Seated on the threadbare sofa that had been relegated to the back drawing room, Roma absently stitched at her lopsided sampler. A restless night spent brooding on Lord Carlton’s outlandish proposal and her own impulsive agreement had left her unnaturally pale and eager to avoid the ceaseless chatter of her delighted aunt.
No doubt she should never have agreed to his shocking suggestion, she silently acknowledged. Not only was it highly improper, but it had placed her irrevocably in his debt. A realization that was far more disturbing than the fear of a scandal, if the truth should be discovered.
But what choice did she have? As Lord Carlton had so saliently pointed out she possessed few options. She could remain in London until her aunt eventually tired of the glittering whirl, or she could return to Devonshire on her own and perhaps place her brother in even greater danger.
“A fine muddle you’ve gotten yourself into, Roma Allendyle,” she muttered beneath her breath.
Stabbing her needle through the heavy fabric, Roma paid little heed to her uneven stitches. Indeed, she was so intent on her inner turmoil that she even failed to note the sound of approaching footsteps. It was not until the door was abruptly thrust open that she realized her blissful solitude was at an end.
With a small start, she lifted her head to see her cousin entering the room, an expression of disapproval on his youthful features.
“There you are,” he said, his tone almost accusing.
“Good morning, Claude.”
“Do not good morning me, Roma Allendyle.” Claude immediately launched into an attack, not even bothering with the common civilities. “What the devil are you playing at?”
Against her will, a warm flush spread on Roma’s cheeks. The day before Claude had been gadding about the less respectable establishments in town with a handful of cronies, not returning to the house until quite late. Obviously he had just been informed of her supposed engagement to Lord Carlton.
She attempted a bluff. “I fear I do not know what you mean.”
“Do not presume to gammon me, my dear.” Claude’s tone was as forbidding as his countenance. “Not even I am noodle witted enough to believe a gentleman who has dodged every contrivance known to man to lure him into the parson’s mousetrap has suddenly succumbed to a country miss with a sharp tongue and disobliging manners.”
Despite her flustered unease, Roma could not prevent a wry grimace. “Such flattery, sir. I shall be quite overcome,” she chided.
Claude determinedly ignored her reprimand. “Besides which, I know you far too well, Roma. You have never hesitated to share your views on acquiring a husband. I believe you have often likened it to being made a prisoner of war.”
She could hardly deny her vehement opposition to marriage. She had voiced her objections far too frequently to pretend otherwise. Instead she busied herself with setting aside the lumpy sampler and conveniently hiding her expressive features.
“Do you not believe that a lady can enjoy a change of heart?”
Claude gave a strangled grunt of disbelief. “So you are telling me that you are now prepared to submit to the dictates of Lord Carlton?”
“Certainly.”
“Fah …” Claude stomped across the room to halt beside her chair, his polished Hessians glowing in the dim morning light. “Now I am certain you are attempting to bamboozle me. I will see pigs sprout wings and take flight before you allow the leash to be placed about your neck.” Reaching down, he firmly grasped her chin and raised her reluctant face for his inspection. “Now, I demand to be told the truth.”
For a moment she attempted to meet his challenging gaze with a semblance of bland composure. After all, Claude would not be the only person to react to her engagement with such violent disbelief. But as she forced a stiff smile to her lips, she realized that it was a hopeless task. How could she possibly dissemble to a relative who had known her since the cradle?
“Oh, very well, Claude,” she conceded with ill grace, “but you must promise to keep it in the strictest confidence.”
“Of course. You know that you can trust me.”
With a swift motion, he settled himself on the sofa, his unusually stubborn expression revealing he would accept nothing less than the complete and utter truth. Still Roma wavered. She could not very well confess everything, she acknowledged with a twinge of embarrassment. Despite Claude’s indulgence of her peculiar tendencies, he was bound to be mortified by her reprehensible behavior since arriving in London. And, of course, her odd battles with Lord Carlton were somehow far too intimate to share with anyone.
In the end she gave only the sketchiest details.
“The truth is that Lord Carlton was one of the men we met on the beach the night of the ambush. His cousin Jack was the other man there,” she reluctantly revealed. “And when Lord Carlton recognized me, he demanded to be told why I was behaving in such an … unconventional fashion.” She glared at her cousin as he almost choked at her vast understatement. “He then offered to help.”
“Help? Help in what manner?”
“He has spoken with some mysterious connection he has within the government and discovered that William was, indeed, acting as a courier, and that six weeks before, he had revealed he suspected one of the other couriers of being a French spy.”
Claude gave a startled grunt. “Good God.”
