"Oh, he does, does he?" Laura replied warily, jerking the sheet up to her chin. She was only too aware of the contrast between her own dishabille and the woman's impeccable elegance. Even Diana's dark hair, with its tightly wound chignon and forbidding widow's peak, looked starched.
Diana marched to the window and threw open the drapes. Sunlight came spilling into the room, forcing Laura to shield her bleary eyes with her hand. "Perhaps here in the country you're accustomed to languishing about in bed for half the day, but in London, we prefer to—"
Diana stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing. Laura could almost see herself through them—lips still rosy from Sterling's kisses, disheveled hair tumbling down her bare back, a whisker burn marking the tender skin of her throat. She had no doubt that she looked exactly like what she was—a woman who had spent the night being thoroughly loved by a man who was a master at it.
Still clutching the sheet, Laura drew herself up, meeting Diana's gaze without flinching. She had many sins to account for, but last night wasn't one of them. "You needn't look so scandalized, my lady. It was our wedding night."
Diana's laugh dripped frost. "I hate to be the one to inform you of this, but you're not entitled to a wedding night. You tricked my cousin into signing the parish register under a false name. He has absolutely no obligation to you and no intention of honoring this pathetic sham of a marriage."
"You're lying," Laura said, although a chill began to creep through her heart.
"Unlike you, Miss Fairleigh, I don't make a habit of it. I know my cousin can be very charming and persuasive, but you have only yourself to blame if you were fool enough to let him back into your bed after…"
Before Laura could correct her unfair assumption that she and Sterling had been lovers all along, Diana trailed off, gazing down at the bed. The quilt had slid halfway onto the floor, baring both the sheets and the rusty stains that marred them.
Diana's disbelieving stare slowly drifted back to Laura's face. Her icy contempt had failed to make Laura blush, but her pity brought a scalding wave of heat to Laura's cheeks.
"God help you both," Diana said softly, shaking her head. "I don't know which one of you is the bigger fool."
If she hadn't spun on her heel and fled the room, Laura could have told her.
Laura descended the steps as if she were marching to the gallows.
She'd donned a dove gray morning dress devoid of ribbons or bows and scrubbed every last trace of Sterling's scent from her skin. Her hair was swept up in a tidy knot that rivaled Lady Diana's. Not a single mutinous tendril had been allowed to escape. She'd even removed the delicate garnet from her finger. No one had to know that she had slipped it onto a silver chain and tucked it deep inside her bodice.
She was surprised to find the foyer deserted. She had halfway expected that Sterling would have gathered her family to witness her disgrace. But she was fiercely thankful that he hadn't. She didn't want George and Lottie to realize that their beloved sister had been had.
In more ways than one.
Sterling no doubt considered it a fitting revenge. She had given him a mock wedding and he had given her a mock wedding night. Now he was free to turn her over to the appropriate authorities, knowing full well the memory of that night would haunt her for as long as she lived. Of course, if he decided to let them hang her, that might not be very long. Her steps faltered briefly, stymied by a wave of self-loathing. No wonder he hadn't wanted to hear her tender declaration of love.
She used her clenched fist to knock firmly on the study door.
"Come in." Even now, when she was fully aware of the treachery it was capable of, that deep, rich voice still sent a ripple of reaction through her. It was too easy to remember the wicked words it had whispered in her ears only a few hours ago, the throaty groans, the breathless exclamations.
Steeling herself against its power, Laura pushed open the door. There wasn't a kitten anywhere in sight, no doubt because the devil dogs were stretched out in front of the hearth, their massive heads cradled on their equally massive paws. As Laura slipped into the room, one of them lifted his head and bared his teeth at her, growling deep in his throat. He looked as if he could be easily placated if she tossed him a side of bacon. Or one of her arms.
The duke's devoted cousin and his gentleman friend perched in a shabby pair of wing chairs in front of the window, looking no less unwelcoming than the dogs. Laura wouldn't have been surprised had Diana bared her teeth and growled as well, but oddly enough, the woman seemed to be avoiding her eyes.
