Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] (12 page)

The veins on Manji's baldhead stood out clearly against the ashen face of the older man. His long moustaches quivered with fury; his massive hands clenched impotently on empty air. Pax realized he had unleashed a terrible emotion in the man and idly wondered if he himself might be attacked.

"Can you and Jacko guard her always? Will Leslie's spirit survive with these assaults on her virtue? Will her pride be ground into the dust?"

Manji's body jerked, stabbed by each harsh question. He shook his head in bewilderment, unable to cope with the difficult decision. Pax stepped forward until he was inches away from the giant. His voice was firm with authority as he made his final plea.

"If Leslie marries me, she will be protected for the rest of her life. No man of her class would dare to insult the Duchess of Ruhaven. She would want for nothing material and would be accepted by the proudest families in England."

Pax stood immobile as the giant's eyes once more probed. The silence in the library was

almost palpable, throbbing with an intensity that pounded along Pax's veins as he waited for the groom's decision. An iron hand gripped his shoulder, almost buckling his knees with its weight.

"Leslie will curse my ancestors," Manji muttered grimly, "but I will take you."

The night sky was lightening along the horizon when the coach rattled into another inn yard. Jacko leaned across Leslie's sleeping figure to peer out. Gently he touched the girl's shoulder, and her shadowed eyes lifted, blinking several times before she could focus.

"We'll stop for a bite here," the old man said.

"I'd even consider trading you for a dish of tea and a biscuit," Leslie answered, smiling faintly at the scandalized expression on her friend's face.

The yard was alive with the shouts of the coachman, ostlers and yard-boys as the heaving horses pulled alongside the inn. With awkward fingers, Leslie pushed at the door, stiffly levering herself up as the stairs were lowered. Her legs were cramped, and she staggered on the steps until a firm grip under her arm steadied her, saving her from a nasty fall. Grateful for the help, she lifted her weary head to thank her rescuer and was impaled by the furious glare of Pax's eyes.

Chapter Seven

When Pax entered the room, Leslie was staring bleakly across the peaceful lawns of Windhaven. Her back uncompromisingly straight, she was dressed in the same clothes she had worn during her escape. Though the garments were wilted, the ramrod-stiff carriage of the girl indicated she was neither repentant nor cowed by her situation. Pax closed the door. He observed with perverse pleasure her flinch as the latch clicked into place. Angry frustration still rode him, and he fought to control his temper as he crossed the room to the window. Calm at last, he sat down facing Leslie.

She ignored him totally, seeming to withdraw into herself. Her eyes were open but focused on a spot somewhere over his left shoulder. In bewilderment, his eyes roamed over Leslie's face and figure searching for a nineteen-year-old girl instead of a fifteen year old boy.

Devil take it, Pax cursed. She looked just as she always had done. Her chestnut hair was pulled tightly behind her head, giving no hint of feminine softness. She might be pretty if she was fussed about with, he decided. After all, she had made a handsome boy. Her skin was unblemished, each cheekbone dotted high with bright color. Her short nose was sculpted leanly, although her other features were more generous in their lines. Her eyebrows curved gracefully above heavily-lashed eyes that reminded him of crystal clear Scottish lakes. She was not much in Pax's line; he preferred more generously endowed blonds.

Pax was torn by conflicting emotions. He felt a certain sympathy for Leslie whose mistaken actions had precipitated their present damnable situation. But there was also a core of anger, compiled of betrayal, foolishness and injured pride. He felt righteous indignation that he was being forced into marriage. At thirty he should be considering setting up his nursery, but he disliked having the choice of a spouse dictated by circumstances. And worse, to be forced to marry an unseasoned chit.

Looking at Leslie, he persuaded himself that it might be worse. He could be leg-shackled to some buck-toothed, whining dab of a girl. They might even rub along well, after they adjusted to the peculiar circumstances of the enforced union.

"I won't marry you."

It was a moment before the quietly spoken words penetrated Pax's thoughts. The reasonable arguments he had been consoling himself with, dissipated under a blast of irritation at Leslie's childish behavior. He jerked to his feet and stared coldly down at the expressionless girl.

