Page 20 of A Rogue's Downfall
“The full truth?”
“That he was in my room by invitation,” she said. “That if he compromised me, then I also compromisedmyself. A duel would be quite inappropriate, you see.You will withdraw the challenge, will you not?”
The viscount, Lord Brindley saw in one quick glance, was standing looking back at him, his expression utterlyblank. If the baron could have throttled his sister atthat moment and remained within the law, he wouldhave done so. The minx. The slut. He had thought hersensible despite her strange rejection of two chances ofan advantageous match during the Season. And yet shehad given in to the damnably improper advances of arake just like the most brainless of chits. Well, let hertake the consequences.
“There will be no duel, Caroline,” he said. “Leave us, please. Viscount Lyndon and I have certain mattersto discuss.”
She looked at him a little uncertainly, then seemed about to slide her eyes in the direction of the viscount,changed her mind, turned, and left the room. The viscount had stood still and quiet throughout her visit.
“Well,” Lord Brindley said briskly, “we have a marriage contract to discuss, Lyndon. Have a seat. There is no time like the present, I suppose, despite the factthat we may miss breakfast.”
Viscount Lyndon took a seat.
If he could do anything he wanted to the girl with utter impunity, Viscount Lyndon decided as he returned to his own room a considerable time later, hewould throttle her. No, she was not a girl. He had seenthat as soon as he had had a good look at her. She waspast girlhood. She was three-and-twenty, according toher brother. Thank goodness for that, at least. If hemust marry—he winced—then let it at least be to awoman and not a girl straight from the schoolroom.
He could cheerfully throttle her. He had been so close to getting himself out of the most damnable messhe had been in in his life. So close to freedom. Hismind had already been inventing an aged relative atdeath’s door and a few other fond relatives who hadwritten to beg his immediate presence at the event. Hehad already in his mind been away from a potentiallydull house party and away from a dreaded marriage.
Until she, the sweet young thing, Miss Caroline Astor, had come along with her noble lie to save herbrother from having a bullet placed between his eyesor a sword sheathed through his heart. If she had onlyknown it, it was the exact midpoint betweenhereyesthat he had pictured for one ungallant moment with ablackened hole through it.
And so here he was, a betrothed man in effect if not quite yet in reality. The formal offer was still to make,though the contract had been discussed and agreedupon. But if the girl—woman—had such an enormousdowry, the viscount thought, frowning, why the devilwas she still unmarried at the age of three-and-twenty?And she was admittedly pretty too. What was wrongwith her? Something must be—a pleasant thought tolie in one’s stomach in place of breakfast.
If he made his offer with great care, he thought, throwing himself down on his bed and staring upward. . . If he made himself thoroughly disagreeable . . .But no. Honor was involved. If it were not, he wouldnot even be making the offer. He grimaced.
She had not even looked at him after that one glance before entering the room. She had not even named him.She had referred to him only as “he.” And she had liedthrough her teeth, not to protect him, but to save herbrother’s hide. And she had looked thoroughly humorless and belligerent while she was doing so. Shehad red hair—well, auburn anyway. She was bound tobe a bad-tempered shrew. That was all he needed inhis life.
A damned attractive shrew, of course. His temperature slid up a degree when he remembered . . . But not attractive enough to make a leg-shackle seem any betterthan a life sentence. The woman did not live who wasthat attractive.
Damn!
Perhaps after they were betrothed. The viscount set one arm over his eyes and thought. He could makehimself extremely obnoxious if he tried. Gaze admiringly at himself in looking glasses and windows whenhe ought to be complimenting her on her appearance.Talk incessantly about himself. Boast about some of hisconquests. Sneer at anything and everything he foundher to be interested in. Within the week he could haveher screaming to be released from her promise.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. Gad, but it went againstthe grain. All his attentions toward women were usuallydesigned to attract, not to repel. However, it would bein a good cause. Good for him and good for her too.If she only knew it, he would be doing her the greatestfavor in the world. He would make the world’s worsthusband. The woman would be miserable within a fortnight of marriage.
He got resolutely to his feet. He had arranged with Brindley to talk with her before luncheon. He was suddenly eager to get the thing over with so that he couldproceed to the serious business of freeing both of themagain. He wondered if he could charm any of the femaleservants into serving him a late breakfast. He did notfancy making a marriage proposal on an empty stomach.
Not that he really fancied making one on a full stomach either, of course.
He was going to make her a marriage proposal. And it seemed that everything had been arranged already.The proposal itself and her acceptance of it were to bea mere formality.
It had never struck her. Not through a largely sleepless night—she would have said it was entirely sleepless except that there were memories of bizarre eroticdreams. And not through an anxious early morning.She had visualized public denunciations and duels andhorrible embarrassment. She had pictured all kinds ofpunishments that might be visited upon Viscount Lyndon, almost all of which would undoubtedly harmRoyston more than the real culprit. But she had neverimagined that anyone would consider marriage betweenthe two of them necessary.
And yes, of course she must listen to the offer, Royston had said in a coldly furious voice when he had finally appeared in her room and dismissed a grimlyvigilant Letty. And accept it too. He did not knowwhat had come over her. Did she have no pride inherself or her family name? Did she not know Lyndon’sreputation? Did she think any but the most unprincipled rake would have agreed to meet her in her bedchamber at night?
She had been unable to defend herself. After all she was the one who had said the viscount was in her roomby her invitation. She had merely muttered somethingabout love and romance and just a very few minutesduring which to say a private good night.
“Love,” her brother had said with the utmost contempt. “Romance. With someone like Lyndon, Caroline? Well, you will have them for what they are worth for the rest of your lifetime. I wish you happy.”
She could have him for the rest of a lifetime. Caroline sighed. She could marry him. She could be his betrothed within the coming hour. Viscount Lyndon,over whom the romantical and foolish side of her naturehad sighed from afar for months while the sensible partof herself had assured her that it was as well that sheadmired only from afar. That it was as well his eyeshad never alighted on her.
She was to meet him on the terrace half an hour before noon. She wandered there five minutes early,well knowing that it would have been far better to befive minutes late. She smiled cheerfully at five of heryoung relatives, who were embarking on a walk to thewoods half a mile distant, and expressed her regrets atbeing unable to go with them.
“I am meeting someone,” she said.
“I hope he is tall, dark, and handsome,” Irene said with a laugh.
And then he was coming through the double front doors and down the horseshoe steps and along the terrace toward her. Towardher.And looking at her. Shehad never been this close to him before—except lastnight, of course, and briefly this morning in Royston’sdressing room. He had never looked at her. He wasindeed very tall and dark. And handsome. And if shewas not careful, she was going to be sighing and makingcow eyes and be no better at all than Eugenia.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said and listened with approval to the coolness of her voice.
