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Authors: Lorraine Heath

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Devon cursed the stars. Weren’t enough conditions attached to this marriage? “What would your solitary condition entail, Miss Pierce?”

She tilted her chin up ever so slightly. “You must never lie to me. You must never tell me I am beautiful when I am not. You must never tell me you love me when you cannot.”

“Never is a long time, Miss Pierce.”

“So is until death do us part, my lord.”

“Indeed it is. I accept your condition.”

She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Then she lifted her chin up as though about to challenge him once again. “I assume my father isn’t going to part with his money until we’re married. How soon do you wish to wed?”

No lies, she’d said. Well, then, he’d give her no lies. “The sooner the better.”

“When would sooner be?”

“I can obtain a special license. We could be mar
ried by the end of the week. There will of course be talk.”

“It’ll be scandalous, won’t it?” She gave him a small smile. He knew it was a trick of the moonlight and that moonbeams were gentle, but for a moment she almost appeared a vision of loveliness. “I’ve never had my name associated with a scandal before. I think it might be quite fun.”

Quite fun? Dear Lord, but he’d spent his life ensuring no scandals were associated with him. Now a hasty marriage to a foreigner would taint his efforts.

“May I call on you the day after tomorrow to apprise you of my success in obtaining our license?” he asked.

“The day after tomorrow will be fine.”

She held out her small hand, and he wrapped his larger one around it, absorbing the slight tremors in hers. Theirs was a business arrangement. He needed financing. She desired a child and the respectability his title offered. A business arrangement was agreed upon with a handshake.

And if her hand hadn’t been trembling, that’s all he would have given her, all he’d planned to give her. Instead he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a light kiss against her gloved fingertips. “Until the day after tomorrow, Miss Pierce.”

He released her hand and began to walk away.

“My lord?”

He turned back, and she was once again watching the lawn. “Sometimes things look different in the
morning. I’ll understand if you have a change of heart and don’t call on me.”

“I’ll be there,” he vowed quietly.

 

With his velvet promise lingering on the slight breeze, Georgina watched the shadows play over the lawn while clouds waltzed across the moon.

Originally she had not intended to accept his offer. In truth she had not even planned to encourage his suit with conversation. And yet she’d been unable to ignore him, to allow him to walk away. Not when he represented what she had yet to obtain. He was a gentleman. A gentleman in need of financing.

And she was a woman, a woman who longed to belong, who desperately wanted children. A little one to love who would return that affection untainted.

How could she turn away from the opportunity to live with a man who’d spoken of his home with such affection, as though bits of silver and gold threaded his voice. She did not expect him to ever extend that emotion toward her, but it comforted her to know he was capable of expressing it.

He’d said the situation wasn’t easy for him. But neither was it easy for her. To give herself to a man she barely knew…or to never give herself at all.

What had she been thinking to accept? Here in the garden, surrounded by shadows, it had all seemed dreamlike, and she’d succumbed to the lure of at long last finding a place where she belonged. A home.

And in time a child. Someone who would love her as her father did—simply because she existed.

Dared she believe that he would keep his promise to come for her? The secret place within her that longed for all the things she’d been denied hoped that he would.

She pressed her balled hand just above her breast. The ache in her chest increased as the tears slowly leaked onto her cheeks. She knew worse things existed than a marriage without love. But was anything lonelier?

She could stand on a windswept prairie and not feel lonely. She could stand in a crowded ballroom and know a lonesome ache that defied description.

Which would her marriage resemble?

Her father’s money had purchased her grandest dream: to become a wife. She could only hope his taste in men far exceeded his taste in women’s clothing.

Quickly she swiped the tears from her cheeks. Although she did not need love, she dearly wanted it.

She was grateful Lord Huntingdon had approached her early in the evening. Now she could sneak away and dream of a love that would never be…one last time. After her marriage, she would never again dream or look back or regret what might have been. She would content herself with what was. She never wanted her father or husband to realize she was unhappy.

Her husband.

She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the possibility.

She strolled into the ballroom. Happy sounds floated toward her. Flirtations always carried such a musical lilt to them. Women blushed. Gentlemen’s eyes warmed with pleasure. She’d always watched from the edge, never having been invited into the circle.

A shame she hadn’t added one waltz at each ball to her list of conditions. She had a feeling that once Lord Huntingdon had his fist around her father’s money, he would seldom be tempted to close his hand around hers.

Wending her way through the crowd, she listened as the gentle strains of a waltz floated across the room.

“I believe this is my dance, Miss Pierce.”

She spun around, her heart thundering. The Earl of Huntingdon stood before her in his finely cut jacket that had seen better days, and his somber eyes that she was certain had seen more joyous evenings.