The duke of Devonbrooke himself sat behind the walnut desk, scribbling on a piece of stationery. His cousin must have brought him some of his own clothes from London for he wore a claret-colored coat cut from the finest kerseymere. The frills of his starched white shirt emerged from the deep V of a gray satin waistcoat shot through with silver threads. On the ring finger of his right hand he wore an ostentatious signet ring studded with a blood red ruby. His golden hair, rakishly tousled as was the fashion, looked perfectly capable of absorbing all the sunlight in the room, leaving none for the rest of them. Although she wouldn't have thought it possible, Laura's heart sank even further. This aristocratic stranger bore no resemblance to the wild-eyed, passionate man who had come to her room and her bed last night.
She could see why he had chosen the seldom-used study over the cozy drawing room for her reckoning. It enabled him to keep the desk as a barrier between them. She crossed the faded Turkish rug to stand in front of it, awaiting her sentencing.
"Good morning, Miss Fairleigh." Sterling glanced at the sunbeams slanting through the French windows. "Or should I say 'Good afternoon.'"
Miss Fairleigh. His casual greeting confirmed Laura's worst fears. She wasn't a wife. She was a strumpet. For the first time since the fire, she was almost glad her parents were dead. The shame of her downfall would probably have killed them anyway.
"Good day, Your Grace," she said coolly. "Or would you prefer 'my lord'?"
She must have imagined the faint twitch in his cheek, for he continued to scribble, pausing only long enough to nod toward the straight-backed chair that had been drawn up to the corner of the desk. "Do sit, won't you? I'll be with you in a moment."
She obeyed, thinking what a contrast his brisk words were to the coaxing commands he had given her last night—Roll over on your stomach, won't you, sweetheart? Again, angel! Don't be shy. One more time just for me; lift your leg just a bit higher… oh, God in heaven, that's perfect…
"We seem to find ourselves in an awkward position."
Laura started, blushing furiously at Sterling's words. Had he read her thoughts? But then she realized she was being ridiculous. He might be all-powerful, but he wasn't all-seeing.
He was, however, leaning back in his chair and surveying her with a speculative gleam in his eye. "Both my cousin and my trusted friend and advisor, the marquess of Gillingham, believe I should leave your fate to the hands of the law."
"Then perhaps you should. From what I know of you, those hands might be more just and merciful than your own."
Thane and Diana exchanged a bemused glance, obviously surprised by her show of spirit, but Sterling didn't even blink. "As much as I value their counsel, I believe I've arrived at a much more… um, shall we say… satisfying solution to the dilemma in which we find ourselves. As you now know only too well, I am the seventh duke of Devonbrooke. Along with the title comes many burdens and responsibilities, not the least of which is to provide an heir so that the line might continue."
Oh, no, Laura thought, her stomach clenching into a knot. He was going to offer her a position as nursemaid to his future children. He was worse than a devil. He was Beelzebub himself.
He leaned forward, fixing his earnest gaze on her face. "Unfortunately, one can't acquire an heir without first acquiring a wife, which is why I was hoping you'd do me the honor of becoming mine."
* * *
Chapter 19
« ^ »
I wante
d only what was best for you.
Sterling didn't want to hang her. He wanted to marry her.
While Thane and Diana rushed the desk, Laura sat in a blissful daze, struggling to absorb what had just transpired. She and Sterling were going to be married. They were going to live the life she had dreamed of living with Nicholas. There would be long walks at sunset and chocolate in bed every morning.
Thane slammed his palms down on the desk. "Have you gone mad, Sterling? Why should you reward her treachery by making her your duchess?"
Sterling settled back in the chair, a smile playing around his lips. "You may be overestimating my charms. There are some who would argue that I'm no prize. Perhaps being wed to me will be all the punishment she deserves."
Diana shook her head so violently that a stray tendril of hair came tumbling out of her chignon. "I'll never understand you. You won't marry for love, but you'll marry for revenge?"
