Page 7

Chapter Seven

A woman scorned…

“I regret to inform you, Lady Crowden, that you are laboring under a misapprehension. I did not attend this ball in order to further our acquaintance, but simply to clear up a misunderstanding that occurred during our first meeting,” Caleb said firmly, even as he removed the woman’s arms from about his neck and set her away from him. The very moment he’d entered the library she’d launched herself at him.

Dismayed, Lady Crowden stepped back. “A misunderstanding? How can you be so cold to me after the incredible intimacy we shared?”

“We did not share any intimacies, madam. You stumbled into me while walking at night in the pleasure gardens and then kissed me because, in the darkness, you mistook me for your most recent paramour,” he corrected her.

“But wasn’t it a truly magical kiss? Surely you felt something for me to have kissed me back so ardently!”

He hadn’t. Not at all. But she’d imbibed quite freely of champagne that evening and her memory seemed to be impacted by it. “Regardless of your perceptions of that kiss, it shall not be repeated. I am not in town to embark on an affair with another man’s wife. I am here to seek a wife of my own.”

And that was when she began to weep. Loudly and copiously.

Caleb stared at the woman before him utterly perplexed. Never in his life had he found it more confoundingly difficult to sever a romantic relationship that hadn’t actually begun. The entirety of it existed solely in the mind of one party. Added, the woman in question was also quite thoroughly married and that their romance consisted of one drunken grope in a garden—which she had initiated—it was simply beyond reason that she should carry on as though they were some tragically doomed love match.

“How could you do this to me, Caleb? How could you humiliate me this way? I’ve never suffered such cruel rejection.”

He’d never actually given her leave to call him by his given name, but as her grasp on reality appeared questionable at best, pointing it out was likely not the most advantageous course of action. “We shared one kiss, madam. Only one. And I was not even aware of your identity until after the deed was done. I certainly was not aware of your marital state or I should never have participated at all.”

“Married!” She scoffed, her tears having dried up quite quickly. So quickly that he had to question whether or not they’d been genuine at all.

“What has that got to do with anything?” she continued. “It’s the way of society, Caleb. Once heirs are produced, then husbands and wives may live separately and do as they please… with whom they please. Indeed, husbands may do so all along.”

He wasn’t so naive that the bloodless and often miserable marriages of society were unknown to him. But while others may have entered into their nuptials with an eye toward future infidelity, that was hardly how he wished to begin. Shaking his head, he denied, “When I marry, it will certainly not be that way. No wife of mine will stray, nor will I. I may be new to society, but I do not mean to conform to the immorality that is apparently rampant within it.”

She blinked at him rather owlishly, as if he were something she’d never encountered before. Caleb was well aware that he sounded like a prig, but so be it. His very middle class–bourgeois upbringing was still a part of him, however much the upper classes might disdain such a thing.

Then Lady Crowden began to laugh, a bit madly and more than a bit meanly. When she spoke, her voice dripped with condescension. “For such a rough and tumble looking fellow, Caleb, you are adorably naive. Such a belief is based on the notion that marriages are initiated for love rather than position and wealth. Something that the middle class has the luxury of doing. Now that you are a titled gentleman, that will change.”

“No,” he denied quickly. “It will not.”

“You will have to marry someone who has something to offer you financially… and sadly those matches rarely produce tender feelings. You will find yourself seeking affection and passion outside the bonds of matrimony far sooner than you could ever imagine.”

“Your union might be happier and might produce more tender feelings if you cultivated it to the same degree you cultivate your affairs.” His tone was not unkind as he offered that observation. But she was in no mood to see reason and he was in no mood to continue arguing with her.

She shook her head, clucking her tongue like he was a misbehaving child. “You are so quick to judge and so quick to condemn. I think you haven’t the ability to understand how trying it can be to spend your days with someone you do not even like, much less desire. If you did, then surely you would not begrudge me a few hours of happiness. A few hours, Caleb, of exquisite passion… and it would be exquisite,” she promised.

Caleb didn’t care for her opinion of him one way or another. As for her assertion of how exquisite it would or would not be, that wasn’t something he could or would permit to matter. He had hoped to disentangle himself from the matter with minimal fuss. He understood her value as an ally, especially as the first woman who had caught his eye was one of her guests. But he wasn’t about to sell his soul or his body for the benefits her acquaintance would afford him. It wasn’t in his nature to be cruel and hurtful but there were people in the world who understood nothing else. Lady Crowden appeared to be of that ilk as she continued to act as if he’d wounded her in some way by refusing to be a party to adultery with her.

Of course, it wasn’t as if he’d broken her heart. Caleb was well aware that what he was dealing with was her vanity. Her feelings weren’t truly involved, at all. It was simply her pride and her feelings of entitlement that she should have her way in all things. He had the distinct impression that Lady Crowden was more perturbed at not having him under her thumb than not having him in her bed. “My reasons are my own, but my answer stands. I will not embark upon an affair with a married woman. The kiss we shared was a case of mistaken identity on your part in a darkened pleasure garden. For my own, I had indulged in too much brandy to react as quickly as I should have. And it is a regret I shall simply have to bear.”

