The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Rescued from Ruin, Book One) (6 page)

“No, my lady. I came with an offer—”

“Which I have declined,” Harrison
interrupted. “Lord Atherbourne was just leaving.”

Keeping her eyes fixed on Lucien’s face,
Victoria reached behind her to place a staying hand on her
brother’s arm. “I would like to hear what the offer was,” she said
softly.

“It was nothing worth—” Harrison began.

“Lord Atherbourne?” she prompted, watching
his expression as he moved his gaze between hers and her brother’s.
He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he appeared far more serious than she
had yet seen him.

“I came to offer marriage.”

It was as though a horse had kicked her in
the chest. How she wished she had been able to hear more of what
was being said from where she had stood eavesdropping behind the
drawing room doors. At least then the shock of his proposal would
have been tempered a bit. Unfortunately, all she had heard was low,
masculine mumbling. Hardly helpful in preparing her for … well,
this
.

“You—” She gasped to catch her breath. “You
wish to
marry
me? After all you’ve done?”

The faintest flicker of something—guilt,
perhaps? mild chagrin?—passed through his eyes but was gone before
she could identify it. “As I explained to your brother, it is the
only way to ensure the scandal is contained and the consequences to
your future are minimized.”

She stared at him silently for a long while,
trying to understand this beautiful, dastardly, confounding man.
Altruism hadn’t brought him here today—that much was clear. But
what could his motivation be? And did it matter? He had put her in
a rather desperate position. By definition, that meant her choices
were few and undesirable.

She felt Harrison’s hands on her shoulders
and his tall form hovering behind her. “Victoria, I do comprehend
why this might seem a convenient solution to a difficult problem,”
he murmured close to her ear. “But this man is dangerous. He has
already shown an appalling lack of conscience where you are
concerned, and I cannot allow—”

Reaching up to pat Harrison’s hand where it
rested on her shoulder, she nodded to indicate she understood.
Quietly, she asked if she might speak with Atherbourne alone for a
moment. Harrison naturally resisted quite vehemently at first, but
after a few minutes of discussion, in which she pointed out it was
her life and her future at stake, he conceded. “Five minutes,” he
bit out. “Not one second more. And the doors remain open.”

She nodded, then thanked him as he strode out
into the hall to speak with Digby. Crossing the room, she gestured
toward a pair of chairs in front of the fire. “Shall we sit, my
lord?” she said, then moved to the right chair and sank down into
it, happy to give her jittery legs a rest.

As Lucien settled his muscular form into the
opposite chair, she almost laughed at the contrast of such a large,
overtly masculine body seated awkwardly in an ornate, Louis XV
chair. Perhaps it was the gilt that did it. Stifling her wandering
thoughts, she began, “Now then, why should I consider marrying you,
my lord?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she waved
her hand and immediately clarified, “Aside from rather neatly
resolving the scandal you used as a weapon against my brother.”

He blinked and paused, clearly surprised by
her bluntness. “You have preempted my most persuasive argument,
Lady Victoria.” The wicked smile slowly returned. He leaned back in
his seat and crossed his arms, giving her an assessing look. “Are
you asking what it would be like to be my wife?”

His voice had gone low and a bit suggestive,
just as it had been on Lady Gattingford’s terrace. Unfortunately,
knowing he was doing it deliberately to get under her skin did not
prevent her shiver of pleasure. “We … we haven’t time for games, my
lord.”

“Who said I was playing?”

Her breathing grew faster. His eyes were so
beautiful—a dark, stormy gray, lighter toward the center with black
rings around the irises. She finally knew the color of his eyes.
That seemed important, somehow.

Shaking her head to dispel the sudden fog of
sensual awareness, she swallowed hard and said, “I am asking why
marriage to you would be better than other alternatives, Lord
Atherbourne. I am not without options, you know.”

“Oh, yes. Your options. Banishment to the
Continent or America, perhaps? An isolated life as a country
spinster? Was that what you dreamed of as a girl when you imagined
your future?”

“You know very well it was not,” she
snapped.

