No Marriage of Convenience (8 page)

Madame Fontaine stood out, but perhaps with a change
of gown and a subtler hairstyle, she might blend into the comings and goings of the Square.

But Hashim? Mason doubted there was any way to disguise the giant Saracen.

He decided to address one problem at a time. “My niece has a point, Madame. Tomorrow, I would ask that you arrive promptly at seven—”

“Seven!” came the shocked chorus.

He noted wryly that even Madame Fontaine had added her voice to this objection.

“Yes, seven. A very wise Colonial once said something about how the early bird gets the worm. We have no time to lose, since the Season starts in less than a month.” He stood firm and when he heard no more complaints beyond a muttered curse coming from Bea’s corner, he took a deep breath. “So I would ask, Madame, that when you arrive tomorrow morning, you come dressed more appropriately for your station as a tutor to gently bred young ladies.”

The arch of her neatly shaped brow was her only contradiction to his order. And he knew it wasn’t about the time of day or her manner of dress.

She probably was wondering where he was going to find the gently bred young ladies.

“As you wish, my lord,” she said.

There, that settled everything, he thought. He’d set order to his house, once and for all. In a few weeks the girls would go out into good society, find well-mannered husbands, and move on with their lives so he could continue with hers.

Mason shook his head.

No, he meant, continue with
his
life. Not
hers
.

For a moment, Mason closed his eyes to the swell of her breasts threatening to spill out from the low décolle
tage of her gown, to the rounded curves of her hips, and the teasing, billowing sway of the feathers in her hat which seemed to beckon a man to come closer.

Merciful heavens, what had he wrought on himself, inviting her into his house for a month?

Hopefully, stripped of her finery, she wouldn’t be such a temptation to his Ashlin heart.

Yes
, he told himself.
She is probably quite plain beneath all that artifice
.

Or so he prayed.

“Uncle, are you listening?” Bea’s insistent question pierced his wayward thoughts.

“Yes? What is it?” He straightened and tried to appear attentive.

“I was saying, you can dress this fancy piece of yours in sackcloth, but what about
him
? Infidels are about as common on Ashlin Square as a snowfall in hel—”

“Yes, Beatrice. I think we all get your point.” Mason turned toward Madame Fontaine. “My niece is quite right. Your servant must remain behind.”

Hashim growled at this change of events, the guttural sound bringing a frightened squeak from Cousin Felicity.

Madame Fontaine placed a placating hand on her servant’s forearm. “I’m afraid the decision is not mine to make, my lord,” she said politely. “Hashim comes and goes as he pleases. And it pleases him to escort me when I venture out.”

He studied her for a moment. He swore he heard a catch in her voice—that she wasn’t quite telling the truth. Then again, perhaps like the rest of the pampered London felines, Madame Fontaine was used to getting her way. Well, this time she would have to make an exception to that tradition.

Straightening his shoulders, Mason said, “Your servant
will just have to change his mind. If he arrives with you, it will only invite untoward speculation. Either he stays behind, or you had best bring the balance of your debt with you tomorrow.”

The lady shot a glance over her shoulder at Hashim, a look that seemed to say,
Leave off. I’ll fix this later
.

While he might not like her smug assurance that she could reprimand his order so easily, he had to admire her skill at handling her intimidating escort.

She turned back and tipped her head in acquiescence.

Mason acknowledged her gesture with a nod of his own. “There. Now everything is in order.” He turned to his nieces. “Your lessons will commence immediately. Please show Madame to the Green Salon.” He waved his dismissal to them, and settled back into his chair, opening the drawer to his right and pulling out his accursed account book.

When he glanced up, he realized they were still all standing there staring at him, each with her own censorious gaze.

“Aren’t you going to sit in?” Madame Fontaine asked. “You had mentioned, my lord, that you were considering entering the Marriage Mart yourself, and perhaps a little polish might speed along your endeavors in that field.”

“Uncle get married?” Louisa gasped. After a few seconds of stunned silence, she and her sisters burst out laughing.

He shot a disparaging glare at them, but it was of no use. The trio was lost in their mirth.

“What is so funny?” he asked.

“Oh, Uncle,” Maggie said between giggles. “You are too old to find a wife.”

He frowned. “I hardly think one-and-thirty is considered old.”

This brought on another round of hilarity, and much to his annoyance, even Madame Fontaine shared the girls’ amusement at this notion, for the woman shook with barely controlled tremors of laughter.

