Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) (15 page)

If she did not tell them herself, her parents would learn tomorrrow of his scandalous past, the same way she had, via the wagging tongues of the Trowbridge house guests. Her only hope lay in convincing her parents that she had reformed the Viscount—and
that
was dependent upon the blackguard keeping up his pretense of being an unaffected, genuine gentleman
comme il faut
.

She almost moaned. He was still angry for the insults she’d delivered last night. His lies and insinuations were clearly meant as retribution. Heaven only knew what the scoundrel would do next.

“Here we are,” the scoundrel told her parents. “Your chamber is across from mine.”

“You mean ‘
ours
,’ don’t you, Trowbridge?” her mother asked. “Or does my daughter have her own adjoining chamber?” She eyed the improbable bends in the hallway. Clearly, Truesdales’s large, peninsular room had no adjoining chamber.

“Mama,” Marianna said, “I have something to discuss with you. Do let us go into your chamber and—”

“No, no!” I will not hear of it,” Mrs. Grantham said. “It is late, as your husband pointed out, and —”

“But that is what I would like to discuss with you. He is not—”

“I am not accustomed to waiting,” Truesesdale broke in and opened his door. “Coming, darling?” His eyebrow rose and his dimples appeared, proclaiming his utter lack of contrition.

At that moment, a servant came down the hall. Unable to speak openly, Marianna stood by helplessly as her mother opened their chamber door and entered, exclaiming over the fine accommodations.

And then something happened that Marianna never could have foreseen. Her father, in an uncharacteristic show of emotion,
touched
her. Touched her lightly on the cheek. “You have done well, daughter. Marianna.” He shuffled uncomfortably and lowered his hand.

Marianna couldn’t remember the last time her father had touched her, and he never—ever!—called her by her name. It was always “daughter” this or “daughter” that. And on top of that he had praised her. Every part of her wanted to move forward, to step into his embrace, to feel his arms curl about her shoulders. But she knew that was impossible. It was too much to ask. She stood there in utter disbelief, tears of love and longing pricking her eyes. And then another miracle occurred. Her father smiled.

“Your mother and I couldn’t be happier, Marianna.” His eyes flicked to the Viscount’s, and he straightened. His face regained some of its grim solemnity. “Go with your husband now,” he ordered.

Vaguely, Marianna felt something tugging on her arm, and, wordlessly, she half stumbled and half walked along with it, her eyes on her father’s. And then a door swung to between them—Truesdale’s door!—and Marianna realized that she had just walked into the Viscount Truesdale’s bedchamber.

He shut the door, a boyish expression of delight molding his features. “That worked out better than I could ever have imagined!” he said with a chuckle.

She was stunned. “How? How could you let things come to this?” She gestured vaguely around her. “Just look! Look where your lie has landed us!”

“Mmmm . . .” He practically purred, looking about him. “Yes. Just look at this. The two of us.” He peered at her through his thick fringe of lashes, his expression suddenly serious. “Alone.” He stepped toward her. “In my bedchamber.” He slipped his arms through hers and pulled her against him. His eyes focused upon her lips. “Whatever shall we do?” he whispered, and then his mouth made warm, firm contact with hers.

Marianna froze—and then melted. And, later that night, she would realise that she should have pushed him away. She was angry with him. Furious, really. At the very least, she should have frozen in place, like a block of ice, cold and rigid. But the languid kiss melted her resolve, drained away her senses, and in the end—inexplicably, illogically, madly—she did nothing but kiss him back.

He wound his fingers into her hair. She felt a tug and then the entire mass came down. He kneaded her back and shoulders with his hands as his lips kneaded hers. This kiss was nothing like the last. This one had her tingling from the soles of her feet to the top of her head, had chills racing up and down her spine. She consumed him, as though slaking a thirst long ignored. She was past parched; she was dying of thirst. Heaven help her, she’d wanted to kiss him this way since the first time she’d laid eyes on him. She’d wondered what it would be like. And now she knew.

It was heavenly!

She closed her eyes, completely lost in the heady sensations. Their mouths slanted and pressed, opened and delved. Suddenly, her knees went weak, and he wrapped his arm around her and lowered her—
saints and sinners!
—onto his bed?

Saints and sinners
, she didn’t care!

He kissed her as his hands explored her face, her neck, her shoulders. He dragged his mouth away from her lips long enough to kiss her neck just below her ear. Marianna gave a little cry—though whether it was a cry of pleasure or a protest for the absence of his mouth from hers, she couldn’t have said. It was no matter. He returned quickly and began another passionate exploration of her mouth. She moaned her pleasure.

“Marianna!” her mother called.

Marianna jerked her head to the side.

The doorknob turned. “Marianna?”

