“One day,” Chloe muttered. Lying on her bed, she made a face at the cherubs dancing merrily overhead in the frustratingly cheerful mural. “Giving me an ultimatum,” she railed in the quiet.
Whether it was one day, one week, or one hundred years, she would never, ever bind herself to Leo Dunlop, the Marquess of Tennyson.
How damned cocksure he’d been as he’d slipped silently from her rooms with an ease that only a rake accustomed to a late-evening rendezvous could manage.
He’d gone three hours ago, and the audacity of the gentleman, her outrage and annoyance burned even stronger.
It was useless. Sleep this night was futile. Just as it had been the previous night when her reputation had been destroyed in the arms of a rake.
She contemplated the errant specks of dust floating overhead. How dare he invade her rooms, further risking her reputation, arrogantly presuming that marriage to him would salvage her future?
It was preposterous. It was presumptuous. It was… “True,” she breathed.
Heart hammering, Chloe surged upright. No, it couldn’t be true. There could never be any good in marriage to Leo Dunlop. Nay, there could be no good in marriage to any gentleman—but especially not him.
Except—
Chloe chewed at her nail.
He hadn’t presented her with false words of affection or empty praise. As a desperate wastrel, eager to escape dun territory, he could have coaxed and cajoled. Nor would she expect or believe the Marquess of Tennyson beneath lies and deception. Instead, he’d spoken to her of a business arrangement with a bluntness that should have horrified her—and yet, did not.
Nay, those cool, pragmatic terms enticed, seduced, in a way that no pretty words ever could.
Freedom.
It was what he’d largely promised. Freedom of movement, freedom to make her own decisions. Why, the gentleman didn’t even wish for an heir.
She let her hands fall back to the bed.
“A lie,” she whispered. “It has to be.”
All gentlemen desired those tiny souls to carry on familial names and titles, and to whom fortunes would pass.
You are useless. What use do I have for a daughter? You should pay for simply being born…
That hated voice echoed around her mind, melding with her own screams as a child, bringing her eyes shut. Her back throbbed with the remembered agony of the lash. She clenched her eyes tight, willing her demons gone.
But when he slipped in, he retained a grip only the devil could break.
Not this night. Not any night. “Leave,” she rasped, forcing her eyes open.
Chloe’s breath came loudly in her ears. Sweat dampened her skin. He is dead. He cannot harm you ever again. She hugged herself tightly, finding solace in that reminder. But if she married, another person could.
She shivered as a cold stole through her, freezing her from the inside out.
“I cannot do i-it.” Chloe’s teeth chattered. Not Lord Leo and not any man.
The day her father had cocked up his toes and gone on to join Satan’s army in the fires of hell, she had been freed. At that moment, she’d vowed to never become her mother and never subject herself or any child to the cruel whims of a mercurial man. With the hell she’d endured, and the liberation she’d known with her father’s death, she could never marry.
The rub of it was, she’d so determinedly committed herself to avoiding marriage that she’d not given thought to the fate that awaited her as an unmarried woman.
Until now.
She slowly lowered herself back down.
Now, she was forced to confront how little power and control an unwed young lady truly had. And there was even less for one who’d been discovered in a compromising position.
Chloe pressed her palms over her face. Lord Tennyson had come here offering her freedom—through shackles. He’d allow her to live her life without interference on his part.
Surely it was exhaustion that made her pause on the offer he’d made.
Or mayhap it was simply madness.
For there was a dangerous allure to the offer from Leo Dunlop, the Marquess of Tennyson. Oh, it would be foolish to ever trust a word that dripped from his hard, cynical lips. But what if he’d spoken in truth? What if he truly would provide her a formal arrangement where they were business partners, joined for their own self-interests?
She’d feared a marriage that would have her under a husband’s thumb. But this, this was altogether different. The arrangement put forward by the marquess would allow her invisibility.
Yes, there was something so very appealing in such a marriage.
But what would happen when he drank? Or changed his mind on the matter of an heir? Chloe firmed her jaw. She could not, would not ever subject a child to the same fate she and her siblings had known. That was one element of her life she could control as an unmarried woman. No doubt, everything he’d presented had, in fact, been a lie.
Which left her future uncertain.