"This is no time for games or fits of temper." Pax enunciated precisely, words simple to understand by his contrary ward. "In one hour's time, you will become the Duchess of Ruhaven. Lady Titwiliver has seen to all the arrangements. You need do nothing but be present."

"Don't patronize me! I am neither stupid nor hard of hearing," Leslie snapped, her face losing its blankness as her temper flared. "You do not want this marriage any more than I do."

"Of course I don't want to be saddled with you!" Pax burst out unflatteringly. In annoyance, he pushed his hands through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. "For years I have been plagued by the schemes of matchmaking mothers. And now I fall into parson's mousetrap in my own home. I ought to wring your neck instead of marry you." The words were spoken consideringly, with no apparent anger.

"You should not have brought me back." Her words were low, filled with despair. The whole situation was a disaster. Though she was still in love with him, Leslie knew this marriage would destroy any chance for happiness. He did not want her. For the rest of his life, he would resent her, turning from her in anger and a growing hate. Even though the marriage meant Leslie would never have to leave him, Pax would separate himself from her farther and farther each day. She would not condemn either of them to such an existence. "Let me go away. You will never have to see me again. No one need ever know."

"Don't be naive, Leslie. The servants are all agog at the information. And I suspect, even at this moment, Lady Cleavon is making the matter known. Strictly in confidence of course, to her nearest and dearest friends who will be happy to spread the scandal to the farthest shores of this benighted island." His mouth tightened grimly remembering the appalling interview he had had with Cecily and her mother. "Hear me well, Leslie. In one hour we will be married."

"I will not marry you!" Leslie's hands clenched at her sides in rage.

"You have no choice in the matter," Pax retorted coldly. "The vicar is here already."

"I don't care if Prinny himself is downstairs. You can not force me." For an instant, a glint of triumph stared out at Pax. Then the girl blinked and it was gone.

In his frustration he glowered at the defiant figure framed against the windows. The ungrateful child had no idea of the honor he did her in offering his name in marriage. Any other girl would be overjoyed by the prospect of becoming the Duchess of Ruhaven. Worst of all she had not the slightest conception of her own situation. She was compromised past all redemption. Society would consider her nothing more than a bit of muslin unless she married immediately. For a moment Pax had an uncontrollable urge to shake her. Refusing to give in to such an irrational, though satisfactory, solution, he resorted to trickery.

"You will either marry me, or I will see your two misbegotten cohorts arrested. Any trumped up charge will do. And believe me, my girl, I will make it stick."

Leslie's face whitened until it was almost translucent. Wide blue eyes mirrored the horror she felt at his threat. Her graceful fingers stole up the front of her frock coat, clutching at the material across her breast. Despising himself for his cruel behavior, Pax stood his ground, waiting for Leslie's answer. When she seemed unable to speak he prodded her.

"Well?"

"You win. I will marry you."

The dead voice flayed Pax's already guilty conscience. He stalked to the bed and looked down at the pile of bridal clothing Nell had quickly assembled. Swinging around, he jabbed his finger in the direction of the clothes.

"I will give you exactly fifteen minutes to get dressed." His voice was cold, and his eyes bored into her startled blue ones.

"I can't," Leslie snapped.

"My patience is hanging by a single thread, young lady!" Pax snapped, losing his temper at the stubborn child. He charged back across the room and grasped Leslie's shoulders. He refused to acknowledge the pain he read mirrored in the shadowed eyes, but it caught him unaware. The muscles along his jawline jumped as he fought for control. Since he had discovered Leslie's identity, his emotions had teetered between anger at his own stupidity and outright pity for the girl. In his present state, the anger won out and he spoke through gritted teeth. "I will rip the clothes off your back, if you refuse to get dressed."

Leslie pulled away from his grasp. "I'm not being stubborn," she replied, her voice trembling with dismay. "I never had any ladies clothes. I don't even know what goes on first!"

"Damn!" Pax exploded at the idiotic anti-climax to the situation.

"Damn and blast! What a ninnyhammer! Why didn't you ask someone?" he shouted in embarrassment.

"Because I didn't have anyone to ask!" Leslie wailed, turning her back rather than let Pax see her tears.

