Chapter Nineteen
Oliver headed after Kitty, cursing soundly. How dared that vindictive creature insult Maria? The look of mortification on Maria’s face—was it any wonder he’d spoken out of turn? He’d wanted to throttle the woman.
Kitty had hated him ever since he’d refused her overtures while she and his friend Anthony were still involved. Anthony had broken with her shortly after, so she’d assumed that Oliver had scotched things with Anthony. She’d despised him from that day forward.
Little did she know that Anthony had figured out on his own what a bitch she was. Anthony’s new wife called her Lady Tartley. Oliver thought that an insult to tarts.
And now, thanks to her, Maria had been dragged even further into his battle with Gran. Kitty zigzagged about the room like lightning, no doubt telling everyone within hearing of the latest on dit.
With every stride across the room, someone stopped him to ask if he was indeed betrothed to “the American girl.” After the first few attempts to protest that it wasn’t official, he gave up. By then, the story was whisking about the mansion of its own accord; denying it would only give it fuel.
Suddenly he spotted Gran deep in conversation with Kitty’s closest friend, and relief coursed through him. Gran would squelch the tale at once. And once she tried to quash the gossip, he would win—because he could then threaten to send notice to the papers of his betrothal if she didn’t back down. She’d have no choice but to give up on her scheme.
Except . . . she wasn’t acting as if she meant to squelch it. She was talking to the other woman with great animation. And when she met his gaze from across the room, beaming from ear to ear, he realized in a flash that he’d misunderstood everything. Everything.
She hadn’t been bluffing him. All the rot about trying to buy Maria off, the disapproving looks and snide remarks . . . all along, Gran had been goading him toward what she wanted. God preserve him.
With a sickening sense of inevitability, he saw her go to the duchess’s side and whisper a few words, then saw the duchess rise and tap her glass to indicate she had an announcement to make. With a triumphant smile, Gran announced the engagement of her grandson, the Marquess of Stoneville, to Miss Maria Butterfield of Dartmouth, Massachusetts.
All eyes turned to him, and the whispers began anew.
He couldn’t believe it. How could he have been so blind? He’d lost the battle, maybe even the war.
And the worst of it was, Maria was caught in the middle. He’d sworn it wouldn’t go this far, that she wouldn’t have to worry about word of it reaching Hyatt. She’d tried to warn him that Gran might go through with the announcement, but he’d been so damned sure of himself that he hadn’t listened. Now there would be hell to pay.
Within seconds, both he and Maria were surrounded by well-wishers, neither of them able to reach the other. In the background, the gossips already speculated about why he was marrying a nobody of little consequence. It infuriated him that thanks to his blunder, Maria would be subjected to the same nasty gossip his family had endured for years.
It took him half an hour to plow his way back to her, but before he could even speak to her, Minerva tugged on his arm. “Gran wants to leave.”
“I’m surprised,” he growled. “Now that she’s accomplished her purpose, I’d think she’d wish to hang around and gloat.”
Minerva’s lips thinned in disapproval. “She says she’s tired, and she’s not lying. I can see it in her face. Celia and I are going to take her home.”
“Fine.” He glanced over to where Maria was speaking to three women, her face rigidly smiling, and a strange swell of protectiveness swamped him. “Take Maria, too. She’s looking overwhelmed. I have to salvage what I can of this situation before I can leave, and that will be easier if I don’t have to look after her. It will be in all the papers by tomorrow if I don’t do something, and Maria is worried that her real fiancé will hear of it.”
Not that he gave a damn if that happened. Hyatt didn’t deserve her. But he’d promised her it wouldn’t occur, and somehow he must keep his promise.
“How did Lady Tarley even learn that you and Maria—”
“Don’t ask,” he said with a groan. “You wouldn’t believe it, anyway.”
“Given Gran’s reaction, I’d say your plan hasn’t turned out as we hoped.”
“Gran has played me for a fool.”
“It appears that she’s played all of us for fools.” She eyed him closely. “What are you going to do?”
“Hell if I know. At the very least, I have to keep it out of the papers. I owe Maria that much.”
