The Hourglass (5 page)

“You do not understand. With my history, I shall never be considered fit for polite society.”

“You are far more fit than I, Mrs. Macklin, yet I am not afraid to face your
ton
.”

“I am not afraid.”

They both knew she was lying.

“Then stop making your feeble excuses,” he said. “If you are concerned about the physical side of marriage, I swear I shall not importune you with unwanted intimacy.”

Quick color flooded Genie’s fair complexion. She was so bemused by his lordship’s outrageous offer, she had not even considered all the ramifications. Sharing a stranger’s fortune and title was one thing; sharing his bed was another. Good grief, was she even considering such a preposterous proposal? The man was not in his right mind. She could not take advantage of his nobility, no matter how tempting. He’d saved countless lives in the field hospital, but she was not one of his forlorn hopes, even if everyone else had given up on her.

“My lord—”

“Ardeth,” he countered. “Or Coryn, if we are to wed.”

“My lord,” she persisted. “You have been in the thick of battle and its aftermath. You cannot be thinking clearly. No gentleman of sense would make such an offer, and no lady of honor would accept.”

“Are you implying that I am—what did that sergeant say?—cork-brained?”

Well, she was, but Genie was too polite to say so. “Of course not, only that you must be too exhausted to have given the matter your full attention. Aside from easing your conscience, for whatever personal reasons you might have, there is absolutely no benefit to you in such an alliance with an impoverished widow of blemished reputation, bearing another man’s child. As a wealthy peer, you can seek a bride from the highest echelons of society, one with a rich dowry, an untarnished name, and great beauty. Why would you do anything else?”

He studied the gathering clouds, as if waiting for the crow to come back, or a divine answer to her question. Finally he turned to her again. “I have enough money, and I care not for the petty posturing of your so-called quality. Beauty fades, although yours is the kind that lasts and grows more attractive with time.”

Genie blushed again, that he thought she was pretty. Elgin had considered her red-tinged hair too gingery and garish, her figure too slim, her nose too short. Then again, he had loved her sister, a rounded blond goddess of a girl.

Ardeth was still looking at her, as if he could see through her black gown, through her protests. “
A woman’s spirit, her heart, and her soul are what matters.
I have seen yours, and you are a true lady. Helping you will help me atone for past sins, verily. You ask what other benefit I will reap. In return I ask your assistance.”

Genie laughed, but without humor, trying to encompass his strength, his confidence, the very aura of power that surrounded him. The passing soldiers gave him wide berth and downcast eyes; the officers nodded respectfully, from a distance. Women simply stared, licking their lips like dogs at a butcher shop. This man could need nothing from anyone, and she said so.

“Nay, I do need aid in returning to your world. That is, to England. I do not know all of its ways.”

She recalled that he’d told Major Lord Willeford of his family’s living abroad. That might explain some of his odd turns of speech and manners. “You will learn quickly enough from the gentlemen at the coffeehouses and men’s clubs.”

“Pompous prigs and wastrels cannot help me find something I have lost. You can.”

“Here, in Brussels?” Genie was prepared to search every square inch, in return for what he had already given her.

“I hope not. If so, I must leave it behind, for my affairs require me to get to England. My investments, my estate and inheritance, all need my presence, to say nothing of the College of Arms, confirming my succession to the earldom.”

Genie was confused, a not-unusual state when dealing with Lord Ardeth. “But if you leave, how will you find your, ah, missing treasure?”

“I am not precisely certain what it is that I am looking for.”

Well, that made things as clear as mud. “Then how can
I help?”

“By letting me help you, if you can understand that.”

“As your wife?”

“I suppose I could give you an annuity, find you a secluded village here in the Low Countries to live where no one will doubt one more British war widow, or perhaps Wales or Scotland. I could hire a companion so your conventions are satisfied, and I could stay away so no one questions our relationship or your morals. I understand that comely widows are always subject to conjecture and improper proposals, but you could have your babe in peace and live a quiet life, unless you choose to create another scandal.”

“I never set out to become grist for the gossip mills.”

“Yet it follows you like flies to honey.”

Genie took a moment to think about this new offer. “I could repay you, eventually.”

They both knew the impossibility of that.

Ardeth went on. “Aside from the dullness, you would still be a fugitive in hiding. If anyone learned of your past, you would be vilified. If anyone knew of my financial support, you would be deemed a fallen woman. I would not be there to protect you from village louts, or your son from suspicions of bastardy. You could not enter the world you were born to lest someone recognize you. Worst of all, you would be living more lies. Is that what you want?”

She did not want to be beholden to anyone, but she did not want to be left behind. The hours after Elgin’s death, before Lord Ardeth entered the hospital and her life, were the most terrifying agony Genie had ever lived through. Abandoned, ostracized, alone. She did not wish to face that again.

“A marriage license can remedy all of that. What is mine would be yours. A home of your own—no, several
houses—that need a woman’s touch. A fortune to spend
on gowns and jewels and furs. Horses, yachts, whatever
you fancy. Travel if you wish, charitable acts if you will.
Protection from insult and provision for your son. A lead
ing place in local society, a guaranteed position in Lon
don’s
beau monde
. Just think, you could send Lady
Willeford to—what is that place?—social Coventry.”

“I would have precedence over my sister, wouldn’t I? Her husband is a mere baron.”

“A countess comes only after princesses and duchesses and marchionesses, and how many of them have access to such wealth? Or such a generous husband?”

“You make it sound so mercenary.”

“But you would only be selling your presence—not your body, I swear—and only for a short time.”

“How can I refuse? I know I should, but your offer is too tempting.”

“Of course it is. I have taken lessons from the Devil himself.”