He extended his hand toward her. As though in a dream, she placed hers on top of his, and he escorted her onto the dance floor. Her breath caught once she realized exactly what she’d allowed. She’d never in her life waltzed. Of course, she’d never been married either, but that hadn’t stopped her from accepting his proposal—such as it was.

In rhythm with the music, he waltzed with her, his gaze holding hers captive. She would look into those blue eyes every evening for the remaining years of her life. She would watch his black hair turn completely silver and the shallow grooves etched on
his face deepen. She would witness the slowing of his gait and his acquisition of wisdom. Would his shoulders slump with the burden of age? Or would he stand tall against all the challenges that life would toss their way?

Slowing his step, reaching out, he grazed his gloved knuckle over her eyelashes. “You overlooked a tear, sweeting.”

“It’s a woman’s right to cry when she accepts a proposal of marriage.”

“Indeed. I find women weep over a great many things.”

“I don’t,” she assured him.

“No, I suspect you don’t.”

The final refrain from the song drifted over her, around her, through her.

“I shall call on you the day after tomorrow,” he said solemnly.

She nodded quickly, her throat tightening and tears threatening to fill her eyes. She refused to cry again for all they would not have—especially in front of him. “I’ll be waiting.”

She should have contented herself with the nod instead of speaking in a voice that greatly resembled a bullfrog sitting on the muddy bank of a creek back home.

“As you mentioned, sometimes things appear different in the morning,” he said, repeating her earlier comment. “I’ll understand if you have a change of heart and decide not to see me when I arrive.”

She angled her chin defiantly. “I’m not one to go back on my word.”

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “Until then…sleep well.”

She would have sworn the room became quiet enough for a prayer meeting as his long, confident strides carried him away from her.

As for sleeping well, she doubted that she would sleep at all.

L
ounging in a chair before the cold, empty hearth in his bedchamber, Devon studied the portrait of his wife that hung above the marble mantel. He supposed he would have to place it elsewhere. It would be bad form to leave it here where his new wife might happen upon it.

He had not expected to be drawn to Georgina Pierce. Not attracted in the classical sense, but drawn as the ocean laps at the shore. It cannot stop its momentum forward, and even after it retreats, it quickly returns.

Amazingly he’d possessed a strong desire to return to her for another dance. Perhaps it was the lure of that solitary tear clinging to her dark lash as an early morning dewdrop on the petal of a red rose might.

During the journey home, he’d constantly stroked the spot on his glove that carried the dampness from
her tear. He could not prevent himself from wondering at her reason for weeping. For joy because he had rescued her from the fate of a spinster? Or from disappointment because he hadn’t spoken of undying love?

He presumed disappointment was the culprit. She’d made it perfectly clear that she didn’t anticipate flattery. Strange how once she’d forbidden it, he’d wanted to inundate her with it.

Not the idiotic moon pales in comparison garbage that he still had difficulty believing he’d uttered earlier. Rather something more substantial, more honest. He doubted that he would ever view her as gorgeous, but something about her that he couldn’t quite identify intrigued him. Perhaps their marriage would not be as disheartening as he’d envisioned.

Yet he seriously doubted it would resemble his marriage to Margaret in any manner. Theirs had been one of passion. He had loved her with every aspect of his existence. Even when she had turned away from him. When his touch had repulsed her because his hands were no longer those of a gentleman.

This evening his gloves had hidden that disgraceful fact from Miss Pierce, but she would no doubt notice during their wedding night when he sought to fulfill his promise to give her a child. The calluses on his palms would abrade her skin.

Margaret had come to loathe the roughness of his hands. No matter how lightly he’d touched her, she’d claimed he hurt her delicate flesh. No matter how often he’d bathed, she’d sworn he smelled as though he’d rolled in the fields.

When he’d gone to her bed, she’d wept for all they’d once had and mourned all they no longer possessed. He’d lost her long before she died.

He’d been lonely for such a long time now. Lonely and alone.

He had failed Margaret, and in so doing, he had disappointed himself.

Pierce’s money would help him regain his self-esteem. Would help wash away his memory of Margaret calling him a pitiful excuse for a man…only moments before she died in his arms.

 

“I want to know everything!”

Georgina squinted through the darkness as Lauren flung herself on the bed, causing it to rock. She shook Georgina’s shoulder. “Wake up and tell me everything.”

“I am awake.” Georgina pulled herself into a sitting position and shoved the pillows behind her back.

As soon as Huntingdon had left her, she’d gone in search of the carriage. She’d come home, readied herself for bed, crawled beneath the blankets, and stared at the ceiling, mulling over the strange evening.

Lauren turned up the flame in the lamp. “I saw Huntingdon dance with you, and then you disappeared. You should have heard the murmuring and whispers that followed his departure.”