Fortunately, Maria agreed to leave with the other females in his family, which made his task easier. He spent the next hour hunting down everyone at the ball who had any connection to the press, and explaining that he didn’t want the engagement announced until he and Maria could inform her family in America.
By the time he and his brothers and Freddy headed for home, he was too weary to do more than grunt in answer to their questions. Fortunately, Freddy filled in the conversation with an endless stream of inanities about the ball and the gentlemen’s fine coats and what a grand supper he’d had.
As soon as they reached Halstead Hall, Oliver bade the others good night and headed to his study to fire off letters to those of the press he’d missed at the ball. It was nearly two a.m. when he decided to retire.
Yet he was restless. He hadn’t spoken a word to Maria privately since the fiasco. How had she taken it? He wouldn’t blame her for hating him.
He had to talk to her. Though it was late, perhaps she was still awake. If he let it wait until morning, he’d have to battle his damned family to get near her. Besides, he couldn’t rest easy until he’d reassured her that it wouldn’t go beyond local gossip—even if he wasn’t entirely certain of that.
Seconds later, he was at her room. Relief swamped him when he saw the glow of candlelight beneath the door. She must still be up. Yet when he knocked, there was no answer. He hesitated. He shouldn’t go in. He had no business entering her room uninvited at this hour, but it wasn’t safe for her to leave candles burning, was it?
He would just make sure she was all right. He opened the door to glance inside. On her bedside table, the candle cast a golden light over her sleeping form. Her amber hair was spread out across the pillow, and she clutched a book to her breast like a little girl holding a favorite doll. Except that the body outlined by the coverlet wasn’t that of a girl, but of a full-grown woman—one he desperately desired.
But that had no bearing on this. He wasn’t here for that. He would just snuff out her candle to keep her safe.
He went in and closed the door behind him. When he neared the bed, he saw the title of the book—The Stranger of the Lake—and sucked in a harsh breath. Did it bode well for him that she’d chosen the book they’d discussed in his study yesterday? Or ill, that she’d chosen the one where Rockton committed some of his worst villainies?
No doubt she was reminding herself of his faults. He still wasn’t even sure if she’d forgiven him for going off to the brothel. That had been left in the air.
You could make her forgive you, said an insidious voice inside him. You could climb into that bed and bring her halfway to seduction before she realized what was happening.
He stared at her a long moment, then shook his head. No, he couldn’t.
A mad laugh bubbled up in his throat. Apparently he had scruples. Who would have guessed it?
Perhaps I’m not so much like Father, after all.
The thought came from out of nowhere, stunning him. Was it possible? Ever since Maria had shown up, he’d been at sixes and sevens, utterly unlike himself. Was it her? Or was it them both? Was it possible that with her, he could be . . . better? Different, somehow?
The idea was insane.
Yet he did no more than watch her, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the tangled glory of her hair. As if in a trance, he reached out to smooth away a tendril that was ensnared by her long, delicate lashes.
Her eyes opened, and he caught his breath. She gazed up at him, and as the spell of sleep faded from her eyes, she broke into a smile. A smile! For him.
It was his undoing.
With his blood thundering in his ears, he bent down and kissed her perfect lips, unable to stop himself. Realizing what he was about, he quickly pulled back, but she caught him by the neck and drew his head down to hers once more.
He allowed himself to be seduced by her mouth, feeding on her lips as a starving man who’d been handed a feast. After a moment of bliss, he sat on the bed and she lifted herself onto her elbows. That was all the invitation he needed to pull her close and kiss her even more deeply. She buried her fingers in his hair, and he groaned low in his throat as he drove his tongue over and over inside her warm, soft mouth.
She smelled of roses and spice, and he wondered if he’d ever get enough of her scent . . . her taste . . . the touch of her breast beneath his hand—
Deuce take it!
Breaking free of her, he stood. “Forgive me, Maria. I didn’t mean—”
“Why are you here, Oliver?”