His glance softened slightly as he stared at the desolate figure. Good Lord, what a coil. He should have sent someone to help her. It had never occurred to him that she wouldn't have the slightest idea how to go on as a female. She must be totally confused by the change in the last twenty-four hours. The least he could do was help her through the next few hours. Relieved at an excuse to remove himself from the embarrassing situation, Pax shouted, "I'll send Lady Titwiliver!" as he slammed out the door.

Leslie whirled as the door banged against the frame, the sound triggering a spurt of anger that wiped away any vestiges of tears. The man was impossible! she stormed, kicking at the ivory sandals waiting beside her bed and watched in satisfaction as they sailed across the room. Pax should have been able to figure out that she wouldn't have the first idea about women's fashions. Leslie pulled off her boots, throwing them angrily into the corner of the room. He was a moron, an idiot! she ranted as she stripped off her cotton stockings. How dare he browbeat her after he had just had the unmitigated gall to blackmail her into this hateful marriage!

She hugged her arms across her chest, pacing the room in her agitation. Stopping at the rosewood desk she swept the pens onto the floor. Since Pax had spent five years thinking of himself as her guardian, he thought he could dictate her whole life! She'd show him, she muttered, kicking out at the desk chair. For her pains, her bare toes connected with the wooden leg, and she hopped around cursing fluently. At the window seat, she picked up each pillow and threw it across the room, then whirled and swept a small table clear of ornaments, smiling grimly as she heard the tinkling sound of breaking china.

"Sorry I took so long, my child," Lady Titwiliver sang out as she sailed through the doorway. With a glance, she took in the flushed figure surrounded by chaos. "Well, I'm sure you're feeling better now. I have always found it extremely satisfying to vent a little anger when in extremis. My gratefully departed husband used to place all of his favorite things on the mantel and stand with his back to it, guarding all the nicer porcelain, whenever I was out of sorts. The morning of his funeral I stood on the piano bench and meticulously dashed every one of the objects on the marble surround. The happy sound of breaking china always reminds me of the dear Earl."

An hysterical giggle rose up inside Leslie, and she clamped both hands over her mouth to keep from falling into a fit of laughter. While Lady Titwiliver chattered away, Leslie found herself stripped of her clothes, standing naked before the assessing eyes of the older woman.

"What a nice little figure you have, my dear."

Her tone was so conversational and her twinkling brown eyes were so kind that Leslie felt no embarrassment. While not totally comfortable with her mature body, her innate self-confidence told Leslie that her body was healthy and strong and as such she should take pride in it.

"Gentleman always want a good bosom, no matter what you may have thought. Don't want it spilling out, mind you, just a nice solid handful." Picking through the pile of clothing on the bed, she extracted flesh-colored drawers edged with lacy frills at the ankles. "First the pantaloons, child. Though it's become a fashion to damp down the muslins and leave off one's undergarments, I suspect it's surely the path to an early grave. In London, it's quite breezy in the winter."

Leslie's eyes watered with her efforts to keep from going off in whoops. She suspected that the old lady's chatter was mainly to relieve her of embarrassment at her own lack of knowledge, and she blessed the woman for it. As Lady Titwiliver handed her the gossamer soft muslin chemise, Leslie grinned at the wry commentary. The older woman, eyes twinkling with mischief, nodded in satisfaction at the improved mood of the young girl.

"Now this, child, is a zona. No, not that way. The bands go under your breasts, like so." Lady Titwiliver hummed softly under her breath as she did up the laces. "Don't fidget so. You'll get used to the thing. It's not a corset, mind you, just a little something to remind you to keep your stomach in. They say, the smaller the waist of a wife, the larger a man's ego."

"Pax's ego is large enough already, milady," Leslie retorted.

Lady Titwiliver pinched Leslie's cheek in pleasure. "This marriage may not be of your choice, dear, but if you will trust my instincts, it can be a model of success." She shrugged as the girl's features tightened. Ah youth, Nell sighed inwardly, so much pride. And it always causes no end of trouble. She suspected these two stubborn souls would waste a good bit of time before they came to terms with their marriage.