Almost - Almost A Bride Part 10

"Why would he want to marry you?" David demanded bluntly. "Forgive the question, I mean no discourtesy, any man would be lucky to have you as his wife, but you'll make an unlikely d.u.c.h.ess, Bella."

At that she laughed, and the tension in the room eased. "I know. But I don't think it matters to Jack."

"Then what does he want from you?" David's frown deepened and he looked at her intently.

Arabella sucked in her cheeks before saying, "His reasons are very simple and he's made no attempt to dress them up. He has a mistress, he wants a wife of impeccable lineage who will give him legitimate heirs. I'm rather conveniently placed to serve that purpose."

David turned to look out at the now shadowy garden. "I can't argue with that," he said eventually. "A woman should have a husband, and children. But I would have liked it better if you had found a man you could like and respect, maybe even love in time."

"I don't dislike him," she said. "But what about this mistress?"Arabella shrugged. "It's hardly unusual, David. Such liaisons are an open secret in Society.""Maybe so," he said grudgingly. "But what if he makes you unhappy?""I don't think he will," she said, wondering why she was so certain. "But if he does, I will leave him.""That's not so easy to do," he pointed out gravely. "A married woman is legally her husband's possession. Short of murder, he can do what he wishes with her."

Arabella grimaced. This was an unpalatable truth and one reason why she had resisted marriage for so

long. "I intend to insist on generous settlements," she repeated. "Enough so that I will have some degree of financial independence.""Why would he agree to that?" David asked. "You have nothing with which to bargain.""Except that for some reason he really wants this marriage. That's my bargaining chip."She slid off the daybed and came over to him. "David, dearest David, I need your support . . . your blessing."

He put an arm around her and kissed her cheek. "I want to be happy for you, my dear, you know I do. But I couldn't bear to see you made unhappy.""I'm eight and twenty," she said. "Old enough to make my own mistakes, and certainly old enough to make my own decisions."

He sighed. "Very well." And then he smiled somewhat ruefully. "Mary, of course, will think it the height of romance. You may be sure she'll see nothing but roses in your path.""I'll do my best to avoid the thorns," she said, returning his hug. "Will you go and explain things to Sir Mark Barratt for me? He won't be too surprised, and I need his help and advice with settlements and things. And," she added softly, "I'm relying on him to give me away.""I'll go now. His lawyer, Trevor, is a good man. He'll draw up settlements that are watertight." David looked at her, puzzlement and anxiety still in his eyes. "I wish I could feel truly happy about this, Arabella. It just seems so hasty. Are you sure you've had time to consider it carefully enough?"

"I have," she declared. "I a.s.sure you I've looked at every aspect, and I've looked at every alternative. This is what I have to do." Her own gaze was clear, calm, and resolute, and eventually he nodded.

"I'll come with Sir Mark and Trevor tomorrow morning. Inform the duke to expect us." The message was clear. Arabella would be flanked by her friends, and the duke would be under no misconception that she was defenseless and vulnerable.

A tiny smile curved her mouth. "I think I'd better inform the duke first that I've decided to accept his flattering offer."

David threw up his hands. "You haven't told him?"

She laughed a little. "Not yet. I wanted to test out my reasons on you first. I'd decided that if you couldn't persuade me that it was the wrong thing to do, then my reasons were sound."

"If I'd known that, I might have tried harder to persuade you against it," he said, shaking his head.

"No, you would only have made me even more determined." She kissed his cheek. "Let me show you out."

She walked with him to the door. His horse was tethered at the bottom of the front steps and she waited until he'd swung himself rather heavily onto the animal's back, then waved him away in the gathering dusk before returning to the dining room.

Jack was peeling a pear when she came in. "The good vicar has left?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow. He sliced the pear into quarters.

"Yes," she said, taking her seat once more. "Not very happily, though." She rested her elbow on the table, propping her chin in her hand as she regarded him thoughtfully.

"Oh?" His gaze sharpened and his hand stilled. "The usual moral outrage, I suppose?"