“It was obvious that we needed to return to Devonshire. After all, that is where William disappeared and where he presumably found the traitor, but we had to be able to do so without causing any unnecessary suspicion. Lord Carlton suggested that we pretend to be engaged, and he would demand to travel to Greystead Manor so he could speak with William upon his return.”
Claude regarded her in silence as she stammered to an uncomfortable halt, the deepening wrinkle in his brow the only indication he found her disjointed explanation beyond the ordinary.
After what seemed to be an eternity, he at last gave a slow shake of his head.
“So it was Lord Carlton who suggested he pretend to seek your hand in marriage?” he demanded.
“Yes.”
“How very extraordinary.”
Roma felt a strange flare of unease at his pensive tone. “What do you mean?”
Claude abruptly rose to his feet, pacing to the center of the room. Then turning about, he regarded her with a narrowed gaze.
“Do you not find it rather peculiar that Lord Carlton would go to such lengths to help a gentleman he has never before encountered?”
“He feels a sense of duty to William,” she rushed to explain. “They were both in the military, you know.”
“Along with half of the gentlemen in England, I should presume,” he murmured.
Her unease increased. She had expected surprise, perhaps even censure, but not this poorly concealed suspicion.
“What are you implying, Claude?”
A sudden heat stained his cheeks. “Lord Carlton has not … I mean …”
Roma blinked in puzzlement. “Has not what?”
“He has not behaved in an improper manner, has he?” Claude managed to burst out.
Roma gave a strangled gasp as she lifted a hand to her unruly heart. For a breathless moment the memory of his warm, impassioned kisses blazed through her thoughts. Although it had been two days since she had so shockingly lain in his arms, her body still tingled from the unfamiliar sensation of his masculine frame pressed closely against her own. Then, just as swiftly, she was thrusting the treacherous thoughts aside. She had decided at the time that the unfortunate episode was best forgotten as soon as possible.
“Certainly not,” she declared with considerable force. Regardless of their unconventional relationship she would never believe Lord Carlton capable of treating her as anything other than a lady. “I am surprised at you, Claude. Lord Carlton is a gentleman.”
Claude tugged at his intricately knotted cravat as if it threatened to choke him.
“Well, dash it all, Roma. What am I supposed to think? It seems deuced strange that a man in Carlton’s position would risk his reputation for a family who haven’t the faintest claim on his charity.”
She conveniently forgot her own initial wariness at his interference. Although she could not claim to know what motivated Lord Carlton, she was quite certain that it had nothing to do with her.
“I assure you, Claude, you have nothing to fear from Lord Carlton,” she said in dry tones. “If he were to offer carte blanche to a woman it would certainly not be me.”
Claude paused, his gaze unconsciously moving to survey pale features framed by the fiery curls and the diminutive form modestly attired in a slip of pistachio satin overlaid with a delicate gauze. After a detailed inspection he apparently found little to recommend her to a gentleman of discerning taste and the tightness slowly drained from his countenance.
“Perhaps you are right,” he grudgingly admitted.
“Of course I am.”
“It was just such a damnable shock this morning when Mother announced that you were to wed Lord Carlton.”
“Especially when you are no doubt still recovering from a sore head,” she managed to tease.
He smiled in a rueful fashion. “Indeed. I thought for a moment I must still be a trifle foxed.”
“That is what you get for allowing those scapegrace friends of yours to lure you into behaving like a nodcock.”
“They are not so bad, Roma”—his eyes suddenly twinkled with humor—“although I did wonder on their judgment when they all proclaimed a decided desire to seek your favor. They will no doubt be devastated when they learn you have given your heart to another.”
Her gaze narrowed in a dangerous manner. “That is not amusing.”
A sharp knock on the door brought an abrupt end to their conversation. Waiting a discreet moment, the rigidly somber butler entered the room.
“Your pardon, Miss Allendyle, but Lord Carlton is here to see you.”
It took a great deal of effort to control her sudden flutter of nerves. Lord Carlton at such an early hour? What the devil was he up to?
Slowly rising to her feet, she pinned a stiff smile to her face.
“Thank you, Forbes,” she retorted.
With a bow, the butler turned on his heel and disappeared through the door. Anxiously smoothing the skirt of her gown, Roma prepared to follow the servant from the room, but as she passed by the silent Claude, he suddenly laid a hand on her shoulder. With a lift of her brows, she turned to meet his concerned frown.
“Roma …”
“Yes, Claude?”
“Promise me that … that you’ll take care.”
Not quite certain what he wanted from her, Roma gave a small nod of her head.
“Of course.”
Seemingly satisfied, Claude stepped back, and Roma reluctantly left the room to make her way to the formal salon.