When she caught him staring at her, she brought her hand to her mouth and coughed.

“There now!” she said, her sharp tone bringing a quick end to the girls’ giggles. “Your uncle is
tolerable
enough, and not
that
old. There is no need to think there isn’t
some
woman in town or even beyond—” she paused as if she were considering if that was enough territory for his search, before she finished by saying, “—who
might
consider his offer quite an honor.”

Her patronizing smile and tone grated at what little vanity he possessed.

Why, the woman made it sound like he were some old, lecherous cad whose only matrimonial hope was a three-eyed spinster whose last Season could be counted in decades, not years!

But in addition to her smile, there was a hint of challenge in her green eyes. A subtle dare for him to stay in her company.

That is if he’d hazard to run the risk.

Dammit if she hadn’t been sent to test his mettle.

All too much.

Reminding himself that Ashlins no longer rose to such bait, he bowed to her and nodded. “Thank you for your kind estimation, Madame. Perhaps I will drop in on your lessons another time. For now, I suggest you take advantage of what little time you do have by retiring to the Green Salon. My mother’s pianoforte is in there, and the room is sparsely furnished so it has enough space to move about. Cousin Felicity will assist you if you have any other
needs.” Bowing politely, he fled his study before there could be any further protests or comments.

Mason knew from his long years studying history that at times honor could be found only in a well-timed retreat from one’s folly. And he had certainly found his as he beat a hasty departure. Though his flight came up short when he ran into Belton in the main foyer.

“Sir,” Belton said, the single word tolling through the room like a warning bell. “Lady Delander is coming up the steps. What should I do with your other
guests
?”

“Lady Delander?” Mason cringed. An advertisement on the front page of the morning paper wouldn’t do the job of spreading the news of Madame Fontaine’s presence in their house that Lady Delander could do in a few short hours.

And to add insult to injury, her services were free.

“Oh, dear,” Cousin Felicity said, as she fluttered over to Mason’s side. “I forgot about her.”

“Forgot what?” Mason asked.

“I asked her to call this morning.”

“Cousin Felicity!”

“Well, that was before you uttered that dreadful edict, Mason. How was I to know you were going to snatch away my greatest triumph?” Cousin Felicity started to retrieve her handkerchief.

The bell at the door jangled loudly, rattling all of them to attention.

“Should I deny her entrance, sir?” Belton looked as if sending the gossipy Lady Delander packing would have been his own personal form of triumph.

“Oh, you can’t do that!” Cousin Felicity protested. “Josephine counts half the patronesses as her closest friends. Snub her and we’ll never see a single voucher for Almack’s.”

The bell tolled again, this time with decided impatience.

“We must let her in,” Cousin Felicity whispered, “or she’ll—”

His cousin didn’t need to finish her statement because the lady in question did it for her.

The door to the Ashlin house started to open, but Belton was quicker and pushed it shut, throwing the latch to bar her entrance.

“Well, I never!” Lady Delander’s protest came through the heavy panel as if she were standing in the foyer. “Felicity? Where is everyone?” she called out, followed by a sharp rapping that could only be from her cane. “This is most impertinent! Where is Belton?” A pause followed, which they soon discovered was only the lady catching her breath, for she quickly recovered and started her verbal assault anew. “It’s that infidel I saw this morning. He must be in there murdering them all! Come out at once, or I will call for the guard and have them break in the door.”

Mason looked around and saw his worst nightmare—the most scandalous actress in London and her Saracen bodyguard in his house while the most notorious gossip stood on his front steps trying to scale his home like a reenactment of the Norman conquest.

“Everyone, out of here!” he ordered, as Lady Delander had obviously called her footman to break down the barred door.

Beatrice caught Hashim by the elbow and propelled him into the open servant’s doorway, and then fled through the portal, as if the hounds of hell had been let loose in Ashlin Square.

Meanwhile, Louisa caught Maggie by the hand and hauled her ungainly sister up the stairs, the pair fleeing in much the same frantic manner as Bea.

Mason didn’t blame them—Lady Delander was prob
ably mentioned somewhere in some obscure ancient text as one of the lost servants of the underworld.

Belton still held the door against the invaders, but he was losing ground fast.

Outside, Lady Delander continued to urge her footman onward. “Not a moment to lose, Peter! There are lives at stake.”

