Married to the Viscount (7 page)

He regarded her with his usual earnest attention. “What makes you think that?”

“Because I know you—if you’d thought Nathaniel might be hurt or have trouble with the police, you’d have left the dinner immediately.”

“I couldn’t leave you and your mother to—”

“It’s all perfectly clear to me. Nathaniel doesn’t wish to marry me, that’s all.” The hurt rose in her throat, threatening to squeeze out all her breath. “That woman who came tonight—she’s Nathaniel’s lady friend, isn’t she?” She’d overheard the ladies in the retiring room saying that, though she didn’t dare tell Spence. He disapproved of gossip. “She came from America to put a stop to Nathaniel’s betrothal, and that’s why he isn’t here and why you pretended she was your wife. To keep it from me.”

“Good God, what a lot of nonsense,” Spence said firmly. “I
assure you that the woman’s appearance has nothing to do with you.”

“He told me she was plain, b-but…” All her determination to be strong crumbled as her tears started to flow. “She’s pr-pretty. He probably married
her
while he was in America.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Gently Spence drew her into his arms. “You saw that marriage certificate—the name on it was mine.”

“I didn’t really h-have a chance to look at it,” she choked out through her sobs. “Mr. McFee snatched it away too quickly. But N-Nathaniel’s name was on it—I saw it!”

“It was there only to show Nat as my representative. That’s how it’s done for a proxy marriage.” He rubbed her back soothingly as he fumbled in his pocket. Mr. McFee stepped forward to hand a handkerchief discreetly to Spence, who then offered it to her. “Come now, don’t cry. My brother loves you to distraction—I’m sure of it.”

“Then why wasn’t he here?” She blew her nose on McFee’s handkerchief, wishing she didn’t have to look so unladylike in front of Spence.

He tipped up her chin. “I told you, poppet. He was involved in some little mess with a footpad.”

“You’re not going to tell me what really happened, are you?”

“There’s nothing to tell. You’re worrying yourself for no reason.”

Swallowing her tears, she tried to regain control of herself. She wanted to believe his tale about the footpad. But it just seemed so unlikely.

Unfortunately, Spence would never take her into his confidence. He thought he had to protect her from the truth.

“All right, whatever you say.” She stared down at her feet. “But if he does come here for her, you’ll tell me, won’t you? You won’t let me go on thinking he loves me?”

“I promise you it’s nothing like—”

“Just say you’ll tell me if he does.”

He sighed. “Yes, I’ll tell you. Now you’d best go on. Your mother is waiting.”

Dabbing at her eyes with his handkerchief, she nodded, then hurried out to the waiting carriage.

The ride home was interminable. Mama kept babbling about Spence’s new wife and was too oblivious to connect Nat’s mysterious disappearance with Miss Mercer’s mysterious appearance. But Evelina was nearly certain the two were related.

And now that she and Nathaniel had already…Oh, the possibility that he might not love her was too awful to consider.

Mama was still chattering away when they reached home, which was probably why she didn’t notice the footman press a note into Evelina’s palm as he helped her out of her coat.

A quick glance revealed only one line:
Meet me in the garden as soon as you can
. It lacked a signature, but there was no need for one. Evelina would recognize Nat’s fine hand anywhere.

Her heart began to pound. “Mama, I believe I shall take a turn in the garden before I go up.” When her mother eyed her curiously, she added, “I had a bit too much wine at dinner. I need to clear my head before I can sleep.”

Thankfully, that explanation sufficed, for her mother shrugged and said, “Go on if you must. But don’t stay out too long. That chill air will give you a headache.”

“I’ll be quick,” she said in a rush, already halfway down the hall to the back entrance. When she went out, she saw nothing at first. What if he’d come and gone already? Who knew how long ago he’d given that note to the footman—what if he’d tired of waiting for her?

Suddenly a hand pulled her behind a tree, and she was in Nat’s arms, being kissed so thoroughly it made her forget everything but him. Until his kiss grew ardent and his hands began to roam, bringing her to her senses.

She pushed him away in high dudgeon. “How dare you show up here as if nothing has happened? How
dare
you?”

