Chapter 4

“The gods too are fond of a joke.”

Aristotle

Gwen had still not peeked around Lord Abbott to see their audience, which was clearly not her father, but multiple guests. Any notions of discretion were out of the question, she supposed.

More importantly, her kiss with a stranger had been with the heir to Viscount Moreland, according to the multiple witnesses of her ruin.

“I just offered for Miss Smythe’s hand in marriage … and she accepted.”

After he made his announcement, in a mellifluous voice that stroked her interest to rise once more, she did not comprehend the words for several seconds.

Then it hit her.

The stranger knew who she was.

And he had just announced their betrothal.

The shock at her unrestrained behavior with a strange man, followed by the discovery that her moonlight lover was an honorable and highly eligible member of the ton, was too much to absorb.

She could not possibly hold him to his declaration, but she also could not believe that her father had been correct that a man such as him did, indeed, exist.

“You are to wed Miss Smythe?”

Gwen recognized the voice of Lady Astley, a sour grandmother of polite society who was quick with her scathing criticisms. Crouching slightly behind Lord Abbott’s back, she pulled a face at the harridan’s tone of disbelief. Gwen might be entering spinsterhood, but there was no need to be so blatantly incredulous.

“I am.”

“Miss Gwendolyn Smythe?”

Again, Lady Astley was clearly baffled. Gwen forced back her irritation at the implied insult.

There was a pause, then a firm and low response from Lord Abbott. “I was overcome by Miss Smythe’s beauty and wit. Her acceptance of my offer is a great honor that I will cherish for all my future days.” He sounded irate, defensive even. Of her?

Gwen bit her lip. Hidden behind him, she soaked in the wonder of what he had just said. If only it were true. Sadly, Lord Abbott had simply been caught at the wrong time with the wrong woman. When he saw her clearly in the light and discovered she was a gangly spotted ginger, he would be deeply disappointed and understandably wish to retract his offer.

And she would allow him to do so because she could not possibly hold him to blame for her own ill-advised behavior. She had wanted him to kiss her. Had actively participated. He could hardly be held responsible, and change the course of his entire future to include her, when they did not even know each other.

But he knows my name. Perhaps he knows me somehow?

It did not signify. She was on the shelf as it was. This scandalous encounter hardly ruined her non-existent prospects of courtship.

Squaring her shoulders, Gwen resolved to be honorable, too.

“Lord Abbott failed to understand me.”

Her statement would be bolder if she confronted their observers. Stepping from behind Lord Abbott, she pretended to stare them down, but truly she simply focused on the French doors right behind them because she had not the courage to meet anyone’s eyes.

“He made his offer, but I turned him down.”

Lady Astley wasted no time with her astonished response. “You turned down the heir of Viscount Moreland?”

One could practically hear the exclamation mark at the end of the question. Truly, did the old peeress have nothing better to do than cast aspersions about Gwen’s appearance and general worthiness as a mate?

“I did,” she replied firmly.

From the corner of her eye, Gwen could see Lord Abbott cock his head and tense his square jaw at her statement, which had negated his attempt to defend her reputation. “I confess Miss Smythe had her reservations regarding my offer, and I was attempting to persuade her to change her mind.”

Gwen nearly burst into hysterical giggles. To his credit, Lord Abbott was doing his best to raise her in status, inferring that he was the one who was inferior to her. What he did not understand was how little Gwen had to lose. She could not force a marriage onto a man, no matter his mutual culpability in her ruin. One should marry for true partnership, not because of what the beau monde might think or say on the subject.

While fear still coiled and uncoiled deep within her belly, she was a woman of strong character and she would never forgive herself if she forced a wedding on a man just to avoid social discomfort. Lord Abbott should have free will in whom he married, and she would take her punishment for falling into his arms like a besotted girl.

“I thank Lord Abbott for his offer, and for his attempt to protect my reputation, but I stand by my refusal.”

The gathering broke into heated debate, and Gwen was sure she overheard someone exclaim that she was a stupid girl. Probably Lady Astley, a bitter old biddy who had never liked her.

Nevertheless, her principles were more important than what other people would say about her, and she would not steal a man’s future just to benefit her reputation.

