While the vicious harpies carried on with their diatribe, Christopher couldn’t help but notice that this Sophia was turning a worrying shade of green. He wanted to whisper to her that the women were over-exaggerating, that if the two of them played this situation calmly it would all work out well. It had to. He wouldn’t be forced into marrying a stranger because of a good deed gone wrong.
Earlier, he’d been busy minding his own business when he’d overheard Marrisa Jacobs, a renowned beauty with more curls on her head than thoughts in her brain, discussing a way to trap his older brother, Tobias Dashworth, Duke of Glanmore, into marriage. Not only did Tobias hold the illustrious title from an ancient and well-respected line, he was also known to be incredibly wealthy. Plus, he was in possession of all his teeth and had a fine head of hair, all of which, so Christopher understood, made him a desirable catch on the marriage mart. There had been many attempts to woo him, trick him or force him into marriage, but so far, he’d managed to avoid that fate. This plan was diabolical in its simplicity and for the first time,Christopher thought it might succeed, which, he supposed, it had in a way. Yes, two people who did not know each other had been caught in what appeared to be a compromising position and yes, busybodies in the Ton were suggesting forcibly that they marry. That part of the ploy was working just as Miss Marrisa Jacobs had hoped. The only downside for Miss Marrisa Jacobs was that neither she nor Tobias were here. In what had to be his most hen-witted idea of all time, Christopher had decided to get involved.
Two years ago, he hadn’t really cared one way or another about his oldest brother’s matrimonial future. The man was a damned duke and from where Christopher was observing the whole thing, which was to say from very far away, it didn’t look like a punishment to have beautiful women throwing themselves at you all the time. His black cloud of a brother looked like he could handle it, and if he couldn’t, that really wasn’t anything to get in the way of Christopher’s enjoyment. Having finally completed his education, he set out to take in all the delights London had to offer a young man of means and the charm to get away with minor indiscretions.
But fate, by way of an orphaned niece, had sent him back to live in Glanmore House, the monstrously large Dashworth family home, in order for the brothers to raise her. Now, after a mere eleven months of living in the same house, he’d come to the conclusion that underneath the duke’s stern, undemonstrative, cold exterior, there might be a good man. That belief had prodded his conscience twenty minutes ago, causing him to act. He hadn’t been able to find Tobias in any of the gaming rooms, so he’d set out to look for him. His intention to help stop the calamity had gone awry.
As the crowd’s remonstrations built to a fever pitch, Mrs Jacobs turned to him. ‘You shall have to marry my daughter, or her father will have to call you out. Those are your only two options.’
The woman in question took two stumbling steps forward. ‘Mama, I cannot marry this man. I do not know him.’
‘I did not know your father on my wedding day and that turned out well.’
An involuntary puff of air escaped Sophia, which could mean the marriage was good or bad, but certainly not smooth. Mrs Jacobs ignored the noise and the desperate pleading look on her daughter’s face. Instead, she repeated herself several times, all in different phrases but with the same intent: Sophia and Christopher must marry.
‘Fine,’ he said, when he thought his head might split in half from all the noise. ‘Miss Jacobs and I will marry.’
That brought the group to a resounding silence. Only Sophia moved, shaking her head and apparently mouthing the word, ‘No,’ on repeat again.
When a discreet murmur started up again, he took a few steps towards her. She took a giant one back, colliding with the wall behind her. Normally, he would reassure her he was not going to harm her, but his temper was not at its calmest. ‘We are not going to change their minds,’ he said quietly. ‘Better to go along with it now and find a way out of this awfulness together at a later date.’
Dark brown eyes stared up at him, a mixture of fury and utter despair in their depths. This close and he caught a faint whiff of her perfume. It was sweetly floral, reminding him of lying in a garden in the height of summer, the way a soft wind would bring scent on the breeze and… and why the hell was he thinking of this now? The perfume she used was not something he planned to investigate further. They would meet once more to discuss a way out of this disaster and that would be it; the extent to which they would ever need to talk would be over from then on in. In a few years, they may nod toeach other from across a crowded ballroom, but that would be the limit of their acquaintance.
‘Trust me,’ he murmured, because he had to say something, even if he had no idea how he would get them out of this. Breaking off a betrothal was not done. The scandal would be almighty and have terrible repercussions for all of them. But if he refused to go along with it… she would definitely be completely ruined through no fault of her own. If they could come up with a gentler, kinder end to their association, without thousands of eyes, or so it seemed, on them, that had to be better than this horror.