"Not quite." She continued to look at him with that considering air. Now that she had reached this, the most difficult decision of her life, she was rather enjoying playing her little game. It would be over soon enough.

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Do I have to guess?"

Arabella decided that the game was not really amusing and her heart wasn't really in it anyway. "He was not entirely happy that I had decided to make you the happiest man in England," she said, nevertheless managing a light touch. She would at least let him know she didn't consider the advantages to be all on her side.

Jack said nothing, contenting himself for the moment with placing the quartered pear onto the plate in

front of her. He kept his eyes hooded, hiding the sudden flare of satisfaction, the surge of triumph that he had played the game and won. He could now knit up the last st.i.tch of vengeance. He rose from the table and took her hand. "You have indeed made me the happiest man, and the most honored," he said, raising her fingers his lips. Now he met her gaze, and there was the faintest hint of question in his eyes. She was up to something, he was convinced of it. Something lay behind this sudden capitulation.

"Thank you, sir," she murmured in dulcet tones. Jack released her hand and returned to his seat. "Would you care to set a date, my dear?""Not until we've drawn up settlements," she said with a little nod. "David will come back tomorrow with Sir Mark and his lawyer, Trevor, to discuss those and what other arrangements are necessary."Jack raised the decanter to refill his goblet as he let this sink in. "Settlements," he mused. "They are customary, I believe," Arabella returned, nibbling at the quartered pear on her plate. He looked at her over the lip of his gla.s.s. "The topic interests me. Satisfy my curiosity?""Certainly," she agreed, taking another piece of fruit. "I'm thinking that I'll need an allowance of around twelve thousand pounds a year. Does that seem adequate for a lady taking her place in the world of

fashion?" She smiled sweetly. "More than adequate," he said aridly, reflecting that for sheer bra.s.s nerve, Arabella Lacey had no rival. "However, I have it in mind that you will have your bills sent directly to me and I will settle them myself."

Arabella frowned. "No, that won't do at all," she said firmly. "That would leave me with no independence at all. I couldn't agree to that. I'd be better off in Cornwall."

"I doubt that.""Such a sum won't discommode you in any way," she continued in tones of cool reason. "It will be more than covered by revenue from the Lacey estates."

"Indeed?" He regarded her with something of the fascination of a rabbit for the boa constrictor. "Before I agree to anything, perhaps you should lay out the entire balance sheet. What else will you require?"

"My own carriage and horses. A landaulet, I think. I was reading in a periodical that they are now the height of fashion. And I'll need a coachman, of course. Also stabling and a groom for Renegade. I would like to have him in London with me."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Quite a catalog, my dear. But I should explain that my stables are more than capable of providing you with grooms and stabling. I have a carriage and horses already. They are at present in the stables here. They will convey you to London and be at your disposal there."

"I'm sure, but I do think I must have my own carriage and horses. It would be very awkward to find them already in use when I desired to go out. Don't you agree?"

He set down his winegla.s.s. "Just one question . . . why should I agree to any of this, Arabella?"

"Because you seem to think I will make you a suitable wife and a suitable mother for your children. I will promise to do my best to satisfy you on both counts," she returned with a decisive nod. "But I insist on certain things in exchange."

He ran a hand reflectively over the white swatch of hair at his temple. "You don't consider my name to be sufficient? The continued use of your home to be sufficient?"

"No. Not if I'm to lose my independence. I insist on maintaining some degree of it. That, my lord duke, is my price." Her voice was firm and she hid her nerves well. But in the few silent minutes that greeted her demands, her stomach churned. Had she cast the die and lost?

Jack sipped his wine and embraced resignation. It was a small enough matter in the long run. And he had what he wanted. "So you intend to take your place in the world of fashion?" he asked with some interest.

"It was your own suggestion. And there is another thing. As I recall, you pointed out that I could have a hothouse in London. I presume your property in London is large enough to build an extension, and while it might be difficult to transport them all safely, I don't see that it need be impossible."

"Is there anything else?"

