Almost - Almost A Bride Part 7

Meg considered this. "Just for the sake of argument, because of course we both know you're not going to accept his proposition . . . but it seems to me that if he required you to look the other way when he had liaisons, then you could surely require the same courtesy." She regarded her friend thoughtfully. "a.s.suming that you'd be interested in a lover."

"I haven't had your experience, Meg," Arabella said with a half laugh. "Everything I know about the delights of the bedchamber I learned from you."

Meg gave a mock sigh. "It was so long ago, I've almost forgotten it."

"It'll come back when you have the opportunity."

"Who am I going to find in this backwater?" Meg demanded. "I've had my one London Season, and nothing came of that, so I'm condemned to look for a mate among the spotty youths or drunken squires of Kent."

"That or live the life we always swore would satisfy us," Arabella pointed out. "We took a blood oath when we were ten that we would keep our independence before anything else and any man would have to accept that."

Meg shook her head with a laugh. "That was all very well at ten, Bella. But I haven't met a man who would accept such terms and neither have you. My problem is that I'm not sure I actually want to spend the rest of my life in a state of chaste spinsterhood. Are you?"

"Not really," Arabella said, sounding dispirited. A future as a poor relation in a tied cottage in Cornwall was depressing enough.

A knock at the door interrupted the ensuing thoughtful silence. "Come in," Meg called.

A maid bobbed a curtsy in the doorway. "Beggin' your pardon, Miss Meg, but Sir Mark wondered if you and Lady Arabella would join him in the library."

The two women exchanged a glance. If the duke had managed to enlist the support of the baronet in a mere half hour, he was even more formidable than they'd thought.

"We'll come down in five minutes, Madge," Meg said. When the door had closed on the maid, she said to Arabella, "He really must have my father eating out of his hand. What could he have said to him?"

"I would guess he has rather forcefully presented the benefits to me in accepting his proposal," Arabella returned dryly. "Your father has always seen himself in loco parentis, even before my father's death, really. And after Father died, Sir Mark never made any secret of his contempt for Frederick. I suspect he's convinced himself, and probably your mother by now too, that there's a perfect solution to my problems, and the duke is an impeccable connection."

"Rogue and rake though he may be," Meg murmured, standing on tiptoe at the mirror to push loosened pins back into her red mane.

"Oh, I'm sure Jack's convinced your parents that he's the Archangel Gabriel," Arabella replied tartly.

Meg heard the casual use of the duke's name and cast Arabella a quick glance. But she made no comment. These waters were running deep and it was for Arabella to choose how to sail them. Meg would offer whatever support and backup was needed in the face of pressure from her parents. And there was going to be plenty of that, as they were both aware.

She linked arms with her friend, giving her a quick encouraging kiss on the cheek, and they went out into the corridor.

Chapter 6.

Ah, Bella, my dear. Meg, dear, come in, come in," Sir Mark greeted them warmly as they entered the library. His lady sat in an upright armless chair, holding her closed fan in her lap. She had the rather bemused air of one who had suddenly found herself transported to some other planet.

Jack set down his tankard of ale and rose to his feet.

"My daughter, Margaret," Sir Mark said. "Meg, my dear, may I introduce his grace of St. Jules."

Jack bowed over Meg's hand. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, ma'am."

"Sir." She curtsied, subjecting him to an intense scrutiny as she retrieved her hand.

Jack returned the scrutiny with a speculative half smile. Arabella's friend was physically her ant.i.thesis. Thin and angular, sharp-featured, small-boned, and short of stature, where Arabella was tall, her lines much softer, and her shape distinctly hourgla.s.s. Arabella's coloring was all creams and golds; Meg, on the other hand, was a startling contrast between a very white complexion lightly scattered with freckles and a crown of vivid red curls. He wondered if their physical contrast would be mirrored in temperament. Aware of the slightly challenging nature of Meg's scrutiny, he rather doubted it. He'd received similar looks from Arabella. He cast a speculative glance towards Arabella, who maintained an impa.s.sive countenance.

"Sit down, my dears." Sir Mark gestured to a Chippendale sofa. "I know you're not fond of ale, Arabella, but perhaps coffee . . . or lemonade?"

Arabella shook her head. "Nothing, thank you, sir." She sat down beside Meg, who also declined refreshment.