Her immediate future would be difficult, but after a while the scandal would die down. She had to live with herself for many years to come, so what she thought about herself must take precedence over the small-minded fault-finding of people who did not truly care about her one way or the other.

Next to her, Lord Abbott soughed under his breath before interrupting the storm of controversy in his deep voice. “It appears we cannot reach an agreement, so I believe that Miss Smythe and I should discuss this with Mr. Smythe.”

Lord Astley’s head immediately bobbed up. Waving a bony hand to shush his wife and the others standing with them, he spoke with the thin voice of an aged man. “Agreed, young man. I think we should step inside to find Frederick so you can debate this private matter without an audience.”

Gwen could not refute this conclusion. It suited her fine to end this public display. “I will be in the study.”

She quickly walked away from the growing crowd to enter her father’s study from the terrace so she could wait for Lord Abbott and her father alone. Entering the ballroom to face a large audience after being caught in a passionate embrace was an impossibility, even for a strong woman of character.

Walking about the study, she lit the lamps before taking a seat on the sofa across from the desk, frowning slightly in surprise when she noticed that her father had tidied his desk, the inkstand and quill perfectly positioned together, the drawers fully shut, and the surface wiped clean of pounce.

Her father was fastidious with his clothing but notoriously clumsy with his work space, a quirk which caused him endless aggravation when he trapped the fine sand of the pounce in the intricate buttons of his sleeve cuffs, especially those grains blackened with ink.

Perhaps a servant had come in and cleaned up early? Strange that they had the time, considering all the preparations for the ball tonight.

The vagaries of her thoughts led her to realize she was quite anxious. She hoped her father would arrive soon and perhaps could direct her on what she must do now that she had ruined her reputation in society. Gwen had not comprehended how daunting it was to be in this position, her stomach in knots, and the terrifying thought of joining the guests made her palms damp with the mere prospect of it.

What have I done?

Allowing a stranger to touch her and kiss her in the most intimate of ways. Was she so starved for attention that her morals, her very boundaries of convention, had been tossed aside for pleasure?

She frowned to herself. Somehow, that did not seem right.

There had been something magical about the moment on the terrace. Something she had never felt before. A moment of perfect synchronization that had led her to accept and trust the man at her side. As if fate itself had taken a hand. Despite the fear she was feeling, she suspected that the event itself would be cherished by her for many years to come.

It was with some relief that she heard footsteps out in the hall and realized that she was about to be joined in the study. The riot of thoughts colliding in her head was too uncomfortable. Hopefully, her father could provide guidance on how to proceed. A firm path forward out of the muddle she had brought on their household.

The footsteps came to a halt, and the door opened. Gwen stiffened, leaning forward on the settee as she tried to prepare her words to explain to her father what had happened.

In walked a tall gentleman with broad shoulders and a square jaw. The stranger from the terrace!

Gwen grimaced when she beheld him in the light. He had rich brown hair and chocolate brown eyes, and he was … utterly beautiful. So far above her in appearance that for a second, she thought she must be wrong about his identity. Why would such a young and handsome gentleman have approached her? A man from a wealthy and distinguished family? It was unfathomable.

He sought her out, hesitating, before crossing the room to take a seat at her side. Gwen remained in her rigid position on the edge of the settee, astonished to be near such a man and even more astonished that, even after laying eyes on her, he had chosen to sit next to her.

Looking back to the door, she discovered her father entering the room.

And her heart fell.

Her father was beaming with unrestrained delight, and Gwen knew exactly what he was thinking. He was ecstatic about the turn of events, so she could not expect support from him to turn Lord Abbott down.

Nay, Papa was clearly convinced she had finally found her match. The right man.

Aidan was still reelingfrom the turmoil that had transpired outside these very doors. He had never acted in such a foolish manner. From a young age, his father had instilled in him the importance of respect and dignity. Being caught by numerous witnesses under the evening sky with his hands on the buttocks of a gently bred lady was incomprehensible. Later this evening he would have to inform the viscount of his roguish behavior, which was rather galling.

Truly, he had never done anything this appalling.

What about leaving Lily alone on the night of the coronation?

He shut his eyes briefly at the recollection of why he was in the Smythe home tonight. Apparently, galling behavior was becoming a pattern for him.

