The Stanhope Challenge - Regency Quartet - Four Regency Romances (22 page)

“Mine? Is that so?”
Why mine? Did Pinrose send you?
The blackguard would stoop to anything! Four years ago, he’d robbed Jack’s best friend of a fortune cheating at cards. Months later, the poor man had subsequently hung himself in his rooms by the docks. Jack knew Pinrose had done many things to put his hands on money that never seemed to be his own. And Jack had said so often in public to friends and acquaintances alike. For the accusation, Pinrose had blustered that he’d call Jack out, but had never had the guts to bare a sword against one so expert. The man had the spine of a jellyfish, picking on others less cunning than he. Would Pinrose use his stepdaughter to try to cast a scandal upon the Stanhope name? Of course, he would. “Tell me why you think I am your only hope?”

“No one else will do. Your accusations that he caused the death of William DeForest make you my stepfather’s enemy, bar none. And you are right. My stepfather is a cad of the first order. He will take from anyone. By gambling or libel. When he sees an opportunity, he takes it. But you are perfect for me because no one else has declared Daniel as unprincipled as loudly or as often as you.”

Intriguing.
Yet hardly a reason to marry. Jack shifted in his seat. He was comforted by her rush of logic but reassured of her veracity by the fervor of her words. “Well, Miss Darling, let me point out a few facts to you. Even if I were so charmed as to consider wedded bliss to an utter stranger a possibility, I could not find a man of the cloth to join us at this hour in a driving rainstorm. Nor could I proceed without a license.”

“We’ll go to Gretna Green.”

“The border? For a quick march around an anvil?”

“An anvil?”

“Anyone, most likely the village smithy, says a few words to the couple over his anvil!”

“Not a vicar?” Her perfect oval face became a mask of horror.

Sorry for her, he explained, “Never. A quick wedding in Gretna requires more trust than reverence for God.”

“Well, I’d like a minister,” she affirmed, then quick as a sprite, dug into her coat pocket and hoisted a small golden money pouch. She jingled it before him. “Silver. For you. Enough to pay our way to a vicar and back to your home in Durham.”

A hand up in refusal of her payment, he let loose with a laugh. “My dear, the silver coins are a fine entreaty but money cannot buy you a husband.”

“I wager you it can.” She opened his palm and dropped her bag into it. “If you help me, there’s more, much more than that for you.”

He weighed it. Heavy. Impressive. But he did not need this. Or want it. And certainly he did not want her trouble. He always had enough of his own. Sometimes more than others. Like now. “No. I do not intend to marry. For silver or gold.”

“Never?” She fluttered those damn long, red lashes of hers, flummoxed by his response.

He used his stock answer for her. It always worked with dewy-eyed maidens. “The family curse precludes any happiness in a union. I see my two brothers have so far skirted it, but tomorrow comes and brings untold miseries.”

She waved a hand at him, falling back to his cushions, a smile on her face. “A curse! Ridiculous. What import is that when people have real problems?”

“How true!” He chuckled. What the hell was he doing talking about the Stanhope challenge to a strange young creature with shabby clothes and the most angelic face he’d ever seen? Device, perhaps it was, to escape the real reasons for not marrying, but the family’s cursed affliction had worked its magic to delay conjugal horrors in his life. “You’d know the thing was real if you had been told the tales I’ve heard. No lasting union comes to any in the Stanhope clan. Especially if they care for each other.”

She scooted forward, her incomparable large, grey gaze caressing his in fevered glee. “Then have no fear, my lord. On those two counts, you can certainly marry me.”

“How so?” Jack had enjoyed proposals from two other ladies in his youth and their reasons always did fascinate him, especially when they informed him that they would enthrall him. “Are you a fortune teller?”
With all those horrible clothes, wild, bright hair and innocent doe’s eyes?

“Of course not. You see, you and I will never care for each other.”

That struck him to the quick. He crossed one knee over the other in a nonchalance he feigned. “I see. And the second reason?”

“I do not want you forever and ever.”

Her decision that she would never care for him was a small prick to his pride. He’d never had a woman discount him. His station as a peer of the realm and his wealth meant too many fluttered about him in a marital heat. But this woman’s rejection felt like a slap. He sought to cover his dejection with wry
savoir faire
. “Now that’s a new wrinkle! Do tell me why.”

