The Devilish Montague (16 page)

She shook her head again and a pale curl danced with her earrings. Recovering from her momentary uncertainty, she replied, “You must meet my family someday to understand. We do not do adoration well. If you require worship, be sure that we will not suit.”

Relief swept through him, and he almost got down on one knee right there. “Then you are the woman of my dreams, Miss Carrington. Let me make the announcement.”

“You must speak with Lady Belden first. And perhaps my solicitor?”

“In the morning, then?”

She stared up at him with a concern that matched his own, but her gloved hand was warm and vulnerable and wrapped trustingly in his.

“If all goes well with Lady Bell and the solicitor in the morning, Mr. Montague, then yes, I suppose we might make the announcement.”

By tomorrow, the noose would be firmly fastened around his neck. Blake tugged at the knot of his neckcloth and resisted dragging her somewhere private to reassure himself this was what he wanted.

“You honor me, Miss Carrington,” was all he managed to say.

Mr. Montague thought she deserved adoration! Jocelyn was not at all certain how to take that declaration from a man she’d thought honest but whom she knew wanted her money.

She tugged nervously at the ribbon of her pocket and wished she could pace Lady Bell’s study as her intended was doing. His father’s solicitors and Lady Bell’s were poring over the settlement papers, harrumphing, and whispering to their clerks.

She didn’t want to be here at all, except she had no father to conduct the negotiations, and Viscount Pig would fly before she let him represent her interests. She’d persuaded Lady Bell’s solicitor to carry out the diabolical exchange Harold had demanded for Richard’s guardianship. She was almost penniless again, but Richard was safe. She’d made certain of that. The responsibility was both terrifying and satisfying.

She would owe her new husband a great deal when he discovered what she’d done. She hoped she could find some way to make up for her deception.

Living from one calamity to another made planning difficult. She’d spent her childhood hiding Richard from Harold’s abuse, lost her father at seventeen, been thrown out of her beloved home not long after, and spent these last six years trying to prevent Richard’s occasionally hysterical behavior from getting them flung from their half sisters’ homes. Without great success. Her impulsive acts, like the bird-snatching, often had far-reaching, unintended consequences. Who would have thought stealing Percy would lead to marriage?

Sitting in the window seat, she glanced at the street below. Since receiving Richard’s cryptic note, she was heeding her instinct for trouble. Ogilvie might even now be stalking her, looking for his parrot. The house in Chelsea could be on fire. Her mother could arrive on the doorstep with Richard in tow. Her life was such that it made sense to plan for disaster and disruption.

In comparison, deciding to marry seemed an exercise in serenity.

“This is outrageous!” Lady Bell’s man uttered in rage, shaking one of the papers at his counterpart across the table. “This says the house reverts to Baron Montague should his son die within the next year. Miss Carrington cannot place all her funds in the hands of her husband, only to have the roof snatched from her head if he’s inconveniently run over by a carriage!”

Jocelyn raised her eyebrows questioningly to Mr. Montague. At the solicitor’s outburst, he stopped his pacing to glance at her with what appeared to be concern. She knew the lawyers would not heed her, but she was interested in her intended’s explanation of the outburst. Madly enough, she was learning to trust his cynicism.

“I warned you of my family’s manipulations,” he said for her ears alone. “I was afraid there would be a catch to my father’s generosity. This is my parents’ attempt to prevent me from going to war.” He squeezed her hand in reassurance.

Returning to his pacing, he spoke to the table of lawyers. “Perhaps a clause might be entered that the property revert to my child if I suffer a sudden, injudicious demise,” he suggested.

He was being sarcastic again. Apparently, his parents were playing the superstition card and hoped she might keep their son from dying before thirty. Would his father accept an heir in return for his expensive property?

An heir.
She’d never once considered children. She needed to start considering them. She suffered an urge to run far, far away. She’d thought this was to be a marriage of
convenience
, but his family, naturally, had different ideas.

“Then perhaps the lady’s funds should be kept in
her
family as well,” Lady Bell’s attorney responded matter-of-factly. “I suggest she be allowed complete control of her income until such time as the house is legally hers.”

