Chapter 5

5

E lizabeth sat before the fireplace in her bedchamber, re-reading the same page over and over without processing the words. She shifted in the seat, turning the cooler side of her body toward the fire. Not that doing so helped her concentrate.

There was no concentrating when thoughts of Lord Darington filled her mind.

Were they truly engaged?

Him to her?

Or had she dreamt it in some blend of nightmare and fantasy all rolled into one?

A knock sounded at her door. “You have a visitor, my lady.”

Elizabeth tensed at her maid’s announcement. Had Lord Darington come already?

She’d lain in bed far too long that morning, worried that he might arrive and set her heart fluttering like a trapped bird, something loose and wild and unfounded. Then she worried that he might not come, that he’d look back on the events of the previous evening and realize the enormity of his mistake in playing along with this horrible, ridiculous charade.

“It’s Lady Brightstone, my lady,” the maid said delicately.

Elizabeth’s heart became a millstone of disappointment and sank into her belly.

Not Lord Darington then.

Perhaps he truly would not come at all. But surely he would at least seek Papa’s permission to marry, for tradition’s sake, if nothing else.

Wouldn’t he?

“A visit from Hannah is always something to look forward to,” Elizabeth said brightly before making her way to the drawing room. And indeed, it was. Usually. When the visit was not in the place of the one person who truly ought to be visiting Elizabeth.

Hannah likely had already heard the news. What on earth would she say?

Several moments later, Elizabeth had her answer as Hannah opened her arms with a squeal of delight as Elizabeth entered the peony-pink drawing room. “Felicitations on your engagement.”

Before Elizabeth could caution her friend not to overexert herself, Hannah caught Elizabeth in a hearty embrace, the swell of her pregnancy between them.

“I knew you fancied Darington.” Hannah pulled away and clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh, Elizabeth, I’m absolutely overjoyed for you. I so wish I would have been there to see it.” Hannah rubbed her belly with great affection and spoke to the mound. “Not that I’m not happy to have you soon, littlest Brightstone.” She looked up to Elizabeth once more. “But to see you being announced as engaged at Lady Gentry’s ball! She must have been absolutely glowing with excitement.”

Elizabeth nodded, unsure where to even begin. After all, she could not lie to one of her dearest friends.

For if one could not be honest to one’s friends, who might they ever be honest with?

Hannah’s smile fell away and her brow furrowed. “What is it?”

Elizabeth pulled her friend to the sofa and took a breath to begin telling the whole awful tale. “I?—”

The butler entered with a slight nod, begging forgiveness as he lowered a silver tray with a thick cream-colored card toward Elizabeth. “Shall I say you’re at home?”

Elizabeth’s stomach clenched.

Lord Darington?

She lifted the card and read the name in elegant scrollwork. Miss Amy Honeyfield.

The doorbell chimed. The butler looked up with a frown of annoyance.

“Let her in,” Elizabeth said. “If that is Lady Jillian or Miss Beauchamp, please show them in as well.”

Indeed, the new arrivals were Jillian and Lucy.

Within minutes, the three women had joined Elizabeth and Hannah in the drawing room, a mixture of excitement, skepticism, and confusion evident on all their faces.

“If you’re happy, we’re happy,” Amy said cautiously.

Jillian studied Elizabeth. “Are you happy?”

An unexpected lump fisted in Elizabeth’s throat, blocking her from speaking as she readily shook her head.

Lucy’s eyes flashed. “What has he done?”

“Protected me from ruin,” Elizabeth confessed. “And he protected my family as well. All because of my clumsiness.”

The truth spilled from her, every awful detail, from how she’d exposed her leg to him in the study—which made Lucy snort with laughter—to how Lord Darington had played the effusive lover, while recounting the proposal that had never happened in an effort to salvage Elizabeth’s reputation—which made Amy sigh wistfully.

“How will you break off the engagement?” Hannah asked, her expression worried.