“A regret? Whatever do you mean? I will have you know, my lord,” Lady Crowden said, her tone quite sharp, bordering on shrewish, “my favors are highly sought after. If you will have any regret, it’s that you refused me!”

The woman simply would not let it end without getting her way. She was like a spoiled child. “I am certain it is true, Lady Crowden, you are much sought after. My decision not to pursue a further acquaintance with you has nothing to do with how desirable or undesirable your favors and charms may be. You are quite lovely. You are also quite married. Kissing you in that darkened spot in Cremorne Gardens was an error on my part—one I shall not compound with further misdeeds. I need to focus my attentions on finding a wife this Season, not on finding a paramour. While it may be possible to do both, it would not be possible to do them both well.”

She drew back almost as if he’d struck her. “I see. You would prefer some younger, fresh-faced child-bride straight from the school room. Some virginal miss who knows nothing of pleasing a man. Not a woman of experience. Perhaps it’s your own lack of prowess as a lover that has you seeking ignorance in your bed partners.”

That was not what he had said. It wasn’t untrue, except for the child-bride bit, but still he hadn’t said it. And while he did not require a bride fresh from the school room, he did require someone younger, certainly than Lady Crowden, who was closer to his mother’s age than she was to his. With a title so recently bestowed upon him, he needed to look to getting an heir. As for his lack of prowess, let her think him a terrible lover. If it would end the nonsense sooner and cease the stream of vitriol from her, so be it. His vanity could withstand the blow. “I mean no offense to you. You are a charming and lovely woman. You are simply not available to me in the way that I need. I am quite firmly set on looking to finding my own wife. Not someone else’s.”

She shrieked at him. Literally. Shrieked. Like a banshee or some harpy from the wretched stories his Scottish nanny had told him as a boy. She wasn’t simply an unhappy and unfaithful wife. He thought she might actually be a madwoman. And now, trapped in a library with her, a crowded ballroom full of people only a few yards away, and he hadn’t the faintest clue how to extricate himself from this wretched situation that too much brandy and too little light had gotten him into. She’d thought he was someone else entirely, after all. Surely kissing a stranger by mistake did not necessitate such a degree of emotional disturbance?

Unable to make sense of her, and she was quite clearly unwilling to have sense made to her, Caleb simply pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache and girded himself for the haranguing that was to come. He wished, almost, that he’d remained in the North, enjoying the simple society of a much smaller city. It was surely less complicated. But the memory of the dark-haired beauty in the ballroom teased his mind. He might have missed that tantalizing glimpse had he not come to London and he felt, despite the present unpleasantness, that it was surely worth it.

*

Marina moved cautiously down the corridor, intent on making her way back to her Aunt Willa’s side. She had determined the best course of action would be pleading ill and retreating to her home… or possibly to the Continent, for surely she would have to go so far to escape Elizabeth Whitmore’s spite and any potentially awkward encounters with Stanford. In fact, she was just thinking that a month or so in some exotic location might be just the thing. Spain was lovely, she’d heard. And Portugal. And Greece. Really anywhere but London. All those options were running through her mind when her thoughts were interrupted by a pair of all too familiar voices.

Elizabeth was leading Mr. Nutter directly to her.

“Mr. Nutter, you are so charming!” Elizabeth said far too loudly, likely intending for her voice to carry. She wanted Marina to know, after all, that it was she, her nemesis, who would be the instrument of Marina’s downfall.

“You are too kind, Miss Whitmore. I declare that Miss Ashton is devilishly good at avoiding me. I was beginning to think she was doing so purposely,” he replied, laughing in a way that sounded not unlike a braying donkey.

No, Marina thought. No. She would not allow herself to be trapped by him, with him, or for him. And, of course, Elizabeth knew that. Elizabeth knew she would turn the man down flat if he had the poor sense to actually propose. And that would only serve to confirm everyone’s opinion of her—that she was a high in the in-step, too proud, too vain young woman who thought herself far above her ignoble origins and tenuous place in society. Another refusal of a marriage offer, after having abandoned Stanford at the altar, would ruin her.

Rushing to the other end of the corridor, she started to step outside, but caution prevailed. She parted the heavy drapes and peered out, taking note of a lone man standing on the terrace beyond. Then that man lit a cheroot with a match and in that red glow she could see his face. Stanford. Why was he always lurking on terraces? That thought brought a wave of bitterness, but it was hardly the time to indulge it. Instead, she dismissed that as her avenue of escape.

Marina had never told him, nor anyone else, why she had been unable to go through with the wedding. It had been too humiliating to admit that she’d been so easily duped by him. Of course, he had not been quite so circumspect. He’d been quite free in expressing his opinions to anyone who would listen about what sort of person she was, how fickle she was and what a terrible flirt she was, how fast she was. Countless lies and rumors had been circulated about her by him. And in all of that, she had not spoken to him, communicated with him, nor had she laid eyes on him since. Not knowing how angry he might be, and having learned the hard way just how little she actually knew of him, she’d elected not to risk it.

