Chapter Twenty

H e wanted to read through some documents his lawyer had sent over, but he could not force his mind to focus. Blast that girl – how had she made it so impossible for him to think straight? This morning, he had been proposing matrimony. Now, she was in a carriage on the way back to Northumberland, and he would quite probably never see her again.

While that notion bothered him more than it ought to, it was not the primary emotion he felt. No, it was anger that simmered in his veins. Anger that made him unable to sit still, unable to read the words on the page.

She had tricked him. She had tricked him, and he'd fallen for it. Like some inexperienced fool, taken in by a pretty face and a kind smile.

Didn't he know better than that?

With a frustrated growl, he shoved the parchment away from him and poured himself a stiff drink. It was earlier than he would normally have had one, but he felt it was necessary.

Not that the potent whiskey tempered his anger; if anything, it made it burn more brightly.

Because he had thought, at the beginning, that perhaps she was lying to him. That she was trying to gain something, to fool him for some purpose of her own.

And he'd been right. She had wanted to trick him. Although apparently, it was in order to get to know him without the constraints of society. He wasn't sure he believed that. Would a sensible, titled lady really risk everything – her good name, her reputation, her virtue, even, if she had stumbled across the wrong house – just because she wanted to know more about a gentleman than whether he could dance?

He downed the last of the amber liquid and slammed the glass on the table before abruptly standing and exiting the room. There was no point in staring at documents that his eyes and mind refused to comprehend. Perhaps he could attend to some task out on the estate.

At least then, he could ride off some of his angry energy. And maybe forget that it wasn't only anger he felt. He was disappointed in himself, and in her… And that, just maybe, his mind had become accustomed to the idea of her being here for longer. Of the marriage – which was purely to save her reputation, of course – going ahead.

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The skies were gloomy as the carriage made its way towards Penelope's beloved Northumberland. Guilt and despair warred within her, and she felt desolate as she stared out of the window, trying to stop crying.

It had been wrong to trick him. And she had known that when he found out, he would be furious. She just seemed to have rather underestimated how furious…and how much it would hurt to have his ire directed at her. To be banished from the castle where she had spent five glorious days. To have to accept that she would never see him again and that, with her silly, childish plan, she had ruined everything.

She knew she ought to be worrying about her reputation, about how she was going to fix the damage she had done, about what she was going to say to her mother and father when they asked where she had been and what had occurred in those days.

But all she could think about was him. And how she had finally had a marriage proposal she could say yes to within her grasp, only to ruin it all. About how she wondered if he was the man she was meant to marry, and now he would never look at her without despising her.

◆◆◆

It was as he was riding hard and fast along the perimeter of his estate, checking for damaged fences – something which, of course, someone else could do, but which he had decided to take on himself – that a realisation came to James. She had tricked him, made a fool of him, proven ten times over why women were silly and thoughtless and should not be trusted.

But dismissing those details, the fact remained that he had allowed her to remain in his home unchaperoned, and her actions did not change that. Yes, the revelation of her status had made his proposal of marriage more essential, but had she been an untitled lady of means, the same gesture would surely have been necessary.

No matter what she had done, his behaviour had not aligned with the way he was raised – and so there was only one thing for it.

He would have to marry her.

Whether she had lied or not. Whether he trusted her or not. Whether he could bear to look at her or not.

For the sake of her reputation and his honour, there was no other choice. He did not want any child of his looking back, as he was now doing with his own father, and finding his moral fibre lacking. He had made the mistake, and he needed to do what was right.

After all, he thought as he rode back to Dunloch, needing a fresh horse if he was going to catch her coach before she reached home. There were plenty of marriages within the ton that were not built on love or trust or mutual respect or even attraction. And there were plenty of marriages where the couple in question did not reside together. Barely saw each other, in fact.

He could marry her and still live his life the same. She had a good name, other than this silly behaviour. She knew what it took to be a duchess – and she could do so from one of his many other properties. Perhaps, in a few years, when his anger had settled and there was an urgent need for an heir, they might see one another occasionally. But other than that, it could simply be a marriage in name.

And it would fix everything that had gone wrong.

"Tell them I have left the estate, and I will be gone for the rest of the day, possibly overnight," he directed the stable lad who saddled up a fresh mount for him. As he waited, he eyed the recalcitrant Delilah, happily eating hay in her stall as if she had not, mere days ago, nearly thrown an earl's daughter into the loch.

"I can't say I totally blame you," he said to the horse as he stroked her soft nose. She whinnied in return, and he found himself smiling. What ridiculous, indulgent behaviour, he thought to himself, talking to a horse. And then his new ride was thankfully ready to go, and he set off at full speed, knowing that it was imperative to catch her before she reached Amblewood – and she had a couple of hours' advantage on him. But the carriage would go slower than just him on a horse, and he was fairly confident he could catch her. If she reached home and told them she had been at the castle unchaperoned, and that he had refused to marry her, then he rather thought her father would call him out. And although he fully intended to marry her, it did not seem like an auspicious start to familial relationships if a duel was called.