"Just one thing more." Arabella had been wondering whether it would be best to broach this subject after the wedding, but that would smack of deceit and she wanted this bargain to be aboveboard.

"Pray tell." He twirled the stem of his goblet between finger and thumb watching the sparks of light from the candles caught in the ruby liquid.

"You have a mistress," she stated.

His fingers tightened on the stem. "Yes," he agreed without expression.

"And you don't intend marriage to interfere with that arrangement?" She selected a sugared almond from a chased silver basket and bit into it. The hard sugar cracked sharply between her teeth.

Jack surveyed her, still without expression. "No," he agreed. "I have no intention of terminating that arrangement."

Arabella, busy with her almond, didn't answer until she had chewed and swallowed the last sweet morsel. Then she said, "That's rather what I thought."

"I don't consider this to be a suitable subject for discussion," he said. "You will find that in the fashionable world any mention of such issues will cause ridicule at best, ostracism at worst."

"Oh, I have no intention of holding a public discussion," she said, reaching for the bowl of nuts and selecting a walnut. "Of course I won't interfere with your private liaisons. Indeed, I'm sure your mistress is a most charming lady and we shall get on extremely well. She is a member of Society, I take it?" She tossed the nut in the palm of her hand.

Jack reached over and took the walnut from her. He cracked the nut, then placed the meat on her plate. "Where is this conversation, if it can be called that, going, Arabella?"

"I was merely wishing to discover if your mistress and I would be moving in the same circles," she said innocently, biting the nut.

"That rather depends on what circles you choose to move in," he said.

"Only the best," Arabella said promptly. She looked at him with a surprise that was clearly feigned. "Your mistress is not a member of the demimonde, surely?"

The image of Lilly rose before his mind's eye. The countess of Worth. A woman so sure of her social position, so utterly confident in her taste and her opinions . . . and he thought of Arabella, with dog's hair in her lap, straw plastered across the back of her skirt, and dirt beneath her short fingernails. It took him a moment to compose himself at the absurd contrast between the two. He decided not to answer a question that Arabella had asked only out of mischief and merely regarded her in stony silence.

"Ah," she said, "I can see that you don't care for this conversation."

"I thought I'd made that abundantly clear." That little blade of danger flickered in his gray gaze.

"Nevertheless, we must have it," she said, taking a sip of wine, determined not to be intimidated. Jack waited with the appearance of patience. Arabella leaned against the carved back of her chair and repeated, "It's understood that I'll not interfere with you in any way . . .""My thanks," he said, as dry as sere leaves. "But," she continued, "I think it should be understood that I have the same privileges. I would like your agreement that in the same way you will not interfere with me."Jack sat bolt upright. "What?"Arabella regarded him through narrowed eyes. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm guessing your mistress is a married woman. I am merely asking for the same freedom that is accorded her . . . indeed, that you avail yourself of, sir."

"You go too far," Jack declared. Arabella shook her head. "I don't believe so. If I agree to this bargain, then it must be on terms of equality. Why do you think I am still unmarried?"

"I suppose it would be ungallant to suggest that no one has been idiot enough to ask you," he remarked. "It would. And it would also be untrue," she retorted. He looked in brooding silence, then suddenly he threw back his head and laughed, the skin crinkling around his eyes. "Oh, Arabella, what am I getting myself into?"The laughter was disconcerting. She had noticed he had the habit of sudden amus.e.m.e.nt just when a situation was getting particularly tricky. It confused the issue and she had a feeling that was exactly why it happened. She watched him a little warily. "Something that you sought, sir.""Yes, so I did." He sobered and leaned on the table, folding his arms in front of him. "Very well, since we are speaking plainly, let me make this clear. You will swear on whatever oath you hold dearest to abide by the one immutable rule of Society. You will engage in no liaisons until you have given me an heir."

"I will swear it," she said simply. "To do otherwise would negate our bargain." She rose from the table. "Now that everything's settled to our joint satisfaction, I shall go to my parlor. I imagine Sir Mark and the others will be here soon after breakfast. We'll meet in the library."