"Who said anything about revenge? There's no reason I can't be as practical as our Miss Fairleigh here." Sterling shot Laura a cool glance. "I require an heir. She can provide one for me. I told you I was ready to seek a bride before I left Devonbrooke Hall. This way I won't have to go to all the bother of courting one."
Diana lowered her voice to a whisper, but it was still plainly audible to Laura's ears. "If you're seeking to atone for your little indiscretion of last night, there are other, more prudent, ways to do so."
"What indiscretion?" Thane echoed loudly. "Oh, hell, did I miss an indiscretion?"
"You could leave the girl with a nice fat purse," Diana hissed, jabbing an elbow into Thane's ribs. "Or even a monthly allowance if it would soothe your conscience."
Sterling slanted her a chiding look. "Now, Di, you know that I haven't any conscience to soothe."
"That might be what you want the world to believe, but I know better. You made a foolish mistake last night, but that doesn't mean you have to spend the rest of your life doing penance for it. If you married every woman you seduced, Devonbrooke Hall would be overflowing with your brides."
"I hate to admit it, but your cousin is right," Thane said. "And if you are ready to take a bride, you could have your pick of any belle in London. You don't have to settle for some lying little—"
"Thane." Sterling's narrowed eyes were all the warning his friend needed. "As I see it, I owe the girl my name, if nothing else."
"No, thank you." Laura's voice rang like a bell in the sudden silence. Diana and Thane fell back as she rose to stand before the desk, shoulders rigid and head held high. "I'm afraid I shall have to decline your generous proposal, Your Grace. I don't want your name. I don't want to bear your heir. I don't want your fortune. And I most certainly don't want you. As a matter of fact, given your colossal arrogance, I do believe I'd rather be hanged than marry you."
Diana and Thane both gasped. It had obviously never occurred to either of them that a mere country chit would have the audacity to refuse the duke's exalted offer. But Sterling merely lifted an eyebrow.
Although his gaze remained on Laura, he said softly, "Perhaps it would be best if the two of you left us alone."
"I really don't think…" Diana began.
"… that would be very wise," Thane finished.
Sterling began to toy with a letter opener, weaving the blade through his long, aristocratic fingers. "You may wait right outside the door if you like, the better to hear her screams. Or mine."
Still casting apprehensive looks over their shoulders, Thane and Diana filed out, leaving Laura to face Sterling across the dusty expanse of the desk.
He pointed to the chair with the blade of the letter opener. "Please, Miss Fairleigh, do sit."
Feeling a bit like one of his dogs, Laura threw herself back down in the chair. There was no way he could have missed her wince.
"Are you quite all right?" He searched her face with what could easily have been mistaken for genuine concern. "I fear I might have been somewhat… overvigorous in my attentions last night. It was thoughtless of me. I usually handle my brandy with a bit more aplomb."
It was bad enough that their wedding night had already been reduced to a "foolish mistake" and a "little indiscretion." Next he would be telling her that he didn't even remember coming to her bedchamber. That every tender, delicious moment they'd shared had disappeared into some drunken haze.
" 'Thoughtless' is forgetting someone's birthday," she said stiffly, "not coming to her bed and pretending to be her husband when you knew very well that you weren't."
"If you'd known our marriage was invalid, would you have sent me away?"
Laura lowered her eyes. It wasn't a fair question and they both knew it.
"I'm not blaming you. A man of my station should have a better rein over his emotions. I can assure you it won't happen again." Instead of relief, Laura felt only loss. Sterling tossed aside the letter opener. "At my request, one of my footmen made a little trip to the village church last night."
Baffled by his abrupt shift in topic, Laura frowned. She recalled the coach she had seen rocking away from the manor just before Sterling had burst into her bedchamber. "To what end?"
"In the excitement of my cousin's arrival, I nearly forgot about the angel who came plummeting from the heavens only minutes after we repeated our vows."