For in moving on from the marquess’ cold proposal, she was forced to confront her precarious circumstances and the limited opportunities available to her.
I’m logical in terms of life and marriage. I don’t want love. I don’t want children. I don’t even want your loyalty…
Rather, he’d stated his need for… respectability. To what end?
All he’d require of her was her brief discretion in carrying on affairs.
Had he been any other man, she’d have clobbered him in the temple for daring to impugn her honor with the belief that she’d break any vow she took. But with him having gone and her having run through their meeting over and over, her mind latched on to one single sentence he’d uttered: I would, however, require a short period of monogamy—at least discretion.
Those words were significant for what they conveyed, and yet, oddly still a mystery.
She puzzled her brow as new questions surfaced.
He had his own reasons for offering her marriage, ones that his words suggested moved beyond the need for her dowry.
Why…
“He needs to marry me,” she whispered. But why?
If it were solely for her dowry, then her decision was simple. Control of her funds was not part of the bargain. But if it was not about her monies, then his offer was, at the very least, something to be understood and then, mayhap, accepted.
Her stomach churned rapidly, sending bile surging to her throat.
Surely she was not truly considering marriage to him—the Marquess of Tennyson?
But if you can turn Society’s most heartless cad into one who’s polite, respectable, and… a proper gentleman, any post would be open to you…
“Mrs. Munroe’s,” she whispered. For not only would she have achieved the seemingly impossible task of reforming a rake, she would be a marchioness who—fair or not—would be acceptable.
A dull, throbbing ache settled at her temples. Chloe dug her fingertips into them and massaged in small, slow circles.
No, she was not contemplating marriage to him. Not truly.
She’d never been one of those wilting misses content to hide away in her rooms and pray for the scandal to fade, all the while bemoaning her fate. She’d not become one because of a misunderstanding stumbled upon by her family and a handful of strangers. She would, however, hear him out, present her terms as she would have them in a hypothetical arrangement, and from there…
Her mind shied away from traveling any further down that path. Wiggling out of her wrapper, she tossed the garment aside.
It sailed to the floor in a sad, fluttery heap.
Grabbing her cane, Chloe leveraged herself to a stand. Placing all her weight on her uninjured limb, she limped over to her armoire. With painstakingly slow movements, she tugged out her undergarments. She shoved aside gown after gown—white ones, ivory ones, pink ones. Now she wished she’d instructed the modiste, Madame Claremont, to construct one of those dark, scandalous ones.
Lord Leo had looked upon her white night wrapper with disdain.
She smirked. Which was precisely the reason that when most debutantes and young ladies lamented white garments, Chloe had quite happily donned those dresses. Rakes, rogues, scoundrels, and in truth… most respectable gentlemen barely spared a notice for a woman outfitted as a proper miss.
Her smug grin slipped.
Of course, leave it to Lord Leo to prove wholly contrary. For despite his lamentations about her largely white-adorned room, he’d studied her night wrapper with a lascivious gaze better suited for an outrageously clad widow. His stare had burned through those modest garments and scorched her skin.
Her skin heated at the mere memory.
She’d heard tales of rakes and rogues, but never had those attentions been turned on her. And in her bedchamber, no less.
Chloe reached the back of the armoire and continued digging around. A curl fell over her eyes, and she pushed it back. “Where is it? Where is it?” she mumbled, squinting. “Ah.” Her fingers collided with the high-waisted, puff-sleeved dress buried away there. She yanked out the gingham monstrosity, briefly eyeing the tiny brown and ivory squares. The enormous bow.
This was, unfortunately, the closest to dark her gowns came. Why, oh why, had she never prepared for clandestine meetings?
She sighed. This would have to do.
Balancing her garments in her opposite arm, she carried them over to her bed. Chloe perched herself on the edge of her mattress and proceeded to dress.
While she squiggled out of her night shift, she stole a glance at the clock.
One o’clock.
Setting her jaw, Chloe forced herself up and, this time, made one more journey—to her desk.
Sitting down, she dragged out a sheet of parchment and a pen and then dipped the tip into the crystal inkwell.
She proceeded to write.
Leo was in desperate need of a drink.
More specifically, he was in need of a whole damned bottle. And then some.