Sir Mark stood in front of the empty hearth, his hands clasped at his back, his expression very grave. "The duke has just explained the events surrounding your brother's death, Arabella."

"Has he, sir?" Arabella raised innocent eyes. "He was unable to explain them to my satisfaction. A man doesn't hound another to his grave for no apparent reason."

The baronet frowned. The duke merely took up his tankard of ale and strolled over to the long French windows that stood open onto the garden. Lady Barratt played with her fan. "Arabella, I know it's difficult for women to understand, but gambling debts are treated very differently from other debts," Sir Mark said in the tone of one stating the obvious. "A man cannot renege on a gambling debt, and if he's unable to pay then he has little choice . . ."

He paused and there was silence in the room. Then he said heavily, "Exile or death. Forgive me for putting it so bluntly, my dear, but whatever one might think of the unspoken rules of Society, one must obey them, and your brother knew that."

"Yes, I understand that perfectly well, Sir Mark. What I fail to understand is why my brother's only creditor was his grace." She made a vague gesture in the direction of the duke, who was watching her over the rim of his tankard. "I would understand if Frederick was in debt to half the gamblers in London, and the moneylenders, to boot. But it seems his only debts were to the duke of St. Jules. Doesn't that strike you as a little strange?"

Jack put his tankard down again and said crisply, "Then let me explain, as I would have done at any time, had you asked me."

Arabella inclined her head in somewhat sardonic invitation and folded her hands in her lap. The baronet took a seat and raised his gla.s.s to his lips with an air of one relinquishing a burden.

Jack continued in the same crisp tones, "I a.s.sumed all your brother's debts many months ago, Arabella. I was his only creditor and I paid all his debts in full."

Arabella frowned. "Why would my brother allow you to a.s.sume his debts? Or do you live by extortion yourself, my lord duke? How much interest did you charge him for credit?"

"Arabella." Sir Mark managed nothing more than her name in protest at this outrageous insult. Lady Barratt drew in a sharp breath. Arabella ignored them both and continued to look steadily at the duke.

Jack Fortescu shrugged. "Your brother was unaware that I took over his debt from the moneylenders. He was simply told that his debts had been a.s.sumed by an unknown individual. It's not an unusual practice for moneylenders to sell debts; they're considered a.s.sets. Your brother had already failed to keep up the interest payments and I wasn't interested in pursuing him for them."

"Why would you do him such a favor, sir? From what little he said in the past, I had the impression he was no friend of yours." She held his gaze, aware that if she once lowered her eyes she would lose what had become a fencing match.

"We were acquainted. We moved in the same circles-"

"Gambling circles," she interrupted.

He gave an ironic bow of acknowledgment. "That is understood. It's customary in the clubs to help out a fellow player." His eyes were suddenly opaque as he experienced again that surge of vicious elation that had accompanied every step of Frederick Lacey's carefully planned ruin. Each debt Jack had a.s.sumed had been another building block in his vengeance, and the earl hadn't seen the sword until it fell.

"And you made sure you were repaid with interest in the end," Arabella pointed out with a cynical smile.

Again he shrugged. "It's the nature of play, ma'am. You bet, you lose, or you win." The calm statement brought a chill to the room, and now the gray eyes, no longer opaque, had that rapier's flicker in their depths.

Sir Mark cleared his throat, and the taut thread that connected the two duelists snapped, bringing the still room and their riveted audience back into focus. "That is unfortunately the truth," Sir Mark said. "It's a dangerous game, and your brother played it to the hilt, Arabella. He knew what he was doing."

Arabella made no response. She suspected that Frederick had thought he knew what he was doing, but that in fact he was playing with a master who was playing a completely different game by completely different rules. Poor fool, she thought, with a kind of resigned sympathy. She couldn't continue to see only his spiteful and sometimes brutish ways. He'd been a muddler, his only interest self-interest, but he'd paid a price that was perhaps too high.

She cast a covert look at the duke. So calm, so at his ease, so smilingly confident. So indefinably dangerous. Only a fool would enter the lists against Jack Fortescu.

Was she fool enough to do so? The thought hit her with main force. Where had it come from? Could she possibly be entertaining the idea of accepting the duke's proposal? Good G.o.d, she must be running mad. Unconsciously she shook her head vigorously.

