Compromised Miss

‘Simple enough.’ He lifted a hand, palm spread. ‘My title and consequence. My purse strings. I can give you comfort, luxury if that is what you would enjoy, social standing, independence. There will be no compulsion on you to paint or embroider from me! You will no longer be under the eye of either your sister-in-law or your brother. Is that not at least tempting? I own a number of houses that you might like. You might find that you enjoy a London Season.’

‘Ha! With nothing to think of but what I wear and what I say, and if I can manage the steps of a country dance at Almack’s without tripping over my feet? You should know that I have never been taught to dance, either!’ She let the ideal filter through her mind. ‘You think that money would matter to me?’

‘As a smuggler, I imagine profit is an important consideration for you.’

‘You would think that,’ she replied enigmatically. If that is what he thought of her…But how should he not since he did not know her? ‘Why would I choose to escape from my brother into your controlling, my lord?’

‘You would not find me too rigorous a husband. Will you do it?’

Harriette studied the unsmiling, masterful features and was not sure, not sure at all. The Earl of Venmore did not seem to have the makings of an easy, tolerant husband. There was suddenly no similarity between this man and the helpless figure who had been tumbled broken and bleeding at her feet. This man who insisted on her striking this remarkable bargain with him.

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted.

‘Why not? Consider what a profitable catch I turned out to be.’

There was no mistaking the edge of a sneer in his voice. What a low opinion he appeared to have of her. Well, she would reply in similar vein. ‘So there’s something in this for both of us. Youw ould be as self-interested as I in finding an advantage in this match.’

‘Yes. Why not?’

Harriette dragged in a breath. Here was honesty between them at least. And it was tempting; she felt herself weakening. The Earl of Venmore was clearly a devious man, knowing that independence would be a priceless gift to her. What would it be like to share his life, to share his bed? She shivered at the thought of the Earl’s physical ownership of her. It was an image that would destroy her resolution, she admitted in her heart, if she allowed it.

‘You said you could not afford the upkeep of this house.’ His words brought her back to the present. ‘It obviously means much to you. If you wish to spend money to put this place back in order…’

Harriette stared at him.

‘…then I could enable you to do it.’

Was he actually offering to pay to resurrect Lydyard’s Pride from dilapidation to its former glory? Why would he put himself out to be so persuasive? There was no debt for him to pay. Harriette could find no words to reply between what her heart desired and what her mind informed her was only right and proper. Her mind, of course, had the victory.

‘You don’t have to, my lord. We both know my honour was not compromised.’

‘I know it, as do you. But unfortunately the polite world is not kind to even the veriest whisper of scandal. It can be cruel and malicious. If you have any ambition to attract a husband, you must be aware of the dangers for you if gossip wags its spiteful tongue.’

He watched her as she thought over his words with utmost seriousness. She frowned a little as she replied, as if her words were painful to her, as they were. ‘It seems to me, my lord, that there are far more advantages for me in this arrangement. All you get is an unsuitable wife and the Ghost.’

‘And it’s important to me.’ Surprising her, and perhaps himself, the Earl took her hand in his good right one and Harriette felt an arresting sparkle of light ripple through her blood. His clasp was firm around her fingers, strong with more than a hint of possession. Never in her life had she felt so dominated by a man. She was intensely aware of his forceful presence and their seclusion, of the strength of his will when he had set his mind to a course of action. His words confirmed it. ‘Let us have plain speaking between us, Miss Lydyard. Is there someone whom you love, to whom you are promised?’

Harriette shook her head.

‘Then we are both without entanglements and of an age to enter into this agreement of our own free will.’

‘But that isn’t so. I think there is a lady close to your heart.’

His brows twitched together. ‘I don’t…’

‘A lady named Marie-Claude.’