He gave his uncle’s well-stocked sideboard serious consideration. His mouth went dry from the need to tip a bottle back and let the slight burn of liquor blaze a path down his throat and dull the sharp edge of panic that had dogged him these last two days.
A sound of frustration escaping him, he continued to pace before his uncle’s desk.
Drinking wouldn’t do him any good now. Spirits served specific purposes: for celebrating raucous times, for lapping off a wanton beauty’s lush, naked frame, for wallowing in one’s miseries, or for dulling any hint of feeling.
As such, no bottle of fine French brandy could help him now.
He scraped a hand through his tousled hair. Nothing could help him now. Nothing, and no one.
It did not mean Leo was above trying and begging once more. Or praying for a miracle to a God he’d long ago learned was false.
Where in the blazes was his uncle? He yanked out his watch fob, consulting the timepiece. As a rule, his uncle despised balls and soirees almost as much as Leo did. “Everlasting bloody hell.” Every moment that passed stuck a nail in the coffin of Leo’s life and career.
“Miss me, dear boy?” a voice drawled from the doorway.
Leo cursed. The gold chain slipped through his fingers, leaving the timepiece twirling at his waist. “At last,” he muttered, stopping midpace.
His uncle shrugged out of his jacket and entered the room. “Didn’t hear me coming?” He made a tsking sound as he closed the door. “You’re becoming lax,” he said with a light twinkle in his eyes.
Yes, he was. The past two days were testament enough to that. As it was, Leo would wager his uncle’s stealth and years of service to the Brethren had more to do with his silent footsteps than Leo’s distraction. “Bloody hell, where have you been?” he demanded as his uncle flung his jacket aside with an infuriating casualness. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“You were due here this afternoon, Leo,” Uncle William noted dryly, taking up his usual post behind his desk. He motioned for Leo to sit.
Leo slid into the folds of the leather chair opposite the desk. “I was otherwise detained,” he said brusquely.
“I told you…”
“I came as soon as I was able.” To admit anything more than that about his meeting with Chloe would mark him as a failure—once more.
His uncle steepled his fingers. “Did you come to an agreement with the lady?”
Leo let his silence serve as his answer.
Abandoning his casual pose, Uncle William gave his head a sad shake. “I can promise you that Rowley will not back away from the ultimatum he set forth.”
Leo surged forward in his chair. “I need more time.”
“I cannot get that for you. You had today. You know better than anyone the essentiality of—”
Leo jumped up. “I’m not here for a bloody fucking lecture on punctuality,” he snapped, slamming a fist on the edge of his uncle’s desk.
The other man fixed a ducal stare on him, and in an instant, he was the same man who’d first trained Leo within the organization.
Forcing himself to draw in a calming breath, Leo reclaimed his seat. He tried again. “Did you speak with them?”
His uncle folded his hands and rested them on the immaculate mahogany desk. “Regarding your scandal? Of course I did, Leo.”
“And?” Leo tugged the chair closer to the desk as anxiety roiled in his chest.
“And how do you believe they responded? Rowley called for your immediate expulsion.”
He’d been braced for it. He’d expected it. Even so, all the air exploded from his lungs. “Of course he did. The bloody sod.” He raked an unsteady hand through his hair. It was all coming apart. His future. His life. The Cato case. Some pompous peers would continue to subvert the government from within, all to advance their own agendas. And Leo would be on the fringe, unable to stop it as he had so many past crimes. His pulse raced, deafening as a drumbeat in his ears. “He is trying to silence me.” And he had been since Leo’s suspicions on the Cato Street Conspiracy.
“He’s trying to punish you for seducing his wife,” his uncle corrected.
Leo’s ears went hot. “If you believe that is all that motivates Rowley, you’ve been out of practice too long, Uncle.”
His godfather flared his nostrils, but did not rise to the bait.
Leo continued to press him. “Every last rake and rogue in London has made a cuckold of the viscount. The viscountess has bedded anybody that is warm. Yet, my actions should be met with such outrage?”
“You’ve always gone toe-to-toe with the man, Leo,” his uncle accurately pointed out. “It was only a matter of time before you crossed some until now invisible line with him.”
