The Runaway Heiress (6 page)

He shrugged carelessly.
'You come from a good family and the rest can be put right. And it will stop my
mother from nagging me. What do you say? Perhaps we should deal very well
together. Your view of marriage seems to be even more cynical than mine! As a
business arrangement it could be to the benefit of both of us.'

Frances still hesitated.

'If for no other reason,
you might consider my position. It may surprise you to know that I do have some
sense of honour.' His lips curled cynically. 'I would not wittingly seek to be
accused of abducting and ruining an innocent girl. I do have some pride, you
know.'

Frances took a deep
breath. 'I had not thought of that.'

'Then do so. You are not
likely to be the only sufferer here.'

'But you already have a
reputation for—' She came to a sudden halt, embarrassed by her insensitive
accusation.

'Ah. I see.' His voice was
low and quiet. 'So my damnable reputation has reached even you, Miss Hanwell,
shut away as you have been in Torrington Hall. Do you expect me to live up to
it? One more victim from the fair sex will make no difference, I suppose.
Perhaps I should seduce you and abandon you simply to give credence to the
rumours spread by wagging tongues. I am clearly beyond redemption. Perhaps I
should not insult you with an offer of marriage.'

Frances could not answer
the bitter mockery or the banked anger in his eyes but simply sat, head bent
against the wave of emotion. When he made no effort to break the silence that
had fallen, she glanced up at him. The anger had faded from his face, to be
replaced by something that she found difficult to interpret. If she did not
know better, she might have thought it was a moment of vulnerability.

'Well, Miss Hanwell?'

'Very well. I think I must
accept your offer, my lord. I will try to be a conformable wife.' She could
hardly believe that she was saying those words.

'You amaze me. So far all
you have done is argue and refuse to listen to good sense.'

'But... I never meant...'

'There is no need to say
any more. Come here.' She stood and moved towards him. He turned her to face
the light from the candles at his elbow and looked at her searchingly for
perhaps the first time, turning her head gently with his hand beneath her jaw.
Her skin, a trifle pale from the emotions of the past hour, had the smooth
translucence of youth. Her eyebrows were well marked and as dark as her
uncontrolled curls. Her remarkable violet eyes expressed every emotion she
felt—at the moment uncertainty and not a little shyness. But equally he had
seen them flash in anger and contempt. She had a straight nose, a most decided
chin and softly curving lips. She was not a beauty, he thought, but a little
town bronze would probably improve her. It could turn out to be not the worst
decision he had made in his life. She dropped her eyes in some confusion under
his considered scrutiny.

'Look at me,' he demanded
and when she automatically obeyed he wound his hand into her hair and his lips
sought hers. It was a brief, cool caress, but when Aldeborough lifted his head
there was an arrested expression on his face. Frances had steeled herself
against his kiss, but was now aware that his grasp showed no intention of
loosening. She drew in a breath to object, but before she could do so
Aldeborough placed his hand gently across her lips and shook his head.

'I must request your
pardon if you are displeased. Are you displeased, Frances Rosalind? It seemed
to me that we should seal our agreement in a more...ah...intimate manner, even
if it is to be a marriage of convenience. What do you say?'

Frances was unable to say
anything coherent or sensible and was overcome with a sudden anger both at
Aldeborough's presumption and her own inability to respond with a satisfactory
reply that would leave him in no doubt of her opinion of men who forced
themselves on defenceless women, even if they had just agreed to marry them.

