Emily closed the door behind her and allowed her shoulders to sag. The duke’s information complicated matters significantly. But could she allow it to change everything?
It could mean Rhoda would remain ruined in the eyes of Society forever. And her sisters! Her entire family!
Marcus swallowed his third tumbler of scotch. This house party was not proving to be the restful holiday he’d expected. Good God, Miss Goodnight and Lord Carlisle! He’d had no idea the vicar had it in him.
Marcus wanted to leave. But where would he go? Marcus glanced around at the book-lined walls of Prescott’s library.
London would not welcome him, and he had no desire to head to Brighton. Vivienne would make demands of him. And the thought of making use of her body repulsed him. What was the matter with him?
Of course, he could not travel home. Although Candlewood Park would someday belong to him, until then, he’d be thrown off the premises immediately.
He felt shaken for some reason but didn’t know why. Where was his cornerstone? A ship? A horse?
The bottom of a bottle?
Marcus tossed back another swallow.
Likely seeing another bachelor caught in Miss Goodnight’s trap had done it.
Had she trapped him? Or was Carlisle not quite the Godly man one would believe?
“My lord?”
As though magically conjured by his thoughts, Miss Goodnight peered from behind the previously closed door and then stepped inside. Such a tiny little thing to have created so much havoc. Without waiting for an answer, she crept inside before timidly sitting down in the chair across from him. “I thought perhaps you might be here.”
In the glow of but a few candles, her brown hair seemed darker but for the golden highlights reflecting an occasional sparkle of the flickering lights.
He raised his glass. “Congratulations are in order.”
She did not meet his eyes but instead stared down at her clasped hands. “If you’re to marry Rhoda, I think it must be done quickly. I’m worried her mother might insist they return to London in light of my… er…”
“Scandalous behavior?” Anger suffused him. Such a conniving, manipulative, deceptive person he’d never known. Of course, she’d trapped Carlisle. The poor bastard had stepped into that closet like a lamb to the slaughter. “You’re no different from any of the other husband hunters.”
This brought her head up with a jerk. “What are women to do?” She returned his slight with equal vigor. “What would you do if you had no control over your life? Where you could live? How you would make a living? Am I to simply allow my parents to send me to the ends of the earth to act as a servant to a spoiled and selfish old woman without putting up some sort of a fight? Yes, women are conniving sometimes, but I ask you, what other options do we have?”
For a moment, he considered her outburst. But then he stated the obvious. “You could be a governess somewhere or a lady’s companion.”
She burst from her chair. “And give over my life to the demands of others? Would you wish to live such a life? Perhaps it is selfish of me. Yes, yes, I am utterly selfish! I wish to have my own home! I wish to read what I want, when I want. I wish to be able to do experiments, garden, and have friends. I wish to travel and, so help me God, I wish to have children of my own.” She’d been pacing back and forth across the carpet as she made her speech. When she finally stopped, she looked horrified. “Yes, I acted scandalously. But what other choice did I have?”
“Attract a man honorably?” he dared to suggest. Closing his eyes, he awaited a slap that he likely deserved but nothing came. No burning sting. No vehement response. Only the dizzying sensation that ought to have warned him he’d imbibed far too much of Prescott’s scotch.
When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see her slumped in the chair again.
“I tried that.” She shrugged. “It didn’t work.”
Ah, the crux of the matter. Hadn’t his kiss shown her anything? “But I’ve been attracted to you at times.” Why would he tell her this? “I’m certain there have been others.” He reached for the half-empty bottle he’d been drinking from and tipped it into his glass. Faint regret struck him at the splash of delightful nectar he’d spilled onto the table.
“You did it out of pity. I’m not an idiot, you know.”
Truth be told, he’d wanted her to believe he’d kissed her out of pity. He’d kissed her because he’d wanted to, but anytime a woman thought she held sway over a man, she did everything possible to net him.
“It doesn’t matter anyhow.” She sat up straight again. “And I have appreciated your friendship. But I’m here to settle the details of your elopement. Can you be prepared to leave in a few hours’ time? Like I said, I’m worried Rhoda’s mother will want to take her daughters and make an abrupt departure in the morning.”
Miss Mossant.
Revenge upon his father.
The idea had sounded so appealing when he’d first heard it.