Eyes alight with curiosity, she sat up fully. The covers fell, leaving her half exposed in a night rail so thin he could see the dark tips of her breasts through it. With her hair tumbling in gold-red strands over her shoulders and her eyes heavy-lidded from sleep, she looked like every man’s erotic dream.
Desire arrowed through him, piercing his self control. Muttering a curse, he turned away from the bed to pace. “I’m here to apologize for what happened tonight at the ball.”
The long silence that followed made him uneasy. She finally said in a soft voice, “It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean to misspeak.”
He looked sharply at her. “You’re not angry?”
She shrugged. “To be honest, I expected Freddy to let the cat out of the bag before you did. I just wasn’t sure whether he’d say we were engaged or were pretending to be engaged. At least he didn’t say anything to make your grandmother guess that it was a sham.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “That hardly matters now. She wanted us betrothed. She, too, has been pretending, pretending to disapprove of you while hoping for this outcome.”
“Or maybe she’s just willing to settle for what she can get.”
“Either way, you tried to warn me.” He returned to the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen. After you left the ball, I tracked down as many of the press as I could.” He explained what he’d told them, then dragged his fingers through his hair. “My story seemed to pass muster, but the press loves printing gossip, and gossip about a marriage is their favorite kind.”
“I’m sure you tried to prevent that. For all we know, Nathan may not even be where he can see a London paper. As long as word doesn’t reach him, it’s fine.”
It was always her precious Nathan who concerned her, her damned “genteel and proper” fiancé. “I hope word does reach him.”
Her clear gaze met his steadily. “Do you?”
“Yes. Despite doing my best to make sure it doesn’t, I hope that bloody arse reads it and realizes what he’s thrown away. He deserves to lose you.”
Her expression wary, she slid from the bed and reached for her wrapper. “And what about me? Don’t I deserve a good husband?”
He tugged the wrapper from her fingers, then tossed it to the floor. “Hyatt couldn’t possibly make you a good husband.”
“So I’m to live alone, then?”
“No.” Snagging her about the waist, he drew her close. “You’re going to marry me.”
The minute he spoke, he realized it was exactly what he wanted. Her as his. Forever. Even if that scared the hell out of him.
Apparently it scared her a little, too, for she was staring at him with shock. “Why would I do that?” she whispered. “Why would you?”
“It’s the only way I can have you, isn’t it?” He knew his words weren’t the flowery effusions that most women expected in a marriage proposal. But Maria wasn’t most women. Maria understood him.
She dropped her gaze. “That’s hardly a good reason to marry.”
“It’s good enough for me,” he said, bending his head to kiss her.
With a shuddering sigh, she pulled free. “A week ago I was only suitable to be your mistress, and now I’m suitable to be your wife?”
“Suitability had nothing to do with it.”
“I don’t give a damn who your parents were or where you’re from. I never did.” When she remained silent, he pressed his case. “I want you. I wanted you then, and I want you now. Isn’t that the reason any man marries?”
Her expression was hard to read. “Men marry for the same reason women marry. Because they fall in love.”
“Love is just a fancy word for lust.” It had always been his philosophy, and he’d be damned if he’d lie about that to her. Wasn’t it enough that she had him practically begging to be allowed to share her bed?
“I don’t believe that,” she said stoutly.
“So you’re in love with Hyatt?”
She flinched. “That’s different.”
“How? You were willing to marry him for practical reasons. Why not me?”
A shaky laugh escaped her. “In what way is it practical for us to marry?”
“It’s been three months since you last had news about your indifferent fiancé. So you can either keep hoping he will remember that he’s betrothed in time to save you from destitution, or you can marry me. I’m here, and he’s not. I want you for yourself. For him, it’s all about the money.”
Her eyes glittered. “If you’re marrying me because your grandmother won’t relent, because it’s the only way to ensure that your family inherits her fortune, then it’s all about the money for you, too, isn’t it?”
The harsh words shattered something inside him. He’d thought she understood what he was saying, that she understood his desire for her. But clearly she didn’t know him at all. He’d been building castles out of fog.
“Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “I should have realized you would see it that way. In future, I’ll take care not to bother you.”
He turned on his heel to leave.