Nat held up his hands. “I know, I know, my love. I’ve behaved very badly. But I had no chance to warn you. By the time my man notified me of Miss Mercer’s arrival—”

“I knew this had something to do with that woman!” Evelina’s stomach twisted into a knot as she wagged her finger in his face. “She’s your mistress, isn’t she? And you think you can bring her here under my very nose—”

“My mistress!” he said, laughing. “Miss Mercer? You must be joking. Why would you think she was my mistress?”

Pouting, Evelina crossed her arms over her chest. “You told me she was plain, and she’s not. She shows up at our betrothal dinner, and you don’t. It’s pretty clear to me what’s going on.”

“That was purely coincidental, I swear. She was supposed to arrive next week. If I’d dreamed she would show up today, I’d have convinced your mother to schedule our dinner sooner.”

“You mean you
knew
Miss Mercer was coming?”

“Of course I knew. It’s part of my plan.”

Evelina’s eyes narrowed. “For what? If you don’t explain this instant why she’s here, Nathaniel Law, I’ll call a footman to come throw you out of this garden!” With a pained look he reached for her, but she was having none of that. “Explain yourself first. Then I’ll decide if I can forgive you. At the moment, it’s not at all certain.”

He grimaced. “All right, all right. But let me reassure you of one thing. I love you. I’ve always loved you. We’ll be married as soon as I can manage it. But you’ll have to be patient,
my darling. Because like it or not, Miss Mercer is here now, and if my plan is to work, I have to disappear for a while.”

“Oh, really?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then this explanation of your had better be very, very good.”

Chapter 4

If an American should visit your employer, do not expect him to behave like the average Englishman. Americans are a breed unto themselves and must be treated with caution.

Suggestions for the Stoic Servant

T
he morning after the dinner fiasco, Spencer sat at the breakfast table, waiting for the servants to fetch Miss Mercer. The
Times
sat at his elbow, his coffee was hot and strong, and his buttered eggs were perfectly cooked, yet all he could think of was that bloody female and how she might react to the proposition he meant to put to her this morning.

Surely she would be relieved to have her financial situation so well settled. Then again, the woman was not like an Englishwoman. She had a decided streak of American independence in her.

But he’d considered every other way out of their current predicament, and nothing else sufficed. Evelina had already jumped to strange conclusions. Soon others would, too. So he must act quickly to avoid a scandal.

Whatever happened, the truth must not come out. It would harm too many people—Evelina, her mother, Miss Mercer, him. Nat, too, of course, but at present Spencer didn’t much care what that rascal suffered. Especially since the idiot had vanished, leaving Spencer to pick up the pieces.

Fortunately, Spencer excelled at that. And his solution to this dilemma was eminently workable.

So it was a pity that he hated it. He could only hope she didn’t hate it, too.

McFee entered the breakfast room, his composure ruffled for a change. Worst of all, he was alone.

“Well?” Spencer demanded. “Where’s Miss Mercer?”

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but…you see…we don’t know where she is.”

A kernel of unease sprouted in Spencer’s gut. “What do you mean—you don’t know?”

“The lady is not in her chambers. And that harridan she calls a servant will not say where she’s gone or even
if
she’s gone.”

He rose from his seat. “But you’re sure she’s not in the house. You’ve checked all the rooms, searched the kitchens, looked in the street.”

“The search is currently under way, my lord. I merely thought I should inform you that we are having trouble locating her.”

Devil take it, now what? Surely Miss Mercer wasn’t the sort to strike out on her own to look for his brother. And even if she did, would she leave her servant behind? He thought it unlikely.

“If you don’t mind my saying so,” McFee went on, “American women are a great deal more independent than Englishwomen. Perhaps she went for a morning walk.”

“Alone, in the streets of a city she doesn’t even know? She better not have done such an idiot thing. I won’t have it.” Refusing to wait for his staff to find her, he strode for the doorway, only to be nearly knocked over when a footman rushed in.

“We found her!” the young man cried, then paled when he saw his master. “Begging your pardon, my lord. We…um…found your guest. She’s in the garden.”