Nevertheless, he could not deny the frisson of excitement to be seated with the goddess alighted from his deepest desires. She was the very essence of a Renaissance masterpiece. The Birth of Venus perhaps, with her long, red hair framing her slim face.

He blinked at the thought of her disrobed and bared before him in the manner that Sandro Botticelli had painted, Aidan’s heart picking up speed despite the presence of her father in the room. Just how far did that spray of freckles descend on her slender form?

When he first entered the room and she had turned those soulful eyes to find him, he had discovered that they were a deep blue like her father’s. Her skin glowed in the dim lights of the study, and Aidan was compelled to sit next to her, still in awe that such a woman existed with the sharp mind of a scholar.

Now, seated beside her and distracted by the fragrance of citrus teasing his senses, Aidan sincerely hoped that she was not involved with her father’s dark pursuits. Protecting his sister and the baron from future violence must be a priority, and it was a necessary evil to delve into what her father was involved with. He could help her in the aftermath once the truth was revealed, but only if he successfully forged an alliance with her tonight.

Frederick Smythe was evidently cheerful about the turn of events, closing the door and crossing the room to take a seat at his desk. Aidan noted that Smythe noticed nothing amiss from Aidan’s earlier visit to his private sanctuary, which was a small mercy with what was about to unfold.

“So, when is the wedding?” Mr. Smythe was grinning as he clapped his hands together to peer at the two of them with twinkling blue eyes.

Next to him, Gwendolyn groaned.

“Papa, this is not a time for jesting! We have a serious situation at hand.”

Smythe’s grin broadened. “Levity in the face of trials is what makes life bearable, young one.”

Aidan was amused, despite himself. Smythe had an infectious smile and a lighthearted mannerism which made him instantly likable. Which meant Aidan needed to be cautious about being drawn in by the man who probably murdered the baron.

It was a chilling thought, a brutal reminder that the servant who had attacked Lily two weeks earlier had been someone she had not suspected in the least. A signal that it was time to steer this conversation.

“I have explained to Mr. Smythe what happened on the terrace, and I have informed him of my intention to wed you.”

Aidan watched her from the corner of his eye to observe her reaction. He was feeling a little shy now that they were in a lit room and conversing. She was even more breathtaking than he had imagined from afar, and he was having trouble reconciling the idea that he had recently had his tongue in her soft mouth. He growled softly in the back of his throat as a rush of heat accompanied the recollection.

Gwendolyn turned her head as if she had heard him, her forehead puckering.

Lord Abbott had emitteda low growl after his declaration, and Gwen was perturbed by the evidence of his reluctance. When he had taken a seat by her side, she had briefly entertained the notion that he truly was attracted to her, but the guttural accompaniment to his words revealed he was not as willing as she might have hoped.

Resolve was a welcome friend. Marrying Lord Abbott might be convenient, even desirable from her point of view, but it would be wrong. Forcing a man to wed her would be a despicable failing in character. Her father had sufficient means for Gwen to disappear from society, possibly pursue her academic interests in the country. Lord Abbott need not sacrifice his future to tie himself to her.

“And I have informed Lord Abbott that I appreciate his offer, but it is not necessary.”

Her father’s grin fell off his face like a distended fruit from an overloaded tree. “Not necessary?”

Gwen gave a firm nod. She had hoped that her father would understand her concerns, but his jovial attitude had made it clear that he thought his dreams of making a great alliance to secure her future were at hand. She was going to have to convince both men that it was a terrible idea, which would require fortitude and dedication.

“I have no wish to put Lord Abbott in that predicament. I am certain he has far better marriage prospects than myself, and I do not wish to tie the gentleman down for something we are both responsible for.”

Next to her, Lord Abbott shifted, flexing his shoulders as if he were suffering from tension. “I assure your daughter that she is the very best of marriage prospects, and it would not be a hardship at all to announce our betrothal.”

“And I wish to assure Lord Abbott that I am more than capable of taking care of myself. I free him to find a more suitable partner.”

“I am perfectly capable of selecting a wife, and I believe that Miss Smythe should have a greater appreciation of her worth as a prospect for such.”

Across from them, her father shifted his gaze back and forth between the two of them. He cocked his head with a perplexed expression, and Gwen realized that they were sparring while addressing their words at her father.

