The Mammoth Book Of Regency Romance Part 78

"But surely you have some idea."

"I never asked." That was true. She'd never had to. Her mother had always been honest with her. It's easier to face the truth than to run from it, she'd said. But for now, Arianna preferred to run.

"What is her name?"

"Jane Vernon." Although her working name had been Jewel. Eventually she'd become the Jewel of London.

"Did she ever marry?"

"One man breaking her heart was enough for her."

"Do you fear I will break yours?"

"It is worth the risk for her happiness."

She could feel his gaze settling on her. "You will give everything for her happiness, and then she will leave you."

"The leaving will hurt terribly, but I will find joy in knowing she goes in peace."

He released a rough laugh. "I'd not have done the same for my father."

She didn't ask after his mother. She knew that she died giving birth to him. "Your father did not sell his . . . soul to see that you never went without. My mother sacrificed everything for me."

"I thought you didn't know what she did."

"I said I didn't know how she came to have her money, but I know what she did as a mother."

"I can't imagine such devotion."

She fought not to be disappointed by his words. She still dreamed of a time when his heart would stir with feelings for her. Before she could think of any appropriate comment, a man cutting a dashing figure on a great black horse came to a stop before them.

"Harteley," he said.

"Ambrose."

While she'd never seen the fair-haired gentleman, she was familiar with his name. He was a marquess, one day to become a duke.

"Miss Arianna Vernon, allow me to introduce Lord Ambrose," Harteley said.

"My Lord."

He swept his hat from his head, his blond curls falling down to frame his elegant face. "Miss Vernon. I hope our paths will cross again. Good day." With that, he settled his hat back on his head and galloped away.

"That was rather odd," she said.

"He was trying to determine if your skirt is available for chasing."

"What conclusion do you think he drew?"

"I'm not sure, but when I see him at the club I shall ensure it is the correct one."

She squeezed his arm. "I knew I had selected the right man to be my champion."

He didn't feel like a champion. Why did she have such faith in him, and why did it suddenly seem so important that she did? The questions fluttered through his mind as he sat in the club slowly sipping a brandy.

It had been a week since the invitation. He'd taken her to the opera. He'd felt pride at having her beside him. She was beautiful and charming. Men had watched them, and he'd seen envy in so many gazes. Women had been curious. He'd seen envy there as well. As she'd promised, his debts his father's debts had been paid. She'd given him a hundred pounds as proof of her faith in him. She'd hired servants for his residence and had a box of books delivered to him for his library.

Their announcement had appeared in The Times and he'd begun the process of obtaining a special licence. He couldn't deny that he was antic.i.p.ating the marriage, in particular the wedding night. He had the means now to visit various brothels but he refrained. He could argue that it was because he felt he owed her, but the truth was that no other woman interested him. No other had her smile, her belief in all things good, her loving heart. He'd never had any interest in owning a lady's heart, but he found himself unexpectedly wanting to possess hers. She had so much love to give, and to have it directed his way- He barely looked up when Ambrose sat beside him.

"Saw your announcement in The Times, old chap. Can't believe you're marrying the chit. Thought she was your mistress."

Harteley levelled his gaze on him. "You thought incorrectly."

Ambrose sneered. "She'll be cuckolding you before the ink is dry on the church registry."

"Why would you think that?"

"Her mother was quick enough to spread her legs."

He felt a sickening sensation in his gut, a foreboding. Why would any woman of means need a champion? Why had he not asked himself that? "What do you know of her mother? What do you know of Jane Vernon?"

"No more than you."

"I don't know her."

Ambrose laughed and leaned forwards. "Of course you do, old boy. She's the Jewel of London."

"I need to see her now!"

Harteley didn't bother to rein in his temper or to keep his voice down, which was probably the reason the butler said, "She's abed."

"With whom?"

The old man's face hardened. "Watch your mouth, lad."

Harteley made a move to go around him, and two footmen stepped in front of him and grabbed his arms.

"You'll not stop me. Now step aside."

"You've been drinking, lad. I can smell it on you," Jones said. "Return in the morning when you're sober."

But he was beyond listening to reason. "Arianna!"

He shouted her name twice more, but she didn't appear.

"I need to see her now!" he yelled, again.

"Over my dead body," Jones said. "She's retired for the evening-"

"Hardly," she interrupted, and Harteley jerked his gaze up. She wore her nightdress and night wrapper. Her braided hair swung over her shoulder as she began her descent. "Unhand him."

With a nod from Jones, the footmen stepped aside. With deliberate slowness, Harteley straightened his clothes, his gaze never leaving her. "I know who you are," he finally said and, while he didn't shout, the words still echoed up the stairs.

She staggered to a stop. "I told you who I was."

"Your name, yes, but not who you are. Who your mother is the Jewel of London. A wh.o.r.e. You expected me to marry the daughter of a wh.o.r.e."

