“Just do it,” Tess said fiercely. Lord knows it was the very last thing she wanted that irresponsible, care-for-nothing boy to be doing…and yet Imogen had to wake up. She had to.
“As you wish.” He bent down over the bed, as Tess watched. Maitland had a sleekness about him that she couldn’t like, but that seemed to turn Imogen turn to water. Still, Tess had to admit he was handsome, with his cleft chin and generous mouth.
“Imogen,” he said. “Wake up.”
She didn’t move. He looked up at Tess.
“There’s no one but the two of us here,” she snapped. “Consider yourself uncompromised. Of course, your mother would hugely dislike what you are doing now, even if it is for the very best reasons.”
“Believe it or not, that wasn’t first on my mind,” he said. Then he put his hands on either side of the pillow and pitched his voice very low. “Imogen, I want you to wake up now. Wake up!”
Tess’s sister looked exactly like Sleeping Beauty in the fairy tale, her hair curling around her face, long eyelashes lying against her cheeks.
His mouth curled again into a smile. “Ah, but you’re beautiful, lass.” He touched her face. “Wake up, now.”
Tess could see the attraction, oh yes, she could. Those big hands that held a horse so easily, that keen way he looked at her sister. There was something so possessed about Draven Maitland, as if he’d always gotten what he wanted and always would. It was strangely attractive. It was just too bad that the obverse of all that possession was a reckless temperament and a spoiled character.
“Imogen,” he said, and his mouth touched hers. Tess closed her eyes. It didn’t seem right to watch. “Imogen,” she heard him say again, low and commanding.
Tess opened her eyes again. Maitland was looking down at her sister, and there was something in his face that made her feel suddenly uneasy. He put his hands on her face, and he didn’t look lazy anymore. “Imogen,” he said, “I want you to wake up.”
Imogen stirred.
“I want you to wake up,” he said deliberately, “and if you don’t, I shan’t marry you.”
Tess gasped.
He was kissing her sister again, but this time it wasn’t a gentle buss on the lips. “I shan’t marry you,” he growled. Tess took a panicked breath and looked away for a moment. It didn’t seem right to watch and yet—
And when Tess looked back, well, Imogen was awake.
Of course.
Chapter
21
Holbrook Court
Early afternoon
Faced by a woman whose very flounces were dancing with fury, Rafe tried to find a germ of fact in a flood of words that appeared so quickly they seemed to eat the very air around them. “What do you mean, Lady Clarice?”
“Precisely what I said,” she spat. “That ward of yours has made a direct set at my son. And don’t think I won’t see her ruined, Holbrook, because I will. Ruined! You have to send her back to Scotland this moment, and perhaps—perhaps!—I will forget her temerity.”
Rafe took a deep breath. “What exactly has Miss Essex done?”
“Not the eldest one, the injured one!” Clarice shrieked at him.
“Well, what has Miss Imogen done?”
“She’s—she’s—You’ll have to see for yourself,” Clarice snapped. “I only hope that Miss Pythian-Adams can forgive my son for his notable stupidity. I consider this entirely your fault, Holbrook, and so I called to tell you. Entirely your fault! You have acted disgracefully as a guardian. Which is no more than anyone could have foretold.”
“But—”
She turned around on the point of leaving the room. “The doctor says she’s not to be moved today. But you’ll send your carriage for her first thing in the morning. If you do not, I shall send her home in one of mine, and never mind how it looks to the servants!”
Rafe blinked as she left the room in a breeze of French scent and waggling fox tails. “Brinkley,” he called.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
Brinkley looked as composed as ever. As if he knew nothing, thought nothing, and was far above gossip. But Rafe wasn’t stupid. “What the hell is Lady Clarice talking about?”
Brinkley pressed his lips together but Rafe could see the faintest glimmer of enjoyment there. “It appears that Miss Imogen has won Lord Maitland’s heart.”
“Won his heart?” Rafe repeated.
“According to my information, he has vowed to marry Miss Imogen,” Brinkley said. “He informed his mother over breakfast this morning.”
