The Marriage Truce

‘We had best behave as if we are in love with each other.’ He folded his arms across his chest again.

‘As you are now?’ Sarah retorted, stung by his retreat into his usual indifferent shell. Anger had begun to fill the void she’d felt earlier.

‘I beg your pardon?’

The startled look on his face was most gratifying. Sarah stared pointedly at him. ‘You are standing across the room from me and staring in that…that odious way. And besides that, my lord, I have never accepted your offer. In fact, you have never made me an offer.’

He uncrossed his arms and straightened. ‘Exactly what do you want?’

‘Since you have no particular sentiments for me, I don’t expect you to declare any fond feelings, but you could at least ask me, instead of assuming I would be delighted to marry you.’

‘Believe me, that assumption never crossed my mind.’ His gaze swept over her face. Then, without warning, he stepped forward and came to stand in front of her. He caught her hands, faint amusement in his expression. ‘My lovely Miss Chandler, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

‘I am not your lovely Miss Chandler,’ she said crossly. Why must he always sound as if he was mocking everything? ‘No?’

‘Most certainly not.’ She stared into his eyes with the vague realisation they were not brown at all but a deep mossy green.

‘You’ve not answered my question,’ he said softly. His fingers tightened on hers.

‘What?’ she blinked. ‘I…I suppose so.’

He continued to look into her face, his expression slowly changing. Her heart was beating too fast again. ‘Not exactly an unqualified yes, Miss Chandler.’ His voice held an odd huskiness.

‘Well, no…’

‘You have had more than enough time to settle this!’ Lady Beatrice’s voice cut through the air.

Huntington dropped her hands as if he’d been burned. He backed away and retreated towards the door. ‘Yes, the matter is settled.’

‘Good.’ She strode into the room, followed by Lady Omberley. ‘Helen quite agrees that the marriage will take place as soon as possible. However, an announcement must be made straight away.’

‘At dinner tonight,’ Lady Omberley added. ‘Since most of the families are still here for Lady Jessica’s betrothal.’ She smiled, but it looked more than a little strained. ‘The dinner will be here.’

‘Although I would have preferred it at Ravensheed,’ Lady Beatrice said. ‘It might have been possible if you had behaved in a more decorous manner.’ Her eyes fell on Sarah, and Sarah had the uncomfortable feeling Lady Beatrice held her completely responsible for last night’s disaster.

Which of course she was. She had managed not only to ruin her own life, but Lord Huntington’s as well.

Chapter Four

D ev followed Lady Beatrice into the cool hallway of Henslowe Hall. His hopes of escaping to the stables were quickly dashed when Lord Henslowe popped out of his study just as they passed the door. He fixed Dev with the same suspicious stare he’d had since last night.

‘So, my lord, I trust you’ve settled the matter.’

‘Yes.’ Dev had no intention of elaborating further. His patience at being treated like a pariah was evaporating. He started to move past Henslowe, who stepped in his way.

‘There will be a wedding, my lord?’ It was almost a snarl.

Lady Beatrice, who was halfway up the staircase, suddenly turned around. She gave Henslowe one of her most quelling looks. ‘I hope you are not accusing my nephew of dishonourably compromising Miss Chandler. He is, of course, to marry her. However, may I point out, her own behaviour is hardly above reproach.’

Henslowe swung his bushy-eyed stare to Lady Beatrice. ‘May I inquire exactly what you mean by that, madam?’

‘I mean…’

‘I fear my aunt is rather shocked by the fact that once Miss Chandler and I discovered our—er—feelings were mutual, we could no longer resist the temptation to express those feelings in a more bold manner.’ He was rapidly becoming an adept liar as well as a diplomat.

At least this round appeared to be diffused. Lord Henslowe looked taken aback. ‘Er, I see.’

Dev smiled coolly. ‘Yes. If you will excuse me, then, I must take my aunt to her bedchamber. She is rather fatigued after the morning’s events.’

‘Er, of course,’ Henslowe said. He backed into his study.

‘Fatigued? I most certainly am not!’ Lady Beatrice snapped. ‘And this nonsense about expressing your—’

‘But you are.’ He mounted the steps and took her arm before she could say anything else. He finally managed to get her safely to her bedchamber and then retreated to his own.

The quiet was welcome. He walked to the window and looked out at the rolling park spread before him. In the distance he could make out the grey roof of Monteville House.

What the devil had happened? He rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to ease the knot he could feel forming. The last place on earth he’d ever expected to set foot in was Monteville House.

But it was no more bizarre than contemplating marriage to Sarah Chandler.

He had first seen her at the ball celebrating his betrothal to Mary. Mary had spoken of her dearest friend many times before, but he’d hardly been prepared for a pair of expressive brown eyes in a heart-shaped face and a smile that lit her face from within. He’d taken her hand, and a jolt of recognition shot through him, almost as if she was the woman he had been waiting for. The sensation had scared him and set his carefully ordered world reeling.

Up until that moment, he had accepted his betrothal to Lady Mary Coleridge as a matter of course. Beautiful, cool and reserved, Mary had seemed to expect no more from marriage than he did. Nor did she appear affected by his less than pristine past. Or the fact that he’d scandalised most of society by a rash affair with one of the most dashing and notorious widows in London.

He had avoided Sarah Chandler as much as possible at the ball and the picnic the following day. He had been relieved when she’d left. Her own hesitant friendliness towards him had quickly turned to puzzlement at his brusque manner, and finally to cool politeness. The next time he expected to see her was after he was safely wed to Mary.

The last thing he had anticipated was that his cool, proper wife would run away a fortnight after their wedding. And that he would find her three weeks later with another man, a man who happened to be Sarah’s brother.

Undoubtedly, Sarah held him responsible for Mary’s death as did a good half of society. Rumours had been rampant that he’d done away with Mary until she was found. And then the gossip had turned to speculations on what he must have done to his wife to cause her to flee his house so soon after her marriage.

They were only wrong in the details. For he had, without doubt, driven Mary to her death.

And now he was about to again undertake marriage with a woman who did not want him. Except this time, he planned to stay as far away from his wife as possible.

‘Dev?’

He swung around to find his sister had quietly entered the room. ‘You are not out riding with the others?’ he asked.

‘No.’ She came towards him. ‘How could I until I knew what had happened? Besides, I was worried about you.’

He gave her a slanted half-smile. ‘There is no need.’ He moved away from the window and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘All is well.’

‘So, you are to marry Miss Chandler?’

‘Yes, and I fear I will beat you to the altar,’ he said lightly. ‘I hope you do not mind.’

‘Mind?’ To his surprise, her face lit up and she dashed forward, and threw her arms around his neck. He staggered back a little at the impact. She pulled away. ‘Never! You don’t know how much I feared leaving you alone. Now, you won’t be.’