Rather than be cornered and forced into a conversation she had absolutely no wish to participate in or facing off against a man who could very well pose a threat to her, Marina took the only reasonable option available to her. She hid.

Ducking into the nearest door, she closed it softly behind her and then turned the key in the lock. Leaning against it, she exhaled sharply and then turned away. Had she not been so desperate, it might have occurred to her that when she stepped into that room, it was not entirely dark. There was a small lamp burning low on the desk. That soft glow was damning enough. It meant she had interrupted a tryst in progress or had perhaps usurped a prearranged trysting location earmarked for others. Looking about, she saw a shawl draped over the back of a sofa—a fan laid casually next to it. But as her gaze wandered, the situation went from moderately embarrassing to utterly catastrophic. The room she had entered was not only occupied, it was occupied by one of the very last people whom she would wish to see her in such a state. Lady Crowden was there with some unknown gentleman who remained in the shadows.

The realization of what had happened was completely mortifying. Somehow, in her efforts to avoid Mr. Nutter and Miss Whitmore, and to keep her distance from Stanford, she’d interrupted a scandalous and romantic interlude between her hostess, and arguably her nemesis, and a mysterious gentleman who, based upon his height, was most certainly not the diminutive Lord Crowden.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered.

“Whatever are you doing, Miss Ashton?” Lady Crowden demanded haughtily. As if she hadn’t just been caught having a tryst with a man who was not her husband.

“My apologies, my lady. I was merely trying to avoid having an unpleasant conversation with an unwanted suitor,” she said. After all, it was to no one’s benefit to antagonize the woman. “He has been most persistent despite my every effort to dissuade him. I am so terribly sorry for the intrusion.”

Lady Crowden appeared slightly mollified. Or she did until her companion uttered something under his breath that sounded shockingly as if it included the words “epidemic of unwanted attentions.” Instantly, Lady Crowden whirled on him in anger, letting out a shriek that would have done any fishwife proud.

It was shocking. Even had it been any other society matron, to see a well-respected and mature woman behaving in such a fashion would have been quite unbelievable. That it was Lady Crowden, who only two years prior had pleaded and begged with Stanford to throw her over? Where had that weak, clinging woman gone and how had such a harridan replaced her? Marina could do nothing but blink in confusion. What on earth had she stumbled upon?

Horror dawned then as Marina heard the sound of rushing footsteps in the corridor. Anyone nearby would have been alerted by her shrieking and would come to offer aid—or witness disgrace. And as the people nearby were the very last ones she’d wish to face, there was simply no positive outcome to be had.

Within seconds, there was pounding on the door beyond. Mr. Nutter, with his slightly nasal voice was demanding to know if she was injured. “Miss Ashton? Are you well? I will fetch Lord Crowden and have him open this door instantly!”

Lady Crowden’s eyes widened with the terror of a woman well and truly caught. And that was when she did the most unexpected thing of all. She marched to the door and opened it. “Mr. Nutter, thank goodness you have arrived. I have caught Miss Ashton and the Earl of St. Aiden in the most compromising of positions.”

“What?” Marina whispered in shock. Her gaze swept to the darkened corner of the room where the gentleman remained in shadow. Was it truly him? The man she’d been so intrigued by in the ballroom? Why on earth had he been flirting with her only to then be closeted in a room with their very married hostess?

Lady Crowden ignored her entirely. “You should go immediately, Mr. Nutter, and fetch her aunt and uncle. No doubt they will have something to say about all of this. How shameful you are, Miss Ashton! Really. To behave so brazenly in my home when I have invited you here against my better judgment.”

Realizing that there were far more pressing matters to deal with than the apparent faithlessness of a man she hardly knew at all, Marina protested, “No. No, that’s not what this is at all!” How had it all gone so terribly wrong so very quickly?

“Save your denials,” Lady Crowden said coolly. “How could we possibly believe you, Miss Ashton, with your reputation? And your late mother’s. It appears that the apple did not fall very far from the tree at all!”

Marina stared at the woman in horror and then looked past her to see Mr. Nutter glowering with disapproval. The only consolation was that Elizabeth looked as though she might actually faint dead away. Then Mr. Nutter turned on his heel and made off to do Lady Crowden’s bidding. And in the corridor beyond, Stanford was looking on with an expression that one could only classify as smug. That was when Marina realized something truly horrifying. None of it was accidental. She’d been managed into this predicament, just as the Earl of St. Aiden likely had. But to what end?

The reality of it all sank in. She would have to marry a stranger, assuming he would be willing to marry her. Being a confirmed spinster would not be the worst fate that would befall her. She would be a pariah. And with Stanford back amongst the ton , she would be forever looking over her shoulder, waiting for whatever dastardly revenge he might have in store for her.

Thinking of the gossip after she’d broken the engagement, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine what would be said of her given the very damning picture Lady Crowden had just painted. There were worse things than being labeled as fickle and foolish and vain by society. She would be labeled as fast, and that sin was always unforgivable. Her mother’s sad fate had proven that. And not even her uncle’s vast holdings would be sufficient to bury such a scandal.