Of course. Where else would a wild American rose go?
“Thank you,” he said as he hurried off in that direction. Now he felt foolish for worrying. But the thought of Miss Mercer wandering London alone with no money…

He was being absurd. She’d never do such a silly thing. She might be naive and overly optimistic about life’s prospects, but she wasn’t an idiot.

Thank God. Because if she accepted his proposition, the two of them would be in each other’s pockets for some weeks, and he couldn’t tolerate stupidity.

When he strode out into the garden, he didn’t see her at first. He’d paid a great deal of money for the luxury of gardens that were more substantial than those of the average London house. But as he stalked the pebble paths, glancing under trees and down pleasure walks, he was startled to come upon her where he least expected—in the portion of the garden reserved for the kitchen.

Bonnetless and still clothed in that ghastly black, she bent over a patch of greenery, tenderly moving stalks of plants aside in a methodical manner. Sunlight glinted off her jet hair, and her cheeks looked as satiny pink as rose petals, but it was her uptilted derriere that most tempted him. He had to tamp down a violent urge to lift her skirts and see if her other cheeks were as soft and pink as rose petals.

“What the devil are you doing?” he snapped, annoyed at the effect she always had on him.

When she looked up and saw him there, she straightened, a smile breaking over her face. “I’m looking for rosemary.”

“Who’s Rosemary?”

She chuckled. “It’s a plant, my lord. You know—like thyme and borage?”

“Ah, yes. A plant. And why are you looking for a plant in my gardens at this time of the morning, pray tell?”

Mischief glinted in her eyes. “Where would
you
suggest I look for a plant? Maybe in your study? Or your dining room? Though I suppose—”

“Miss Mercer,” he said sternly, “you know what I meant.”

He regretted his sharp words when the light died in her face. “Yes.” She brushed dirt off her gloved hands, her tone turning practical. “I need rosemary for the Mead. My personal vial of it went missing last night after you used it on me. I have only one other bottle, so I need to mix up some more. I brought all the ingredients for it with me, but the rosemary is best if it’s fresh, so I decided to see if your kitchen garden had some.”

“And you didn’t think to ask one of the servants?”

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me talking to the servants. So I figured I’d find the rosemary myself and avoid bothering them.”

He couldn’t suppress a smile. “You’d have been better off talking to them, considering that they’ve been searching for you for the past half hour.”

A tiny frown graced her eloquent brow. “Whyever for?”

“Because I wanted to speak with you.” He gestured to the garden path. “Come, walk with me. After we’ve had our discussion, I’ll tell Cook to get you all the rosemary you require. All right?”

Removing her soiled gloves, she stuffed them into one apron pocket. “As long as you don’t mind if I eat breakfast while we talk.”

“Breakfast?”

She drew a pear out of her other apron pocket and brandished it before him. “I stole this from your breakfast room. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. You’re my guest, and hosts generally do feed their guests, you know.”

Her natural ebullience returning, she flashed him an impish smile. “Even when their guests have landed them in a most delicate predicament?”

“Especially then. Well-fed guests make less trouble.”

Biting into the pear, she walked off down the path. “Do
you get a lot of guests trying to make trouble for you?”

He followed beside her.
None as fetching as you
. “Not recently. And about our particular trouble—”

“Before you say any more, let me assure you that I’m not going to fight you over dissolving a clearly nonexistent marriage. I want nothing from you but the money your brother took.” She stopped to pluck a lilac from the shrubs lining the path, then tucked it behind her ear. “You don’t have to pay it all right away, but if you could give me a little now, I can wait for the rest until you find your brother.”

Giving her money and watching her trot off God knew where was not in his plan. But he was curious to know what was in hers. “And what will you do with the money?”

“Why, I’ll produce the Mead, of course, and sell it.” Lifting the pear, she bit into it again with such gusto that his pulse quickened at the sight. By God, she was a piece of work—fearless and impetuous and so bloody American she fairly glowed with it.

He forced himself to ignore her winsome charms. “So you mean to take over your father’s business.”

“Oh, no, I can’t.” She cast him an arch look. “Technically, you’re still my husband, so my half belongs to you. All the papers have your name on them.”