"Bella?" Meg said, nudging her arm. "You look as if you're talking to someone."

Arabella stared uncomprehending at her friend for a second, then she gave a shrug and an apologetic smile. "Forgive me, there's so much to think about. I was in another universe."

"That's only to be expected, my dear," Lady Barratt said sympathetically. "But you are among friends, you must never forget that."

"I know, ma'am, and I'm eternally grateful," Arabella said, reaching over to take her hand, squeezing it with fierce affection.

"Well, let us look at what's to be done," Sir Mark said hastily before the ready tears in his wife's eyes could fall. He took a deep draught of ale and regarded Arabella thoughtfully. "The duke has suggested a possible solution to this unhappy business, my dear." He looked at her expectantly.

Arabella decided it would be interesting to see how Jack had presented his proposal to the Barratts. She said nothing therefore, merely looked at Sir Mark, politely attentive with a hint of mild curiosity in her eyes.

Meg began to rearrange a bowl of roses on the low table beside the sofa. She was more than curious to see how Arabella would play this scene. Clearly she wasn't going to smooth any paths for the duke, which Meg decided was no bad thing. Try as she would to see the duke with the eyes of cool and slightly hostile interest, she couldn't ignore the sheer magnetic force of the man's presence in the room. A force that alone was almost enough to roll over the opposition. Whether Arabella was induced to accept him or not in the end, she would need all the help she could get in maintaining the level of control both women had long accepted they could never give up, whatever the circ.u.mstances. Arabella needed to make her stands early and often.

Lady Barratt opened her fan in the continuing silence and finally Sir Mark said with a puzzled frown, "I believe his grace has spoken to you, Bella?"

"Well, certainly we have had speech," Arabella said innocently. "It would be difficult not to when a complete stranger enters your house and dispossesses you."

Jack pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. He discarded his empty tankard and leaned his shoulders against the doorjamb. Sir Mark looked at him, now deeply puzzled. "Fortescu, I had understood you to say that you've discussed the matter with Arabella."

"I have, sir." He began to examine his hands with care, turning them over, rubbing a thumb over the opposite palm, reflectively twisting the square-cut emerald on his left hand. It was clear to everyone in the room that the duke of St. Jules was laboring under a powerful emotion that he was striving to keep in check.

Arabella couldn't decide whether he was on the verge of a volcanic explosion or a burst of laughter. She decided anyway that it was time to bring the charade to a close. "Surely you're not referring to the duke's ridiculous proposal, Sir Mark? I took no notice of that. It's an absurd idea."

"Arabella, my dear, do think carefully," Lady Barratt broke in before her husband could say anything. "It is an advantageous connection. And in the circ.u.mstances . . . well, it does seem like a solution." She smiled hesitantly. "It is a most generous proposal, you know."

"I believe I can do without such generosity, ma'am," Arabella said with more than a touch of hauteur. "I've already written to my relatives in Cornwall and I'm sure they'll take me in. I can make some money from my orchids and I can grow my own produce. I shall be perfectly independent and perfectly content."

The duke made a sound that could have been interpreted as a scoff of disbelief or a suppressed chuckle.

Arabella glared at him. "Did you say something, your grace?"

"No," he said with that dangerous glint now in his eye. "Not a word."

Sir Mark sighed. "This is very difficult," he conceded. "I don't think we can expect Arabella to decide anything at the moment. But I would like you to think very carefully about this, my dear. There are advantages."

He came over to her and patted her shoulder. "I do think, as Lady Barratt says, that you should take the time to think this over very carefully. Consider the alternatives. Your nerves are somewhat overset . . ."He turned sharply at a stifled sound, this time from his daughter. "Do you have something to say, Margaret?"

Meg's eyes were dancing. "Father, when have you ever seen Bella with overset nerves? She has nerves of steel."

Sir Mark glared at his daughter, but he'd known Arabella from babyhood and he couldn't dispute Meg's statement. He cleared his throat, and said brusquely, "Well, be that as it may, Frederick's death has been a terrible shock to us all."