“Could one of you explain to me what exactly unfolded on the terrace?” Her father had a trace of steel in his tone, and Gwen bit her lip. It took much to raise his ire, and she had learned to pay it mind when he showed signs of growing irate.

“I thought Lord Abbott had informed you of what transpired?”

Lord Abbott shifted once more, his taut thigh making contact with her briefly through the thin silk of the gown when he dragged a hand through that lustrous hair. Good grief, he was the best-looking man she had ever sat this close to. Which was why she had been addressing her father, rather than him, directly. He was far too daunting to face.

“I simply laid out the broad strokes.”

“Well, now I wish to hear the specifics.” Papa’s rejoinder was immediate and tense, his face having settled into suspicious lines.

Lord Abbott coughed into his hand. “I encountered … your daughter on the terrace and was overtaken by the beauty of her in the moonlight. The words of Manilius sprang forth, and I was taken aback when Miss Smythe responded. Which is when I … um …” He coughed once more.

Gwen watched her father’s face suddenly break into his customary grin, his head bobbing in confident rejoicing. “You witnessed the perfection of my only daughter and fell at her feet, defeated by her magnificence.”

It was not a question, and Gwen was mortified. The words Papa had spoken a fortnight earlier had been said once more, hanging like smoke from a cannon after it had fired. Her instinct was to raise her hand and swat the words away as if clearing the air, but it was too late.

Next to her, Lord Abbott tilted his head in thought and then, to her alarm, a corresponding grin broke across his face as the two men gazed at each other with newfound camaraderie. “Quite so.”

Papa turned his piercing gaze to her. “And then what happened?”

Gwen nervously bounced her legs, averting her eyes. “Lord Abbott approached me … and then we … um … embraced.”

“Embraced?”

“Well … yes … we … uh …” Gwen flung her arms about wildly to demonstrate before deciding there was no helping it. She should just finish it without prolonging the agony.

“Kissed! We kissed! And then the guests walked out and found me, his lips pressed to mine and his hands upon my buttocks!”

Her father burst out laughing.

Lord Abbott had turned a deep red while she was speaking, Gwen herself blushing fiercely, but to her dismay, the gentleman at her side had burst into corresponding laughter.

What she truly did not need was for them to form a genuine bonhomie while she attempted to dissuade them from pursuing a wedding. She made a sound of disgust as the two men chuckled freely, unable to suppress a shiver of delight at the sound of Lord Abbott’s husky merriment.

Egad, he is an enticing specimen of manhood!

She still had brief flashes of believing this might all be an elaborate dream. It was the only explanation why a man such as him would be arguing to marry her with such ferocity, while insisting she was the true catch.

Gwen, Gwen the Spotted Giraffe was arguing to not marry a very eligible gentleman. What would the girls she had attended school with have to say to that? It was incomprehensible.

To make matters worse, it was a certainty that out in the ballroom, the guests were freely discussing what had happened and waiting expectantly for an announcement to be made.

Gwen dropped her head into her hands, fiddling with her hair as she tried to catch a flicker of sanity anyplace she could find it. Her mind was unraveling with all the conflicting issues raging within.

At her side, Lord Abbott abruptly fell silent, and she suspected he had noticed her despair.

“Mr. Smythe, would you allow me to speak with your daughter alone? We … have much to settle between the two of us.”

Her father responded in a cheery tone, his chair scraping to indicate he had come to his feet, but Gwen was obsessed with the rug beneath her slippers, so she continued to stare at the colorful pattern in the hopes it would cause her swirling thoughts to subside into their familiar structure.

“I shall be on the terrace.”

Papa’s light footsteps proclaimed his departure from the room, the French doors closing with a slight click that was almost inaudible.

“Gwendolyn—”

“Gwen. Only Papa addresses me as Gwendolyn.”

There was a pause. “Gwen,” he finally breathed. “It is lovely. A lovely name for a lovely woman.”

Gwen scowled at the rug. “There is no need to flatter now that you have seen me in the light. I am well aware of my appearance.”

A large hand appeared and gently took hold of hers. She allowed him to pull it down onto the settee, but resolutely held her head with the other while attempting to burn a hole in the woven floor covering with her stare.

“I saw you in the entry hall from the receiving line. I knew who you were when I met you on the terrace.”

