Josephine inhaled as she glanced across his chest, tracked by long white scars, towards his left arm. She swallowed. The newspaper had described the duel as a bloody affair, but his arm, while usable, was corded in the thickest welt of angry scarring she’d ever seen. He looked truly battle-worn, and she tried not to conjure the moment the injuries had occurred, or the fate of his opponent.
‘I beg to differ, sir,’ she replied in a steady voice. ‘I do not look for perfection, and I consider a person without scars is one who has barely lived. It is our blemishes and imperfections that define us, not the opposite.’ Then, before she could change her mind, she reached up to remove her spectacles and look straight at the semi-clad lord. Instantly, the background of the room disappeared into a blur of shapes and colours, as was usual with her sight condition, but His Lordship’s face remained clear. She lifted her chin, and waited for his inevitable disappointment or indifference, but his expression only seemed to soften. She took a deep breath. ‘I may not be my sister’s equal in appearance or temperament, my lord, but as neither of these things were specifically detailed, I assumed they were less important than my name… And, unless your opponent was murdered in cold blood, it will take more than a few battle scars to scare me,’ she added, replacing her spectacles.
There was a moment’s silence while Lord Huntingly regarded Josephine, his eyes never leaving her face, before he pulled his shirt back over his head. ‘You are deceptive, Miss Fairfax,’ he drawled. ‘I had you pegged as a bluestocking do-gooder, but now…’ He frowned as he shook out the sleeves of his shirt and buttoned the neck more respectably. ‘Tell me,’ he began, his tone gentler than before. ‘What’s prompted this course of action? Is my reputation so very ghastly among the Fairfaxes?’
‘No, not at all,’ Josephine replied carefully, ‘and the idea was mine alone. But, in truth, there’s little that can be said or done to induce Matilda to marry you willingly– and I am quite certain that even the knowledge that she is promised could make her run to the ends of the earth.’
At this, the bemused Huntingly gave a shout of laughter. ‘Good Lord! And so you’re the sacrificial lamb? I’m not sure I think much of the rest of your sisters for letting you face the fire alone, or did you draw lots?’ he enquired, visibly shaking with mirth.
‘Well, no.’ Josephine frowned, concerned that any gentleman should find his own terrible reputation quite so amusing. ‘No one else knows I’m here, and I would be in awful trouble if they did. I offer myself in Matilda’s place because…’ Her voice trailed off as she stared at his gleaming eyes, noticing a fiery ring of amber around his irises for the first time. What did they indicate? A passionate nature that could kill a man and disappear for years, before confronting a lone female with the scars of his misadventures?
The faded newspaper report of a murderous lord, who disappeared abroad after a bloody duel, reached through her thoughts. It was followed swiftly by a vision of the thorn-choked fountain on his front lawn, and she closed her eyes to suppress a shiver.
‘I offer myself because I am not like Matilda, or expected to make a match at all,’ she forced calmly, ‘so if it’s just the name you’re after, you might as well have me!’
She pushed her chin in the air defiantly but was conscious her chest felt tighter than it had in a long while, that this was the moment to which she’d been building, that he could still say no and it would all have been for nothing. There was a protracted pause when she thought he might laugh again, but instead he only regarded her quizzically.
‘Well then, Miss…’
‘Josephine,’ she supplied quietly.
‘Well then, Miss Josephine Fairfax, you intrigue me and, as“nothing on this earth will induce Matilda to marry”me, I say we throw our lots in together and make the most of it.’ He held up a hand as Josephine tried to interject. ‘I may not yet have had the pleasure of meeting your sister,’ he added, amber sparking in his eyes, ‘but you make a very strong point, and your selflessness in offering to take her place when faced with such a monstrous predicament… pleases me. In short, Miss Josephine Fairfax, I accept.’
ChapterFive
Ebcott Library;Old Paper and Scars
Later that day
The scent of old paper and sealing wax soothed Josephine as soon as she entered Ebcott library, Lord Huntingly’s parting words still ringing in her ears. Every time she thought of her early morning mission, she reddened to the point that she barely knew what to think anymore. How she’d ever managed to convince herself she could waltz into his manor house and propose herself as an exchange for Matilda, seemed so foolhardy now as to be ludicrous.
There was a reason she was still unmarried: she was everyone’sdearest sickly bluestocking, universally terrible at dancing and conversation, already wed to her books. Yet now, she was secretly betrothed to a… what? A shamed gentleman, for sure, but a self-confessed monster?
She caught her breath and flushed again, recalling the way he’d asked her to remove her spectacles. It had been the smallest thing, yet distinctly unnerving too. Was he trying to make her feel that way, to punish her for having the audacity to make such a proposal? Or was it something deeper, something that reflected his own sense of self? And then there was the fact he’d accepted her proposal, or at least claimed to, with a smile that made her wonder if it was the bravest, or most ridiculous, thing she’d ever done.
Was he, even now, writing a letter to Thomas and laughing at her?
Scowling, she reached out and ran her fingers along the worn spines of the novels closest. They were bound copies ofSense and Sensibility,Pride and Prejudice,Mansfield ParkandEmmashe’d insisted the viscount bought while she and several others were schooled under the watchful eye of Dr Kapoor. How innocent and carefree those days seemed now, and how certain she was that none of their heroines would have ever made the blunders she made without trying.
‘I thought I might find you in here,’ a familiar voice called, interrupting her brief escape.
She smiled instinctively as her sister appeared in the library doorway. Phoebe had been a mother figure to her for as long as she could remember, and no one could have been more supportive when her London seasons proved to be fruitless. She’d even reminded Thomas that neither she nor Sophie had secured a match in the usual way, and that their marriages were much more the product of coincidence than strategy.
And yet neither had returned home after three seasons without so much as a sniff of an offer either.
‘I was just daydreaming about old school days,’ Josephine replied, half truthfully. ‘Are you feeling quite well, dearest?’ she added, observing Phoebe’s pale countenance and stiff stature.
Phoebe laughed and placed a hand in the middle of her back to accentuate the considerable bump beneath her loosened corset and skirts.
‘I’m not sure anyone can claim to be quite well with one of these ruling every thought and movement they make,’ she replied ruefully. ‘Truly, Jo, I’m not sure how Sophie has done it so many times already.’
Josephine laughed, though she was conscious of a stir of concern too. Damerel and Phoebe had smiled through their efforts to become with child, while Rotherby and Sophie had made it look easy. Then, when the news they’d all longed for had transpired at last, she’d suffered more than she’d bloomed. Even now, in her final month, Phoebe’s usual colour and spirit hadn’t quite returned and, while she beamed with gratitude, Josephine could sense her discomfort too.
‘Sophie has always been the most practical of us,’ Josephine soothed. ‘She was destined to have a tribe of her own, while you, dearest, are one of the bravest– save for Matilda, of course!’
It was Phoebe’s turn to laugh. ‘Was there ever a Fairfax as daring as Matilda?’ She groaned. ‘And yet, her spirit and fire are so akin to my own heart, I cannot chastise her for it.’
‘We know!’ Josephine rolled her eyes.