“I’m not certain.” Elizabeth looked down at her hands. “Surely people do not expect us to truly marry. Not with him being who he is.”

“He does have a reputation…” Lucy muttered.

Jillian spoke up. “What will you do if he doesn’t wish to break off the engagement?”

Elizabeth blinked. Of all the outlandish questions Jillian put forth to the group, this by far took the cake.

A flustered laugh escaped Elizabeth, high-pitched and half strangled. “Of course he will. He was backed into a corner. That is hardly the start of a joyful marriage.”

“You never know what might be the start of a joyful marriage.” Hannah settled her hands over the mound of her belly and smiled. “Like trying to find a suitor for your friend, only to realize you’d been meant for each other the entire time.”

“Your marriage to Lord Brighton is the stuff of novels,” Elizabeth protested. “And having read many novels and observed real life, I can assure you that what you have with Lord Brighton is extremely rare. But it’s also the marriage I want. Lord Darington is only engaged to me to salvage my reputation for my own clumsy follies. While kind, this is hardly the foundation for a great romance.”

Hannah opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the butler appeared in the drawing room once more. “Forgive me, my lady. But you have another visitor.”

Elizabeth straightened in spite of herself, for there was only one visitor who might come to call when all her friends were already in attendance.

The butler extended the salver once more with a card at its center, the name printed in a bold font. “A gentleman, my lady.”

Elizabeth picked up the card and her heart lurched in her chest. Lord Darington had come to call.

Hannah and Amy shared a look, brows raised in mirror of one another.

“Look at the time,” Hannah declared. “I must be getting home to…to have a cup of tea.” She grimaced at her poor excuse and offered a helpless shrug.

“I have a painting I must finish before the oils become too dry.” Jillian stood and pulled on her gloves.

“And I have a luncheon to prepare for,” Amy offered.

They all looked to Lucy who rolled her eyes. “And I have trouble to brew up somewhere.”

Jillian nudged her and they all shared a laugh.

“My experience was rare,” Hannah said as she passed Elizabeth, and finished in a whisper, “…but an unexpectedly happy union is not impossible.” She gave a cheeky grin and left, following the others out the door.

Before Elizabeth could even compose her thoughts, the butler entered once more with Grace in tow as he led Lord Darington into the room. Grace took a seat by the rear window, as far from Elizabeth and Lord Darington as was possible—all the privacy they might have until they wed.

If they were actually going to marry, that is.

Which, of course, they were not.

Lord Darington approached Elizabeth, his dark hair slightly mussed from the vicious wind outside, lending him a wild, dangerous look, especially when paired with his sharp cheekbones and wide, generous mouth. He was taller than most men, making Elizabeth feel at once petite and delicate, as if even his very presence might consume her in the most delicious way.

It was easy to see why women were so drawn to him. That allure of his paired with the extensive wealth of his generous estate and a positive note in Debrett’s was precisely why he’d been named the most eligible bachelor for as many seasons as Elizabeth had been out.

“Lady Elizabeth.” He took her hand in his, that dark gaze fixing on her as he lifted the back of her knuckles to his mouth.

Her skin burned with the touch of his lips, and she suddenly felt breathless.

“Lord Darington,” Elizabeth said on an exhale. “It was good of you to come.”

He sat beside her and she leaned in, whispering, “I did not expect you.”

It was not entirely a lie. She had not expected him. But she had hoped he might come.

“Of course I would come.” He kept his voice low. “I should, after all, ask your father for permission to wed you. I imagine he has taken umbrage by the perceived neglect on my part.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and Lord Darington gave a mute chuckle. “As I presumed,” he said in understanding.

“I know this…” She indicated the space between them—the situation between them—with her index finger, “has all been rather a mess. I just wanted to apologize again and…”

He caught her hands and held them in the heat of his large palms. “Elizabeth.”

Not Lady Elizabeth.

Elizabeth.

Her Christian name.

“And to thank you,” she finished in a breathy voice.

