Chapter Twelve
My dearest Fanny, disaster has struck and I fear it is very much my own fault! I am now betrothed to the Duke of Arden.
—Roslyn to Fanny
Roslyn stared speechlessly at Arden, wondering frantically how they could escape this wretched catastrophe.
To her surprise, he didn’t seem nearly as dismayed as she was. Indeed, his expression seemed almost nonchalant as he crossed to where her clothing hung. His tone was just as bland when he declared, “We need to dress. The Goodey carriage will be returning for us shortly.”
“That is all you have to say?” she demanded in disbelief. “We are facing utter calamity and all you care about is getting dressed?”
He lifted an amused eyebrow at her. “Would you rather remain half naked?”
“No, of course not—”
“Then put on your clothes, love. This is hardly the calamity you think it,” he added as he retrieved her still-damp corset and held it out to her. When Roslyn made no move to take the undergarment, he tugged the quilt from around her shoulders. “Don’t be so missish,” he ordered, tossing the quilt on the chair. “We are betrothed now.”
“We are not betrothed. You only said that to blunt the disgrace of our being discovered together.”
“No, I said it because I have every intention of wedding you. Now turn around so I can hook you up.”
“I can dress myself!”
He wasn’t listening, however. His hands clasping her upper arms, he spun her so that her back faced him. Roslyn had no desire to don the cold, clammy corset, yet she could hardly leave her lingerie there in the cottage or carry it with her, so she raised her arms and allowed Arden to slide the garment around her torso. She shivered when moisture seeped through her thin chemise, and squirmed when he fitted the bustle beneath her breasts.
“Hold still.”
Although gritting her teeth, she dutifully stood as he fastened the hooks, but when she felt his lips caress the bare curve of her shoulder, she whirled and glared at him mutinously. “Will you please leave off your lechery long enough to discuss this predicament seriously?”
“What is there to discuss?”
“Our betrothal, what else! You are purposefully being obtuse.”
“No, I fully comprehend your problem. You do also, or you would have refuted my announcement in front of our unexpected guests instead of waiting until we were alone to argue with me.”
“It is your problem as well as mine!” Roslyn exclaimed.
“So it is. But I intend to accept my fate gracefully.”
She wanted to hit him. When he would have helped her on with her gown, she snatched it from him and struggled into it, wincing when the damp sleeves chilled her arms.
As he started putting on his own clothing, Roslyn clenched her teeth, disgruntled and frustrated that she had landed herself in such a fix. She was furious at herself. She had vowed to keep away from the duke, not to melt in his arms like a perfect wanton.
She was just as angry at him for making her lose her head, for enchanting her so that she’d eagerly abandoned any semblance of common sense. She had planned out her entire future, and now it lay in ruins.
She would not let herself cry, though. In the first place she loathed watering pots. And in the second, she had brought this disaster on herself. Now, somehow, she had to determine what to do about it.
“How could I ever have let this happen?” she lamented in a muttered undertone.
“How could you have resisted?” Arden replied. “I had every intention of taking up where we left off last night.”
Roslyn turned to stare at him as he tucked in the tails of his shirt. “You planned my seduction this afternoon?”
He grinned ruefully. “Not exactly. Even I don’t have the power to arrange a storm at my convenience. But I was glad for the opportunity to speed up the pace of our courtship.”
“Even after I told you I would never marry you?”
“I never intended to let your refusal stand. And having you almost naked in my arms was too great a temptation.” He shrugged into his waistcoat and began fastening the buttons. “Did you honestly expect me to keep my hands off you, darling? I may be a gentleman but I’m not a saint.”
Roslyn huffed indelicately. “I would say you are not much of a gentleman, either. You promised you wouldn’t ravish me.”
“And I kept my promise. You were entirely willing.”
Her expression contorted into a grimace before she set her jaw. “I won’t accept your proposal, your grace.”
“You most certainly will accept it,” he stated with the cool assurance of a man who inevitably got his own way. “You have no choice.”
“There is always a choice,” she insisted stubbornly.