With only seconds to spare, Mason caught hold of his last guest, and while it wasn’t the kindest course of action, he tossed her into the nearest closet.

Slamming the door shut, he turned to Cousin Felicity. “Not a word, Cousin. Not one word.” He started to wave to Belton to let the intruders in, just as the door to the closet popped back open.

“I will not—” Madame began to protest.

Mason had few choices left. With the front door about to give way, he realized he needed to silence Madame Fontaine immediately.

Later on, when he looked back at all the choices he could have made, he could only wonder why he chose that one.

It hadn’t been the most honorable, or decent, or respectable decision.

It had been a Freddie–inspired impulse at its worst.

But it worked—it quieted Madame Fontaine—yet it also started an entirely new set of problems.

For even as the front door sprang open with Lady Delander leading the charge, Mason caught the protesting Madame Fontaine in his arms and plunged them both into the front closet. And once inside, he did the most Ashlin thing he’d ever done in his life.

He’d kissed the lady into silence…and discovered why his ancestors had left a trail of debt from Covent Garden to Vauxhall.

“I
will not be—” Riley started to protest as the Earl crashed into the closet with her, enveloping her in his resourceful embrace.

His lips closed over hers, catching her unawares in a kiss.

This was no stage buss, no hasty, snatched affair from an overly attentive admirer.

His lips held hers under a masterful spell.

In a whisper and sigh, she found herself lost. The chaos in the foyer faded to a distant hum, until all she knew was the warmth of his body, the spicy scent of his shaving soap, and the taste of his lips.

How could it be that in an instant this unpolished man of letters, this stern, puritanical professor disappeared and in his place stood a rake of the first order, a man who knew how to hold a woman and tease her senses until they tingled with new life?

Even worse, she found herself answering his kiss with a need she never realized had been missing from her life.

So much for her promise to herself not to touch him, as she rose up on her toes to get even closer to him. Her arms wound around his neck as she melted against his
chest. Her mouth opened further and he deepened the kiss until a cry, a strident peel like a battle-ax being sharpened for war, wrenched them apart.

“Lady Felicity, what is the meaning of this?” a shrill voice she assumed to be Lady Delander’s cried out again.

“Shhh—” Lord Ashlin whispered into her ear.

As if she could say anything right now. She still couldn’t catch her breath, let alone calm her pounding heart, which she was sure could be heard from the attic to the cellar.

“I will have an answer,” Lady Delander demanded. “What is the meaning of all this?”

“Meaning of what?” Cousin Felicity replied.

“The door! Belton barred the door to me.”

Too bad they couldn’t have kept it that way, Riley found herself wishing. Wishing she had the courage to turn her face up and coax the Earl into kissing her one more time.

Oh, whatever was she thinking? This is what became of associating with nobility—it made one…well, hardly noble! She should be outraged. She should be indignant.

And she should certainly not be wishing for another kiss.

Out in the foyer, Cousin Felicity laughed. “Belton? Did you bar Lady Delander from the house?”

“No, Madame, I would never presume to question your or Lord Ashlin’s choice of guests.”

Belton’s sarcasm sounded as if it were aimed directly at her.

“I tell you I was barred from your house,” Lady Delander continued. “That door was shut in my face.” This was followed by a great huff and sigh, like the wheeze of bagpipes.

“Odious woman,” Mason muttered under his breath.

Riley heartily agreed. While she had yet to lay her eyes on the estimable lady, she could well envision her, having seen her kind in their private boxes, whispering and pointing their fans at the moral decay around them, and then delighting in sharing the latest
on-dits
and scandalous bits with anyone willing to listen.

“Oh, that door,” Cousin Felicity was saying. “I’m afraid it sticks. Whenever it rains. Terribly inconvenient. I’ve been after Lord Ashlin to fix it, but does he listen to me?”

“Sticks when it rains?” Lady Delander’s voice sounded incredulous. “Lady Felicity, it is not raining.”

“Oh, so it isn’t. Well, that’s why it must have opened.” In her own nonsensical way, Cousin Felicity was doing a good job of distracting their unwanted guest, but not for long.

Lady Delander, Riley quickly realized, was, if anything, persistent.

“Oh, never mind about the door,” she said to Cousin Felicity. “I distinctly saw an infidel entering your house earlier, and in the company of a woman whose dress was, shall we say, less than respectable.”