He squared his jaw. He’d not make apologies for any of his actions within the Brethren and with his superiors. Leo had lived a ruthless existence, taking down countless men and women in need of taking down and leaving broken hearts and shattered people in his wake. And he’d certainly not drum up even false remorse for his disdain for the man in the organization he answered to. “If it’s as you say, and Rowley is making this about a supposed slight, he’s putting his own petty resentments ahead of the Brethren.”
His uncle sighed. “Leo, you made the man a cuckold.”
His patience snapped. “I’ve made cuckolds of lots of men.” Even as there was truth to what his uncle said, something in hearing it from the one person who’d believed in him and given him purpose grated.
His uncle lifted a finger. “This is different, Leo.” He grimaced. God, how he despised that name. The man Leo truly was bore no hint of the great saint his mother had named him after. His godfather let his arm fall to the desktop.
Leo’s stomach sank as the thick tentacles of dread wrapped about him. “That is all, then?” he asked hoarsely. They’d simply dismiss all the work he’d done for the Brethren? All the plots against the Crown he’d foiled? The case he currently worked on to flesh out traitors to the country? He slumped in his chair.
“I did mention yours might be a whirlwind love affair with the lady,” his godfather put forward. “I suggested that she might be the one to tame you.”
“How easily you still manage a lie,” he credited. The skills one employed on behalf of the Brethren remained with one forever, even with a loving marriage and family.
“Mayhap there can be truth to it.”
“Truth to it?” he scoffed. First, the lady would have had to say “yes” for it to even be a possibility. And second, he’d have to be capable of that sentiment. “You’ve gone soft.” His heart had been black since before he’d entered this world. He’d made the mistake only once of believing himself somehow… different than what he was.
The piercing intensity of his uncle’s stare was one that saw too much. Leo slid his gaze to a point beyond his uncle’s shoulder. “I’ve no intention of walking that perilous path.” He’d made that mistake in his youth. He’d not do so again.
“Would it be so very bad?” his uncle suggested with a gentleness that set Leo shifting in his seat. “Being in love?”
Leo could handle direct talks about the Brethren and his reputation as a rake and pleading for help. His mouth went dry. When it came to this warmth, he didn’t know what to do with it.
“Marriage has changed even the most hardened rakes.” His uncle flashed a wry grin and gestured to himself.
“You’ve taken a misunderstanding between me and a young lady,” one who, until two days ago, had been nothing more than a stranger, “and gone now to imagining a love match.” A fate Leo was incapable of. One that he had no interest in. Not any longer. Love weakened a person. Destroyed and shattered. Yes, he was better off without that or any other weakening sentiments.
The duke hooded his eyes, the earlier warmth gone. “Then it seems you must also fake being in love… and well. It was not only Rowley who was doubting, but Higgins as well.”
Because they wisely knew Leo for what he was.
“They plan to visit with me tomorrow afternoon. They’ll… we’ll make a decision about your fate and determine…” The duke stared pointedly at Leo.
Puzzled, he shook his head.
His uncle gave a nod.
“What?” Leo snapped. Given the precarious state of his future, he really did not have time to sift through his uncle’s word riddles.
“Do pay attention, Leo. We’ll determine whether you are, in fact, in love with the lady and pursuing a path of respectability now.”
Leo’s eyes slid closed as, with those words, his uncle put the death knell in his last hope.
“Oh, bloody hell,” his uncle muttered. “You didn’t speak to the lady.”
“Of course I spoke to her,” Leo said defensively.
“And?” His godfather leaned forward in his chair. “What was her response?”
“No, thank you.” Despite the precariousness of his increasingly dire situation, a grin curved his lips.
His uncle leaned forward. “My God, are you… smiling?” He whistled. “The lady said yes.”
Leo’s grin instantly died. “She did not.”
Uncle William dragged his hands over his face. “Oh, hell, Leo.”
“I still believe I can convince her.” It was a bald-faced lie. He’d gauged the lady as one who would value her independence and freedom… and made the greatest appeal to those desires, and she’d turned him down flat.
His uncle shoved to his feet, signaling the end of their meeting. “They’re coming tomorrow. They’ve asked that I attend the meeting. Beyond this?” He shook his head again. “There is nothing more I can do for you.”
