A Lady of Persuasion (6 page)

The excited murmur dissolved into silence. Grayson’s face turned a satisfying shade of ash.

And suddenly, Toby was having the time of his life. He’d stolen Isabel straight from the scoundrel’s arms, and he was not going to give her back. Not without a fight.

He released Isabel’s waist and took her soft, delicate hand in both of his. “Was it public notice you wanted? All eyes are on you now, my dear,” he said, grinning. “And I must confess, I’ve always wanted to do this.”

She stared at him, mute with shock, as he sank to one knee.

“Miss Isabel Grayson.” His voice echoed off the marble tile. “Would you do me the inestimable honor of becoming my wife?”

“I’m engaged.” Bel joined her brother and sister-in-law at the breakfast table the next morning.

“Can you believe it?”

“No,” Gray said tersely, his face hidden behind a newspaper. “I can’t.”

To be honest, neither could Bel. She’d passed a fitful night, plucking at the lace-edged coverlet and reliving the evening’s events again and again in her mind—each time hoping for a different conclusion. By dawn, she’d nearly convinced herself the entire episode was simply a strange, vivid dream. But judging by her brother’s ill-humor this morning, it would seem to have been real.

“I’m engaged,” she said again. If she said it enough times, she might begin to believe it.

Gray cleared his throat. “For God’s sake, Bel, you’re not—” He stopped himself and appeared to consider before beginning again, more softly this time. “Your …
engagement”
—he ground out the word—“is still a matter of discussion.”

“What your brother means to say, is that it happened so quickly,” Sophia said. “It’s taken us all by surprise.”

It had taken no one by surprise more than Bel. She couldn’t even recall her thoughts at the moment when her traitorous lips had formed the word “yes.” Obviously, there had been no thoughts in her head at all. Only the sight of Sir Toby’s devilish grin, and the warmth of his hands grasping hers, and the sound of a hundred pairs of lungs seizing in anticipation of her very next word.

And—God help her—some emotion akin to enjoyment.

Madness, that’s what her acceptance had been. A moment of sheer insanity.

Not that she could let anyone suspect it now. No, the only thing worse than impetuously accepting a proposal at her first ball would be callously breaking it the next day. She would appear fickle, immature, prone to wild vacillations of emotion: everything a lady of influence was not. The decision had been made in a moment of madness, but as Sir Toby himself had pointed out, a marriage to him could still further her goals. So long as, from this point forward, she behaved with restraint and acted as though it were all part of her plan.

“Yes,” Bel replied. “It did happen quickly, and I’m glad of it.” She nibbled at a point of toast.

“But why did we have to leave the ball so early? People wanted to congratulate us.”

“There’s nothing to congratulate, not yet.” Gray attacked a slab of ham with knife and fork. “I haven’t given my consent.”

Bel stared at him. “You don’t mean to withhold it? You promised I might marry whomever I choose.”

“I should know better than to make promises,” her brother grumbled around a bite of ham.

“Picked a devil of a year to start keeping them.”

Sophia mediated with a soothing tone. “Gray wants to speak with Toby before he gives his formal consent. Joss will want to meet him, too. He may not be your guardian, but he is your brother.”

“Where is Joss this morning?” Bel asked.

“He took a tray to the nursery. Little Jacob is cutting teeth and feeling out of sorts.”

“What in God’s name did that man say to you?” Gray asked, snapping open a newspaper. “I can’t imagine what dastardly lies he must have spun, to persuade you to accept him.”

“I’m sure he did not tell me any lies,” Bel replied calmly. “We merely had the opportunity to converse, and arrived at the conclusion that we would be well-matched.”

“Well-matched,” her brother echoed with disbelief. “You say he told you no lies? Well, then I suppose he told you about his history with—”

“Gray,”
Sophia whispered in a reproving tone. The two exchanged pointed glances over the paper before Gray folded it and laid it aside. What ever conflict had existed moments ago was evidently resolved now, as evidenced by the affectionate brush of Gray’s fingers over his wife’s wrist. Bel normally found it sweet, the way they conversed in looks and light touches in place of words.

It was less sweet when they were clearly discussing
her
.

“We need to speak privately,” Sophia whispered to Bel, dismissing the servants with an elegant, self-assured flick of her wrist.

Bel sighed inwardly. She loved her new sister, but living with Sophia meant a daily struggle with envy. She was so beautiful, so graceful. And though Bel rejoiced to see her brother happily wed, in moments of weakness she—just the tiniest bit—resented sharing his attention.

But she needn’t share Sir Toby’s attention with Sophia. He was her betrothed; he belonged to Bel alone. The thought sparked a little fire inside her.

Sophia inched her chair closer to Bel’s. “I wasn’t certain how much to say last night, but after talking it over with Gray …” She cast Gray a cautious look, and he nodded in encouragement.

Sophia turned back to Bel. “There is something I must tell you. Before I met your brother, I was betrothed to another man. Bel, I was engaged to Toby.”

Bel choked on her toast. “No.”

“Yes. We were to have been married last December.”

“What happened?”

Sophia worried a crease in the tablecloth. “I lied to him, and to all my friends and family, and then I ran away.”

“What dreadful act could Sir Toby have committed, to make you flee your home?”

“No, no,” Sophia said. “Toby was a perfect gentleman. The dreadful acts were all mine, I’m afraid. I can’t regret making the choices that led me to Gray, but I’m still ashamed of how I treated Toby.”

Bel inhaled slowly, absorbing this new information. Sir Toby, once engaged to Sophia! So much for claiming the gentleman’s undivided attention.

Gray swore under his breath. “The man’s an oily bilge rat. He’s angry with me for taking his bride, and now he’s just trying to get back at me by—” He bit off the sentence when Sophia threw him a sharp look.