She made a move to leave but Jack rose quickly, lifting his gla.s.s. Joint satisfaction seemed something of an exaggeration to him, but a toast was in order. "Let us drink to our bargain, my dear," he said, coming around the table. "Take up your gla.s.s." His eyes were intent, his mouth set in a firm line.

Arabella did so. Under that steady commanding gaze, she couldn't imagine doing anything else. He smiled faintly and crooked his arm through hers so that they were standing facing each other, almost pressed together, winegla.s.ses in the hands of their linked arms. He raised his gla.s.s to his lips and Arabella perforce followed suit. They drank together. She could feel the power in his body and the purpose in his mind as he stood so close to her. The wine on her tongue tasted of blackberries and sunshine. The scent of his skin enveloped her, a deep, earthy fragrance tinged with the freshness of lemon. It reminded her of her garden. She couldn't move her eyes from his and when he took her gla.s.s to set it aside with his own it was from nerveless, unresisting fingers. When he cupped her chin in his palm, tilting her face up towards him, she yielded to the inevitable with a little sigh that could have been pleasure or dismay. And in truth, she didn't know which she felt.

His lips were strong and pliant upon hers, and as her own parted for the insistent pressure of his tongue she tasted the wine on his as she tasted it on her own. It was cool, contrasting with the warmth of their joined mouths. He held her face between both hands now, and the kiss became deeper, exploring every corner of her mouth. Without volition she slipped her arms around him, her hands flattening against his taut backside as she pressed herself into him, feeling every line of his body against hers, the hardening jut of his p.e.n.i.s against her loins. And on the periphery of her mind lurked the thought that maybe, just maybe, this convenient marriage might yield some fringe benefits.

He took his mouth from hers very slowly and moved his hands from her face, running his flat palms down the length of her body, tracing the indentation of her waist, the flare of her hips. All the while, his intense gaze never left hers. "So the determined spinster of eight and twenty has pa.s.sion in her," he said, his voice slightly husky, his mouth curved in a faint smile.

"And why should that surprise you?" she managed to ask in something approaching her usual voice.

"Oh, I don't know," he said. "Shortsighted of me, clearly."

"Let's hope you don't discover other areas of myopia," she retorted, letting her hands fall from his body as she stepped back. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I'll bid you good night."

"Good night," he said softly.

It was soon after eight o'clock the next morning when Sir Mark arrived with the lawyer and Lord David Kyle. All three of them looked somber. David looked even grimmer than he had the previous evening, and the lawyer appeared hara.s.sed. He was carrying a sheaf of official-looking doc.u.ments.

Sir Mark kissed Arabella on the cheek as she greeted them at the front door. "Good morning, my dear."

She curtsied her own greeting and suggested they repair to the library, where the duke awaited them. Jack rose as the party entered. "Good morning, gentlemen." Bows were exchanged, ale offered, and the visitors finally seated.

"So, this matter of settlements," Jack began, taking immediate charge of the proceedings. "Lady Arabella has made her requests clear to me and I have no difficulty granting them, so this should not take very long."

Sir Mark cleared his throat. "There's one aspect of this proposed marriage that I think Lady Arabella should be made aware of. I was unaware of it myself until Trevor went through the Dunston family doc.u.ments in preparation for this meeting."

Arabella sat forward. Something was wrong. The baronet turned to the lawyer. "I think Trevor can explain it best, my dear."

She glanced at Jack, who was sitting at ease on a side chair beside the empty hearth. He was in riding dress, one booted foot crossed casually over his knee, one hand resting lightly on his sword hilt. The jewel fastened in the immaculately starched stock at his throat sparkled in the beam of sunlight shining over his shoulder from the mullioned window at his back. His eyes were calm, but she sensed a sudden sharpness in their depths, and an almost imperceptible alertness in his posture.