“I confess I have somewhat of a favor to ask you.” Lord Darington’s face was near hers still as they spoke quietly to keep Grace from hearing their conversation.

A quick glance at her sister confirmed her nose was buried in a book, her head respectfully turned away.

“Of course,” Elizabeth answered Lord Darington. “Anything.”

His brow quirked. “ Anything opens the door for many more possibilities than I originally had in mind, and even more that warrant consideration.”

There was heat in his gaze, as tempting as any flame. He brushed his hand over hers, his fingertips skimming the inside of her wrist just beneath the edge of her lace glove. A liberty no gentleman would ever take with a lady.

But then, if rumors of his reputation were correct, he was not a gentleman.

She pulled in a soft breath and his focus went to her lips.

“What is it you wish, my lord?” she asked, her throat dry.

He considered her for a long, searing moment, then his expression cleared, as though his mind had been made up with a sufficient reply. “I should like to invite you to dinner this week, to meet my grandmother.”

Elizabeth fought to keep from squirming and pulled her hands from him. A formal dinner to meet his grandmother?

In a flash of an instant, she thought of all the ways she might blunder such an important introduction. Stumbling into a costly vase resulting in it crashing to the floor in pieces, spilling a rich sauce over the creamy bodice of a new gown, tripping down the stairs and her skirts flying up to reveal parts of her no one should see.

Heavens, there were so many ways this could go wrong.

“I thought she would be delighted at the engagement,” Lord Darington mused. “But…”

“She’s skeptical,” Elizabeth surmised.

He tilted his head in question.

“I understand and will attend.” She regretted the words as soon as she’d spoken them, and tried to mask her unease with a nonchalant lift of her shoulder. “Those who care most for us simply want our happiness. Oftentimes a hurried engagement speaks of more troubles than bliss. My father, for example…”

She bit her lip and scrunched her nose.

“So that is what I’m up against, is it?” Lord Darington nodded to himself.

“Indeed.”

“Better to know what I’ll face going in. Thank you, dearest.”

Dearest.

Elizabeth swallowed. “Y…you’re welcome, my lord.”

He smiled at her, a soft, lopsided grin that stole her heart right from her breast. “Jasper.”

Then he kissed her hand once more, rose, and bowed cordially in her direction, before quitting the room, leaving her hand humming with the memory of his lips and her body hot with a curious sensation she didn’t know how to name.

All she knew was that Lord Darington—Jasper—was every bit as much trouble as his reputation suggested. And she had more than the impending dinner to worry about when it came to her faux fiancé.

Jasper followed the butler to Lord Langston’s study, trying hard not to acknowledge the unaccustomed rattle of nerves.

This was why he’d never met the fathers of the women in his past. Those women had all been widows, young women who had been married off to cadaverous old men, women whose lust for life had yet to be explored and enjoyed. Though his exploits with those women earned him his reputation, he never once debauched an innocent. He’d never set his sights on one for that matter.

Not until Lady Elizabeth.

But he’d kept his distance, not allowing himself to give in to the desire to that draw of attraction that had hooked him the first time he saw her lingering near the wallpaper at a ball over two years ago. The way she’d brightened when her friends joined her, her smile beatific.

The butler announced Jasper to Lord Langston, and Jasper drew a steadying breath, knowing the anxiety knotting his insides would never show on the outside. He’d had a lifetime of experience in hiding his emotions.

After all, showing emotions was like exposing one’s jugular to a predator.

No, he’d learned his lesson well.

The butler returned and nodded to Jasper before admitting him inside the study. Dark wood shone beneath a gleam of polish on an array of full bookshelves, and the pipe pinched in the earl’s hand curled up with a stream of gray-white smoke, its sweet scent permeating the room.

Lord Langston had the same brown hair as his daughter, though his was sparse above his brow and shot through with streaks of white. He indicated the chair before his desk and drew a puff of tobacco from his pipe.

