Married to the Viscount (10 page)

Though she supposed he had the right to have those expec
tations. He
was
a wealthy viscount, after all. Still, it grated on her that he seemed to think he must throw lots of money at her to make her even remotely presentable.

Very well, let him throw his money at her. It wasn’t as if he’d given her any choice. So let him dress her and lead her about and present her to his friends if he must.

And when this was all over, she’d thank her lucky stars that the marriage had not been a real one after all. Because clearly Lord Ravenswood was much too lofty a sort for an everyday life with a plain American woman like her. Marriage to him would mean living in constant fear of doing or saying the wrong thing in public. What misery such a life would be.

Except when he kissed her.

No, she wouldn’t think about that, wouldn’t yearn for that. Because that way lay heartache and rejection, and she’d had enough of that on this trip, thank you very much.

Chapter 6

Gossip is a dangerous business. The prudent servant avoids it, except where it aids him in serving his employer.

Suggestions for the Stoic Servant

S
pencer drummed his fingers impatiently on the curved arm of his drawing room sofa while he watched the annoying Lady Brumley scribble in her notebook with a bejeweled hand. Did the bloody woman have to write down every word he said?

When she glanced up, he stopped his drumming and forced a smile. The Galleon of Gossip was a shark among sharks. One whiff of blood, and she’d be all over him. She was already sniffing too closely to please him. Although she appeared to accept his tale about falling madly in love in America, she seemed to doubt the one about Nat.

Spencer glanced at the clock—he had only a few more minutes to convince her. He and Abby must leave for the theater at five if they were to escape the crowds and reach his box without having to field too many questions from nosy theater patrons.

Lady Brumley tapped her pencil on her notepad. “Let me see if I’ve got all this right. You say that during the assault upon that footpad last night, your brother was wounded. And now he’s recovering at your estate in Essex.”

“Exactly.”

She lifted a cool glance to him. “You must be beside yourselves with worry.”

“Indeed we are.”

“Yet you’re content to gallivant about London with your new wife while he is languishing away in the country.”

“I have important duties here, as you surely know. If I thought Nat’s injury was life-threatening, then I would certainly be at his side. But the doctor has assured me that it is not.”

“Could I speak to this doctor?”

“Certainly. You know my family physician, Dr. Godfrey.” Spencer barely suppressed a smirk. Lady Brumley would soon discover that he’d already anticipated any avenues she might explore to poke holes in his story. Not for nothing had he been a spymaster.

Evelina and Lady Tyndale had been told the same story as Lady Brumley. And everyone else involved had been told whatever he deemed appropriate. They were prepared to say whatever he commanded. Fortunately, they all liked Nat. And disliked Lady Brumley.

He didn’t dislike the woman himself—her kind could be useful. But only when they suited
his
purposes.

“I suppose Lady Evelina is with him in Essex?” she probed.

“No. I discouraged it. Her presence would only tempt him to get around before he is ready, and we couldn’t have that, could we? Besides, she has much to do to plan for the wedding. She can’t be rusticating in the country with my brother.”

“Well then, if it’s such a minor wound that even his fiancée has abandoned him,” she said slyly, “I’m sure we’ll see him in London within a day or two.”

He flashed her a tight smile. “Oh, it might be longer than that.” That was the ingenious aspect to this tale—a wound could take as long to heal as Spencer required. Relapses could
occur, Nat could be near death…indeed, if the bloody idiot didn’t show up soon, he’d be wishing for death by the time Spencer got through with him. “But he’s in good hands with my staff at Essex.”

“Is he indeed?” Lady Brumley’s snide tone told him she didn’t believe half of what he said. But short of traveling to Essex and sneaking about the estate, she’d never prove he was lying. His staff, both in London and at the estate, was completely loyal to him. Spencer’s man of affairs had left for Essex this morning to personally inform his estate staff of what they were to say if anybody asked about Nat.

Now Spencer just had to hope that Nat didn’t turn up at the gaming tables in Bath or Brighton or somewhere else public to make a liar out of him.