All blood drained from her face. She staggered forwards and sat on the stairs. "Don't call her that."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She shook her head, but he heard the truth in her silence. She'd known he'd not accept her offer. He'd be the laughing stock of London. The shame he'd thought his impoverished state would bring him was nothing compared with the shame that marriage to her would bring.

"What is all the frightful commotion?" a faint voice asked from the top of the stairs.

He lifted his gaze and saw her the Jewel of London. By the time he was ready to make sport with the ladies he'd considered her too old. But even now, with death hovering, he couldn't deny her regal beauty.

And as his gaze shifted back down to Arianna, an image filled his mind of a young girl sitting on the stairs . . .

He remembered her now. Her innocence, so out of place in the bordello, as she'd waited there.

"Will you wait for me to grow up?" she'd asked as he'd headed up the stairs with some woman whose name he could no longer remember.

"Absolutely," he'd called down, laughing.

She sat there on the steps now, looking diminished and broken. There was no one to stop him from going to her.

Instead, he spun on his heel and strode away.

Arianna wept while her mother held her. This was not how it was supposed to end. She'd known that, sooner or later, he would remember her but she had hoped it would be after they'd spent time together, after he'd come to care for her, when her origins were no longer a concern. Now her mother had learned of her deception.

"It was a lovely thought, Arianna," her mother said quietly. "But you should know that I care not who you marry. I care only that you're happy."

"I thought he'd make me happy."

"Instead he's broken your heart. I could kill him for that."

How could she have misjudged him so poorly? How could she have thought he was her destiny?

The house still echoed, for he'd not replaced much of what he'd sold. But it was clean. Servants ushered about quietly to see to all the tasks that needed their attention, while he brooded in his library and downed the whisky until his mouth was numb and he no longer tasted it.

Good G.o.d, he'd almost married an infamous madam's daughter. Her mother was a trollop and she had no father to speak for her. If Arianna lived by example . . .

She would never be unfaithful. In spite of Ambrose's words, Harteley knew she would never cuckold him. She was not adept at seduction. She could have seduced him without money. She could have swayed her hips and pouted her lips. Instead she'd provided him with an honourable way to alleviate his debts.

For the love of her mother.

He bolted from his chair and strode to the window. The moonlight was less than it had been two nights before, but he could see the beginnings of the gardener's work. All would be restored. He would be restored. She'd given him back his pride. She'd given him reason to smile.

She'd asked nothing of him except that he pretend to love her. Pretend to love her smile, her laughter, her joy. He enjoyed her company more than he had any woman's in a good long while. The depth of love she gave her mother . . . he'd seen the bond as mother and daughter stood on the stairs. A woman with the determination to do what she needed to survive and provide for her daughter. A young woman with the courage to reach for a dream of happiness.

She'd been a child sitting on those stairs at the brothel. "Who is she?" he'd asked the woman leading him into a bedchamber.

"Jewel's daughter."

"What's she doing here?"

"Waitin' for 'er mother to finish up with bus'ness so she can take 'er to the theatre."

He'd known even then that she was remarkable. That hadn't changed.

He couldn't say that he loved her, but he couldn't deny that she intrigued him. Raising his arm, he pressed it to the gla.s.s and peered intently into the night. To continue on the path she'd set for them would be scandalous.

All she asked of him was that he champion her.

Such a small request for a lady who deserved so much more.

Arianna strolled through her garden. She thought it far lovelier than Hyde Park, but then her mother had always paid the gardeners well to ensure that her daughter had the finest of everything. Paid the servants with money that men had paid her.

She told herself that it was better that Harteley had learned the truth before they were married because she might not have been able to survive his turning away from her after they'd shared an intimacy. His kiss had been so very wonderful, and to contemplate losing more than that- "There you are."

She swung around, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs. "Harteley."

He appeared so handsome, more so than ever. His clothes were the finest in which she'd ever seen him. His burgundy jacket set off his swarthy looks. His white cravat was tied to perfection.

"I've been searching for you for some time," he said quietly.

"Yes, it's easy to lose people here in the gardens. They go on forever."

"No." He stepped towards her. "I didn't mean here in the gardens. I meant . . . I've been searching for someone who makes me grateful to get up in the morning. I didn't realize it was you until I found myself unable to think of anything else."

"You called my mother a wh.o.r.e."

"I've already apologised to her for that. Now I must apologise to you. I have no excuse for the words. I was wondering, however, if you might find it within you to forgive me."

"Did my mother forgive you?"

"She did."

"Then I suppose I can do no less."

"Well, you could do more." He took another step nearer. "I've obtained the special licence. And I've brought a vicar."

Her eyes widened. "You want to marry me?"

"I do."

She angled her chin haughtily and lied. "Unfortunately, I no longer want to marry you. It was a foolish bargain on my part, to be willing to give you every-"