“Marry!” Rafe said, astounded. “He can’t marry Imogen. He’s promised to Miss Pythian-Adams. Was she at the breakfast table as well?”
“She was not, to the best of my knowledge,” Brinkley remarked. “Will there be anything further, Your Grace?”
“No,” Rafe said. He felt as if a headache was coming on already. And he’d made up his mind not to drink until the sun was over the yard-arm. Perhaps there would be an eclipse today.
Lucius strolled in the room. Typically, he showed no reaction other than a lifted eyebrow at Rafe’s news.
“What does a guardian do in this situation?” Rafe asked him. “I suppose I could ban their marriage. Or could I? I can’t quite remember whether Imogen is of age, but I do think that I have the right to approve all marriages no matter her age. Lord, but that girl is a pest.” There was a heartfelt ring to his voice. “Lady Clarice is in a rage. I suppose I’ll have to go over there.”
“A guardian’s role,” Lucius said, a mocking devil in his eye. “Do the pretty, make it all right, smooth things over. Perhaps you should offer yourself to Lady Clarice as a sacrifice.”
Rafe fixed him with a chilling glare. “I shall smooth things over. If possible.”
“When will Miss Essex and her sister return to the house?” Lucius asked. He had turned away and was rifling through a stack of books on the table.
“Tomorrow. I’ll go over there tomorrow morning and bring them all back,” Rafe said. “Then we’ll let things quiet.”
“Things meaning Lady Clarice?”
“Precisely.”
Lucius snorted. “Good luck.”
“I’ll rise early,” Rafe said, thinking that was sacrifice enough. “Get over there by noon.”
As it happened, noon was not early enough.
He walked into utter Bedlam. For a moment Rafe couldn’t even take it all in; his head was pounding from the glare of the sun. Who would have thought it was so bright at this hour? No wonder he made it a point never to rise before midday.
Lady Clarice was stretched out on a settee, looking utterly deranged, her ringlets tousled and pasted to her neck. She was alternately shrieking and sobbing; Rafe had even heard her from the corridor. She reared up her head when the butler opened the door, stared at him for a moment, and then cried, “You’re too late! Oh, my child, my child!”
Rafe strolled into the room even though every cell in his body advised him to walk straight out the door. “Lady Clarice,” he said, “where—”
“That loathsome, wretched girl,” she said, sitting bolt upright now and staring at him for all the world like Medusa. “I knew from the moment I saw her that she was nothing more than a—a trollop!”
“Hush, madam,” came a soothing voice, and Rafe noticed for the first time that Miss Pythian-Adams was seated at the head of the settee.
“A trollop!” Lady Clarice hissed. “And now—and now—I shall never live down the disgrace of it, the utter disgrace of it! I am ruined, utterly ruined. My life is ruined!” Her voice rose to a whistling shriek.
Rafe turned around. Lady Clarice’s butler had an expression that suggested he had found a week-old fish in his bedclothes. “Bring me a brandy,” Rafe told him.
“That’s right!” Lady Clarice snapped, flopping back onto the settee. “Drink yourself into a stupor at this moment of all moments, when—” Her voice broke, and she started sobbing again. Rafe could only make out incoherent phrases here and there, about scanda
l and son. He looked to Miss Pythian-Adams, but she was dabbing Lady Clarice’s forehead with a scented cloth.
He backed out of the room and caught the butler as he was bringing the brandy. Rafe grabbed the glass and let a lovely river of fire tip down his throat. Behind him there was another howling wail. He moved away from the door in case the condition was contagious.
“May I escort you to the sitting room, where Miss Essex awaits you?” the butler intoned. He was obviously one of those servants who took his owners’ reputations as his own. He looked as wracked as Lady Clarice.
Even the brandy couldn’t soften Tess’s news.
“What do you mean, they’ve eloped?” Rafe thundered, sounding for all the world like a male version of Lady Clarice.
“They’re gone!” she said, one tear after another chasing itself down her face. “I went to call Imogen, to ready her for returning to Holbrook Court, and all I found was a note.” She held it out, crumpled and tear-stained. “She didn’t even tell me—” Her voice broke off on a sob.