He glanced again at the clock, then rose with a thin smile. “I’m afraid we’ll have to finish this conversation another time. My wife and I are joining Lady Evelina and her mother at the theater tonight. I figured it would give the three of them a chance to become better acquainted, given the…er…awkwardness of last night’s meeting.”

Surprise lit Lady Brumley’s face. Clearly she hadn’t expected him to be so friendly with his future in-laws when something questionable was afoot. “Well, then, my lord, I shan’t keep you from your lovely wife. I think I have all I need.” She stood and cast him an arch smile. “For the moment, that is.”

When she walked out of the drawing room, he followed grimly. He’d have to keep an eye on the Galleon of Gossip. She could make his life hell if he didn’t handle her properly, and he had all the hell he could handle just now.

But when he and Lady Brumley reached the stairs just as his sham wife was coming down from the floor above, he realized he hadn’t known the meaning of hell until that moment. Because although the lady’s maid he’d hired wasn’t starting until tomorrow, his wild American rosebud had blos
somed into a stunning showpiece of satiny amaranth petals. And like the English despoiler he was, he wanted to reach up and pluck her.

Good God, look at that hair, ropes of raven silk piled loosely on her head. He could send them cascading down with one twist of his randy hand. And that gown—had it ever belonged to his stepmother? Dora had never looked like
that
in it. But it must have been hers, for the bodice—made for a slighter woman—strained to contain Abby’s more ample attractions. Abby certainly needed to corset. The gown already shoved her breasts up too high as it was. If not for his mother’s rubies, which partly obscured the view—

“Good evening, Spencer,” Abby said hesitantly. “I hope this will do for the theater.”

Bloody hell, he’d been so busy gawking that he hadn’t said a word.

Thankfully, Lady Brumley was never speechless. “Certainly it will do. Anytime the sight of his wife makes a husband swallow his tongue, Lady Ravenswood, you can be sure he is pleased with her attire.”

“Pleased” wasn’t quite the word. Who could be pleased at the prospect of an evening spent lusting futilely after a desirable woman?

Apparently bolstered by Lady Brumley’s words and his reaction, Abby turned coy. “And you, my lord?” She held her hand out to him. “Have you found your tongue yet?”

“I’m working on it.” He took her hand as he surveyed her. The gown had turned out well. The deep amaranth made Abby glow with healthy color, while the addition of petallike flounces about the hem transformed it into fashionable attire. He’d have to double the dressmaker’s payment.

“You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen, my dear,” he added. “The theatergoers will have a hard time keeping their eyes on the stage and away from my box tonight.”

Abby laughed, a musical sound that made his gut twist and his loins tighten painfully. “You’re teasing me now.”

“I’d never dream of it.” Attempting to reassure her, he lifted her gloved hand to his lips. But her fingers were delicate as china, and when they trembled beneath his kiss, a surge of need hit him despite all his determination to rein in his reactions.

She blushed, then touched her free hand to the ruby necklace that had belonged to his mother. “Oh, and I should also thank you for these jewels. I wasn’t expecting—” With a glance at Lady Brumley, she added weakly, “That is, they must be quite valuable.”

Never mind their value—he’d sent McFee up with the bloody things so they’d shield that tempting bosom of hers from his gaze. But now that they did, he wanted to snatch them off just so he could stare at her in her full glory.

Instead, he forced his gaze back to her face. “What would a gown be without jewels?”

“What indeed?” Lady Brumley remarked slyly.

Ignoring the other woman, Abby shot him a meaningful glance. “I’ll be very careful with them.”

It took him a second to realize she was trying to reassure him that she knew they were a loan. “I’m sure you will.” Annoyed by her reminder of their charade, he added, “And if you’re not, it’s no great concern—I’ll just buy you more.”

When Abby’s eyes widened, flickering green and mysterious in the dusky light, he fought a dark urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her senseless right there.

Lady Brumley cleared her throat. “I see that his lordship was right.” For once, her voice lacked sarcasm. “It’s a love match after all.”

When Abby paled, Spencer drew her down the last two steps, tucking her hand firmly in the crook of his elbow. “Did you think otherwise, my lady?”

