The Marriage Truce. Ann Elizabeth Cree
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Beatrice frowned at him. ‘This is not the time for levity.’ She followed Monteville out, leaving the door open.
Huntington moved to the door and shut it firmly, then leaned against it as if he thought Sarah planned to escape. His handsome face had that unsmiling, remote expression she was so accustomed to; if it weren’t for the slightly dark shadows under his eye, as if he’d slept no better than herself, she would have thought he was completely unaffected.
Sarah finally spoke. ‘Would you please tell me what is going on, my lord?’ At least her voice was cool and steady, despite the feeling she had wandered into a strange dream where nothing made the least sense.
‘It seems we are betrothed, Miss Chandler,’ he said, his voice equally cool. ‘And in love.’
She stared at him. ‘In love? What…what sort of ridiculous notion is that?’
He folded his arms across his chest. ‘It was the only thing I could think of to explain last night’s débâcle, particularly after my aunt accused you of trying to seduce me.’
‘She thought I tried to seduce you?’ Had she even heard correctly? The sensation that she was in a bizarre dream only increased.
‘Yes.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? Your family thinks I tried to seduce you and mine is equally convinced you tried to seduce me.’
‘How…how odd.’
His brow shot up. ‘That is one way of putting it.’ He uncrossed his arms and moved from the door, coming to stand on the other side of the wing chair from Sarah. ‘I decided the best way to defuse the mounting storm was to confess we have been harbouring a secret but hopeless passion for each other and finally last night in Henslowe’s garden our finer feelings overcame our reservations. Unfortunately, my aunt insisted on accompanying me over here. Thank God, your grandfather asked no questions and went along with the scheme.’ His gaze swept over her face. ‘And you did not swoon or run shrieking from the room. I must compliment you, Miss Chandler.’
‘I never do those things.’ She suddenly felt rather breathless, for he had never said anything remotely complimentary to her before. Unbidden, the memory of his dark head bent towards her, his hand fumbling with the pin at her breast, sprang to her mind and she felt almost shaky.
She forced her gaze away. ‘So…so how long must we pretend to be betrothed, my lord?’
‘Pretend?’ His sharp tone made her look back at him. His eyes bored into hers. ‘My dear, there is no pretence. We are betrothed and we will be married as soon as I procure the special licence.’
‘No!’ She jumped back. ‘That is, I…I don’t want to marry you.’
His eyes cooled. ‘You don’t have a choice. We don’t have a choice. Not after last night. You, my dear, are ruined.’
‘I…I really don’t care about that.’ She would just go live with Great-aunt Charlotte in Northumberland, who was always hinting she wanted a companion. Anything would be better than marriage to a man who detested her.
‘But I do.’ His expression was grim. ‘I’ve no intention of living with that on my conscience. I’ve enough scandal attached to my name as it is, without it being said I attempted to seduce you for some sort of revenge.’
‘But, surely no one would think that.’
‘They already do,’ he said shortly.
‘But how can they? It is so terribly unfair and so…so wrong!’ Sarah wrung her hands together, completely distressed. ‘What did you say to Grandfather? Surely, if they knew the truth, that it was Mr Blanton…’ The dark look he turned on her nearly made her quail.
‘What truth? That you went to the garden and Blanton accosted you? My dear, they will wonder what sort of young woman you are if it comes out you were compromised by not one, but two men in one evening. They will think I was coward enough to cast the blame on Blanton. Then there is my sister. I will not have her hurt by this. And she would be.’
Sarah stared at him as she remembered Lord Henslowe’s words. And in her mind, she saw Jessica and Adam dancing, the obvious happiness in their faces. Would such a thing really affect them?
He read her mind. ‘Yes, my dear Miss Chandler, she would be hurt. Her in-laws might tolerate her, but she would not be accepted. It is not a pleasant situation. You see, my mother was never accepted by my father’s family. She was Irish and they thought he had married beneath him.’ He was silent for a moment, a bitter twist to his mouth, before focusing back on Sarah. ‘So, we will be married.’
‘I am so sorry, my lord,’ Sarah whispered. She turned and walked to the window, not wanting him to see the sudden tears that pricked her eyes. Through the window she could see the gardener trimming the hedge. The ordinary, familiar sight suddenly seemed to belong to another world.
She started when Huntington spoke.
‘It won’t be quite as bad as a death sentence.’
She turned and looked at him, taken aback to find him standing behind her. ‘What won’t be?’
‘Marriage to me.’
He was too close. She forced herself to speak lightly even though she wanted to cry. ‘Then only as bad as imprisonment in Newgate, my lord?’
‘No. I have no intention of being your gaoler. Our dealings together will be minimal. Only as necessary to quell the gossip.’ His eyes rested on her face. ‘Nor will I expect you to share my bed,’ he said indifferently.
Colour mounted to her cheeks and she turned away. ‘I see.’ Such a thing had never even occurred to her. She could not even feel relieved, only confused.
He still stood next to her. She forced herself to look at him. He was watching her, a slight frown on his face, almost as if he was concerned about her. ‘Are you well?’
The thought he might actually care was so unexpected she found herself saying, ‘Yes. I…I promise I will not go into a decline, my lord.’
‘I hope not,’ he said softly. He stared at her, and she felt her heart begin to hammer in a most uncomfortable fashion. He suddenly backed up a few paces as if he wanted to put distance between them and went to stand near the mantelpiece. ‘There is one more thing, Miss Chandler.’ His drawl had returned.
‘What?’
‘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,’