Nothing more I can do for you…
Only Leo could help himself now.
Nay. Not Leo.
The spirited minx who proved clever enough to know marriage to him could yield nothing of value.
“Thank you, Uncle,” he said tightly, smoothing his features, hiding his panic.
After he’d taken his leave of his uncle, Leo made the short ride to his own residence, frantically searching his mind for a solution that would get him out of this latest scrape.
I could kidnap the lady. Ride off with her for Scotland and…
As soon as the thought slid forward, he killed it.
He might be an immoral blackguard, but even he drew the line at abduction.
That was, abducting an innocent lady for his own gains.
He brought his mount to a stop outside his white stucco townhouse and leaped down.
A servant came forward to collect the reins.
Leo started up the steps and then froze. Would it solely be for his own gains if he abducted the lady? If marriage to her would salvage his career, then he’d be permitted to continue his work for the Crown. As such, wouldn’t it be more a sacrifice to the country that the lady was unwittingly forced to make? He closed his eyes, contemplating the possibility… and then abandoning it. “Bloody bastard,” he clipped out, taking the last two stairs as one.
Why did he have to develop a bloody conscience now, of all times?
The only hope for him was that, by some miracle, the stubborn minx set aside her disdain and accepted his offer.
Leo loosened the hooks at his cloak.
The doors were thrown open by his waiting butler, his usually affable features now stretched with discomfort.
“What is it?” he demanded as he shrugged out of his cloak. What in the blazes could it possibly be now?
“You have a visitor, my lord.” Tomlinson pursed his mouth. “A lady.”
Leo tossed the black wool garment into the man’s capable hands.
The bloody tenacious viper. She was unrelenting. “You were instructed to throw her out if she were to come here again,” he gritted. Wasn’t it enough that she’d destroyed his career? Did she truly believe he’d welcome her in his bed? “So do it.” Stalking across the Italian marble foyer, Leo started up the steps.
“Yes, my lord,” his servant acknowledged. “That is correct.” He cleared his throat. “But it is not that lady.”
“I don’t care who she is. I’m not receiving visitors.” Nor did Leo care how the man handled the nuisance, as long as he rid the household of her presence.
“But, my lord.” Tomlinson cleared his throat. “She insisted you’d want to see her. She insisted she’d wait until you arrived.”
What manner of cheeky baggage entered his home and ordered about his servants? “There is no lady I want—” He stopped. There was one tart-mouthed miss who could order about even the most seasoned member of the Brethren. Furthermore, there was one respectable lady he cared to see. His heart increasing its rhythm, he wheeled slowly around. Given the whores and widows he’d bedded over the years, there could be any number of women who’d invaded his private residence at this late hour. But he’d not had any recent entanglements. His efforts had largely been focused on the Cato case.
It was far more likely that it was some discontented wife asking him to debauch her. And yet… hope stirred in his chest. “Who is she?” he demanded, bounding back down the stairs.
“She didn’t give a name, my lord,” Tomlinson informed, handing the cloak off to a liveried footman. “The young woman refused to relinquish her cloak and didn’t remove her hood.”
A woman bent on secrecy. Given the nature of his work, it could really be anyone. Given instincts that had saved his miserable arse more times than he deserved, he knew it was her.
It had to be. He’d given her a day to consider his offer. Mayhap she’d contemplated her future and reasoned that marriage to Leo was preferable to her shattered reputation.
“Where did you put her?” he asked, excitement spilling into his voice.
“I showed her to the Gray Parlor,” Tomlinson explained. “I’ve stationed Michaels outside the rooms.”
Of course, the loyal servant who’d been in his employ since Leo had begun working with the Brethren would know not only to bar anyone’s entry into his offices, but also to set a guard on her.
Leo felt something he’d believed himself incapable of feeling—hope. He started down the hall.
“Oh, my lord? There is one more thing.”
He paused. “Yes?” he asked impatiently.
“She had… has a cane. The lady walked with a limp and—”
Leo broke into a near run. He’d ceased to believe in God long ago, but it seemed the fellow might be real, after all.
Because nothing short of divine intervention from the Lord Himself could convince an intelligent miss like Chloe Edgerton to visit Leo in the dead of night.