She had not expected to see Lord Carlton on this day. When he had left the day before he had made a vague mention of business that he had to attend to before finalizing his plans to leave London. Perhaps being rather cowardly, she had assumed that she would be spared this uncomfortable encounter for several days. Now she found herself battling an unexplainable bout of nerves.
All too swiftly she arrived at the front of the house and, with an effort, forced a smile to her face. Then, smoothing her skirt one last time, she stepped into the salon.
Instinctively her gaze sought the tall male form standing beside the mantel. Almost absently, she noted how the tan coat set off broad shoulders with exquisite perfection and how the skintight breeches emphasized the powerful thrust of his legs. Even in her current state of distraction she had to admit that Lord Carlton was a most handsome gentleman. Uncommonly handsome, she corrected, as a stray shaft of sunlight danced off the gleaming raven hair and warmed the aquiline features.
Lifting her gaze she belatedly realized that Lord Carlton had been well aware of her survey. She shivered as she encountered the glitter in his blue eyes, thankful that her aunt provided a welcomed distraction as she bustled across the room with an air of suppressed excitement.
“Ah, Roma, there you are. Lord Carlton was just telling me that you are to be introduced to Lady Chalford this morning.”
Roma’s eyes widened in shock. “Pardon me?”
“I fear my grandmother sent a message at the crack of dawn,” Lord Carlton drawled. “I am to present you in her drawing room at precisely ten o’clock.”
“Well, of course she wishes to have Roma introduced,” the older woman gushed, her cheeks flushed with her niece’s good fortune. “Soon enough she will be a member of the family.”
Roma felt a flutter of panic. “But I … Surely it would be best to wait until … later?”
With a casual motion, Lord Carlton straightened and strolled to peer down at her upturned face.
“You do not know my grandmother, my dear, if you imagine she can be fobbed off once she has taken a notion into her head.” He smiled in a lazy fashion. “No one, including myself, dares to defy such a direct summons.”
Obviously sensing her niece’s distress, if not the reason for it, Clara hastened to provide a measure of reassurance.
“Come, Roma, it is natural to feel somewhat uneasy. After all, Lady Chalford can be quite intimidating. But I am certain that she will find you most charming.”
Without warning, Lord Carlton reached out to grasp her hand and raise her fingers to his warm lips.
“Indeed, my grandmother can not help but be enchanted. As I am.”
That odd shiver tingled down her spine again as her aunt gave a trill of laughter.
“Ah la, my lord, such a pretty way you have with words.”
The disturbing gaze never left Roma’s pale countenance. “Shall we go, my dear?”
Roma wanted to protest. After all, it was one thing to consider the notion of pretending an engagement in the privacy of her own home. She could soothe her conscience with the thought that she was making a noble sacrifice for William. It was quite another to deliberately set out to deceive an elderly woman.
But with her aunt regarding her with open pleasure and Lord Carlton firmly tucking her arm through his own, she had little choice but to allow herself to be led back out of the room and across the foyer to the hall.
In rigid silence she swept through the door hastily opened by Forbes, barely noting the pale warmth of the morning sun or the splendid chestnuts that stood before the glossy black curricle. She even managed to ignore the piercing blue gaze that lingered on her tense profile as she was carefully lifted onto the leather seat and Lord Carlton urged the restless pair into motion.
Her inner brooding was allowed to remain unchallenged as Lord Carlton negotiated the busy London streets, but as they entered the more gracious avenues near the park, he slowed the horses to a sedate pace.
“You are very quiet, Roma,” he murmured, his attention shifting to the hands tightly clenched in her lap.
“Must we do this?” she demanded in a low voice.
With her head lowered, she missed his wry smile.
“I fear we must.”
“But why would your grandmother wish to meet me?”
“Perhaps because I told her yesterday that I intend to make you my bride.”
Her startled gaze flew to his dark countenance. “What?”
“Well, I could hardly abandon London without some explanation,” he pointed out with calm composure. “Besides which, she is bound to hear the rumors already circulating through town.”
She wanted to argue, to accuse him of putting her in this awkward situation, but in all fairness she realized that he was correct. He could hardly disappear without telling his grandmother where he would be staying and why he would chose such a remote part of the country. That didn’t, however, ease her discomfort.
“This is awful. How can I possibly lie to your grandmother?”
“If it makes you feel better, then think of you brother,” he commanded.
“But … she will never believe that you wish to wed an insignificant country miss.” She unconsciously echoed the words of her cousin. “She will think you have taken leave of your senses.”
