

“Upon my word, I am pleased to hear this happy news.” Mr. Locke removed his hat and gave Anne an elegant bow. “I wish you great joy, my lady. And you, my lord. My heartiest congratulations.”

Anne stood to one side as the travelers were caught up in the swirl of coachmen unloading trunks and footmen offering trays of drinks. When the Lockes realized that in Prudence’s absence Trenton House had been shut up for several months and would be unready to receive them, Ruel offered rooms in his father’s house. Accepting with gratitude, Prudence and Sarah chattered excitedly about their adventures and vowed they must invite their middle sister, Mary, to join them as soon as might be. Amid the hubbub Anne spotted Mr. Walker climbing down from a carriage.

In spite of the marquess’s more luxurious vehicle, she realized she gladly would have ridden in the servants’ coach. Surely Mr. Walker would never stoop to accuse her on unfounded rumors. The blacksmith, hat pulled low on his head, was starting up the steps into the house when the marquess noticed him.

“Walker! Do come and meet the Lockes.” He caught Anne’s arm and urged her into the gathering. “Perhaps you would introduce your friends, my dear wife.”

Anne swallowed, uncomfortable at playing such a farce before those she had grown to respect and admire. The Indian kept his eyes to the ground as she made the introductions.

“You live in Tiverton, then, Mr. Walker?” Sarah Locke asked.

“I am a blacksmith.”

“How very nice.” She glanced at Anne, clearly uncertain as to how a blacksmith and a marquess had formed so close a friendship. “And you hail from America. Lord Blackthorne, I believe you have recently returned from that country. We had heard you might have lost your life in such a savage place.”

“St. Louis is hardly uncultured, madam,” Ruel informed her. “Indeed, the city is quite as civilized as London. More so, in many ways.”

“But of course. How thoughtless of me. And St. Louis is home to your Chouteau relations.” She waved her hands in agitation. “How could I have forgotten? Yet, I am so beside myself to see my sister again, and now Anne is wed into the aristocracy—”

“Sarah, you are all aflutter,” her husband said gently. “I fear in a moment you’ll begin to weep great rivers of tears all over your sister and the marchioness. My lord, may I suggest that we all go inside and retire to the drawing room?”

“Tea. Superb idea,” Ruel said. “You will join us, will you not, Walker?”

“Thank you, but I am not in the custom of drinking tea. Excuse me.” He gave the company a curt nod and continued up the stairs and into the house.

Still chattering like squirrels, Sarah and her younger sister followed. After giving instructions to his footmen regarding their trunks, Mr. Locke turned to Sir Alexander. The two men had been at school together, Anne knew, and were not only friends but business partners in a tea enterprise. Engrossed in conversation, they climbed the steps to the front door of Marston House.

Anne closed her eyes and lifted up a fervent prayer for forgiveness, fortitude, clarity, and peace. She had relied more on Prudence Watson than she liked to think, and now that Sarah had returned, Anne would not see her friend so often. She would be alone—with Lord Blackthorne—and the thought of it frightened her to the very depths of her heart.

“The arboretum.” The word was spoken so close to Anne’s ear that she jumped. “I saw you there.”

She looked up into a pair of eyes the color of slate. “Of course you did,” she whispered back. “You dragged me into the arboretum yourself.”

“You returned there after I had gone up to the house.” He took her arm and propelled her toward the stairs. “Whom did you meet?”

She tried to think, but his hand gripped her arm so tightly and his shoulder was pressed so hard against hers that it was all she could do to climb the steps without stumbling. “If you were so intent in spying on me, you should know what I did.”

“I was not spying. I was talking to Walker in the library when I witnessed your secret assignation.” He pulled her through the marble-floored hall and turned her into a small parlor hung with gold and velvet. Kicking the door shut with his foot, he pressed her up against a wall. “If you have a lover, I want to know his name. Tell me.”

“You say but little to me for three days in the carriage, and now in the midst of your family and friends you assail me!” She squared her shoulders. “What does it matter to you whom I love?”

His jaw tightened. “You are my wife.”

“Do not be absurd, sir. I am a housemaid with a gift for making lace. I am a commoner you need for a business enterprise. I am not your wife!”

His hands on her shoulders tightened. “As long as you wear my name and my title, you will not take lovers.”

“Will
you
? Or do we play our game of charades by different rules?”

“Dash it all, woman! Who was in the garden with you?”

“My glove,” she snapped. “You had tossed it away, you odious man. I went back to fetch it. And my shawl. Unlike you, I regard my material possessions with respect, and I should never abandon my glove in the arboretum or leave my shawl in the grass . . . or mislay a length of valuable handmade Honiton lace in London!”

As she spoke, his face lifted, and his mouth tilted into a grin. “Your glove?”

She waved her fingers in front of his face. “My glove. You might have remembered it yourself had you not been so blind with jealousy over some imagined lover.”

“Jealous, am I?”

“Are you not?” She narrowed her eyes. “Blind with it. In fact, you are the blindest man I have ever had the misfortune to know. Blind to the beauty of the world around you. Blind to the love of your father. Blind to the selfish greediness of your dreams. Blind to the people who surround you.”

He lifted her chin with the crook of his forefinger. “I seem to see you clearly, my hotheaded beauty.”

She turned away. “Proof of your blindness. I am no beauty. Your brother declared my hair the brown of a mouse’s rump.”

“My brother is a fool.”

“Anne?” The female voice outside the parlor door echoed through the foyer. “Anne, where are you?”

“It is Mrs. Locke,” he whispered, pulling Anne into his arms. “Hold me, quickly,” he mouthed against her cheek.

Obedient without forethought, she slid her hands around his back as the door burst open.

“Anne?” Sarah gasped. “Oh, dear!”

Ruel lifted his head. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Locke.”

Sarah glanced at Anne and clapped a hand over her mouth. “I do apologize, sir. My sister and I were looking for your wife. Had we but considered that you might . . . Do forgive me, please. I am so sorry.”

Mortified, Anne prayed that Sarah could see through the ruse. But the young woman was utterly taken in by what she had witnessed—which was exactly what Ruel had planned, of course. Anne dared not speak as the wicked man let his warm fingers slide down her arm.

“Do not trouble yourself so, Mrs. Locke,” he said. “My wife and I have been imprisoned in that frightful carriage for three days. You were a bride not so long ago, I understand.”

“Yes, my lord, and certainly Anne is . . . is a lovely and . . . and charming . . .” Her words faltered as a blush crept up her face.

“Thank you, Sarah, you are always too kind.” Anne stepped away from Ruel. “I should like to freshen up for tea. Excuse me, please.”

“Dearest.” His voice stopped her. “I very much hope you will leave your hair loose at tea as you promised. I feel quite determined to enlighten my brother’s opinion of its color.”

Anne suppressed a glare. How dare he ask her to wear her hair loose like some wanton?

“I shall leave my bonnet in my room, dear husband,” she said. “At your pleasure.”

He smiled. “Where you are concerned, my pleasure knows no bounds.”

She dipped her head at Mrs. Locke and slipped out into the hall. As she fled up the grand staircase, she could hear him chuckling behind her.

Nine

To Anne’s surprise and dismay, Sir Alexander invited a horde of Society’s most esteemed members to Marston House for dinner that evening. Nothing had prepared Anne for the assault that began almost the moment the Marquess of Blackthorne introduced her as his bride. What a “fortuitous marriage,” the jeweled matrons murmured. As a woman with such an “unfortunate upbringing,” Anne must consider herself very lucky indeed to have caught the eye of such a “handsome and noble” gentleman.