He sat forward, leaning toward her with his
hands on his thighs, all traces of indolence gone as the full
intensity of his personality came to the fore. “And what about
being the Marchioness of Stickley, hmm? Did you imagine yourself
the wife of a man who could not even be bothered to kiss you
properly?”

“Leave Lord Stickley out of this.”

“Very well. You asked what being my wife
would entail. The answer is much the same as what being Stickley’s
wife would have entailed. Except that, as
my
wife, you will
never for one moment doubt that I want you.”

Shocked by his declaration, she felt herself
panting, the air sawing in and out at an embarrassing rate. But she
could not hear it over her pounding heart, the sound as loud in her
ears as the ocean on a rocky shore. “You w-want me?” she asked
faintly.

Ignoring her response, he continued, “I would
never choose to spend time hunting or regaling the gents at
Boodle’s about my hounds when I could spend it making love to my
new wife.”

“Oh, that’s not … you … making … oh.”

“Furthermore, should you marry me, you would
never again be vulnerable to the kind of scandal you were caught up
in several nights ago.”

Her hands, moist and shaking, tightened where
they rested on the arms of the chair. “I believe we’ve already
established that this would help lessen the scandal.”

He grinned. “Oh, but that is not why it would
never happen again. As your husband, it would be my duty to see you
so well pleasured that no other man could possibly have anything to
offer you. Therefore, you would not be lured into any illicit
rendezvous or stolen moments of passion. Except with me, of
course.”

Flustered and breathless, she rose and paced
across the carpet to a spot between a settee and a low,
marble-topped table.
He is a devil,
she thought.
A devil
with the face of an angel. And I am a fool—worse, utterly mad—to
fall prey to his intoxicating words.
Because she did not simply
feel drawn to him, this conductor of her destruction. She
longed
for him, yearned for the right to trace his lips with
her bare fingers, to stroke his injured cheek, to feel his tongue
slide wickedly inside her mouth, the way it had before.

Turning to face him, she was startled to find
him no more than a foot away. He was so tall, he fairly loomed over
her, close enough to touch.
Breathe, Victoria.
Despite the
inner admonition, it took her a moment to respond to his litany of
contrasts between what marriage to Lord Stickley would have been
and what it would mean to be Lady Atherbourne.
His
bride.
“And if I
were
caught with another man, my lord?” she asked,
not because she thought it a real possibility, but simply to see
what he would say.

He didn’t appear to like the question. Not at
all. His face grew hard and shuttered, his smile fading, his lips
settling into a grim line. “I think it best not to contemplate what
I would do in that instance.”

For a moment, her entire being paused,
waiting for the answer to her next question. “Would … would you
hurt me?”

His response was immediate and emphatic: “No.
Never.”

She believed him. She didn’t know why, but it
was true. Something in his face—a flash of outrage, as if the very
thought was abhorrent—gave her the answer his words could not. It
appeared he did not mean to harm her, at least not physically.

“So, let me understand this correctly,” she
said, stepping back and retreating toward the fireplace. He was
entirely too close. It was not conducive to clear thinking. “You
plotted my ruination to gain vengeance against Harrison—”

“He shot my brother—”

“Yes, well, I believe we all understand your
motives,” she retorted sharply.

“Do you?” His voice was strange. Sad. “It was
not my intention that you should suffer needlessly.”

“Perhaps you should have considered that
before—”

“But I was hardly alone on that terrace, my
lady.”

The softly spoken words jarred her terribly,
not because they were false. Because they were true. This scandal
was as much her fault as his. More, perhaps. She was the one who
had been betrothed to another man. She was the one who had allowed
foolish fantasies and romantic nonsense to weaken her. He had come
to the door with devious intent, yes. But she was the one who had
swung it wide.

“You believe our marriage will quiet the
scandal,” she said.

For the longest time, he did not reply. His
eyes explored her face, his expression almost concerned. “I believe
without it, your reputation will never fully recover. I do not wish
that for you.”