Laura shook her head. She would never forget that chilling moment when she had turned and seen him sprawled against the church door. "It was a dreadful accident."
"That's what I was inclined to believe. Until my footman found this in the bell tower." He reached into one of the drawers and drew out an iron object. At first Laura thought it was another letter opener. Then she realized it was a chisel, its thick blade still dusted with mortar. "It seems it wasn't an accident after all but a badly botched murder attempt. So tell me, Miss Fairleigh"—Sterling's golden gaze caressed her face as he leaned back in the chair—"did you want me? Or did you want me dead?"
Although it seemed like a lifetime since she had stood on those church steps in her adoring bridegroom's arms, the minutes went tumbling backward in Laura's mind. She remembered struggling to her feet after the statue's impact, staggering up the stairs, hearing someone shriek her name as Lottie and George had come careening around the corner of the church. She could still see the look on Lottie's face in that moment—guilt-stricken terror mingled with relief. Time went spinning backward even further, all the way back to that moment in the drawing room when she and the children had first learned that Sterling Harlow planned to take possession of their home.
We could murder him. Lottie's cheerful words echoed through Laura's mind, followed by her own careless reply. It would probably take a silver bullet or a stake through the heart.
But it was her own heart that had been pierced, not by a stake but by the chisel in Sterling's hands.
She could make him believe she was innocent. She knew she still had at least that much power over him. After all, if he hadn't shoved her out of harm's way, she would have been the one crushed to death by the statue. But speaking out in her own defense would condemn Lottie and George. And she doubted that even the most benevolent court would look kindly upon an attempt to murder a peer of the realm, even if its perpetrators were barely out of the nursery. What was she supposed to do—blithely become Sterling's duchess while her brother and sister swung from the gibbet or rotted away in Newgate?
Knowing that she was forever sacrificing all hope of future happiness, Laura looked Sterling dead in the eye and said coolly, "I wanted Arden Manor. And I was willing to do whatever it took to get it, even rid myself of an inconvenient bridegroom."
He didn't say a word. He just watched her, his face impassive.
Even though she knew it wouldn't be nearly as effective without a mane of golden curls, Laura tossed her head just as she'd seen Lottie do a hundred times before. Her only hope was to think like her sister. "Lady Eleanor's will stipulated that I find a bridegroom. She didn't say anything about keeping him. With you out of the way, I knew I could
run Arden Manor as I saw fit without some stranger meddling in our affairs. I couldn't very well divorce you. The scandal would have reflected poorly on our good name. So I decided it would be much less of a bother to murder you."
Sterling stroked his jaw, taking great care to cover his mouth. "By dropping an angel on my head."
Laura faked a haughty smile. "It was the only way I could have it all—the manor and my freedom. Besides, everyone knows that widows have more rights than wives."
Sterling rose without a word and stalked to the door. Throwing it open, he bellowed, "Carlotta!" then calmly returned to his chair behind the desk.
Laura was already babbling before Lottie appeared in the doorway. "I forced Lottie to help me. I threatened to… to…" She struggled to come up with a vile enough threat. "… drown all of her kittens in the well if she didn't. She begged me not to make her hurt you, but I gave her no choice. Why, I…" Laura trailed off, staring at her sister.
Lottie's white pinafore was clean and starched, its pockets no longer bulging with kittens or contraband. Even the pink bow binding her topknot of golden curls was perfectly straight.
She marched to the desk, bobbed a genteel curtsy, and said, "Yes, sir?" without even a hint of defiance.
Laura clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh, Lord, what terrible thing have you done to her?"
Sterling ignored her, choosing to focus the devastating warmth of his smile on her sister. "Lottie, dear, would you mind telling Laura exactly what you told me this morning?"
Lottie shuffled around to face Laura, her big blue eyes downcast. "It was my fault the angel nearly killed you both. I was the one who made it all wiggly so that it fell when the bells started ringing and I bumped into it. I had planned to drop it on Nicholas's…" She swallowed hard, shooting Sterling a distressed look.