“Less than respectable?” Riley whispered. “Why, I’ll have that woman know this gown is the height of—”

Her protests were cut off again with another kiss, this one just as swift and shocking as the first—melting her very heart.

His hand pressed at the small of her back, pulling her closer to him.

Oh, how dare he, she wanted to cry out, if only her body wasn’t having the most disgraceful reaction. Her fingers gripped his shoulders and she pressed herself closer if only to feel all of him.

What the devil was she doing, throwing herself at him
like the worst type of Cyprian he already suspected her of being?

She broke away, their gazes meeting briefly in the meager light slipping in around the door.

There she saw a hunger that both frightened her and left her wanting to fill that deep void.

He put a single finger to her lips. “Shhh.” His touch burned her skin as much as his lips had moments earlier. “Don’t say a word.”

All she could do was nod. Do anything he asked rather than break the spell between them.

“I tell you, I saw the most heinous heathen entering this house!” Lady Delander said.

“A heathen in Ashlin Square?” Cousin Felicity’s words echoed with disbelief. She lowered her voice, though not enough so it wasn’t heard through the closed door of their closet. “Josephine, have you been putting sherry in your tea again?”

“I certainly have not!” the lady protested. “I know what I saw. And I saw an infidel entering this house with the most wicked-looking sword. ’Tis a wonder you haven’t had your throat slit. I told my son to summon the watch immediately.”

Mason groaned. “Not the watch.”

“Oh, dear! He didn’t, did he?” Cousin Felicity was asking.

“Summon the watch?” Lady Delander said. “No, he refused. Said it probably had to do with another of Lord Ashlin’s odd university studies and never to mind. But you know me, Felicity. I shan’t stay still while my friends are in danger. So I summoned all my courage and came over here to see to you myself.”

“A regular Lady Macbeth out there,” Riley whispered. “Can’t leave well enough alone.” She changed the inflec
tion in her voice to mimic Lady Delander. “
Out, damned spot
.”

Lord Ashlin’s eyes widened with amazement, and then his mouth twitched with uncharacteristic humor.

Riley would have sworn such a smile on this man wasn’t possible, and even worse, it lent him that spark of disarmingly handsome charm she’d witnessed earlier.

“Josephine, where would I be without a good friend like you?” Cousin Felicity was asking. “But there was no need. Come to think of it, I do believe Lord Ashlin was visiting with some fellow just back from some savage place or another. And in the most outlandish garb.”

“Well, you should implore him not to associate with such people. This is Ashlin Square, not the democratic rabble of Oxford.”

“How right you are. I assure you, I will pass on your sentiments the moment he returns. But in the meantime, you should come upstairs and we’ll have our tea,” Cousin Felicity said. “I have the most engaging news about Miss Pindar and my dear Mason.”

“You mean…”

The ladies’ voices trailed off, their footsteps passing overhead as the gossiping pair ascended the steps. As soon as the door to Cousin Felicity’s salon closed, Belton opened the door to the closet.

There, much to the stalwart man’s horror, he found the master of the house with an actress in his arms, kissing the woman in a most indecent fashion.

In his forty years of service at Ashlin House, the poor butler was loath to admit it wasn’t the first time that closet had been used thusly by the lord of the house.

Mason realized only too late that the door was wide open, and his momentary lapse of honor was now being
witnessed by not only Belton, but a gawking housemaid and footman.

He immediately set Madame Fontaine aside, probably a little too abruptly, because the woman faltered and swayed as if she’d consumed a decanter of port, while those damnable feathers in her hat winked and swayed at him like a trio of conspirators.

And as her gaze focused on Belton and the other servants, her cheeks pinked to a bright shade, as if she’d never been so embarrassed in her life.

Then again, he knew how she felt—and after he’d just spent the morning telling Belton how he was going to return the house to order and regain his seat at Merton College, then he’d gone and done this…this unpardonable act. This giant step backward in the Ashlin family evolution.

“Well, yes, there now, everything seems in order…” Mason muttered, stepping out of the closet as if nothing were out of the ordinary. If only he felt that way—instead of his blood raging with a new fire—a veritable Ashlin blaze of impropriety. He straightened his jacket and took another few steps into the foyer. “I see Lady Delander has been dispatched upstairs without any further incident. Good work, Belton. If you would call a hackney and locate Mr. Hashim, we will see our guests away before there are any other difficulties.”

