The Madcap Marriage (8 page)

It was the height of the Season, so the shop was crowded. She’d waited half an hour for an assistant to serve her – Miss St. James, newly arrived from Somerset, commanded no concessions from a prominent London establishment. Not that she minded, for the wait allowed her to bring her provincial gawking under control. She had never seen so refined a shop, with lush carpets, Sheraton chairs, and a dozen tables piled with pattern cards, dressmakers’ dolls, fabrics, and trims. Servants raced in and out of the main salon, fetching fabrics and serving tea.

But today’s conversation rarely touched on fashion. Rafe’s scandals echoed from all sides.

“Is Miss Pauling mad?” demanded an elegant blonde of her friend as she fingered a piece of Caledonian silk that matched her blue eyes. “Everyone knows Mr. Thomas is in debt and will likely lose her dowry at the tables before the ink dries on their marriage lines. He takes after his grandfather, though his notoriety extends far beyond gaming. Remember Lady Chatsworth?”

“Chasing her naked through Berkeley Square.” Her friend giggled. “My governess nearly fainted when she discovered I knew the tale. I wish I’d been there to see it.”

“Watch your tongue, Martha,” snapped an older woman. “If anyone hears such talk, they will think you fast.”

“But how will we know whom to avoid if we don’t discuss such things?” asked the blonde, widening her eyes in
faux
innocence. “You must admit Mr. Thomas has caused no end of scandal. Like what he did to Lady Melthorpe.”

“Come, Mama. You laugh at that tale yourself – cavorting together in the Serpentine under a full moon.” Again Martha giggled. “How adventurous!”

“Until Lord Melthorpe arrived.” Icicles dripped from her voice. “Forget Mr. Thomas. The man is incorrigible. Do you wish to put Lord Blakeley off?  He is your best chance for an offer, so concentrate on pattern cards. You need a gown for Lady Debenham’s ball. As for you, Lady Elizabeth” —she glared at the blonde— “if you must speculate on why Miss Pauling accepted Mr. Thomas, at least be honest. He has charm to spare and could talk the devil into mending his ways if he put his mind to it.”

Lady Elizabeth fell silent, but the discussion raged elsewhere.

“I always knew he would court an heiress,” said a dowager as she frowned over a piece of Mechlin lace. “Runs in the family. Hillcrest wed money, too. Thomases have always sought the fastest ways to expand their coffers.”

“Even an heiress would think twice about allying herself with Thomas,” snapped her companion. “He must have seduced her. A fortnight away from town would leave him desperate. You know what he’s like.”

“True. Few have his appetites. Or his temper. Imagine dueling over a courtesan!  And without seconds!  Disgraceful!  But he’s never defiled an innocent or even seriously flirted with one, which is why I keep him on my guest list. Unlike some rakes, he has scruples. Something to think about, Mildred,” she added cattily. “And you can’t claim she doesn’t know him. They are neighbors.”

Helen tried to shut out the voices, but it was difficult. They buzzed from all sides.

“—that outlandish wager last month. It was bad enough to goad Lord Creevey into making preposterous claims, but forcing him to prove them was dishonorable. Creevey was too foxed to think clearly.”

“Good heavens, Margaret!  You didn’t think it outlandish at the time. You cheered along with the rest of us. Creevey thinks his nose is more sensitive than anyone’s. I laughed myself silly when he lost.”

“But a thousand guineas—”

Helen gasped. A thousand guineas could finance an opulent Season or support a tenant for years. If Rafe was accustomed to wagering such amounts, it was no wonder he was in debt.

“It’s all of a piece,” snapped Lady Horseley from another table. “He loves shocking us. Remember that masquerade last year?  He showed up nearly naked!  Bare chest. Bare legs…”

Helen’s nerves tingled at the memory of Rafe sprawled naked in bed. Even the thought of sleeping nude was outrageous. The actuality…

Her face heated.

His reputation was far worse than hers – and well deserved. Unlike the lurid speculation that she had endured, society could cite chapter and verse of Rafe’s misdeeds. Not that it made confessing any easier. The world weighed ladies and gentlemen on different scales.