“By marrying me,” Bel finished for him. “I see. You assume the only reason Sir Toby would propose to me is to get back at you. He couldn’t possibly be interested in
me
. Is that what you’re implying?”

“Bel, no.” Gray scrubbed his face with his hand. “Of course, any man would be desperate to marry you. But considering past events, and the speed with which he pursued you—”

“But how could he harbor any such scheme?” Bel asked. “Sir Toby didn’t even know my name.”

They both stared at her.

“Is that true?” Sophia asked. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Bel insisted. “When we … left the ballroom together, he had no idea I was Gray’s sister. When I told him my name, he was shocked indeed—and even more surprised that I did not recognize his. He was sure you would have mentioned him to me.”

“I should have,” Sophia said. “I’m so sorry, I should have told you earlier.”

“Don’t apologize,” Gray told his wife. “How could you have predicted last evening’s events?

Normally, there’s time between introductions and betrothal to discuss such things.” He sighed.

“Bel, you must admit, this ‘proposal’ happened with suspicious alacrity.”

“That wasn’t entirely his fault, either. I’m the one who broached the topic of marriage.” Bel pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not certain what came over me,” she said, too stunned to censor her comments. “One moment, he was a handsome stranger, and the next I was conversing with him as though I’d known him for years. He … he put me so at ease. He made me smile.”

And he’d kissed her. It wasn’t as though she could neglect that bit. She’d lain awake all night, trying to erase the sensation of his lips against hers. Trying to forget the taste of him, so forbidden and sweet.

“Don’t worry,” Gray said. “When the rat comes calling today, I’ll send him scurrying. You’re not going to marry him.”

“But I must,” Bel protested. “Or what will people say?”

“They’ll say you’ve come to your senses, recovered your wits.”

They’ll know I lost them. They’ll see me as another flighty, impressionable girl
.

Bel said, “I’m going marry Sir Toby.” She turned to Sophia. “What’s past is past. I don’t see why your prior engagement should affect mine. Say what you will, I cannot suspect him of any malicious intent.”

“To be truthful, neither can I,” Sophia said.

While Gray harrumphed and made a show of busying himself with his food, Sophia pushed aside her plate to make room for a stack of newspapers tied with twine.

“You ought to see these,” she told Bel. “I know you do not read
The Prattler
. I’m not so fond of the scandal sheets as I once was, but Lady Kendall saved these and passed them along to me.” She picked open the knot and opened the top paper to the third page. “There,” she said, pointing out an illustration with her fingertip. “This appeared in February, a full month before we arrived in London and my marriage to Gray was announced.”

Bel took the paper from her sister’s hand to examine it more closely. The image was most definitely a likeness of Sir Toby, though his harmonious features were thrown out of balance by the caricaturist’s pen. His forehead was too wide; his jaw, unnaturally square. Regardless, he remained breathtakingly handsome, even rendered in unkind strokes.

Bel read the caption aloud. “The Rake Reborn.” Then beneath it, a line in smaller print:

“London’s famed Lothario survives to carouse another day.” In the background of the illustration, a group of ladies struck desperate postures, hands to their foreheads and shoulders limp. Ribbons of speech flowed from the ladies’ mouths. “It’s his golden-haired beauty,” one sighed. “No, his silver tongue!” argued another. The third fanned herself and declaimed, “How he gives me the vapors! We must recover by the sea.” At the bottom, the caricature was signed,
H. M. Hollyhurst
.

Bel looked up, puzzled. “Recover by the sea? I don’t understand.”

“When I disappeared, my parents spread the word that I’d taken ill and been sent to the seaside to convalesce. Instead of focusing on the scandal of my disappearance, the gossipmongers—

and this Mr. Hollyhurst—took a keen interest in Toby. They labeled him the ‘Rake Reborn,’

insinuated that he rejoiced in my illness and used it as an opportunity to prolong his debauched bachelor life.”

Bel looked at the illustration again, cringing. She’d suspected him to be a rake, but seeing the evidence in print… Sir Toby surrounded by fair-haired, slender, classical beauties adorned with plumes and jewels. A dozen Sophias.

She laid aside her toast. “I understand why Sir Toby said he’s weary of gossip.”

“He must be,” Sophia said, riffling the papers, “for he’s been in
The Prattler
every day for months. If it’s not one of Mr. Hollyhurst’s caricatures, it’s a notice in the society column.

They’ve cataloged his attendance at every ball, boxing match, opera house, and gaming club.

The paper has even gone so far as to tally the number of his paramours, since his near escape.”

The number of his paramours? Bel almost asked Sophia to relate the estimate, then stopped herself. “Surely you don’t credit any of it? Sir Toby told me himself, one shouldn’t believe everything in the newspapers. Do you believe such behavior of him?”

“No,” Sophia said. “At least, not to this degree. But I am amazed that he has tolerated such treatment.” She lowered her voice. “Do you realize, he could have made an immense scandal when I eloped, or even sued my father for breach of our marriage contract? Yet he said nothing, at least not publicly. He allowed the illusion of my illness to stand and took a drubbing in the papers all the while.”

An unhappy realization settled on Bel. “He must have been very much in love with you.”

Gray coughed violently.

Sophia pursed her lips. “No, actually. I don’t believe he was. But his pride must have incurred deep wounds, even if his heart remained intact. It must have been difficult for him to endure all this”—she indicated the newspapers—“so quietly. I don’t know why he did, after the way I used him so ill. But he has borne the brunt of public speculation regarding our broken engagement, and if he had not, I would have been ruined. We should not have been welcome in Society. Your own prospects for marriage would have been destroyed.”

“We owe him much, then.”

“Yes, we do.” Sophia gave her a meaningful look. “We owe him the chance to find happiness.