Neither did she. In truth, what he offered
was a gift. She would have preferred it to come without
accompanying suspicions, but it was hardly an offer she could
discard easily—or perhaps at all. “I could marry another. If I
waited a year …”

He was shaking his head, giving her a dark
look. He held up three fingers, wiggling each one in turn as he
spoke. “Engagement. Scandalous liaison. Wedding.” His arm dropped
and his head tilted slightly. “Tell me, Lady Victoria. What would
they say about your husband if he were not one of the first
two?”

She hated him. Hated his mocking little
gesture, hated the arrogant tilt, the assurance in his voice. Most
of all, she hated that he was right. “Fine. Let’s say I agree to
marry you.”

His half-smile returned. “Let’s.”

“Where would the wedding take place?”

Glancing around the drawing room, he said,
“Why not here?”

“When?”

“As soon as it can be arranged. I shall need
only a few days to acquire a special license.”

A few days?
Blood rushed from her
head, sped on by a heart that doubled its pace. “Th-that soon?”

He was still for a moment, then walked toward
her slowly. Cautiously. One finger rose to stroke her cheek. She
jerked back, startled. It caught briefly on a curl at the top of
her jawline, then disappeared. “You would not regret becoming my
wife, Victoria,” he whispered. It sounded like a vow.

She felt hunted, herded into a corner from
which there was no escape. And the hunter was also the bait.
Tempting. Seductive. More than that, however, she felt the walls of
duty pushing her toward him. She had made a terrible mistake. One
whose price must be paid. She glanced up at the portrait of her
mother, serene and golden and perfect. A woman of grace, if not
great beauty. A woman who had always done the proper thing. “You
would be my husband.” It was a whisper to herself, but he
heard.

“In every way,” came his hoarse
confirmation.

Nodding, she clasped her hands at her waist,
then dropped her gaze to her twisting fingers. “Would we have
children, Lucien?”

“Yes.” His tone was softer, gentle.

Lifting her head once again, she stared for
what seemed like years into his beautiful, storm-cloud eyes. In the
few moments they stood gazing at one another, she imagined an
entire lifetime with this man. Their wedding. The nights when he
would make love to her in their bed. Children with his raven-black
hair and perhaps her blue eyes. Sons who would grow tall and strong
and handsome like their father. Daughters who would be doted on and
spoiled. A family.

“Then that is my answer.”

His eyes widened and he grew intent, seeking
a confirmation in her face.

“Yes, my lord, I will marry you.”

*~*~*

Chapter Five

“
Clever battle strategy often resembles madness.
Knowing the difference … ah, well, the victors have the privilege
of defining that, do they not?”
—The Dowager Marchioness of
Wallingham upon news of Napoleon’s escape from Elba.

“Is marrying the chit really necessary, Luc?”
James Kilbrenner, the Earl of Tannenbrook, muttered from where he
sat slumped in a leather chair near the hearth in Lucien’s library.
A glass of brandy dangled negligently from his long fingers, and
the firelight played sinister games with his craggy features.

Lucien placed the stopper back in the bottle
with a clink after pouring a glass of his own, then walked back to
the fireplace to stand with an elbow propped on the mantel. “I
thought we agreed it was the only way to achieve a measure of
justice.”

James waved his free hand in the air as
though to sweep aside Lucien’s statement. “I know what we said.
It’s just … she is an innocent. Seems unsporting.”

Lucien frowned. He did not like James echoing
his own doubts. With a plan such as this, and an enemy such as the
Duke of Blackmore, doubt led to mistakes, which meant failure. He
refused to fail. “She will be well cared for. As my wife, she will
enjoy every comfort. It is clear she desires children. She will
have that, as well. Eventually.”

A look of skepticism came over his friend’s
face. “The original plan was to punish Blackmore, not his
sister.”

It was true: Lucien had not intended to
involve Victoria at all. At least, not at first. “We tried. The law
stops at the ducal crest, it seems. The only place Blackmore is
vulnerable is his family. His brother is … well, there is nothing
we could do to Colin Lacey that he hasn’t already done to himself.
That leaves the sister.”