He cast a doubtful glance towards the duke, who was still standing at the window, regarding the scene with what now seemed to be a slightly mocking amus.e.m.e.nt. Something didn't sit quite right about a man who could profit so calmly from such a death. It was an uncomfortable reflection but the baronet tried to put it from him. His duty was to come up with the best plan for Arabella, and marriage to the duke of St. Jules might well be the best if not the only solution to an evil situation.

He turned back to Arabella and said, "My dear, you must come to us immediately while you think over the duke's proposal. You need a mother's help and advice and Lady Barratt will give you both."

Arabella nibbled on her lower lip. She hated to seem ungrateful but she had to manage this alone. Their very warmth and affection would be an unbearable pressure as she tried to weave a path through this tangle. She smiled apologetically at him. "You're very kind," she said, reaching over to touch Lady Barratt's hand again. "Both of you . . . but indeed I will stay at Lacey Court until I hear from Cornwall. I don't imagine the duke will be staying very long." She glanced over at him, challenge once more in her gaze.

"On the contrary," he said, smoothing a crease in the ruffled lace at his wrist. "I have every intention of remaining in this charming part of Kent for the remainder of the summer. I find the climate most healthful."Arabella bit down hard on her lip. Lady Barratt said, "Then that settles it, my dear. You must come to us at once. As we've been saying all morning, you cannot stay in the same house as his grace without a chaperone.""Mrs. Elliot and old nurse will serve perfectly well, ma'am," Arabella said in a tone of voice that her audience knew well. "I don't mean to be ungrateful or unheeding of your advice, but I am determined that I won't be put out of my home until I'm ready to leave it." She rose from the sofa with an air of decision and extended her hand to the baronet. "I thank you truly, sir."

"You always would go your own way, Bella," he said, shaking her hand even as he shook his head.

She offered that apologetic smile again. "I bid you good morning, sir . . . Lady Barratt." She bent to kiss her ladyship, who shook her head sorrowfully but returned the kiss. "I'll come with you to call the dogs," Meg said, jumping to her feet. "You should see how Red Lady's litter has grown." She sketched a curtsy in Jack's direction. "I give you good day, your grace."He bowed. "Good day, Miss Barratt. I'll await you at the front gate, Arabella.""Oh, there's no need for that, sir," she said with a dismissive gesture. "I know my own way home.""Nevertheless, I will await you. I escorted you here, I will escort you back." There was something implacable in the statement. Arabella could see nothing to gain in futile argument, so she merely turned and left in Meg's wake. "The clash of the t.i.tans," Meg observed with a laugh as they made their way out of a side door and turned towards the stable yard. "What's that supposed to mean?""The meeting of two unmovable forces. I don't know who to bet on in this particular battle.""I wouldn't call it a battle," Arabella said as they entered the cool, hay-scented stable where the red setter had her litter. Or was it? She was reminded once again of that curious moment when she'd seemed without volition to be considering the proposal. A moment of lunacy, of course. Meg perched on an upturned crate by the box where six feathery puppies lay in a heap and regarded her friend skeptically. "Nonsense," she declared. "You can't be in the same room with him without going head to head." She reached into the clot of puppies and drew one onto her lap.

Arabella sat on a hay bale and possessed herself of her own furry ball. She made no attempt to dispute Meg's statement and said instead, "So what do you think of him? Now that you've met him." She stroked between the pup's ridiculously long, feathery ears and felt its rough tongue on her finger. The rest of the litter, awake now, clambered over each other to tumble out of the box. Boris and Oscar bounded in and came to a comic halt seconds before they trampled over the yapping heap. They bent and sniffed, knocking the puppies onto their backs as they nudged with their noses.

Meg gave a half laugh. "To tell you the truth, I don't know. He's not someone one could like. That's far too bland a response." She glanced sideways at Arabella. "But I could imagine being drawn to him. There's something of the lodestone about him."

"Mmm," Arabella murmured. "I should go now. I haven't tended to the orchids today." She set the puppy among its fellows and rose to her feet. Boris and Oscar bounded expectantly into the sunlit yard.

Meg linked arms with her as they followed the dogs. She was vibrantly aware that Arabella was wrestling with some powerful thoughts; she could almost hear the confused, seething turmoil in her friend's brain, but she didn't prompt a confidence, it would come when Bella was good and ready. At the corner of the house they said good-bye, exchanged kisses, and Meg returned to the house and what she knew would be a long session with her mother on the subject of Arabella's future.