Rafe smoothed out the note and read it.
Dear Tess, Annabel & Josie,
My darling Draven has offered an elopement, and naturally I shall accept his offer. You know how very much he means—has always meant—to me. Please,do forgive me for the scandal; I am persuaded that it will pass quickly.
With all love, your sister, Imogen (Lady Maitland)
“She’s persuaded the scandal will pass quickly?” he said, stunned. “What kind of idiotic idea is that? Doesn’t she have any idea of the impact of a Scottish wedding?”
“No,” Tess said, wiping away tears. “I’m afraid none of us did. Lady Clarice has told me, though…”
“Damnation. How much of a head start do they have?”
“Quite a lot,” Tess said. “Apparently they left just after the morning meal. Lord Draven had given his mother a shock yesterday by announcing that he planned to marry Imogen, but I believe Lady Clarice had hoped she would be able to persuade him otherwise. At least, she tried to dissuade him throughout most of our evening meal last night. Of course, Imogen wasn’t there but it was still quite—quite embarrassing.”
“That likely drove Maitland to the elopement,” Rafe said grimly.
“I would prefer to think that he is in love with my sister,” Tess said, trying desperately to erase the memory of Maitland’s disparaging comments in the music room.
Rafe handed her a handkerchief. “Perhaps you’re right.”
Tess sniffed and reversed herself. “I know he’s not desperately in love with Imogen. So does she, for that matter. But she is quite desperately in love with him. And perhaps that will be enough to make a happy marriage. Do you think so?”
Rafe hesitated. “One must assume it can be, given the number of couples I know who are in that very situation.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Dammit, I feel like the worst sort of guardian! I should have turned your father down. Here we are, not even a week into my guardianship, and one of his daughters has already ruined her reputation. And with an empty-headed high player like Maitland! Your father’s probably cursing me at this moment.”
Tess smiled at him wanly. “Papa was never able to stop Imogen’s adoration for Lord Maitland, for all he told her that the man was a horse-mad fool who would never hold on to a penny. The truth is that Papa was quite similar to Lord Maitland.”
“I should have locked her up,” Rafe muttered. “From now on, none of you are to leave the house without being accompanied by a groom and a maid. No, a groom and two maids!”
The door burst open. “I am accompanied by my son’s betrothed wife. Betrothed!” Lady Clarice said shrilly. “I consider it appropriate that you explain to her precisely how it happened that your ward has enticed my son into this improvident and scandalous match.”
Miss Pythian-Adams followed Lady Clarice into the room, looking the very picture of charming contentment.
Rafe slammed his glass onto the sideboard so sharply that brandy sloshed onto the rosewood surface. “And how in the devil’s name was I to stop your dissolute son from stealing away my underage ward, madam? I consider Maitland entirely at fault. He has seduced an innocent maiden, stolen her fancies with clever words, and destroyed her reputation by this wild and improvident act! If anyone deserves an apology, it is Miss Essex, whose infant sister was stolen by your depraved offspring!”
Lady Clarice fell back in the face of Rafe’s howling voice, but quickly rallied. “The woman is nothing more than a grasping chit who stole my son. Nothing to her name but a horse. A horse! As if Draven hadn’t more than enough horses. I’m sure that I’ve never denied him a horse.”
Tess retreated toward the back of the room. How could Imogen have done this to all of them? But she knew the answer as well as she knew the question. Imogen had eloped because, even if Draven Maitland did not love Imogen the way Romeo loved Juliet, Imogen herself was every bit as passionate as the Shakespearean heroine. More, perhaps. She had simply reached out and taken what she wanted. She was no passive observer. Although, Tess reminded herself, naturally Imogen will be a great deal happier and longer-lived than Juliet.
“That hussy,” Lady Clarice shrieked, “has broken not only my heart but that of his fiancée as well. No thought for others, none! Miss Pythian-Adams is utterly distraught, as well she might be! The heartache of having one’s future husband stolen by a loose girl who—”
“That’s enough!” Rafe bellowed.
