The Bargain. Mary Jo Putney
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that?” she asked as he led her onto the dance floor.
“I merely assisted him in a direction he was already going.” The music began, and he drew her into waltz position. “Learning how to defend oneself is one of the hidden benefits of an Eton education.”
The pleasure she took in his company reminded her why she had refused other suitors and justified the painful ceremony earlier in the day. As they exchanged pleasantries, she studied his face, admiring the firmness of his features, the clarity of those cool gray eyes. He was known as Rafe by the handful of people who were his intimates, but she would never dare call him that without an invitation. Perhaps someday.
She thought she was laughing and talking in her normal manner, so it was a surprise when Candover asked, “Forgive me, Lady Jocelyn, but you appear rather out of sorts today. Is something wrong?”
It was the inquiry of a friend, not a mere acquaintance. Glad to see proof that her interest was not entirely one-sided, she replied, “It was an odd sort of day. I got married this morning and have not yet accustomed myself to the fact.”
Surprise showed through his usual detachment. “Indeed? I hadn’t heard that you were contemplating the fatal step.” His gaze became ironic. “Surely the Parkingtons’ house is an odd place for a honeymoon.”
The time had come to inform him of her circumstances, and her availability. “It’s not generally known, but my father made the most ridiculous will, with the condition that I marry by the age of twenty-five or be largely disinherited.”
His brows rose. “How medieval.”
“Quite, especially when you consider that we were on the best of terms. But there was nothing to be done about it, so this morning I contracted a marriage of convenience.” A note of bitterness entered her voice. “I had hoped to have a real marriage.”
“If by that you mean a love match, you know how rare that is in our order, and how seldom it is successful,” he said dryly.
“I didn’t mean a love match in the sense of being so besotted that one has no true sense of the other person’s character,” she explained. “There should be attraction, of course, but from all I’ve heard, that fades in time for even the most infatuated lovers. Far better to base a marriage on respect and mutual affection. A partnership of friendship and shared values and goals.”
“How very reasonable of you,” he said, intrigued. “I wish more women had such a sensible attitude. It would make marriage a far more appealing state.”
From the approval in his eyes, she knew that she had just risen several steps in his estimation. If he was to marry, it would be to a woman like her, who would make his life run smoothly rather than causing painful, emotional scenes.
But marriage was merely a future possibility. Thinking of her current state, she said with a sigh, “I have had to settle for much less than I wanted.” She glanced up at him through her lashes. “I will have to look elsewhere for more rewarding relationships.”
“Your husband will not object?” he asked, gaze intent.
“He will not,” Jocelyn said firmly. In the arms of the man she wanted to marry, she had no desire to think of the soldier who had touched her life so briefly. “Our marriage is nothing but a mutual convenience.”
The waltz came to an end. Both of them lowered their arms from waltz position, but instead of moving from the floor, they stayed still, caught in a moment of acute mutual awareness. Candover’s gaze went over her with great deliberation, lingering on her low neckline and the curves visible through the gauzy summer gown.
Jocelyn recognized his scrutiny for a subtle, wordless advance. The implications were almost frightening. With a gesture, a faint withdrawal, she could let him know that she had no interest in proceeding further. Instead, she caught his gaze and smiled.
Expert in the ways of dalliance, he recognized her silent signal. With a slow, devastating smile, he escorted her from the dance floor. “I’m leaving London in the morning, but I look forward to calling on you when I return to town in September.”
She would be a widow by then and free to explore the promise in his eyes, though that freedom was coming at a higher price than she had expected. Suppressing the painful thought of the dying major, she replied, “I shall await that with anticipation.”
With a last, intimate glance, he withdrew. To dance with her twice in a row would draw attention. Instead, there was a tacit agreement between them that left her breathless with excitement. Finally, the only man she wanted was seeing her as a woman, and all because she was now married.
Coolly planning an affair made her uncomfortable, and she wasn’t naïve enough to think his plans went beyond an affair. But she strongly suspected that it would take intimacy for him to fully appreciate how perfect they were for each other.
If she lost her gamble as well as her maidenhead—well, she wasn’t made of stone. Though it would hurt badly to have him decide he liked her well enough for his bed but not well enough to be his duchess, there would be compensations. She had a normal woman’s curiosity about passion, and she found Candover so attractive that she would surely enjoy what he had to teach.
Would he be horrified or intrigued when he learned she was a virgin? She assumed he was clever enough to understand the implications of her spending her wedding night alone at a private ball. Her hope was that he would be pleased.
The two months until September stretched endless and empty before her.
Chapter 5
Sally tossed restlessly all night after she left the hospital, angry at the memory of the cool society beauty who had so casually used and discarded her brother. Even during her lessons with the Launceston children the next morning, her mind continued to churn.
As she left for her daily trip to the hospital, she realized she had been jolted out of her fatalism. For the last fortnight she had passively accepted the doctors’ verdict on David’s fate. Now her anger had given her a resolve not to give in so tamely. David was in no condition to fight for his life, but she was. If there was anything or anyone who might offer a chance of recovery, she would pursue it.
Before going to her brother’s room, Sally sought out her brother’s physician, Dr. Ramsey, determined to question every possibility. Dr. Ramsey was a solid man with an air of permanent fatigue. Unlike many of his colleagues, he was willing to admit the limits of his knowledge.
He blinked warily behind his spectacles when Sally caught him between patients, knowing from experience how persistent she could be. “Yes, Miss Lancaster?” he said with a rising inflection that implied he had very little time to talk.
“Dr. Ramsey, isn’t there anything more that can be done for my brother? He’s fading away in front of my eyes. Surely there must be something you can do.”
The physician removed his spectacles and polished them. “Major Lancaster’s case puzzles me. He’s holding on to life with remarkable tenacity, but there is so little that can be done in cases of paralysis.” He set his spectacles firmly on his nose. “Besides the paralysis, I suspect that he has sustained internal injuries which are beyond our present power to heal. All we can do is make his last days as comfortable as possible.”
Sally caught his wandering eye before he could escape. “I don’t wish to criticize your care. I know you’ve done everything you can, and I am profoundly grateful. Still—is there any physician or surgeon in London who might have a different approach, perhaps something that is radical by the usual standards? There is little to lose.”
Dr. Ramsey nodded. After a long moment of thought, he said, “There’s a mad Scot called Ian Kinlock at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. I hear that he just returned from Belgium and several weeks doing surgery after Waterloo. Very eccentric, but he’s done some remarkable things.”
The physician glanced at Sally’s modest dress. “He’s qualified as both physician and surgeon, and his fees for private