Pushing away from Truesdale as though burned, Marianna scrabbled to her feet. Her hands flew to her unbound hair, to her swollen lips, to her flushed face. If her mother saw her like this—
Lud
, her parents would think she was no better than a common strumpet! She groped wildly for her hair comb, realizing a split-second later she had no time to twist her hair back into shape. She
could
just pretend the comb had fallen out!
Yes
, that was it! She jerked her hands down from her crown and crossed them over her bosom—only to find that somehow the row of tiny buttons down the front of her gown was three-quarters undone.

“Truesdale!” she screeched as the door swung open.

Cover yourself!
her panicked mind yelped.
Cover, cover, cover!

And for the second time that day, Marianna panicked. Abandoning all logic, all reasoned thought, she did the first thing that came into her mind. She grabbed the counterpane and tried to pull it off the bed, but it was tucked in at the foot and would not come free. An alarming glimpse of ostrich feathers coming through the doorway propelled her onto the bed, where she pulled the counterpane to her chin. She realized how foolish that was immediately, of course, but there was no time for anything else.

Violet Grantham strode into the room. “Oh, Marianna, I forgot to ask you if—oh!” She caught sight of Marianna.

“We were in a bit of a rush to get into bed,” Truesdale drawled. “The late hour, you know.”

“Well then ... good night,” she said with a satisfied smile. “Newlyweds must get their ... uh, rest.”

Truesdale grinned. “Indeed. Good night, Madam.” Violet Grantham made a hasty exit, and Truesdale closed the door behind her and leaned against it, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Marianna stared at the door in shock. “What have I done?” she whispered.

“You have kissed me, and you have enjoyed it,” he said, pushing off from the door and approaching her with a lazy smile.

She locked gazes with him and said nothing. There was no point in denying it. She
had
enjoyed their kiss.
Saints and sinners
, she’d done more than enjoy his mouth on hers. She’d worshipped it, reveled in it—and she wanted it again. Now. And the knave knew it.

“I have to get out of here.” She threw back the covers and realized her bodice was still immodestly open. Gripped with a sudden anger, she turned her back to him and rebuttoned her gown, unsure who she was more angry with, herself or True Sin.

“You might as well stay.”

“Rubbish!” she said, rounding on him.

He gave her a considering look, a frown lurking about his mouth. “You cannot deny the attraction between us. Marriages have been founded on much less.

“Marriage! What are you saying?”

“I am saying that—for once—I intend to do the honorable thing. The blame for this disaster can be placed squarely upon my shoulders. I was reckless. I should never have lied about our going to Gretna. I should never have pulled you into my bedchamber, and once I got you here, I should never have kissed you. I knew how strong your attraction to me was, even if you did not. I have known from the very first day. You were fascinated with me as soon as you saw me.”

“I was not!” she said, holding his gaze unblinkingly. Lies were becoming easier and easier.

He held up his palm. “I do not wish to take issue with you, my dear. It matters not one whit in any case. The damage is done—unless you wish to tell your parents we are not wed—in which case your father would demand a wedding or pistols at dawn. Under the circumstances, honor would demand I delope, and I would rather not die if I can help it. So you see? We have little choice but to wed, and you might as well stay here in my chamber with me. What can it hurt? Your parents already believe we are wed. We can travel to London tomorrow, where I will acquire a special license. We shall return home to Trowbridge Manor with the deed a
fait accompli
. We’ll announce our marriage to our guests instead of our betrothal. And tonight . . .” He gave her a slow, seductive smile that made her insides flutter. “Tonight, we can explore your attraction, Mary.”

“My name is Marianna.”

“And my name is True. Come, let me hear you use it.”

He advanced toward her, reminding her of a predatory cat.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Her head pounded even harder. “Do you ... love me?” she asked.

He stopped, looking puzzled for a moment, and then his face hardened. “Love is not necessary to a successful marriage.”

She felt herself blanch and turned away, reaching for the bedpost for support, her thoughts swirling like a tempest in her head. Marry True Sin? Marry a man who did not love her? It was not what she had wanted for herself, but it was what she had been prepared to do for her parents’ sake.

Until now.

But there had to be another way! She went to the tall window and looked out upon the lawn. The moon cast its ethereal light over the garden. The shadows in the depths of the trees in the hollow where the brook ran close to the manor seemed as black as her mood. She lifted her eyes to the hills beyond. They glowed with reflected moonlight, seeming to beckon her. For a moment, she lost herself in a fancy. She was running barefoot over those hills, free. Free from expectation, guile, artifice, guise, responsibility, duty.

She would rather be anywhere but here—with him.

She sensed Truesdale waiting behind her. He was probably waiting for her answer to his proposal. He seemed to fill the room. She could hear him breathing. She could smell the starched linen of his shirt, the spicy sandalwood of his cologne. Tearing her mind away from him, she tried to focus on her situation, instead. There had to be a logical way out of this coil.