Miss Pythian-Adams was displaying her heartache by smiling like someone freed from the hangman’s noose. She drifted over to Tess and, under cover of Rafe’s prolonged diatribe on Maitland’s undesirable qualities, said, “I feel an urge to apologize to you, although I assure you I had nothing to do with this affair. I do hope your sister’s reputation does not suffer unduly.”
“It’s quite all right,” Tess said wearily. Rafe had found a brandy decanter on the sideboard. “Rafe,” she said, taking advantage of Lady Clarice’s pause for dramatic sobs, “are you quite certain that you couldn’t overtake Lord Maitland on the road?” She swallowed hard. “It’s just—I don’t believe that Imogen knows what—she’s really quite young.” Tears choked her throat. “She just doesn’t know what Maitland is like.”
“He’s not a monster,” Miss Pythian-Adams said sympathetically. “I admit that I am quite pleased to be free of the attachment, but I believe your sister has a genuine attachment to Lord Maitland.”
“Please, Rafe,” Tess said, ignoring Miss Pythian-Adams. “Couldn’t you try to stop her?”
“It’s no use,” Rafe said wearily. “Maitland drives like the very devil, even when he’s on a simple excursion. The very idea that he might be chased will delight him and make him go even faster. His horses are the best. There’s no chance, not with a five-hour start on his part.” He tossed back the drink in his hand.
“You could try,” Tess insisted.
“Frankly, at this point I’m not sure we want to catch her,” he said. “Her reputation is ruined. Better married in disgrace than merely disgraced.”
Tess swallowed, then curtsied to Miss Pythian-Adams and Lady Clarice, who was now sobbing into her handkerchief and ignoring the company utterly. “If you will forgive me, I must return to Holbrook Court and inform my sisters of Imogen’s…marital status.”
“I shall return to London this afternoon,” Miss Pythian-Adams answered. “I know we do not part under auspicious circumstances, Miss Essex, but I would feel great pleasure to meet you again in London.”
Tess murmured something and escaped. The moment she reached the corridor, tears began to pour down her face. Her sweet, silly little sister. All those years Imogen spent tracing the title Lady Maitland came to this.
I should have tried harder to convince her that Maitland was a stupid, blockhead of a man, she thought with anguish. I should have known that she would take any opportunity to marry Maitland, even if it meant ruining herself. If I had told her—if we had all told her—over and over that she had
no chance of marrying Lord Maitland, this wouldn’t have happened.
She began to run down the stairs, only to be brought up short by Lucius Felton’s voice.
He was standing in the entryway and had clearly just arrived, as he was in a greatcoat. “Miss Essex,” he said, and took a few quick steps up to her.
“I can’t—” she said in a trembling voice. Then he was next to her and had taken out a large white handkerchief.
“Hush,” he said, wiping her cheeks. “I just heard what has happened. I’m going to go after them, as far as the post road. It’s worth the effort, just in case something happened to Maitland’s cattle and he’s had to hire some broken-down job horses crossing the border.” His jaw set; he looked more than a match for Draven Maitland.
“I’ll come with you!” she said, clutching his arm.
“No.” His voice was uncompromising. “I’m certain you wouldn’t wish to be as compromised as your sister now is, Tess.”
She bit her lip. “Of course not.”
“Unless—” he said, and stopped.
She blinked at him, but he said nothing. So she said, “I must return home and tell Annabel and Josie. They will be distraught.”
He bowed. “I shall do my best to bring your little sister back to you.”
“Oh—” But everything she could say was inadequate. “Good luck,” she finally whispered.
He smiled at her, a lopsided smile, and was gone.
Chapter
22
The next morning
“If you don’t find the notion too distressing,” Mayne said, raising Tess’s hands to his lips in a brief caress, “I suggest that we marry without delay.”
Tess felt all the exhaustion of a sleepless night and all the confusion of their miserable situation. She certainly didn’t feel like undertaking a marriage.
He took one swift look at her and obviously guessed what she was about to say. “If we were married, I could whisk your sisters up to London and separate them entirely from the unhappy circumstances of your sister’s elopement,” he continued. “I wouldn’t wish Annabel’s prospects on the marriage market to be at all dimmed by Imogen’s behavior.”