The Galleon of Gossip regarded them with cool amusement. “I didn’t know what to think.”

Spencer led Abby down the next flight of stairs to the ground floor, leaving Lady Brumley to hasten after them.

“It’s not every day that an English viscount of your standing takes an American wife, you know,” the annoying woman said behind them.

“It’s not every day an English viscount meets an American as fascinating as my wife,” Spencer countered smoothly. When they reached the entrance hall, he gestured to the footmen, who scurried to fetch his coat and Abby’s pelisse.

He flashed Lady Brumley an even smile. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll be late if we don’t leave now.”

“Which theater are you attending?”

“Covent Garden.” He helped Abby with her pelisse and donned his coat.

Lady Brumley snorted. “I was there only last week, and the first thing is a stupid trifle of a farce, nothing to bother with. You could miss that. Fortunately, the play after is much better.” Removing a vial from her reticule, Lady Brumley waved it in the air. “Besides, before you run off I want to hear more about Lady Ravenswood’s interesting concoction—this Medicinal Mead of her father’s.”

Damn. The cursed woman had that bottle of Mead he’d taken from Abby’s reticule the night before.

“So
that’s
where my vial went,” Abby said as she reached for it. “I’ve been looking for it everywhere.”

Lady Brumley returned it quickly to her own reticule. “I’m not done trying it out. You can have it back when I’m finished.” She flipped open her notepad. “But so far it doesn’t look promising. I tried it on my indigestion last night and nothing happened.”

When Abby’s hand tensed on his arm, Spencer covered it with his own and gave it a warning squeeze. “I’m afraid discussion of Mercer’s Mead will have to wait for another time,
Lady Brumley. I agreed to pick up Lady Tyndale and her daughter in my carriage, so we cannot be late.”

Maneuvering Abby past the meddlesome gossip, he headed for the door, secure in McFee’s ability to dispose of the woman on his own.

But Abby called back before they got through the front doors, “Do try it again with some milk, my lady. I think you’ll find it works better that way. And if it doesn’t, come see me and we’ll add another posset to it.”

Tightening his grip on Abby’s arm, Spencer pulled her out the door and down the steps into the waiting carriage.

As soon as she was settled on the seat opposite him and the doors had closed, he erupted. “You’re not to see that woman in private, do you hear? She isn’t as harmless as she appears. One heedless word to a shark like Lady Brumley and—”

“Speaking of heedless, you told her we’d made a love match.” Abby drew her pelisse tighter about her shoulders. “How much more heedless can one get?”

“It was the only plausible explanation left,” he said defensively. “No one would believe I’d married you to enhance my wealth or further my political career.”

He regretted his bald words when she set her mouth stubbornly. “Thank you for reminding me that I have no rank or family connections to commend me to a man as important as yourself.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant. Don’t worry, I won’t forget my place again.”

Bloody hell. He hadn’t meant to prick her pride. Why was he always too blunt with her? Usually he had no trouble flattering women, but Abby was so direct it flustered him, prompting him to meet her with equal directness.

But that was no excuse. Leaning forward to clasp her gloved hands, he refused to release them when she tried pulling away. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such a cur—”

“And yet you are. It must come naturally.” At that moment, she looked as haughty as any affronted miss and more a woman of “rank” than she realized.

“I’ll make it up to you. Think of the next few weeks as your pleasure trip to London. I have duties at Parliament, but when I can get away, I’ll show you the sights.”

“Oh? You can take that much time from your career for your pretend wife?”

Her sarcasm made him wince. “I’ll do my best.”

She refused to meet his gaze, staring woodenly out the window at the sinking sun. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to see the sights anyway.”

Her hands were rigid in his, which alarmed him. “But London has many grand places. We could take a boat along the Thames—”

“Which hardly compares to sailing on Lake Erie.”

Good point. “We could see the Tower of London.”

“Where they executed all the traitors?” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “No thank you.”

“Then how about the…” He wracked his brain. This was not going well. “The theater? We could see every play.”

“We have theaters in America, too, you know.” She shot him a cool look. “But if you have any hundred-foot waterfalls or wild buffalo, I’d love to see those.”