“I want you to marry me and take me away to your home in Durham. For only three months.”

“Three—?”

“Months. Enough time to satisfy my father’s will to gain my inheritance. Enough to convince my stepfather that you and I are committed.”

“To Bedlam, I daresay,” he murmured.

“Don’t say that or think it! To be imprisoned since my birthday last December has been hideous enough.”

“Wait. What?” Jack sat forward.

“Pinrose locked me away.”

The ghoul.
“Why?”

“He has designs on my inheritance. But if you married me and claimed me for your wife for three months, this would do to satisfy my father’s will. Then, his solicitor, Jared Draycomb, would free me of Daniel’s power. Three months with you would prove I am healthy of body and mind.”

This was preposterous. Who did this in this day and age? Are we not civilized?
“Are you saying Pinrose accuses you of—?”

“Infirmities of mind. Yes. But three months with you and the
ton
would conclude you would never harbor a crazy woman in your midst. Then I would be able to go to Mr. Draycomb to proceed with the distribution of the Darling estate. Draycomb and Sons would have to give me my inheritance, even though I am wed to you and not Benjamin Trayne.”

Like a damn snake, that man’s name brought a portent of evil slithering up Jack’s back. To have Daniel Pinrose acting against this sylph-like creature was one hideous thing. But for Trayne to be pitted against her, too, was nigh unto criminal. A cheat at cards and a cad, Trayne had ruined more than one good woman by his seduction. “Pinrose keeps your inheritance from you and wants you to marry Trayne as well?”

“He does.” She bit her lower lip and considered her hands in her lap. “For my refusal, he locked me in my rooms on my last birthday.”

Jack muttered a vengeance on the cur. “Why then?”

“Since I turned twenty-four and therefore, came of age to inherit.”

Reaching over, Jack lifted her chin with two fingers. Her skin was sallow, her eyes rimmed red from crying. Her perfect skin—save for the sprinkle of freckles on her upturned nose—needed the glory of the sun to enliven it. Her large eyes—almond shaped and dulcet grey as a porcelain doll’s—needed to clear. Her lush lips needed once more to curve upwards in a smile. Jack felt the urge to help her feel joy once more. “And Daniel insists you marry?”

“He and Trayne have an agreement to split the proceeds of the estate. I overheard them talk of it in our own parlor. When I confronted Daniel, he locked me away. I must have what is due me, Jack. I need it.”

He had just enough alcoholic glow left from his liberal consumption of brandy tonight that he could smile at her intensity. “What would a lovely young lady do with the thousands reputed to be left to you, my dear Miss Darling?”

Her mouth lifted with some rapturous thought and he nearly lost all his teeth gaping at the serenity that overcame her. “I want to build an orphanage in Dover, and I need the money for beds and linens and books and food. Two staff, I think would do for a start. If at first I take in only the most needy children in Dover, I would have ten, maybe eleven orphans—”

“Whoa! Whoa!” Jack put up a hand. “You want your money to open an orphanage?”

She nodded. “It is a useful thing. A helpful thing to educate and clothe those for whom no one cares. Don’t you think?”

“Oh, I do. But why you?”

“Why not me?”

“You have me there.” Suddenly, he had to know the other side of this offer. “Have you made this proposition to other men?”

“No!” Her grey eyes locked on his in dismay. “You are the only man who can help me.”

Jack could have been complimented. But his reputation had never been one that invited damsels in distress to run to him. In fact, for well-borne women, the other direction was their wont. “And the reason for that is?”

“It is said by gossips that no man bests you. At cards or dice. Or women.”

“Then there is your mother.” He chose to react to Emma’s train of logic rather than any pride in a back-handed compliment. He had met Joan Darling years ago. She was a vain woman, frail of body and flighty of mind. Intent on social engagements and fripperies, she was a social magpie whose discourse he had always avoided. Still, he knew not what sort of mother she was and offending her daughter as she shivered here before him would not be a kind act. “What does she say of me?”