“I did hear them. Why do you think I left?”

“Gina, don’t you understand what he did? By dancing with you, he practically dared every other man to do the same. It didn’t go unnoticed that you
were the only lady with whom he danced. His attentiveness was absolutely wonderful! You’ll wear out your slippers dancing at the next ball.”

“I’m not going to any other ball.”

“Of course you are, silly goose. Everyone’s curiosity regarding you was finally piqued—”

“Lauren, I’m getting married.”

Lauren’s mouth dropped open, and her eyelashes began to flutter. “Pardon?”

“Huntingdon asked me to marry him. I said yes.” Although he hadn’t exactly
asked
, and she hadn’t exactly
said yes
.

“But I only introduced you to him tonight. How could you possibly fall in love with him that quickly?”

“I didn’t. I barely know him!” Georgina threw aside the covers, scrambled out of bed, and began to pace across the thick carpet. She knew many marriages were based on needs rather than love. She could accept hers would be one of those. But the litany in her mind did little to reassure her.

“I don’t understand,” Lauren said as she stretched across the bed and raised herself up on her elbows.

“Papa arranged it. Huntingdon needs money, and Papa wants to see me married.” She dropped onto the mattress. Pleasing her father was her single greatest joy. But this latest wish of his—what would it cost her to grant it? “I’ve been lying here thinking about it. How can I marry a man I don’t respect?”

“How can you not respect Huntingdon? For goodness sake, Gina, he’s an earl.”

“He didn’t earn the title or his position, Lauren. An accident of birth gave him advantage, and apparently he squandered it. Respect comes with hard work, not from careless disregard of the toil of those who came before you.”

“If you feel that way, then why are you marrying him?”

“Because Papa wants it so badly.” She studied her hands. “And I want children.”

She cast a furtive glance at her friend. “And there’s a little more to it. I never told you about New York.”

“What about it?”

She studied her hands. How could she explain the humiliation?

“Three years ago, Papa decided that it was time to stop our wanderings. He’d lost his fortune a couple of times, gambling, and this time, when he regained it, he wanted to make Mama happy. To make amends for some of the more difficult times. He thought New York was the place.

“But it was awful, Lauren. The city is owned by the old money. They have as many rules there as you have here, and I despise them all. Until one of the old families acknowledges you, you’re no better than something to be wiped off a shoe.”

“It’s not that bad here.”

“You don’t notice, because your stepfather is influential. For all the hard-earned money Papa had, he had no influence among the socially elite. And you’re nobody until a Knickerbocker recognizes you as such.”

Georgina swallowed hard, buffeting the painful memory.

“One evening Mama, Papa, and I were standing in the foyer at the opera house. One of the matrons of New York caught Mama’s attention. You should have seen Mama’s face, Lauren. She thought she was finally being accepted. The woman walked toward us, and then she breezed right by without saying a word.”

“A direct cut,” Lauren murmured. “In public. She must have been mortified.”

“She was such a gentle woman, Lauren.”

“I remember her well. She always made everyone feel welcome.”

“Well, shortly after that night, she got sick. Then the pneumonia set in. When she died last winter, Papa started making plans to visit here. I think he was hoping all along to find me a husband.”

“But why an Englishman?”

“Not just an Englishman. An aristocrat. I think at the very core of his heart, he genuinely wants to see me happy, wants to see me well married and with the children that I so desperately desire. But a part of him can’t forget the devastation on Mama’s face when the woman walked by her and looked away. What better way to beat the old guard at their own game than through marriage, to join a club more exclusive than theirs, even if it’s an ocean away? They’re bound to hear of it.

“And a part of me, Lauren, thinks why not? I’ve yet to find a man whose interest I can hold. Neither
of us would have expectations of romance or love. I can’t help but wonder if a marriage of convenience would be better than no marriage at all.”

Lauren shrugged. “I suppose you could do worse than Huntingdon. After all, he is deliciously handsome. He looks as though he’d be delightfully wicked in bed.”

Georgina tugged on one of Lauren’s blond curls. “What do you know about being
wicked in bed?

Lauren’s cheeks blushed becomingly. “I’ve heard things.”

“Such as?” Georgina demanded.

Wearing a mischievous grin, Lauren edged closer to Georgina and whispered, “I’ve heard a man kisses you all over.”

“All over?”

Lauren nodded enthusiastically, her eyes twinkling. “From the top of your head to the tips of your toes—and
everywhere
in between.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Using her finger, Lauren made a cross over her heart in much the same manner as they had when they were children. “I swear it’s what I’ve heard.”