Trevor cleared his throat and began to rustle the papers on his lap. "The situation is this, my lady. When the first earl of Dunston was created in 1479, sub jure provision was made in the event of the earl dying intestate and without direct male heirs." He coughed into his hand. "In such an event, the estates, fortune, and t.i.tle would be pa.s.sed through a direct female heir to her husband. In that manner the earldom itself could never die out." He paused and the silence in the room was profound. Arabella didn't move, didn't take her eyes off him.

"It has never before been necessary for the provision to be enacted," the lawyer continued in his rather apologetic but nevertheless dry and dusty tones. "Until the unfortunate demise of the ninth earl, there has always been a direct male descendant to inherit."

He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose into the continued rapt silence. "Now, as I understand it, the ninth earl did not die intestate, he willed his estate and fortune to the duke of St. Jules." Here he turned on his chair and without expression offered a bow in the duke's direction. Jack didn't blink. His hooded gaze rested on Arabella.

"That I understand." Arabella spoke for the first time. "It is, after all, the point of this meeting." She glanced at Jack, then around at the solemn faces of her friends. "Are you telling me that female heirs, under this sub jure provision, cannot inherit themselves but are considered merely the conduit for the estates to pa.s.s to a husband?"

"That is so, my lady."

"Outrageous," muttered Arabella almost to herself, before saying, "Well, since my brother did make a will of sorts, it would never have come to me to pa.s.s along anyway. But am I really to understand that by marrying me, the duke of St. Jules would inherit my family's earldom?"

"Precisely, my lady." Trevor nodded gravely. "Sub jure inheritance is uncommon, madam, but not unheard of."

She inclined her head in faint acknowledgment. She looked at the duke, aware of a strange feeling, almost of awe. He was the devil incarnate. What had Frederick done to this man? Her half brother would have given up anything but his name, his t.i.tle. It was the final, the ultimate deprivation, and Frederick would be screaming from the grave. Of course, he should have considered that before he shot himself. She couldn't help the acid reflection, but then guiltily thought that perhaps he hadn't known of this sub jure provision, since it had never been enacted before. And it wouldn't have been in character for Frederick to have bothered with the technical details of his inheritance once he was in possession.

The Laceys had held the earldom of Dunston for three hundred years. The first Lacey had been one of the Conqueror's knights in the Norman invasion. The t.i.tle had progressed from knight to baronet to viscount to earl. It was an ancient name and an ancient t.i.tle and one that Frederick bore with enormous pride. Just as their father had. And now the earls of Dunston would no longer be Laceys. It would pa.s.s out of her father's family. She had known nothing of this, as she had to a.s.sume Frederick had been in ignorance. She had a.s.sumed that the t.i.tle would somehow pa.s.s to an obscure semirelative somewhere. A Lacey, at least. It would be an empty t.i.tle without the fortune to support it, but it would still resonate.

"Is that why you wish for this marriage?" she demanded abruptly of the duke.

He raised an eyebrow and drawled, "My dear, I already have a dukedom, why would I want an earldom?"

"That was my question," she retorted. "Why would you want it?"

"I don't," he denied simply. "But it is the law." And it was in essence true. It was not so much that he wanted the earldom as that Frederick Lacey had lost it, and thus had completed his ruin even from beyond the grave.

"Arabella, if you wish to change your mind . . . if this should in any way influence you . . ." Sir Mark began.

She held up a hand, softening the gesture with a slightly sardonic smile. "No, Sir Mark. I don't see quite what difference it makes. Whomever I marry will inherit the t.i.tle. It seems to me I might as well follow the Lacey fortune into the same hands."

"Arabella, that's unworthy of you," David protested.

She turned to him, her expression now somber. "No, David, simply pragmatic. I am entering into a marriage of convenience. I have never pretended otherwise." She looked again at Jack, who seemed merely to be observing the proceedings as if they had nothing really to do with him. But she knew better. For some reason, despite his denial, this lay behind his proposal. And once again she asked herself, Why? What had Frederick done to earn such violent enmity?

Eventually she would find out. The resolution brought her a shiver of apprehension, and then the thought that perhaps she didn't want to find out.