“On the contrary, she will be delightfully astounded by my good fortune,” he startled her by insisting as they pulled to a halt in front of an imposing Palladian style town house. Tossing the reins to the groom who leaped to the paved road, Lord Carlton turned to regard her with an encouraging smile. “Come, sweet Roma, I am certain Colonel Allendyle taught you to march into battle with your head raised high.”
The mention of her father abruptly stifled her flutters of fear. It was true. Her father had always taught her to face even the most unpleasant experiences with her shoulders squared and her pride intact. It was unlike her to be unnerved by anyone or anything.
“Yes, he did,” she admitted with a lift of her chin.
His smile widened. “Then into battle we go.”
He gracefully vaulted out of the curricle and was helping Roma to alight when the door was pulled open to reveal a tall, rapidly balding butler of indeterminate years. Leading Roma forward, Lord Carlton smiled with obvious pleasure at the servant.
“Good morning, Grimfeld.”
The butler performed a stately bow. “My lord.”
Sweeping past the uniformed servant, Lord Carlton steered Roma into a vast foyer. Then, divesting himself of his gloves and beaver hat, he handed them to the waiting Grimfeld.
“And how is my grandmother this morning?”
“She is—”
“She is considerably annoyed that she is the last to be informed that her only grandson is about to acquire a wife,” a peevish, decidedly female voice interrupted from across the hall. With a start of surprise, Roma turned to discover a tiny, elegantly attired woman with a puff of white hair and a regal expression viewing them with obvious ill humor.
Lord Carlton performed an elegant bow. “Good morning, Grandmother. You are looking particularly well this morning.”
“Fah!” The older woman brushed aside the smooth compliment, stabbing the waiting butler with an unnerving glare. “Grimfeld, we will have tea in the front drawing room.”
The butler made another bow. “Very good.”
Leaning on an ivory cane that appeared more of an affectation than a necessity, Lady Chalford crossed the hall and went through a set of double doors. Lord Carlton smiled in an indulgent manner before giving Roma’s cold fingers an encouraging squeeze and urging her to follow the small figure.
It took every ounce of her courage to keep her expression smooth as she entered the imposing salon with its classic Grecian style. Even though accustomed to luxury, Roma was impressed with the stark elegance of the rosewood furnishings and heavy gilt that decorated the intricate lion’s paw feet. She had little doubt that several thousand pounds had been spent to achieve the air of simplicity. Then realizing she was being intimately scrutinized by a pair of shrewd gray eyes, Roma forced herself to calmly perch on the edge of a small sofa. As if sensing her need for reassurance Lord Carlton settled closely beside her, boldly reaching out to grasp her hand in his warm fingers.
With a lift of her brows, Lady Chalford peered down her thin nose at her grandson.
“Now, you shall introduce me to this young lady who presumes to become a member of my family,” she commanded in imperial tones.
“Certainly. Grandmother, may I present Miss Roma Allendyle? Miss Allendyle, my grandmother, Lady Chalford.”
“Allendyle?” Lady Chalford frowned, her still handsome features revealing her disapproval. “Where do you come from?”
Roma drew in a deep breath. She would not allow herself to be intimidated, no matter how grand Lady Chalford might be in the eyes of London, and perhaps in all of England.
“Devonshire,” she retorted with admirable composure. Lady Chalford paused, then gave an abrupt thump of her cane on the carpeted floor.
“Ha. I remember your father. Military man.”
“Yes, he was.”
“Never had two words to say for himself, but managed to snare the Toast of the Season.” The gray gaze narrowed as it swept over her pale features. “You don’t resemble your mother.”
Roma blinked. “No.”
“Pity. She was a great beauty.”
Oddly Roma took no offense at the blunt pronouncement.
“Yes, she was.”
“Hmmm … red hair.” The older woman continued her detailed list of faults. “I suppose you have a temper?”
“On occasion.”
“And more spirit than is proper for a young lady.”
Roma ignored the stifled choke of laughter from the man at her side. “So I have been accused.”
“That is hardly what is expected for a young lady hoping to enter this family.”
“Perhaps not.”
Another silence fell as Lady Chalford peered at her in that disturbing manner.
“I wonder, my girl, if you fully comprehend the significance of taking the title of Lady Carlton,” she at last accused.
“Are you attempting to frighten off my prospective bride, ma’am?” Lord Carlton inquired, belatedly coming to her rescue.
“I wish to assure myself that she has given the matter serious contemplation. She will be expected to behave in a manner befitting her position.”
“I can not conceive of a more tedious fate,” Lord Carlton argued. “I prefer her to remain precisely as she is, including her penchant for plunging delightfully from one disaster to another.”
Roma blushed as the older woman shifted to regard her with a hint of surprise.
“Indeed?”