Georgina felt trepidation slice through her. The warmth from his mouth had seeped through her glove as he’d kissed her fingers. She couldn’t imagine his lips against her flesh or that a man might not expect something in return. “How is a woman expected to kiss a man?”

Lauren licked her lips. “In much the same manner, I imagine.”

“Since ours is to be a marriage of necessity and
not passion, I don’t imagine I’ll be expected to kiss him anywhere.”

Laughing, Lauren plopped onto her back. “And you said I’d become a prude.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“No, honestly, it’s what I’ve heard.”

“Who told you?”

“Tom.”

Georgina heard the wistful longing in Lauren’s voice. “Did he kiss you everywhere?”

“Of course not. He said I was too young, but he promised he would on my seventeenth birthday. Then we moved here when I was fourteen, so he never had a chance.” Lauren rolled over, raised herself up on her elbows, and held Georgina’s gaze. “Promise you’ll tell me if Huntingdon kisses you
everywhere
.”

“He won’t.”

“But if he does…”

“He won’t!” Because she wouldn’t dare let him.

 

Glancing over her shoulder, Georgina studied her reflection in the mirror. She liked the way the back of the blue wool dress was gathered into puffs that went both lengthwise and across. The simple lines leading to the modest train made her look elegant.

And not a single bow in sight. She hoped as much as she dreaded that Lord Huntingdon would honor his promise and call on her today.

She’d visited a seamstress first thing that morning and ordered a gown of white. It was supposed to be completed in three days, and Georgina had no idea
if that was soon enough. He’d said they’d be married by the end of the week.

Had he meant they’d be married by Friday, in which case the wedding would take place on Thursday? Or had he meant Saturday with the wedding to take place on Friday? What day did he consider the end of the week? Did he mean they would be married on that day or the day before?

And what was a special license? Would certain conditions apply to their marriage?

She thought about asking Lauren, but she was incredibly embarrassed that she’d agreed to this marriage without addressing all the particulars. Of course, she hadn’t truly believed he’d honor the bargain. No lies, no love, no false flattery.

She turned away from the mirror. She shouldn’t have been so quick to reveal her conditions. What would it hurt to be told just once by someone other than her father that she was beautiful—even if it wasn’t true?

The rap on the door started her heart to thundering.

Elizabeth Montgomery peered into the room. Her once blond hair was now a gentle white that reminded Georgina of soft dandelions. Her blue eyes sparkled. Georgina had no doubt Elizabeth had flourished by marrying Christopher Montgomery and moving to England. She just wasn’t quite sure coming here had been the best thing for Lauren, although she had to admit Christopher Montgomery seemed to be a good father.

Elizabeth smiled warmly. “You have a gentleman caller. Lord Huntingdon.”

Georgina’s knees grew weak. He’d come! Until this moment, she hadn’t realized she’d convinced herself he wouldn’t show. Nor had she realized how desperately glad she would be that he had arrived.

“I’ll be right down.”

“You might want to don a hat and grab your parasol. He mentioned he had an interest in taking you for a boat ride on the Thames.”

 

“By God, you were supposed to court her!”

Standing in the foyer, Devon had barely given Elizabeth his message before Pierce pounced on him like a rabid dog. The splotchy red covering the man’s face made Devon fear that he’d collapse in an apoplectic fit at any moment.

“Perhaps we should discuss this matter in a more private setting,” Devon suggested.

“The library. Now!” Pierce thundered.

“I assume Ravenleigh isn’t in here,” he murmured as he followed the man to his cousin’s lair.

As soon as he entered, Pierce turned on him.

“We had a gentleman’s agreement—”

“Which I have honored.”

“How do you figure that? I wanted her courted and wooed. I wanted her to feel loved. A woman should only be asked once to give her hand in marriage, and by God, that moment should be one she’ll carry with her until her hair turns gray.”

Devon had a feeling Georgina would always re
member the moment. He knew he certainly would. “Our arrangement was based on my conforming to three conditions. I will have more success at convincing her that I find her beautiful and am in love with her if she is my wife rather than my interest.

“And I’m rather certain you’ll agree giving her a child is facilitated by a hastily arranged marriage. As to my remaining faithful to her, that as well cannot be tested until a wedding has taken place.”

“A shotgun wedding was not a condition—”

“Oh, Papa.”

Devon spun around at the sound of Georgina’s voice. How much had she heard? She knew money was a factor in their hasty marriage. She knew he was willing to give her a child. But for reasons he could not fathom, he had not wanted her to know that her father thought it necessary to demand his faithfulness or that he had been told to convince her that she was beautiful.

Both those conditions suddenly seemed cold and harsh. While financial consideration was the basis for their marriage, he’d hoped to spare her the truth of the details. A woman should not only expect fidelity from her husband, but she should feel as though he did find her attractive.

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