'Let me go!' was all that
she could manage and thrust at his shoulders with her hands as she remembered
the humiliation of his embrace in the coach. It was to no avail. Her confusion
obviously amused Aldeborough for he laughed, tightened his hold further and
bent his head to kiss her once more. But this was different. Aldeborough's
mouth was demanding and urgent, melting the resistance in Frances's blood
whether she wished it or not. It was as if he was determined to extract some
reaction from her beyond her previous reluctant acceptance. And she was
horrified at his success. Her instinct was to resist him with all her strength,
but she was far too aware of the lean hardness of his body against hers beneath
the thin lawn of his shirt. His hands caressed her hair, her shoulders, sweeping
down her back to her waist. Her lips opened beneath the insistent pressure of
his and she found herself responding to a surge of emotion, a lick of flame
that warmed her skin and spread through every limb. Her hands seemed to move of
their own accord, to grasp his shoulders more tightly rather than to push
against them... when suddenly she was free. As quickly as Aldeborough had taken
possession of her he released her and stepped away.

Frances
was left standing alone in a space, feeling strangely bereft and unsure of what
to say or do next. Her mind was overwhelmed by the enormity of what she had
just done. Could she really have agreed to marry this man against all her
previous intentions and heart searching? She felt a chill tremor touch her spine
at the prospect. Of course there would be advantages—she knew that. It would
remove her finally and irrevocably from her uncle's authority and without a
stain on her reputation. Comfort and luxury would be hers for the asking with a
guaranteed entree into fashionable society. But Marchioness of Aldeborough?
She pressed a hand to her lips to suppress a bubble of hysterical laughter that
threatened to erupt at the unlikely prospect. And what on earth would his
family think? It was all very well for him to deny any difficulty, with typical
male arrogance, but she would have to face a mother-in-law who would doubtless
see her as a common upstart who had wilfully trapped her son into a disastrous
marriage.

A
marriage of convenience, he had implied. Very well. He was driven by an
impeccable impulse to protect her—as well as the desire for an heir. But she
could not quite banish from her mind the leap of fire in her blood when he had
kissed her, touched her. It might be a mere legal formality for him, but she
was suddenly afraid of her own response. It would be better if she never
allowed him to see the effect of his devastating smile on her heart or his
elegant hands on her skin. She must never forget that it was duty and honour
which drove him, whatever her own feelings might be.

She received no help as
she stood, lost in her deliberations. Aldeborough merely stood and watched her
quizzically, a faint smile on his lips.

'I think I should tell you
that my uncle will not give his permission for our marriage,' she managed
eventually in a surprisingly calm voice. 'Will that present us with a problem?'

'A special licence will
solve the matter,' the Marquis stated, chillingly dismissive. 'We claim to have
a bishop in the family so we may as well make use of him. It can all be
arranged discreetly and quickly.'

'Thank you.' She swallowed
at her presumption. 'There is just one thing.'

'What now, Miss Hanwell?
You are very difficult to please, but I am sure it will not be an
insurmountable problem.'

'You are laughing at me, my
lord. I wish you would not,' Frances exclaimed crossly. 'It is just that I will
not marry you in this dress.'

'Then I must do something
about it, mustn't I?'

Frances blinked at the
casual acceptance of her demand.

'I shall need to leave you
for a few days to make arrangements,' he continued. 'I must ask you to promise
that you will not try to run away again.'

'Or?' She could not resist
the challenge to the implied threat.

'Or I might have to lock
you in your room until I return.' Frances was left under no illusion that he
would do exactly as he said.

'It is not necessary.' She
sighed, with resignation to a stronger force. 'I will marry you. I will not run
away.'

'Thank you.' He tossed off
the rest of the brandy in his glass. 'I am relieved. Go to bed, Miss Hanwell.
It has proved to be a long and tiring day, for both of us!'

Chapter
Four

'Aldeborough!
At last!' The voice was as smooth and cool as chilled cream. 'I have expected
you home any time this past week. How could you have missed the Vowchurches' drum?
I understand from Matthew that you have been at the Priory.'