Now that was the way to handle the situation, he thought, as Belton sent a footman for the cab, leaving him only one person left to be dealt with—the lady herself.

For once he wished he had Freddie’s experience in these matters. His brother would have known the right witty words to set them both laughing and call an end to this uncomfortable awkwardness.

While he considered what to say, dismissing half a
dozen or so dry comments, she bustled right past him.

Then she let out a pretty sigh and went to work straightening her dress and bonnet, finishing her toilet with a quick pat to her hair.

“You needn’t worry,” he said. “You look quite tolerable.”

Her brows arched. “Tolerable? Is that what I am?” She turned her back to him, her foot tapping impatiently.

Bother! Now he’d gone and insulted her. And he hadn’t the slightest clue why. “What I meant was, that you appear as if nothing happened. It wasn’t as if anything did. Quite the opposite, wouldn’t you say?” He added a laugh, hoping she’d see the humor in the situation though he wasn’t too sure that it was amusing in the least.

Not when what he really wanted to do was to catch her up in his arms again and continue where he’d left off.

Oh, yes
, he told himself.
That would solve everything
.

She glanced over her shoulder. “I would suppose, given your familial inclinations, assignations in the front closet are quite commonplace. I’ll have you know, they are not in mine.”

“They aren’t in mine, either,” he said, drawing himself up. “This…this…display was a complete aberration.”

“Now I am an ‘aberration?’” Her nose went up in the air.

Oh, the devil take it
, he thought. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all.

What had he meant?

He certainly couldn’t tell her the truth—that her kiss had been like nothing he’d ever experienced. That to hold her in his arms was like being able to contain quicksilver—something elusive, vital and filled with fire. That when he brought his lips to hers all he could hear were the haunting lines of John Donne.

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove.

How was he supposed to tell her that in one kiss, he’d inherited everything he’d disavowed? That having tasted her lips, the memory of her kiss would haunt his mind, his soul?

“Well?” she was asking.

He glanced up. “What?”

Her eyes widened and she tipped her head, as if prompting him that the next line was his.

He shrugged, for he hadn’t the vaguest idea what one did in these circumstances.

“Aren’t you going to apologize?” she finally asked.

Apologize?
Apparently an expression of regret was expected in these situations. Not that he regretted kissing her.

Well, yes he did, he tried to tell himself. It had muddled everything. Still, if an apology was the thing needed to set the situation to rights, apologize he must. He smiled at her, thankful that one of them had experience in this area. He didn’t think it was quite necessary, but then again, society’s rules had baffled him on more than one instance.

He put his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. “Madame, I offer my sincerest regrets and apology for my lack of restraint a few moments ago. Kissing you was an inexcusable act and completely without merit.”

There, he thought. That ought to solve everything.

Her face pinked again, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. Why the lady looked quite capable of murder.

“Why, you arrogant, doltish, mangy, shallow-hearted—”

Mason was only too glad to see Belton and Hashim arrive in the foyer, for he had a feeling she was merely winding up for the real insults.

“—Ashlin!” she finished.

Apparently, being an Ashlin was the worst thing she could come up with. Well, considering his family’s reputation, it was probably the worst thing one could cast up.

“Hashim,” she said. “We are leaving.”

Snatching up her skirt, she turned in a swish of silk and stomped toward the front door like Cleopatra.

“No, not the front door,” he said.

Her royal procession of two came to an abrupt halt. Slowly she turned to him, one brow cocked in a questioning arch.

“Someone might see you, Madame,” Belton finished for him.

“I can see how that would be a tragedy to
your
reputation,” she said.

Mason flinched.

“This way, Madame,” Belton said, nodding toward the servant’s door. “There is a carriage waiting in the mews.”

“My lord,” she said stiffly, nodding to Mason.

He bowed back. As he rose, Mason didn’t miss the puzzled glance Hashim shot in his direction, as if the man were trying to figure out what had happened between them in the little time since Lady Delander’s arrival.

“Tomorrow then,” Mason called after her. “At seven.”

“Yes, my lord,” she replied. “We’ll be here at seven.”

He cleared his throat. “We?”

“We,” she said firmly. “Hashim and I.”

Shaking his head, Mason replied, “I thought we agreed that Mr. Hashim would not be accompanying you.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she told him. “Hashim’s services will be indispensable to the girls’ first lesson.”

He eyed the silent Turk. He was almost afraid to ask the question. “And what lesson would that be?”