Gwen froze before dropping her hand to look at him. He gazed back at her, a mix of sympathy and admiration in his eyes. She fidgeted, unsure what to do with such attention.

“Truly?”

“You put me in mind of a Botticelli masterpiece.” Lord Abbott reached out a hand to tuck the errant tresses back into her coiffure, which made Gwen realize she must look a fright after mussing up her hair.

She wanted to believe him. What woman would not want to believe such adoring words? If it were just the smallest bit true …

“You have seen Botticelli first hand?”

He nodded. “I could take you to Italy. A Grand Tour, if you desire it.”

Gwen sucked in a breath, her eyes widening at the possibility of viewing great art. “I do not wish to force you into a union. The kiss was just as much my fault as it was yours.”

Lord Abbott’s eyes raked over her face. “There is no force. I … find I … I find that I wish …” He halted, rubbing a hand over his face as he searched for the words he wished to say to her. Gwen was fascinated by this, acknowledging the gentleman was just as compromised by this disaster as she was. What would he say when he finally found those words … She found she waited with bated breath.

“Before this night I had no desire to marry, but now that we are here together, I wish to do the right thing and I find that there are no reservations creeping in the corners of my mind. This is what I wish to do. It would be an honor to make you my wife.”

Lord Abbott’s gaze found hers with the final statement, and Gwen saw nothing but sincerity in the depths of his rich brown eyes. Compelled to speak, she parted her lips to pronounce the lines that cleared all other thoughts from her mind, leaving only one bright hope for the future.

“If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces?—”

His gaze did not falter, even for a second. He responded, his deep voice confident.

“—The age to come would say ‘This poet lies; Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.’”

Gwen shook her head, fascinated by his voice. By him.

She imagined marrying this man, learning who he was, being bedded by him. She imagined babes with chocolate thatches of fine hair and bright brown eyes, and books, and poetry, and warming fires on Christmas Eve. She imagined moonlight and kisses, soft touches and sighs, strong hands and delighted shivers.

Gwen remembered the unwavering love between her father and mother, the joy of Gareth’s arrival in the world, her own hopes she had locked deep in the recesses of her heart, and she knew she wanted to say yes.

“Are you certain?”

Lord Abbott’s lips quirked into a crooked smile. “I am.”

Gwen’s thoughts raced as she considered her options.

Societal ruin, or taking a chance with this man.

She had not personally met his father, Lord Moreland, but knew him by reputation. The Abbotts were known to be a strong family. Loyal. Philanthropic. Conservative with their vast wealth. Lord Abbott’s name had not been linked with any scandal, to her knowledge.

She had not heard of any debauched activities, nor scandals other than recent whispers of a sister who had made a love match under what appeared to be rushed circumstances.

“I like to read.”

“So do I.”

“You do not mind if I maintain my studies?”

He grinned. “I encourage it. We shall debate the merits of the various philosophers and argue who made the best points.”

“It will be a real marriage? Not merely an arrangement for the sake of propriety?”

Lord Abbott’s gaze fell to her lips, which she licked nervously. A suggestive smile spread across his face before he purred. “It will be a real marriage. Of that you can be certain.”

Gwen flushed, glancing away only to find herself then inadvertently staring at the broad chest that she had crushed her breasts against. The chest she had wished to uncover and touch with restless fingers earlier on the terrace. She watched in a distant state of horror as her hand reached up, as if possessed by a will of its own, to run down the slope of the wool coat that encased his hard muscled planes. Beneath her fingertips, his heart was beating at a rapid pace to match her own.

She recalled vaguely that she was to maintain her fortitude and persuade her father and Lord Abbott to abandon this path, but at heart she was still a little girl who dreamed of sharing love and a family with the right man.

Of curling into the strong arms of a lover and speaking about future hopes and past adversities.

Of imagining new paths and exploring her possibilities as her mother had done before.

Exhaling a deep breath, she gave her final answer.

“Then we shall see where this path might lead.”

She hoped it was the right decision, recalling his growl of reluctance at the start and wondering what could possibly provide motive for such a man to pursue her.

Even as Lord Abbott’s face lit up, and he leaned in to buss her on the lips, Gwen frowned. She did not recall him on the guest list for the ball. How had he come to be here this evening?