Smart man. That would prevent Mr. Montague from learning she had no funds until the beginning of the year. Better yet, if he did not go to war, she was less likely to lose the house due to his
injudicious demise
.

The attorneys returned to muttering among themselves, but Mr. Montague set aside his copy of the papers to loom over the seat where she was perched.

“You are worried,” he stated flatly. “Second thoughts?”

“I’m on my hundredth and one thought by now. Remind me why I am doing this?”

“Because your parrot is teaching Fitz’s innocent children how to curse?” he suggested. “I thought it was because you would like to return to your home.”

“But if I am understanding the argument, your father will not let me have the house should you die in battle over this next year.” She threaded her fingers to prevent herself from fraying her ribbon.

“I have Wellesley’s promise of a staff position if I can buy in by Christmas. If I tell you that I’m unlikely to be at the front, will you feel less anxious?” he asked.

Christmas
. She gulped. He wouldn’t be going anywhere at Christmas. “What is the point of our marrying if I do not have a house and you end up dead?” she asked instead.

“I do not intend to end up dead,” he pointed out, “but they are merely negotiating at the moment.”

“It is all very cold, is it not?” she asked wistfully. “I am sorry I shot your toe. You are still limping. Is it healing yet?”

“It was only a scratch. I bumped my knee the other night. If you are sorry we must marry, we should find a way out of our impending vows now, before it’s too late.”

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps that was exactly what they should do.

A sharp rap sounded on the study door, jarring Jocelyn from wondering if Mr. Montague was having second thoughts, too. Before a footman could formally announce the visitor, Harold sauntered into the room. Or perhaps
waddled
was more accurate.

Jocelyn gazed heavenward and wished for a stout stick. The tedious conference had just become more perilous. What if Harold revealed to Blake that she’d spent this year’s income? She clenched her fingers into fists and donned her best insouciant mask while studying the brother she’d done her best to ignore since returning to London.

She’d heard Harold had injured his shoulder in a duel a year or two ago, but she’d been in Norfolk at the time and did not know the details. Besides having grown fat and bald, he did seem to be favoring one side.

“As head of the Carrington family, I should have been informed of this meeting,” the viscount announced to the startled company. “I believe I am entitled to be included in any business that affects my sister’s welfare.”

“Half sister,” Jocelyn murmured under her breath, wondering what on earth the leech wanted now, after he’d already drained her coffers. “I have more than enough competent representation, but thank you, Harold, for thinking of me.” She winced at the sarcasm in her voice. The last thing she needed was to irritate the vicious wretch.

Recognizing Quality, if not the viscount himself, the lawyers all respectfully rose from the table and looked to Lady Bell for leadership.

“Carrington House must be settled on Jocelyn,” the viscount continued, ignoring her as usual. “She will need the aviary if she is to collect Richard’s birds.”

Harold
hated
Richard’s birds. Only with extreme restraint did Jocelyn prevent her jaw from dropping in disbelief.

“Arrangements should be made so Jocelyn’s income is not left to a barnacle like Montague, but to Richard and any offspring,” Harold announced.

Where it might come under Harold’s guardianship as head of the family, Jocelyn realized, finally grasping the purpose of her brother’s sudden interest.

The marchioness glanced at Jocelyn to see how she would like to handle the intruder. Mr. Montague did not wait for her suggestions. Her personal warrior stepped in front of Harold, towering a good head and shoulders above him, Jocelyn noted with satisfaction.

“My lord, I believe you are mistaken,” Mr. Montague said with what sounded like pleasure. “Miss Carrington is of legal age, and she has the ability to hire her own solicitors and make her own decisions. You are unnecessary and unwelcome.”

Her half brother puffed up like an enraged rooster with a crooked wing.

She ought to inquire about the details of the duel. Harold and Mr. Montague seemed at daggers drawn already, and her intended
did
have those much-lamented violent tendencies. Now she would have to wonder how they knew each other.