Her downturned lips suggested she was not convinced. ‘Are you the Dashworth brother who raced pigs down Newmarket High Street?’
Unfortunately, the answer to that was yes. He couldn’t quite remember how the escapade had come about, although he knew there had been a fair amount of wine and brandy imbibed over several days and that he and his friends had all been having a grand old time. There hadn’t been a good reason to stop and so they hadn’t.
The only thing he was sure of about the whole debacle was that it had been his idea to race the animals. Everyone had found it hilarious. Siddon had found it so funny, he’d fallen into a hedge, and it had taken an age to pull him back out again. Of course, the owners of the gardens over which the pigs trampled hadn’t found it quite as amusing as him and his friends. The pigs probably hadn’t enjoyed themselves either. Christopher had laughed very hard at the time, and the memory of Siddon’s legs sticking out of all the leaves still brought a smile to his face. But he had to admit to feeling slightly guilty afterwards. Fine, so once the effects of the alcohol had worn off, it had been difficult to think of what they’d done without breaking out into a sweat over how much of an arrogant bore he must have appeared.In the days that had followed he hadn’t been able to sleep because every time he’d closed his eyes, he’d seen one old man’s look of sadness as he’d gazed at the churned-up remains of his garden. Until, one day about a week later, he’d had to make amends to everyone. He’d visited all the ruined gardens, apologised, given money or help where needed. It was another month after that before he’d finished making it up to all those adversely affected. Except the pigs. Although he’d offered to buy the sows from their owners for twice what they were worth and now, instead of becoming bacon, they lived on one of his brother’s many estates, so perhaps reparations had been made there too. Not that now was the time to be thinking about pigs when he should be contemplating the end of his world. That was foolish, even for him, but at least it stopped him dwelling on how much he wanted to inhale deeply to get more of her scent. ‘Why is racing pigs relevant to our current situation?’
There was a faint smattering of freckles across her nose. They were only noticeable when standing this close to her and he wondered at her not putting powder over them to cover them up. Although not overly concerned about women’s fashion, he was fairly sure it was fashionable to have pale, unblemished skin. He was glad she hadn’t and then he was cross with himself for being glad about something that was none of his concern.
‘Knowing that you think racing any animal other than a horse is acceptable behaviour does not instil my trust in any plan which you concoct.’
The ladies behind him continued to babble on about his general wickedness and overall immorality, but he let it wash over him. He had more pressing worries. ‘I do not have a plan.’
‘Oh, good. That makes me feel a lot better.’ She crossed her hands under her chest and glared at him, her expression clearly suggesting she found him an imbecile.
‘I am not trying to make you feel better, and I do not have a plan. The only thing I know for sure is that I am not getting married.’
‘Nor am I, and most certainly not to you, and I do not see how a betrothal is going to solve that. I rather think it will make things worse. Before we know it, we will be stuck together for life and everything will be ruined.’
‘My heart is wounded.’
‘Do you have one?’
‘Ouch.’ He clutched his chest, pretending to be in pain… although, it did sting a little to be rejected forcibly by someone who didn’t know him. If she did, even a little bit, she would know that he cared deeply about things all of the time. ‘Listen, the only thing which is going to get them to stop this horrible tirade about my morality and your ruined virtue, is to pretend to agree to this outrageous idea that we should wed. Let us smile about our happy news and reconvene somewhere to plot our estrangement.’
‘Wait…’ Her hand fluttered upwards as if to catch him, before dropping to her side when she saw that he wasn’t going anywhere. ‘We cannot make this announcement; it would destroy everything.’
‘What is worse than having your reputation in shreds?’
‘Is it not already?’
In short, yes. But they could not be the only ones this had happened to. There must be a way out. For him, there was. If Society already thought him a scoundrel, then there was nothing stopping him from walking away. He had no intention of ever marrying and his family were exalted enough that his brothers would weather the scandal. If Miss Jacobs was going to be difficult about it, then therereally was no reason to help her. Even as he resolved this, he did not move away. He knew that, like with the pig fiasco, he wouldn’t be able to rest until her life was sorted out. Not only that, the scandal had the potential to hurt his family and he did not want that.
Her shoulders drooped, her gaze falling from his face and fixing instead on his cravat. ‘If he thinks I am engaged to someone else, he will not offer for me.’