Chapter Ten

T
RUE

watched impatiently. Victory was almost in his grasp.
She
was almost in his grasp.
Her fortune
was almost in his grasp. All she had to do was say yes and allow him to kiss her once more. He knew with a practiced certainty that if she did, he would claim her before the night was through. If they’d not been interrupted, she might be beyond redemption even now. He felt a tightening in his groin and bit back a curse, for Mary wasn’t the only one who had been tempted. In the few seconds before Mrs. Grantham barged into his bedchamber, as Marianna had relaxed into his kiss, he had forgotten his purpose. The kiss had morphed from calculated strategem to an unquenchable thirst.

What in hell?

He’d been too long without female companionship. That was all. Even if she were tolerably clever and good at heart, she was still plain as a glass of water and just as transparent. She wanted what she wanted, and he wanted to return to the sea knowing the ABC’s would be taken care of. He could certainly keep his wits about him where colorless Marianna Grantham was concerned. He’d bed her once, they would be wed, and that would be the end of any
thirst quenching
.

Mary stood motionless at the window for what seemed an eternity and then turned suddenly.

“My mother did not see my state of undress,” she said. “I was completely hidden under the counterpane. She did not even see me kissing you like a ... like a strumpet.”

She blushed an improbable shade of crimson and looked down at her hands. “We can tell them we were not serious about Gretna. We can say that you are fond of such tricks and that you were just bamming them. We will say funning was your way of bringing them into the family, of bringing them into your inner circle and welcoming them as one of your own. We can pretend that I went along with your Banbury tale to please you.”

She was too clever. Trues’s hopes sank. “They will never believe you,” he said. “Here you are in my bedchamber. Alone. With your hair down.”

She put her fingers to her hair and bit her lip. “You may be right. They might not believe me. But I have no other choice. I cannot marry you. We would not suit.” A desperate note had come into her voice. “We are not in love.”

The force of her words struck him like a cannon, her intensity breathtaking ... and at that moment, True knew he had lost.
Romantic
, he added to his list. Why hadn’t he detected it before? The prim, proper, precise, and practical Marianna Grantham had her heart set on marrying
for love!
True raked his fingers through his hair.

“Besides,” she continued, oblivious to his astonishment, “you are not the sort of man my parents wish me to marry. They still know nothing of your reputation. When they hear of your misdeeds, they will be most displeased. They will think I have chosen imprudently. They will believe I am foolish.”

The very idea made True angry. “If they believe that, then they are the foolish ones.” He had nothing to lose now. She knew he did not love her. He’d admitted it himself not five minutes earlier. “Why do you care what they think of you?”

“They are my parents!”

“What they are,” True shot back, “is vain and selfish.”

“Vain? Selfish? How dare you?”

“I dare because I am no one’s slave.”

“Are you implying that I am my parents’—”

“I am implying nothing,” he said. “I am
telling
you, quite frankly, that your parents control you out of self-interest. I am telling you that they do not give a fig about your happiness. I am telling you that what you need is to act spontaneously for once, to deny your parents and to do what your heart tells you to do.”

Mary shook with fury. “What I need,” she said, “is to adhere to discipline and follow the path my parents have sacrificed everything to clear for me. They are good people. They want only what is best for me. And they love me.”

“I do not doubt it,” True remarked with studied insolence. “I love my best spaniel bitch, too, and she doesn’t mind half as well as you do.”

She fisted her hands at her sides, looking like she wished to strike him instead. “If you have a shred of decency left in you,” she said, “you shall behave as a gentleman for the rest of the house party. If you cannot do so out of a sense of honor, perhaps you will remember our bargain and do so out of a sense of greed.”

MARIANNA SPUN AWAY from him and scooped her hair comb from the bed before unlocking the door, fleeing down the hallway, and charging into her own chamber. She had to calm down before seeing her parents, and—
Lud
! she’d forgotten about supper entirely! What were the guests going to think?

She wondered if the Viscount would return to the dining room. What would he say? How would he explain her absence?

Marianna sighed and pinched her nose. She wouldn’t think about it now. Her parents were more important. Pulling her hair back into its smooth bun, she paced before the fire until her heartbeat had subsided into a more normal pace and then made her way back through the dimly lit halls to her parents’ bedchamber, but once there, she could see no light coming from under the door. She stood, listening, hoping to hear their voices. She’d never once been allowed to disturbed them after they retired, but she thought this time she might if they were still awake. At last, though, she heard her father’s soft snoring. They were already asleep, but she would tell them the “truth” —that the Gretna marriage had been but a hum—in the morning.

I
f
Truesdale corroborated her story, and
if
he continued to act the part of a gentleman, they
might
just believe her. But they would still be disappointed that she was not married. And they would still discover she’d betrothed herself to an ill-mannered blackguard. The poor darlings!