Her heart sank. It would be hard enough to endure his courtesans and scandals – she had no illusions about her temper when insulted; it went with her red hair. But gaming boded ill for the future. Rafe couldn’t touch Audley itself, but if he lost its income, he would press her to dip into her trust. Charm made him dangerous. As did pride. What would he do when she refused to cover his losses?  Even the most even-tempered man could turn vicious when thwarted. And she suspected that Rafe’s temper was far from even.

Was it too late to escape this travesty?  They had not yet consummated the union.

But a moment’s thought banished the idea. Nonconsummation had not been grounds for annulment in at least a century. Maybe longer. So her only choice was to find a compromise they could both endure, which meant abandoning her girlish dreams of love and praying they could become friends before she had to disclose her worth.

Fate must be laughing up her sleeve, for despite every caution, she’d fallen prey to a fortune hunter. But at least he would be in the same fix as Steven. Neither of them could harm her while the trust remained in force. And her husband controlled its income only while she lived. As long as she didn’t trigger a temper fit, she would be safe enough. Unlike Clara.

* * * *

Rafe slumped inside his carriage. His head throbbed, his throat hurt, and a bruise was spreading where Steven’s shoulder had rammed his chest. So far, marriage was miserable.

He’d considered accompanying Helen, if only to silence the gossip she was sure to hear, but anyone seeing them together would assume she was Alice – or a new mistress – neither of which would help matters. Yet as his wait stretched longer and longer, he cursed his stupidity. Mademoiselle Jeannette was always overworked during the Season. Since Helen needed only one temporary mourning gown, they could have gone anywhere.

Waiting left him nothing to do but dwell on his mistakes. The carriage’s folding table was too small for patience – not that he had patience for the game or cards with which to play it. If Carley were here, they could have played chess. They’d enjoyed many a match while driving to house parties over the years.

But he hadn’t seen Carley since the night Alquist died.

His mind circled back to the dilemma he’d been avoiding. He feared that wedding Helen had been a grievous mistake. And like Shakespeare’s Caesar, he might grievously answer for it.

Helen was an enticing wench whose sensuality could raise the dead. Intelligence crackled behind her eyes. She refused to be a victim, instead fighting for what she wanted. Fleeing that church marked her as a lady of spirit, like his mother.

On the other hand, she was apparently accustomed to being in charge, not just of herself, but of those around her, which boded ill for establishing a harmonious union. Already she’d demanded answers and argued perfectly reasonable suggestions. While he enjoyed debate, fighting sapped so much energy that it left him limp for days. He despised arguments, having suffered too much criticism from Hillcrest. In the past, he’d endured by letting angry words slide past him, then doing whatever he wished.

But that wouldn’t work with Helen. He could ignore Hillcrest’s diatribes because he rarely saw the man. But he must share a house with Helen. Which meant he must either stand up to her or let her lead him around by the nose. Intolerable.

Rapping snapped his head around.

“Naughty boy,” purred Lady Willingham, pulling the carriage door open. “Why didn’t you tell me your plans?”

“Why should I share my private business with you?”  He couldn’t manage his usual smile. If Helen returned now, the fat would be in the fire.

Lady Willingham laughed as if he were teasing. “But we are such good friends, my dearest Rafe. And you will need friends. The girl must have a mentor, of course, to introduce her to the right people. A country miss can’t understand London without help.”

He shuddered. Not only did he not want Helen to meet Lady Willingham, he had no interest in paying the price she would expect for such service. She pursued her liaisons so aggressively that only Lord Willingham’s fortune and social power kept people from cutting her. Rafe’s refusal to become her latest lover had increased her determination to bring him to heel.

“My aunt will present my wife at court,” he said, shifting his legs to block the door.

Fury flashed across her face, immediately banished. “I suppose she needs the distraction. As do you. Take advantage of your freedom while you have it, darling. You’ll have to waste your talents until you get her with child, so this is your last chance for pleasure. I’m free tonight.” Her hand brushed his thigh in blatant invitation.

He opened his mouth on a stinging set-down, but swallowed it as Helen emerged from Mademoiselle Jeanette’s. Lady Willingham would laugh off a set-down. Thus there was only one way to be rid of her, short of arguing for half an hour. “What time?”

Triumph twisted her face. “Willingham leaves by eight.”

He nodded. “In the meantime, I must call on my tailor.”