“Not for members of our class. Marriage is the only honorable course for a gentleman after taking a lady’s virginity. And the lady is even more at the mercy of convention. A betrothal is the only way to keep any shred of your reputation intact.”
Roslyn had no immediate response to his declaration. Although indignant at his high-handedness, she knew Arden was set on protecting her reputation. Yet she couldn’t stand that he was compelled to offer for her.
“I won’t allow you to make such a sacrifice on my account,” she finally said through gritted teeth.
“I am not so sure it would be a sacrifice on my part.”
“It will. You have told me more than once how arduously you try to avoid the grasping females chasing you. If I accept your offer, you will only accuse me of ensnaring you against your will.”
Amusement danced in his eyes as he shook his head. “I know better. And it is actually a great comfort to know you won’t be marrying me for my title or fortune.”
“This is no laughing matter, your grace!”
He suddenly fixed her with those penetrating green eyes. “I agree, but neither is it cause for tears, sweetheart.”
Knowing further argument was futile, Roslyn turned away unhappily to fetch her shoes and stockings.
“Don’t you think a marriage of convenience preferable to a ruined reputation?” the duke asked.
“No!” she retorted, even though she knew it wasn’t true. She sank down into the chair before the hearth to put on her stockings. She wouldn’t force Arden into a marriage that was repugnant to him. Nor would she herself be compelled to marry without love.
Confound it all! She had only wanted one critical thing in her marriage: to love and be loved. She’d always vowed she would never settle for less. But if she married the duke, she would have to give up that dream.
“Before you refuse, perhaps you should think of your sisters,” he pointed out. “Can they afford another scandal in the family?”
Roslyn’s heart sank. Any scandal she caused would certainly reflect on her sisters—just when they had finally gotten out from beneath the cloud of shame that had hovered over them for four long years.
“And what about your academy?” Arden asked. “How will the gossip impact your position there?”
She nearly groaned. She would have to stop teaching when word of her affair with the duke got out. Their pupils’ parents would never approve of a scarlet woman tarnishing their precious young daughters, nor should they. Jerking on her stocking, Roslyn muttered an invective that no lady should even know, much less say aloud.
Ignoring her outburst along with his sodden cravat, Arden sat in another chair to don his own stockings and boots. “You must admit,” he added congenially, “in the eyes of the Beau Monde, being betrothed to a duke will make up for a multitude of sins.”
Roslyn abruptly straightened, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. “Perhaps, but you don’t love me, and I don’t love you.”
“We have friendship at least. We enjoy each other’s company. And I expect our married life will rarely be dull.”
She couldn’t defend against that argument. She did enjoy his company immensely. No doubt life with Arden would be challenging, exhilarating, even exciting.
But for how long? How long before he found another woman to interest him and keep him from the marriage bed?
Their matrimonial goals were vastly different, Roslyn knew. He only wanted a wife so he could beget an heir. She wanted a real family, children to love and cherish. Arden was not the kind of man to put much store in family.
And without love, what kind of marriage could they hope for? Would he expect her to accept his connubial demands, bear his children, run his home, plan his entertainments, and never question his liaisons? Would he leave her languishing in the countryside while he cavorted in London with his latest paramours? Would he continue keeping a mistress after they married?
She couldn’t bear having a libertine husband. Her mother had endured her father’s outrageous philandering for most of their twenty-year marriage. Not only hadn’t Sir Charles bothered to hide his dalliances and indiscretions, he had flaunted them in his wife’s face. It had been a prime source of contention between them.
Would Arden flaunt his affairs and make his duchess an object of gossip and pity?
But the subject was a trifle too embarrassing for Roslyn to argue with him just now.
And then he interrupted her dark thoughts with a casual comment. “Come now, a marriage between us won’t be so bad.”
“How can you say so?” Roslyn said crossly. “I shouldn’t think a determined bachelor is competent to judge the quality of a marital union.”
“You must admit we are physically compatible.”
“There is a great deal more to marriage than physical compatibility!”