For the hundredth time that day, she wondered why Ophelia hadn’t told her about True Sin’s many sins.

Marianna stayed in her bedchamber, fully dressed, until after the guests made their rustling, murmuring way through the halls of Trowbridge Manor and back to their own rooms. It was barely one o’ the clock. Not late for Town hours, and Ophelia, Marianna knew, kept Town hours. She turned and headed for the Robertsons’ chamber. Knocking softly, she lowered her voice to a hiss. “Ophelia?” She waited. “Ophelia, I know you are in there! Let me in. I shan’t go away until you do.” She knocked again. “Ophelia ... please . . .” Her voice broke as her anger gave way to despair. “I ... I need you.”

“Come,” a muffled voice sounded from within. “The door is unlocked.”

Marianna entered the room. A single candle burned on the dressing table. Ophelia was sitting on a sofa aid a fluff of orange spangled silk and green feathers.

“My parents have arrived,” Marianna said.

“You do not look happy about it.”

“And you,” Marianna accused, “do not look as though you have a megrim.”

“I do not.”

“You have been avoiding me.”

The old woman nodded her head. “Can you blame me, my dear?”

“No,” Marianna conceded, sinking wearily onto the chair opposite Ophelia’s. She gave her old friend a piercing gaze.

“Why?” she asked. “Why did you not tell me about him?”

“About Truesdale’s wicked history?”

Marianna nodded, and Ophelia sighed heavily. “I did not tell you, the old woman said, “because you would not have come to Trowbridge Manor if I had.”

“But why Truesdale Sinclair? Why not some other bachelor?”

“Because he was the correct choice. Your only choice.”

“There must have been other bachelors in financial straits.”

“There were. But I say again,” Ophelia said stubbornly, “Truesdale Sinclair was the correct choice.”

Marianna shrugged and rubbed her temples. “I do not wish to take issue with you.” Not that arguing with Ophelia Robertson would ever accomplish anything. “Ophelia, you are my friend, and I believe you were trying to do what was best for me.” She sighed and pinched her nose. “I believe I have something that belongs to you.”

“What?”

“Your megrim.” She tried to smile. “You had no way of knowing how angry my parents will be when they hear of his reputation for scandal.”

“Pish, dearling. Your parents will be delighted.”

Marianna shook her head. “You are mistaken.”

Ophelia tipped her head sagely to one side. “I think not.”

She picked up the china dragon on the table next to her and tapped it thoughtfully against her palm. “Marianna, True Sin’s notoriety makes you an instant object of fascination amongst the
ton
. His infamous and outrageous behavior has transfixed them. Where another man may have been scorned and outcast, he has garnered their admiration. When you announce your engagement, you will be one of the most sought-after
belles
of the
ton
. Everyone will wish to be seen with True Sin’s betrothed.”

“Perhaps, but soon we shall cry off the engagement, and then where shall I be?”

“Silly gel,” Ophelia said, not unkindly, and laughed. “You shall have the distinction of being the only lady to have ever brought True Sin up to scratch—and the only one to have subsequently slammed the door in his face. As I said, you shall be an object of fascination. Every gentleman shall want to dance with you, and every lady to invite you to call. The
ton
will be yours.”

Marianna bit her lip. “Can it be so easy?”

“Trust me.”

“I do. But my parents . . .”

“Not to worry about your parents,” Ophelia said. “I will speak to them in the morning and make them understand that an alliance with True Sin means certain acceptance within the
ton
.”

Marianna knew she should have been comforted by Ophelia’s assurances. And yet she felt strangely unsettled. Shy should the
ton
revere a man such as True Sin?

The
ton
was all that was good and worthy. To be a part of the upper ten-thousand was all that mattered. She had worked her whole life toward it. She had thought she understood the
ton
. But now she found she didn’t understand the
ton
as well as she thought. She was at sixes and sevens, unbalanced. Why would the
ton
accept a scapegrace like True Sin, much less esteem him? Her head pounded even harder.

“Things are seldom as they seem on the outside,” Ophelia said as though guessing her thoughts. “Everyone has hidden motives. Secrets. Even you.” Ophelia gave her a pat. “Off with you now. You need your rest, dearling.”

OPHELIA USHERED MARIANNA from the chamber and then wandered over to the tall window. Moving the gold velvet curtain aside, she stood staring forlornly out at the full moon, deep in thought. Behind her, her beloved John emerged from his connecting room.

“Were you eavesdropping, as usual?” she asked him.

“Aye, you old dragon, that I was.” From behind, he wrapped his arms around her and gave a loving squeeze. “Why didn’t you tell ‘er?”

Ophelia sighed and leaned into his embrace. “The time is not right,” she answered.

“Maybe the time ain’t never going to be right. What then?”

“I do not know,” Ophelia whispered. “I do not know.”