Lady
Beatrice, the Dowager Marchioness of Aldeborough, and despising every moment of
her loss of influence in the Lafford household since the death of her husband,
put aside a piece of embroidery and rose from her chair in her cream-and-gold
sitting room. She waited with not even a hint of a smile for Aldeborough to
approach, extending an elegant hand in greeting and allowing him to kiss her
cheek. She was slim and dark and exquisitely dressed in a cream gown that
perfectly complemented her surroundings. It was strikingly obvious from whom
Aldeborough had inherited his features and colouring. She had the same cold
grey eyes that at present were fixed on, Frances, who had entered the room somewhat
hesitantly in Aldeborough's wake.

Aldeborough
saluted his mother's cheek with filial duty and grace, but the lack of
affection between them was as clear as her neglect in returning the embrace.

'And
who is this?'

'I
have been at Aldeborough, ma'am, as you are well aware. There was some
necessary estate business.' He turned hack to Frances who had apprehensively
come to a halt just inside the doorway. 'I wish to introduce you to Frances,
Miss Hanwell.' He took her hand to draw her further forward into the room.
'Miss Hanwell, ma'am, is now my wife.'

The
silence in the room was deafening. Frances continued to cling to Aldeborough's
hand. She had rarely felt so alone as she did at that moment under the
razor-sharp scrutiny. She made a polite curtsy and awaited events with
trepidation as her ladyship's features froze into perplexed disbelief. The
temperature dropped to glacial.

'Forgive
me, Hugh.' Her ladyship ignored Frances. 'Perhaps I misunderstood? This is
your
wife?
'

'Indeed,
ma'am. We were married three days ago at Aldeborough.'

'But
I had no idea. Who is she?' Her cold eyes raked Frances in an icy sweep from
head to foot and apparently found nothing in the exercise to please her.

'Her
guardian is Viscount Torrington. I met her at Torrington Hall.'

'Really?'
Her lips thinned, 'I am afraid that I find this difficult to grasp,
Aldeborough. How could you have conducted your marriage in such a clandestine
fashion? You might have considered my position. Think of the scandal...the
gossip. How will I face Lady Grosmont at her soiree this evening?' Her face
paled with anger as she considered the repercussions. 'Surely as your mother I
could expect a little consideration?'

'There
will be no scandal, ma'am.' Aldeborough remained coldly aloof and unemotional.
'If anyone should comment, you will assure them that Frances and I had a...a
long-term understanding and we were married quietly in the country for family
reasons. The death of a distant relative, if you find the need to give a reason
to anyone sufficiently ill mannered to comment.'

'
I
will assure them? I do not wish to
lend my support in any way to this unfortunate liaison.'

'I
had hoped for more of a welcome for my bride,' Aldeborough commented gently,
with a hint of warning in his quiet voice that his mother chose to ignore.

'Richard, of course, would
always have considered my opinion when making such an important decision in his
life. He was always so thoughtful and conscious of his position as the heir. I
might have hoped that
you—'

'There is no advantage in
pursuing that line of thought,' Aldeborough interrupted harshly. Frances saw a
muscle in his jaw clench and his hold of her hand tightened convulsively,
making her draw in her breath.

'And what of Penelope?
What will she think?'

'What should Miss Vowchurch
think? I cannot see what my marriage has to do with her.' He was once more in
command, his fingers relaxing their grip.

'It has everything to do
with her, of course. She has been expecting an offer from you. After Richard's
death it was understood—'

'I am afraid that it was
not understood by me. I have never given Miss Vowchurch any indication that I
would make her an offer of marriage.'

'It has
always been understood between our families. You must know that after Richard
died you took no formal steps to end the connection.' Lady Aldeborough was
implacable, refusing to let the matter rest. 'And now you have married
this...this
person
. Who is she?'

Frances looked on as if
she were watching a scene in a play at which she was a mere observer with no role
for herself. There was clearly little love lost between Aldeborough and his
mother and she herself was now provoking another issue between them. A bleak
wave of despair swept over her to add to the weariness. After she had spent
three days alone at Aldeborough Priory, the Marquis had returned and she had been
thrown into a flurry of activity. First her marriage, followed immediately by
three days of exhausting travel to reach London. And now this. How foolish she
had been to hope that Lady Aldeborough might accept this sordid arrangement
with equanimity. Indeed, it was even worse than she had anticipated. She wished
Aldeborough had given her some warning. Obviously he had seen no need to do so,
which depressed her even further.