“Perhaps, but that is more than I ever expected with my bride. It’s one of your prime attractions—that you act more like a mistress than a wife. Ladies are not supposed to enjoy passion, but you have a healthy appetite for lust.”
Roslyn felt her cheeks turn red. “I wish you would not remind me.”
He bent to wrestle with his first boot. “Husbands are not expected to pleasure their wives, either,” he remarked provocatively. “But I can safely promise that we will find connubial bliss in our marriage bed.”
Roslyn’s mouth curved without humor. “I have no doubt you would make a splendid lover, your grace, but you would likely be a wretched husband.”
“No worse than most any other man.”
“I take leave to differ.”
Not responding for a or the moment, he pulled on his second boot with difficulty. “I’ll wager that Haviland has never aroused you as I do,” he said then.
Roslyn fell silent. No man had ever aroused her the way Arden could. Just looking at him now rekindled the delicious sparks between them. She swallowed, aware of her humming nerves, the hollow flip-flopping sensation in her stomach, the tingling warmth between her thighs.
“Isn’t that true?” Arden prodded when she wouldn’t answer.
“I can’t deny that I feel a physical attraction for you,” Roslyn replied, her tone grudging.
“But you still hope to marry Haviland.”
She looked away. “What I want is no longer the question. I couldn’t possibly marry him now.”
“Why not?”
“Because of…what we just did. Even if Haviland were willing to overlook the fact that I am no longer a maiden, his grandmother never would. She is such a high-stickler, she would be appalled if she were forced to welcome a wanton into the family.”
“Which is why you are better off marrying me.”
“I cannot agree.”
Standing, he strolled over to her chair and bent down. “I intend to change your mind, love.”
Before Roslyn could even think to pull away, he kissed her…giving her a long, lingering, completely devastating reminder of the sensual power he held over her.
When he straightened, leaving her dazed and longing, his smile was almost smug. “If you won’t accept my proposal just yet, you should at least see the wisdom of becoming engaged for the time being. An official betrothal will deter a scandal before it has time to spread.”
She knew he was right. The gossip about them would be relentless unless it could be mitigated by a betrothal. The matrimonial capture of one of the most eligible noblemen in the kingdom would be a nine days’ wonder.
But it was the duke’s choice of words that interested Roslyn most. “What do you mean, ‘for the time being’?”
“Our betrothal only needs to be temporary. When the gossip eventually dies down, we can discuss whether to end it or go through with the marriage.”
Roslyn’s lips parted in surprise. The idea of a temporary betrothal had merit. She was not a total fool. She knew very well she had to at least consider accepting his proposal, even though she hated to admit it.
She didn’t reply as she finished putting on her stockings and shoes. When she was done, Roslyn remained in the chair and watched absently as Arden tamped down the fire with ashes, then removed the kettle from the hook and carried it to the kitchen stove.
When a knock sounded on the door, they were both fully dressed and ready to leave.
Roslyn reached the door first. The burly man standing there tugged his forelock. “I’m John Coachman, Miss Loring. I’m to take ye wherever ye wish to go.”
Arden answered for her over her shoulder. “We wish to go to Freemantle Park.”
“Very good, yer grace.”
When the coachman returned to his horses, the duke ushered Roslyn outside and closed the cottage door behind them. As he escorted her to the carriage, he murmured a low explanation. “We’ll return to the Park for now. We need to inform Lady Freemantle about our betrothal so she can help staunch the gossip. And we never did have tea.”
Roslyn rolled her eyes in annoyance and exasperation. She couldn’t believe he was taking this all so calmly. She couldn’t possibly feel the same equanimity.
When he handed her inside the hooded barouche and settled beside her, she felt Arden’s thigh press against hers. Instantly a shock of awareness shot through her. She quickly edged away from him, yet she couldn’t forget the memory of that hard-muscled male body moving over hers, within her. She knew the image would be forever seared into her memory.
Roslyn swore under her breath. How could she think clearly with Arden so near? She had to order her chaotic thoughts somehow. So serious a decision called for careful, rational analysis.