He placed his hand over his heart. “I pledge my life, what I have of it, to your honor and your happiness.” Then he knelt at her feet, head bowed, and kissed her hand to seal the bargain.

Which had to be the loveliest moment of Genie’s life, until a double rainbow burst through the clouds.

Chapter Four

Sunrise and Genie’s hair. After being in the shadows so long, Ardeth was drawn to them like a moth to the flames, or a miser to gold. He thought he could savor them forever. Unfortunately, he did not have forever.

He was even more determined now to stay here beyond his six months, no matter how much time he would have. For all its pain and misery and squalor, life was better than any of the alternatives. It was…alive.

The gremlin thought so, too. Even in his half sleep on the bedpost of Ardeth’s grand bed at the finest hotel in Brussels, the crow muttered, “Alive. Clucking Hell. I’m alive.”

Ardeth went back to staring out the window, a blanket around his shoulders. His body was not used to feeling the cold, it seemed. Or maybe the chill was due to another day dawning with him no nearer to finding the hourglass pin. He knew the blasted thing was only a symbol, only a ruse of the Devil’s to make Ar waste precious time chasing a spectral illusion. He’d never find it, not if Satan did not want him to. But he could find his own humanity, and perhaps that would be enough to win the bet.

How many lives did he have to save? How much suffering must he relieve? How many coins doled out to the hungry, how many promises of work for the destitute and desperate? Ardeth had no idea, but he was making a start.

Marrying Mrs. Macklin was another step forward. He knew it was the right thing to do by the warming glow he felt somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. He had a heart that beat and pumped blood. Maybe it would thaw; maybe it would feel.

He felt something for the female, that was for sure. He might view her as a fragile waif needing rescuing, but his body—his healthy male body of when he died at thirty-one—recognized her as an attractive, appealing woman.

Od’s blood, he thought, why could his body not have remembered all of its functions before he’d made that promise of a chaste marriage? Had he left his bedamned brains behind? As Ar Death he’d felt nothing for centuries. As Lord Ardeth he felt lust, rampant and raging, like a stag in rut—or a man denied for decades. Every time he saw the woman, his desire grew. Thank the gods for his concealing cloak. She also grew more beautiful by the hour, it seemed, with rest and good food, with stylish garments, and without the terror etched on her face.

No, he could not take back his promise, not without putting the fear back in her green eyes. Besides, consummating their coming marriage would be dishonorable while she was grieving for her husband, useless piece of offal that he had been. Mrs. Macklin deserved time to mourn, time to grow accustomed to Ardeth. Six months was far too short a time.

Time, again, that precious commodity. He looked at his new pocket watch by the first light of day, wishing he could make the hands move more slowly. This was his wedding day. Tonight would not be his wedding night. Damn.

Marrying the woman was still the right thing to do. He had to travel to England, to claim his lands and accounts. There was no other way but marriage that he could do that while protecting her and the reputation she held dear. Giving her his name and a secure future was a good deed, a noble act, a self-sacrifice, even. Why, he would be giving up the chance to father a son of his own, one to carry on after him. That was what every man seemed to want, wasn’t it? Of course he was not every man, not by half. No matter, the idea of wedding the widow felt…nice. Nice was another long-forgotten emotion he welcomed, especially since it was not nearly as uncomfortable as unsatisfied desire.

He’d bought her bonnets and shawls and laces when the shops reopened, just to see her smile. No, he told himself, he was not trying to buy her affections. That would be base, beneath him. The image of Mrs. Macklin, beneath him, was quickly erased. He did not want a woman’s compliance out of gratitude.

Lord, it was going to be a long six months after he vowed his faithfulness. He pulled the blanket more firmly around his shoulders. Maybe he should find a young officer to wed her, a fellow of good birth but little fortune who’d be willing to have her for a price. The young man would swear to cherish her—or Ardeth would have his liver and lights—for far longer than the half year Ardeth had. A suitable marriage of convenience might be better for all of them.

Then the recent Reaper recalled her smile and knew he would not give her to another man. He could add possessiveness and jealousy to his rediscovered feelings, which might not make him a better man, but made him a more believable man. Ardeth could not help himself; Mrs. Macklin made him feel more alive. Just her name stirred him. Imogene Hopewell Macklin. Imagine. Hope. Well. A magic Genie. She was obviously meant to be his.

She needed him. He needed her. There were worse excuses for weddings.

The gremlin must have agreed with him, for the crow brought back a gold band yesterday and dropped it at Ardeth’s feet. Many such keepsakes would have been trampled under the mud of the battlefield, or stolen from corpses.

“I sent you for the hourglass, you plaguesome creature.”

“Pretty for the pretty, pigeon brain,” the crow squawked back, flapping its wings in Ardeth’s face.

No one was chasing the bird crying “thief”; no initials could lead to the ring’s rightful owner. Most of all, the jewels in the vault of the earl’s castle, now called Ardsley Keep, were far away.

“I suppose it will have to do, Olive.”

“Stuff it.”

*

Genie’s first betrothal was a hurried affair, three weeks of calling the banns in front of her own village parish, where each and every congregant knew Elgin had been meant for her sister, Lorraine. This was a still-shorter scramble, although longer than his lordship wished. He was in a hurry to return to London and his inheritance, she understood. Genie would not mind leaving this scene of carnage, disgrace, and innuendo.

Not even the Earl of Ardeth could conjure a proper, legal wedding in so little time, however, locating a willing English cleric and a special license so far from Britain.

“Perhaps we should wait until we return home,” she offered.

“No, people will talk. They are bound to, anyway, with my sudden appearance and reinstatement of the Ardsley family title.”