'A penniless nobody who has
trapped you into marriage.' Her ladyship was continuing her diatribe as if
Frances was not present. 'How could you! Is there no way this marriage could be
annulled? Or dissolved?' Lady Aldeborough's face was white with anger.

A delicate flush stained
Frances's cheeks. With the haste and inconvenience of the journey following
immediately after their marriage, there had been neither opportunity nor, it
would appear, inclination for intimate relations between herself and the
Marquis. For which, all things considered, she was heartily relieved. But would
he betray her to his mother?

'No, Mother. It is not
possible. Your suggestion is insulting in the extreme to both Frances and
myself. I think you should consider what you're saying before you speak again.'
Aldeborough turned towards Frances, his face a polite mask. 'Forgive me,
Frances. I wish I could have spared you this, but it had to be faced.' He led
her to a chair by the window looking over the square. 'Perhaps if you would sit
here for a little while...'

As he returned to shield
her from further recriminations, her mind was free to travel back over the
previous days. She remembered as in a dream standing in Aldeborough Church in
the grey light of early morning with a special licence and a flustered vicar
and with Sir Ambrose and the vicar's wife as witnesses. No flowers. No music.
Only the heavy starkness of Norman pillars and the air so cold that her breath
had vaporised as she took her vows. She remembered the cold. No sooner had the
vows been exchanged and her cheek dutifully kissed by Aldeborough than she had
been installed in Aldeborough's coach and the long, tedious journey had begun.
Sir Ambrose had thoughtfully presented her with a tasteful posy of yellow
flowers and kissed her fingers and called her Lady Aldeborough, a situation
that she still found difficult to believe, but it had helped to strengthen her
courage.

And Aldeborough had been
as good as his word. Her lips curled in memory of the beautiful dress that he
had brought back with him to keep his promise. A dress of which dreams were
made. In the height of fashion with a high waist and disconcertingly low
neckline and tiny puff sleeves over long undersleeves, the jonquil taffeta was
far more elegant than any gown she had ever seen. The tucked bodice was a
little large, but nothing that a small alteration here and there could not
remedy, and the silk ruching round the hem helped to disguise the fact that it
was a little long. A simple satin straw bonnet with jonquil ribbons that set
off her dark hair completed the ensemble. She had abandoned her puce disaster
and travel-stained cloak without a qualm.

And not only the dress,
but fine kid gloves and matching kid heelless slippers. Not to mention the
delightful package of shifts and petticoats and silk stockings. She blushed
faintly that he should have purchased such intimate garments for her. And who
had chosen the dress for her? She had found it difficult to thank him. He had
merely brushed it aside as a matter of no importance. But Frances was now more
than grateful for his foresight. Under Lady Aldeborough's critical and
unfriendly scrutiny, it was suddenly very important that she should be wearing
a stylish blue velvet pelisse trimmed with grey fur and a pale blue silk
bonnet, the brim fetchingly ornamented with one curling ostrich plume, both in
the first stare of fashion.

She had thought herself
fortunate in her new wardrobe but, this house, now her own, threatened to take
her breath away. Her first impression as they had arrived had been fleeting,
but there was no doubting its style .and magnificence. In Cavendish Square,
one of the very best addresses, the brick and stone façade with its pedimented
doorway, decorative columns and imposing flight of steps bordered with iron
railings could not fail to impress. All was elegance and good taste.
Aldeborough might take it for granted, but she could not.

She sighed as her
attention returned to the heated words from the Marchioness and the cool
rejoinders from Aldeborough.

'What your father would
have said I hesitate to think. And Richard—'

Frances would never know
what Richard would have thought or done for at this timely moment, the door burst
open and a young man erupted with more energy than grace into the room.