She didn’t want to wed him, or even enter into a temporary betrothal with him. But if she didn’t agree, what kind of future would she have? Marriage to any other gentleman was doubtful now. If she refused his offer, she would be condemning herself—and possibly her sisters—to notoriety for the rest of her life.
She shot the duke a sideways glance. There was always the remote possibility that their friendship could grow into something deeper. A formal engagement might miraculously give them a chance to fall in love with each other.
Roslyn bit her lip, trying to convince herself.
Of course, there was always the danger of giving her heart to him without her love being returned. It would be disastrous to harbor a one-sided ardor like her mother had done with her father in the early days of their marriage. Without mutual love, a husband and wife could so easily degenerate into bitter antagonists.
Did she dare risk it? Roslyn wondered. She would have to keep her own feelings for Arden safely under control. She most certainly could not let herself fall in love with him.
But if she could manage to keep her emotional distance, perhaps a betrothal was the best course.
And it would only be temporary, Roslyn promised herself. She could give their relationship time to blossom. If, however, Arden still hadn’t come to love her by the end of summer, then she would break their engagement, regardless of the consequences to her reputation.
September was only two months away. She could keep her heart safe for that long.
“Very well, your grace, you win,” she said reluctantly. “We can consider ourselves betrothed for the time being.”
“Call me by my given name. If we are betrothed, we should be on a first-name basis.”
“Very well…Drew.”
He offered her a slow smile. “You are showing excellent judgment, my dear Roslyn.”
She responded with a barely muffled snort. “It would be the first time today,” she muttered. “My judgment thus far has been deplorable.”
Leaning back against the squabs, Roslyn shut her eyes. Her head suddenly felt as if it were splitting open, and she still had to face Winifred with the news of their betrothal—heaven forbid. Her resultant shudder had little to do with the damp chill of her gown.
“You will have to inform Lady Freemantle about our engagement,” Roslyn told the duke. “No doubt she will be ecstatic, but I don’t have the fortitude just now to endure her raptures.”
“Leave it to me,” Drew said blandly.
He settled back in the carriage seat, yet he was not as nonchalant as he strove to appear. He was honor-bound to marry Roslyn now. He’d chosen her for his bride, and he had every intention of following through—although given her fierce reticence, he’d decided it wiser to conceal his resolve under the guise of a temporary arrangement.
Still, his discomfort was not caused by the parson’s noose hanging around his neck, Drew mused. In truth, he didn’t feel trapped as he’d expected.
No, the trouble was he was being drawn in too deep. Roslyn made him feel things he’d never felt for a woman. His instinctive reaction was to pull back—doubtless a reflexive response to being considered prey for so long.
Granted, the pleasure of making love to her was so much greater than with any of his previous lovers, even the most skilled of his mistresses. She made passion new and exciting again. Yet Roslyn roused much more than a physical response from him. There was something so unexpectedly natural about the way he felt when he held her. Something so real and right.
A damned dangerous sensation, Drew acknowledged to himself.
He would do better to keep their relationship strictly carnal. And yet some part of him welcomed the change. Until now his life had been rather cold and empty, and yes, passionless. His aristocratic upbringing had left no room for sentiment. He’d been raised to be emotionally detached, to rein in his feelings.
With Roslyn, he couldn’t remain detached. Indeed, he’d never felt more alive than when he was with her. She was a delight to be around, whether she was arguing with him or writhing beneath him in ecstasy.
Drew frowned as he gazed out the carriage window. Despite his misgivings, he actually wanted marriage with Roslyn now. Or more specifically, he wanted the exhilaration he always felt with her.
Their marriage would not be based merely on convenience or even desire, he knew. He could imagine spending time with her even after they wed, sharing their day-to-day lives in addition to long lustful nights in their marriage bed.
His glance shifted to Roslyn as she sat beside him. His loins tightened when he remembered kissing her a short while ago. She had responded with mutual desire, her lips longing and hungry….
Drew fought the urge to pull her close now and resume where they had left off in the cottage. He didn’t want to push his luck.
He had obtained Roslyn’s agreement to a temporary betrothal. Now he had the much harder task of securing her hand in marriage for good.