“She cannot say anything. She is ill. At home in the country. Since Christmas, her health has declined. I fear she will not survive until this summer.” Emma cupped her hand to her mouth. She fought back tears. Then tossing back her sorrow and her curls, she threw him a defiant look. “Marry me, Jack. You are my finest hope. And when I have my inheritance settled on me, for your help I will give you half.”

“Half!” Half of a reputed forty thousand pounds and two estates fit for a king. Not bad. Still. Was he a cretin to consider this? “Tempting.”

She beamed at him.

He frowned. He might be foxed. He might be hallucinating. But he studied her. The beauty. The determination. The desperation. He’d done little for others out of the goodness of his heart. He had friends who rarely needed money. He had more who needed their reputations polished–and no one had ever sought him out for that.

“Please,” she whispered, her knuckles white with urgency. When had a woman ever approached him to save her life?

And that was what her offer was. Devil take her bag of silver and half her inheritance.

“Temptation to help you, my dear, comes not from this offer of money.” That he did not need. The lure came from the way she looked and the way she beseeched him. Dire. Sad. Desperate. Yes, her state roiled him. For he knew Pinrose from his financial schemes and from his losses at the gaming tables. A conniving little frog. And Jack knew Benjamin Trayne from Eton. A pompous peacock. Forever in debt.

She sat ramrod straight, her silver eyes glistening in the lamplight. “Name your price then.”

Jack should have been offended by that. She would give anything to gain his agreement. Anything. The temptation to take her offer rose up from that same well spring of emotion, so rare in Jack’s thinking, that he had to look at her once more and imagine what she had been before Pinrose had sequestered her and abused her. She had most probably been lively, fun loving, a woman well–spoken with an education and a wit to form a plan to save herself. Jack bit back outrage she had been so poorly treated. Flooded with empathy that she had been deprived of what was rightly hers, he yearned to protect her, tall and elegant and lovely as she most certainly was. For before Pinrose had imprisoned her, this delicate creature had been a jewel of femininity. Ivory skin. Sun-kissed hair. Peony pink cheeks. Cherry lips.

Jack Stanhope sat, stunned at himself. For a man who had never thought twice about a woman’s birthrights, he craved a restitution of this woman’s. “I will help you.”

“Wonderful!” She leaned over and hugged the stuffing out of him. “And you will do it tonight?”

“Tonight it is.”

She swayed with joy. Then she caught herself up to sneeze.

Jack fished a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over.

She blew her nose. “And you will promise me one more thing, please?”

Murder seemed to not be on her menu, but a man never knew what a woman would want. “Let me hear it.”

“That after we are wed, you will have me.”

“
Have
you?”

“Yes, you know…” She gestured about with the handkerchief.

He searched her face, bright now with maidenly embarrassment. “Do I?”

“You must take me to bed.”

“Why must I?”

“Debauch me. Teach me! Everything!”

Never in his thirty–five years had he ever heard a lady say the word ‘debauch’. He told himself not to laugh and instead cleared his throat. She would be lovely and a sensuous temptation, he knew, once she recovered her health and vigor. His usual desire for a woman, once sparked, held for months. Would he be ready to let this one go from his bed after one encounter? “You wish to know the ways of the bedchamber?”

“I do.”

Dear god. I am grateful.
He smoothed the fabric of his trousers. “Why is that?”

She tore her gaze away, but straightened her spine as she turned to face him. “I want to know if what my mother says is true that love between a man and woman can be enchanting. But more than that, much more, I want to be ruined by you for any other man.”

The force of her declaration set him back to the squabs. He stared at her.

“The
ton
has it that to be taken to bed by Viscount Durham ruins any woman for another man.”

His rake’s reputation suddenly took on a new perspective. A sinister aspect became a monster that would have him help this charming young woman only to ruin her. Was he such a man to do such a task? He was appalled that this is what he had become. So notorious that he was unmatched? He didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“And there is the other fact,” she intruded on his reverie.

Something else could be worse? “What other?”

“That if you take me to bed, Trayne will never want your castoffs.”

Jack froze. If earlier he’d thought himself nigh unto foxed with the outlandish nature of her offer, he groped now for a suitable response to this preposterous request. Is this what others thought of him? A man so unprincipled that a woman might approach him to save her by taking her virginity? He’d never heard of such a thing!