'Matthew! Perhaps you
might enter my drawing room in a more seemly fashion. Your brother and I were
engaged in a private conversation.'

'Forgive me, Mother. I
heard Hugh was back.' Matthew looked anything but sorry and shrugged off his
parent's blighting words. 'Is it true?' He grinned as he embraced his brother
in a friendly and vigorous greeting. 'I have just seen Masters in town and he
has told me all.'

Aldeborough inhaled
sharply in exasperation. 'So just what has Masters told you? Perhaps, brother
mine, this is not the best of times to elaborate!' The warning was
unfortunately lost in Matthew's exuberance to discover the truth of the matter.

'That you abducted
Torrington's niece from under his nose and forced her into marriage to get your
hands on her inheritance.'

Lady Aldeborough lowered
herself carefully on to the chair behind her. 'This is even worse than I
thought. What have you done, Aldeborough?' Her tone might be faint with shock,
but her expression was steely.

'So, is it true?' Matthew
insisted,

'Of course it is true.
Would you not expect me to be capable of such dishonourable behaviour? Even
you, it seems, Matthew.'

Matthew frowned at the
bitter cynicism imprinted on his brother's face, echoing in his harsh tones.
'Well, no. I don't believe it, as it happens. Are you jesting? And if it
is
true— where is she?'

'Behind you. You will note
her terrified appearance and the marks of coercion and cruelty about her
person. I had to treat her most unkindly to persuade her that marriage with me
would be an attractive proposition.'

Matthew grinned, shrugging
with some relief as Aldeborough' s expression relaxed and the tension slowly
drained from his body, but he still had the grace to look more than a little
embarrassed as he swung round towards the window embrasure. 'Exactly. You
deserved that. You had better come and meet her. I dare not imagine what
impression you have made on her,' Aldeborough added drily, but with a trace of
humour at his brother's discomfort.

Aldeborough came to
retrieve Frances from her seat by the window, taking her by the hand and
leading her back into the centre of the room. 'This, my lady, is my graceless
brother Matthew, who believes that I beat you into submission. You have my
permission to snub him completely if you wish.'

'Please don't. I had no
intention of making you uncomfortable. I am very pleased to meet you.' His
engaging smile lit his youthful features.

Frances found herself
smiling back at the genuine greeting from the young man who was very close to
her own age. He was slim and athletic and looked to have just grown out of the
ungainly lack of co-ordination of youth. He was fairer than his brother, with
blue eyes and an open, laughing countenance that Frances instantly felt drawn
to. His manner suggested that he stood in awe of neither his mother nor Aldeborough,
and his clothing that he was experimenting with the more extremes of fashion.
His cravat was a miracle of folds and creases and his striped waistcoat caused
Aldeborough to raise his eyebrows in amused disbelief.

'And what have you been
doing with yourself, apart from rigging yourself out like a dandy?' Aldeborough
queried. 'Up to no good as usual, I expect.'

'Definitely not. No debts
and definitely no scandals. I say, Hugh. You haven't changed your mind about
buying me a commission, have you?'

'Certainly not!'

'But it looks as if we
shall have to continue the war against Bonaparte.'

'Very true. But we shall
have to continue it without you. At least until you are a little older.'

'But it will all be over
by then. Do reconsider.'

'I will think about it.
But don't raise your hopes.'

This was clearly a
frequently held exchange of views. Nothing daunted, Matthew changed tack. 'By
the by, the new horse you bought from Strefford was delivered yesterday. It is
a splendid animal. Come and see it.'

'I think it an excellent
idea for you to go off to the stables if you are going to talk horseflesh,'
interposed Lady Aldeborough, determined to regain control of the situation.
She rose to her feet again and disposed her shawl in elegant folds around her
shoulders. 'It will give me the opportunity to get to know your new wife a
little better. We can have a cosy chat over a dish of tea. Do you not think so,
my dear?'