Jocelyn had a vague childhood memory of Harold in his adolescence, stomping about in heels, powdered wig, and a beauty patch. She’d thought him silly then. He was equally silly now, looking like a pouter pigeon in his double-breasted coat.

She couldn’t imagine why a woman as beautiful as his wife would have looked twice at him, but the French had strange notions. He’d brought Antoinette back from that rebellious country along with a case of brandy when Jocelyn had been in the schoolroom. Their father had detested Antoinette and her cloying mannerisms, but at least she had taken an interest in Richard’s birds.

“And who the devil do you think you are, Montague, to claim my sister without my permission?” Harold demanded. “I will not see her naïveté taken advantage of!”

“Quite generous of you, I’m sure,” Mr. Montague answered with ominous affability. Without further warning, he forcibly twisted the viscount’s good arm behind his back in a move so swift, Jocelyn could not quite follow how he did it. “But I do not believe Miss Carrington has requested your aid.”

She admired the fierce gleam in her intended’s eyes as he defended her against dragons. Poor Harold was a reptile but scarcely a dragon. Still, she appreciated his effort.

Mr. Montague hauled Harold over to the window seat. “Miss Carrington, do you wish to have your brother view the settlements?”

She didn’t think anyone had ever asked for her opinion. Every person in the room watched her to see how the drama played out. Since Richard’s guardianship papers were secure with a solicitor, she had no more to fear from her bully of a brother. It would be lovely to have revenge for all his depredations, but probably not wise.

“Don’t let this cradle-robbing, money-hungry poltroon rob you of your inheritance!” Harold protested.

“Cradle-robbing?” Jocelyn tilted her head. “Just how old do you think I am, Harold? Or perhaps you think time stands still outside the city, so I must still be the age I was when you threw me out of my home?”

“I could not let my wife live in a house full of loose screws!” he protested. “You were barely out of the schoolroom then.”

She had been seventeen and prepared for her formal come-out. She’d been a young woman grieving her father’s death, but scarcely a schoolroom miss. And Antoinette was an actress who had lived with the worst sorts of people, those far less conventional than any Byrd-Carrington. Although it strained her practiced nonchalance, Jocelyn refrained from shouting,
Balderdash!

Mr. Montague growled something irascible that made Harold blanch. Or perhaps her warrior jerked harder on the arm he was twisting. “As much as everyone is enjoying this spectacle, I’d prefer that you simply tell me what I should do about him.”

“I’d rather not consider the viscount at all,” Jocelyn said in what she hoped was a bored tone that did not reveal how much she despised her father’s heir. A lifetime spent hiding what she thought gave credibility to her act. “I trust hired solicitors more than I do him.”

“Jocelyn, that is ridiculous!” the viscount sputtered. “I should have been consulted about these proceedings. You have no idea what manner of disreputable scoundrel you are marrying. I must file my objections. Lady Belden, surely you—”

Before Harold could annoy the marchioness with his appeal, Mr. Montague marched him toward the door. Jocelyn did her best not to gape. Harold might be of medium height, but he was heavy. Even so, she wasn’t at all certain that under Mr. Montague’s encouragement Harold’s feet so much as touched the carpet.

Her betrothed flung the fuming viscount into the arms of a strong young footman, then shut the door and turned the key in the lock. Jocelyn waited for the audience to stand up, applaud, and cheer so she might do the same.

Lady Belden merely nodded and turned back to the solicitors. “Please return to your seats, gentlemen, and let us finish our business.”

Mr. Montague came to stand beside Jocelyn as if he had done no more than call for tea. Really, life lacked the climactic drama of a good play.

“I rather think I shall enjoy having a soldier for a husband,” she said thoughtfully, still stunned by the encounter. For years, she’d dreamed of flinging Harold off parapets, and Mr. Montague had nearly fulfilled her fantasy. “Could you drive him out at the point of a sword next time?”

“Blowhards and bullies are not worth the trouble,” her gallant knight said dismissively.

She’d accept this as a sign that Mr. Montague would protect her and hers, even after he learned of her deception. She would do her very best to make it up to him at the first opportunity.