“Yes, indeed. I have waited a long while to encounter someone who never fails to surprise me. She is utterly perfect.”
Even knowing that Lord Carlton was simply playing a role to distract his grandmother from the truth, Roma couldn’t wholly dismiss the renegade tingle of pleasure. It could only be a sense of relief that he wasn’t chiding her for her ill-bred behavior or sharp tongue, she told herself firmly.
Lady Chalford banged her cane on the carpet. “And what of your sentiments, child?” she demanded.
Roma gave a tiny shrug. “My sentiments?”
“I presume you wish to sway my opinion by claiming my grandson is similarly without defect.”
Something in the sharp tone warned Roma that this was not a lady easily fooled. Indeed, the same shrewd intelligence carved into her grandson’s aquiline features could be easily discerned in the softer curves of her own countenance.
Rather on impulse, Roma found herself answering with a blunt honesty. “Actually he is spoiled, proud to a fault and far too found of having his own way.”
She felt Lord Carlton’s slender fingers tighten on her hand, even as a gleam of appreciation entered his grandmother’s gray eyes.
“Ha.”
“He is also considerate and astonishingly kind when he chooses,” she continued in a low voice.
Lord Carlton gave a sudden chuckle as he lightly brushed the inner skin of her wrist with his mouth.
“Vixen,” he murmured.
“She will never make you a comfortable wife,” Lady Chalford unnecessarily pointed out.
Deliberately leaning forward, Lord Carlton caught Roma’s wary gaze.
“Thank God.”
“Clearly your mind is settled,” his grandmother complained.
“Unequivocably.” With a display of reluctance Lord Carlton returned his attention to the elderly lady. “Do you approve?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not in the least.”
A thick silence descended at his offhand words and Roma momentarily feared they had overplayed their hand. She had no doubt Lady Chalford was as unaccustomed to having her opinion so summarily dismissed as her grandson. But just as she prepared for an all-out battle of wills a sudden smile softened the autocratic countenance.
“Then I wish you well,” she pronounced in noble tones. “And I hope she leads you a merry dance.”
Tilting back his dark head, Lord Carlton laughed with rich amusement. “I have every confidence that your wish will be granted, ma’am. Now tell me of the latest scandals to capture your fancy.”
With a tiny smile, the rigid lady settled back into her seat and, rather to Roma’s surprise, began to repeat some of the more shocking on-dits circulating through town. She also appeared to be well apprised on a variety of political policies being discussed in Parliament, and she appeared to delight in debating the issues with her grandson.
After nearly a quarter of an hour, Lord Carlton slowly rose to his feet and gently urged Roma to his side. “I should return Miss Allendyle to her aunt.”
Lady Chalford gave a regal nod of her head. “You may bring her back to visit when you return to London.”
Loosening his grasp on her hand, Lord Carlton crossed to place a kiss on his grandmother’s cheek.
“I will.”
Returning to Roma, he escorted her out of the room. In the foyer they encountered the butler carrying a tray with the forgotten tea.
“Ah, Grimfeld …” Lowering his voice, Lord Carlton leaned toward the stern-faced butler. “Take care of her until I return,” he commanded, collecting his hat and gloves from the side table.
The servant nodded his head. “I shall do my best, my lord.”
“And contact me in Devonshire if there is anything you need.”
“Of course.”
“Excellent.”
Roma was once again reduced to silence as Lord Carlton led her to the waiting curricle. This time, however, it was not nerves that held her tongue, but a need to adjust her image of the man climbing onto the seat beside her.
Strangely she had managed to convince herself that Lord Carlton was incapable of such tender sentiments. She had witnessed his courage, his arrogance and on occasion his practiced charm, but she had presumed he preferred the more fashionable habit of dismissing frivolous emotions. Watching him with his grandmother had revealed a genuine attachment that was somehow disturbing.
She swayed slightly as Lord Carlton turned onto the street that would lead to her aunt’s home. Lifting her gaze, she realized her companion was surveying her pensive expression with a mysterious smile.
“You managed my grandmother admirably,” he congratulated her. “I believe she actually took a fancy to you.”
His praise only deepened her sense of disturbance. “I do not like deceiving her.”
“Nor do I, but we have decided upon a path to discover the truth surrounding your brother’s disappearance.” A raven brow arched in a challenging motion. “Have you lost the courage to follow that path?”
Despite her best intentions, she readily responded to his taunt. “Certainly not.”
The dark features abruptly softened. “Be at ease, Roma,” he coaxed. “Soon you will be at Greystead.”
A poignant stab of longing pierced her heart. “Yes,” she whispered beneath her breath. “I am going home.”