His eyes flashed a warning. ‘No. Whatever I said in delirium, you misunderstood, Miss Lydyard. She is nothing to me.’ His response held a hard bite. ‘I promise to be an attentive and tolerant husband. I will defend your name and your honour with all the power I have. I will not make more demands on you than you are willing to give—and in return you will allow me use of the Ghost. Miss Harriette Lydyard, will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?’ His proposal held none of the warm emotion that might be expected in a bridegroom towards the woman who would put her future into his hands, but he kissed Harriette’s fingers, lips cool on her skin, that stirred a hot little flame in her heart. ‘It would please me, restore us both to the good graces of polite society and solve all manner of problems for you.’

A proposal of marriage. Harriette floundered in a morass of indecision. How remote, how austere he was, as if it meant nothing to him. And perhaps it didn’t. She could not do it. It would bring her more sorrow than happiness.

Then the Earl smiled at her. What an impossibly charming smile he had, making him too dangerously attractive. And suddenly Harriette found herself tottering on the edge of forgetting all her clear reasoning as to why she should not take this step. It was so very appealing. Her gaze was caught by his so that she felt as if she were pulled along as by waves in a strong tide. If she were not careful, she would be dragged inexorably below the surface and then she would be lost…

‘Miss Lydyard? My future hangs on your reply.’

‘Really?’ She looked askance.

‘Really, Miss Lydyard!’ His mouth firmed into an impatient line.

She must give him an answer of course. And did so with dry appreciation. ‘Your tongue is as smooth as French silk, my lord. The only thing I regret is that, if I do agree, it will please my brother.’

‘He is no longer of any concern to you. For you, Miss Lydyard, if you will accept my offer, you now belong to me.’

It was outrageously proprietary. Intensely possessive. Very male and very confident. Harriette’s heart leaped within the confines of her outmoded bodice. And again, a harder beat, when his clasp tightened and he pulled her slowly towards him. Was he intending to kiss her? Fear struck.

‘I should tell you, my lord, that not only can I not dance, but I have never been kissed, either.’

‘Then it will be my pleasure to show you how it is done, to consolidate our agreement.’

As a kiss it surprised her. It was very gentle, the softest of meetings of lips, hardly more than a sharing of breath between them. Harriette felt he had made an effort not to frighten her, but now fear was not in her mind. She sighed, taking a step closer, and, sensing it, the Earl slid his good arm around her waist and drew her closer still, firm against his chest, his thighs, whilst his lips warmed and teased. Enveloped by his arms, it was as if all her senses became startlingly alive so that his scent, his touch stroked her, to fill her with a delight that she could never have imagined. Gentle as it was, it reduced her to a shimmer of liquid pleasure. Until he released her, tilted his head as if struck by a thought, before placing a final caress between her brows.

‘So we are agreed? It would not be appropriate for me to kiss a lady who was other than my betrothed.’

And Harriette, hopelessly entranced, gasped at his slide into light humour. How could she possibly tell him that he had stolen both her breath and her heart in that one simple undemanding gesture? ‘Then I must accept, mustn’t I, for I am not in the habit of allowing any gentleman to kiss me. But one thing I would ask.’ She lowered her eyes so he would not see the anxiety that began to build in her chest again.

‘Since you saved my life, I think I am duty bound to grant whatever you request, Miss Lydyard.’

‘I don’t want a society wedding. Not at some fashionable church in London under the eyes of the ton. Not in the midst of your Corinthian set.’

‘Very well. Then where?’

‘Here. With a special licence.’

‘Then it shall be so.’

Relief swept through her, and astonishment that he would agree so readily. He had not even asked her to explain, something she did not wish to do. ‘If I am to escape, then let it be quick. Do you know a bishop, my lord?’

‘I think I can lay claim to it.’ Then, ‘My name is Lucius,’ he prompted.

‘Lucius.’ She tried it on her tongue. Heavy. Classical. Aristocratic. She must have frowned.

His mouth was a touch sardonic. ‘If you don’t care for it, try Luke.’

‘Is that what your family call you?’

‘My brother, Adam, does.’

Harriette tried it in her mind. Luke! She liked it. It suited his dark good looks. ‘Then I will.’