“Until eight, darling.” With a blatant caress across his groin, she left, her smile sending chills down his spine that stifled any guilt. He’d not precisely lied. And it would do the lady good to spend an evening alone.

Helen was glaring daggers at Lady Willingham. Cursing, he whisked her into the carriage – Lady Willingham was the sort who couldn’t resist a last flirtatious glance before she vanished – then opened his mouth to explain.

His breath caught.

He’d thought yellow suited her, but black turned her into a red-haired enchantress. No wonder Dudley wanted her. She looked bold, dashing, and quite the most desirable woman he’d seen in years.

Which was good. Her stunning beauty would explain why they’d wed so precipitously. He could describe his recent absence from town as courtship. The friend he’d visited was practically a hermit, so he was unlikely to talk.

“I need a bonnet and black gloves,” Helen said coolly. “Someone recommended Michelle’s Millinery. Do you know it?”

“Of course. It is around the corner.” But he cursed while she finished her shopping. Her tone would freeze the balls off a brass monkey, as his military friends liked to say. She must have overheard him arranging an apparent assignation. Or perhaps Lady Willingham’s blatant flirtation appalled her. Yet he could hardly ask without making matters worse. Besides, they had other problems to address. Like her claim that she’d run her estate for years. Such behavior was so far outside the accepted range that it was bound to cause trouble.

He pondered that while they headed for the City.

In every loving marriage he’d known, the wife had begun with a minimal dowry. Yet despite his long determination to avoid that trap, he’d wed a girl with assets. He could only pray that they didn’t equal his. Steven’s claim that Helen’s fortune exceeded Alice’s was troubling.

His fear that he’d fallen into his worst nightmare was so powerful that he almost welcomed Helen’s interruption.

“Everyone is discussing you today,” she said when they paused for the first tollgate.

“I expect so. My affairs have filled conversational voids for ten years – rarely with facts. Tomorrow will be worse, though at least people will have the truth by then.”

“Will they?”

“The public truth, I should have said. It will be best to claim a love match, Helen. The guardianship should explain our acquaintance and halt further speculation.”

“I doubt it. Most people believe that you seduced Miss Pauling because you need her fortune to pay gaming debts. Heaven knows what they’ll think of me.”

“Preposterous!”

“Is it?  You don’t keep a low profile.”

Rafe scowled. “Actually, I do.” Not that it helped. If anything, circumspection made the gossip worse.

“How—”  She halted, dropping her gaze to her hands. “I need the truth, Rafe. It is obvious I will face more than curiosity about our marriage. If I’m to avoid looking shocked, I must be ready.”

“Which stories did they trot out?”  Damnation!  He didn’t need this. No wonder she’d glared at Lady Willingham. He’d hoped to build some trust before explaining his reputation. A futile hope, he now saw. Gossips would delight in exposing him. Short of locking her up, he couldn’t protect her from rumors.

“One concerned a tryst in the Serpentine. Another involved chasing a nude lady through Berkeley Square. Or perhaps you were the nude one. It wasn’t clear.”

“Those are ten years old and so twisted that I barely recognize them.”

“Really?”

He sighed. It was a long drive to her bank, so he might as well talk. “My mother died just after I came down from Eton. We were very close. I couldn’t handle the grief. The Serpentine incident happened the night I returned from her grave. It was hot, and I’d had too much to drink. The lake looked cool, so I went swimming, retaining just enough sense to remove my clothes first. Lady Melthorpe spotted me in the water. I hadn’t expected anyone in the park at midnight.”

Helen snorted.

“All right, I wasn’t thinking clearly. But I hadn’t expected a lady. Especially one without an escort. She’d had a row with her husband and stormed out of the house – it overlooks Hyde Park. She was tipsy enough to join me. It was completely innocent, but when Lady Beatrice drove by – she is the most malicious gossip in town – Lady Melthorpe repaid her husband by jumping me. Melthorpe arrived moments later and nearly called me out, though in the end, he accepted the truth.”

She shook her head.

“As for Berkeley Square, that was stupidity, pure and simple,” he admitted with a sigh. “I’d been out of control for a month, doing anything to take my mind off grief. I’d borrowed a friend’s brougham – my allowance didn’t cover even a riding horse, let alone a carriage – but I didn’t notice that the coachman was drunk.”

“You didn’t notice the coachman?”