Jack was exactly where he'd said he would be. Patient and seemingly content to wait. The dogs raced up to him and he bent to scratch between their ears before throwing a stick down the lane. They went off in full cry as he straightened and greeted Arabella with his calm smile.

"Do we take the fields again?" he inquired. "The lane from the crossroads seemed pleasant enough and quite shady."

"Which would you prefer?"

Jack looked at her in mock astonishment. "You're asking me?"

"Why shouldn't I?" she inquired. "I'm perfectly willing to consider your preferences. I've not shown myself to be discourteous thus far."

"And just what would you call that display at the Barratts'? Pretending you had no idea what Sir Mark was talking about." There was an edge to his voice and Arabella decided that it had been anger not laughter he'd been suppressing in the library.

"I don't care to have my future discussed out of my presence by people who can have no say in any decision I might make," she said. "Sir Mark and Lady Barratt have stood my friends since my childhood but they have no jurisdiction over me. I have no guardian, your grace, and neither do I need one . . . we'll take the lane from the crossroads, since you seem to prefer that route." She strode ahead of him, bending to take a s...o...b..ry stick from Oscar. She threw it in a high arc over the hedge bordering the narrow lane. The dogs dived through the undergrowth and disappeared from view.

Jack strode after her and caught her arm. "Just a minute, Arabella. There seems to be some misunderstanding. I was merely explaining my presence here to people who are going to be my neighbors. If coincidentally I thought it politic to explain my intentions towards you to people who clearly hold your interests dear, then surely that was quite reasonable."

Arabella shook off his hand. "Don't be disingenuous, sir. You have no intention of living at Lacey Court and being a true neighbor to these people. As soon as you've made whatever point you want to make by coming here, you'll be back to the gambling h.e.l.ls of London. You were merely trying to enlist support for your proposal from people whom you guessed, rightly, would be likely to offer it."

Jack took hold of her upper arms as she turned to march on. He stood looking down into the tawny eyes that had taken on the lambent glow of a cat on the prowl. Her full mouth was set, the angle of her jaw uncompromising.

"You do seem to be trying your very best to make me angry," he said, almost musingly. "I have to warn you, my dear, that's not wise. I become ugly when I'm angry, and I'm really trying to show myself only in the best light. I want you to like me."

The very idea of it made her laugh, but without much humor. As Meg had said, liking was far too bland a reaction to Jack Fortescu. "That would certainly seem the minimum requirement for a halfway decent marriage," she retorted.

She had the sense that his warning had not been lightly given and decided that for the moment it was time to end the confrontation. His hold on her arms was not restrictive, but the warmth of his hands and the sheer proximity of his body were preventing her from making the necessary move to shake off his grip and step away from him. She could feel the heat of his skin-and yet, as always, he showed not the slightest effect of the sun's blazing warmth, which she could feel like a hot plate pressing down on top of her hatless head.

"Liking, yes," he agreed. "But something else too, Arabella." He moved one hand from her arm to cup her chin, tilting her face upwards. He kissed her full on the mouth. This was not last night's light brush of his lips on the corner of her mouth. It was a kiss that engulfed her. Her eyes closed automatically and she knew only the scent of his skin, the taste of his tongue, the heated press of his body against hers as without conscious intent she moved closer against him. His free hand moved to her waist, holding her as her tongue danced with his and she seemed to inhabit only the sensate world contained in the red glow behind her eyelids.

Slowly he raised his head, keeping his hand at her waist, the other beneath her chin. His gray gaze lingered on her face, a languorous glow in its depth. "There is that too, my dear. A marriage without pa.s.sion is a sad thing."

Arabella swallowed. Pa.s.sion? She put a hand up to her head, tucked a loose curl behind her ear, was lost for words.

"We shouldn't stand here in the full sun," Jack said in a different tone. "You shouldn't have come out without a hat." He took her hand with a casual intimacy that felt utterly natural and began to walk again down the lane, maintaining his own silence. He couldn't understand how the business that had brought him here had become intensely personal in the s.p.a.ce of a few hours. It was no longer simply a matter of completing vengeance. The more Arabella resisted him, the stronger was his will to overcome her.