Jasper sat, feeling much the way he did as a boy at Eton when reprimanded for one infraction or another. “I’m not good enough for your daughter,” Jasper announced.

Langston’s mouth stretched in an agreeable frown, and he nodded. The smoke released from his mouth as he spoke, “I dare say, this is a good way to start a difficult conversation with something we both clearly agree on.”

Some of the tension pinching Jasper’s shoulders relaxed. He’d always been good at setting people at ease, even when he himself was not.

“Why are you marrying my daughter?” Langston pinched the bowl of the pipe in his hand and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not normally so blunt, Darington, but this is my daughter. Damn the formalities, I want only her happiness, do you understand?”

The tightness returned in Jasper’s shoulders. No matter how much he tried to diffuse the conversation, it would be difficult.

There was no empathy in Langston’s narrowed eyes. “You don’t require her dowry as far as I’m aware. Your reputation has drawn you to more worldly women. You’ve never shown an inclination toward marriage. And what’s more, you’ve never displayed a modicum of interest in my Elizabeth.” He leaned forward in his seat, the leather creaking beneath his solid frame. “You never even approached me to court her, let alone pay your addresses.”

Before Jasper could offer any reply to the very astute accusations laid at his feet, Langston went on, “Have you compromised my daughter, sir?”

“I have not.” Jasper’s voice was firm, wanting to leave no question in Elizabeth’s father’s mind as to her innocence.

Jasper was a rake—or, at least, he had been once upon a time—but he had never been that kind of rake.

Langston regarded him for a moment, as if weighing his words, a father wanting desperately to know his daughter was a good girl.

A bolt of rage flashed through Jasper, surprising him with the intensity of the need to defend her. “Do you think so little of your daughter that you would question her character?”

Langston blinked in surprise.

“You know she is not that kind of woman,” Jasper bit out. “No matter the kind of man you think me to be, you know your daughter.”

Langston nodded, having the good grace to at least appeared shamefaced. “The expediency of the engagement had left me afeared…”

“Pressure.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We have both felt the pressure of our families to marry,” Jasper replied easily. “Viscount Scorbridge cannot propose to Lady Elizabeth’s sister until she is set for marriage herself. And my own grandmother has insisted I find a bride. No sooner had I made the promise to find a woman to marry than the gossip spread like fire. I could scarce move at Lady Gentry’s ball for the debutantes and their mamas. Truly, why all women are not hunters, I do not understand. They would put us men to shame with their innate ability to stalk even the most elusive prey.”

Langston snorted a humorless laugh. “Ah, yes, because you are the bachelor of the season.”

Jasper grimaced, hating the pomp of how ridiculous the title sounded in such a tense setting.

“So, you proposed to my daughter to avoid having to deal with debutantes and their mothers,” Langston surmised.

“I knew the woman I wanted,” Jasper replied in all earnestness. Because he had always wanted Lady Elizabeth.

Even if he knew he would never allow himself to have her.

“You are correct.” Langston drew on his pipe and settled a hard look at Jasper. “You aren’t good enough for my daughter. But I believe your intentions are pure.”

A knot of guilt squeezed in Jasper’s gut.

“Therefore, I will give you my permission to wed her.” Langston nodded. “Not that you have given me much choice. I’ll not ruin her by refusing you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jasper forced a smile to his lips and wished that he was an innocently besotted suitor who had come to ask for Lady Elizabeth’s hand in marriage. That he was a different person, and this entire situation could be in earnest.

He pushed to standing and approached the door.

“And Darington?”

Jasper paused and turned back to Langston.

Smoke coiled up from the pipe, adding a particularly vicious note of malice to the earl’s voice. “If you hurt her, I will call you out.”

That marked the second threat on Jasper’s life he had received in as many days.

Still, those threats were nothing compared to the pressure he put on himself. For even though this engagement was not to last, Jasper was determined not to hurt Lady Elizabeth.

Even if it meant casting the expense upon himself.