A Marriage of Rogues Read online

  * * *

  Surprised and stunned, Thea’s immediate instinct was to pull away and slap Sir Develin’s face—except that this was no harsh, demanding, punishing kiss. It was tentative, tender and tempting. And she had come here to ask this man to marry her.

  Moreover, the man kissing her was Sir Develin Dundrake. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, with those dark eyes, fine nose and strong jaw. She also knew a kind heart resided in that manly form, in spite of what had happened with her father.

  Leaning against his body, she parted her lips and let his tongue slid into her mouth, not even moving back when his hand slid up her side and beneath her pelisse to cup her breast. Instead she held him closer still, gliding her hands over his back, feeling the play of his muscles through his broadcloth jacket. This was what she’d dreamed of since she first saw him months ago.

  Nevertheless, reality was far more overwhelming, just as he was even more good-looking up close. She’d only seen him from a distance before. Here, in his impressive house, wearing those fine, well-fitting trousers, shirt, jacket and expertly tied cravat, his thick, dark wavy hair slightly disheveled as if he’d recently awakened, he was the perfect example of the perfect man.

  He broke the kiss and drew back, a strange expression on his remarkably handsome face.

  What was it? Surprise? Confusion?

  Then he smiled, a roguish grin that was both merry and seductive. “I begin to appreciate the merits of your proposal, my lady.”

  She was beginning to appreciate that, in spite of her vivid imagination, she had not been prepared for that kiss, or the desire it created.

  “If I were to agree,” he went on, “when and where shall we marry? I assume you’ve thought that out, as well.”

  It took her a moment to realize he both looked and sounded as if he might be seriously considering her proposal—something she had scarcely dared to hope. Trying to regain her precious self-control, she said, “You should meet me at the village inn early tomorrow morning. From there, we can go to Gretna Green and be married at once.”

  “I see. What explanation do you suggest I give for my sudden elopement with a woman I’ve never met before?”

  She had an answer for that, too. “I was raised in Ireland before my father lost his money. I understand you’ve traveled there in the past, so you can say we met in Dublin. And my family is in DeBrett’s, should anyone care to look.”

  Sir Develin immediately went to a shelf beside the portrait of the stern, cruel-looking man. He pulled out a book and leafed through it before running his finger down a particular page. “Ah yes, there you are, or at least your family.”

  He closed the book and returned it to the shelf. “I confess myself surprised you’re willing to marry a man you’ve never met before.”

  “Naturally I made inquiries before coming here,” she truthfully replied. “No matter how desperate my circumstances, I have no wish to tie myself to an inveterate gambler or a sot or a lecher. You gamble rarely, you don’t drink to excess and while you’ve had several liaisons with a variety of women, you aren’t a seducer of innocents. Nor are you a dandy.”

  And when you stroll down the street, you move like a warrior prince, she thought, but didn’t say.

  “You have made inquiries. But perhaps I have no wish to marry a woman I’ve only just met.”

  “You had only just met my father the night you won all his money.”

  “Marriage is hardly a game of chance.”

  “Is it not?” she returned. “How well do you think most men of your rank know the women they wed—really know them? Don’t they more often marry based on family lineage and the limited acquaintance of shared social gatherings?”

  He studied her for a long moment, then glanced at the portrait before looking back at her. “You seem to have thought of everything.”

  She, too, had believed she had, until she was actually in Sir Develin’s presence and shared a kiss. Now her nerves were strained nearly to the breaking point. If this conversation lasted much longer, they might get the better of her, so she decided to get directly to the heart of the matter. “Are we to wed or not, Sir Develin?”

  He smiled slowly, as if he had all the time in the world to answer. “Surely I may be allowed to think it over. After all, it isn’t every day I get a proposal of marriage. In fact, this is the first.”

  His manner, both amused and condescending, roused her pride and her ire, too.

  “This situation may be vastly amusing to you, Sir Develin,” she retorted, “but I assure you, it’s very serious to me. If you cannot give me your answer today, I shall consider that a refusal.”

  “No need to be so hasty or so angry,” he said, his visage turning as grimly serious as that of the man in the portrait. “You must admit I have a right to take some time to contemplate your offer.”

  She readied herself for his refusal and for what she would say when he did.

  “I agree.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes widened with astonishment. “You do?”

  He nodded, and to her even greater amazement, a look of what could be amusement twinkled in his brown eyes. “I do,” he said with an affirming nod. “I shall meet you tomorrow morning at the Maiden’s Arms in the village of Dundrake as you suggest. Rather appropriate under the circumstances, don’t you think? Now I suppose you ought to stay to dinner.”

  Torn between confusion, delight and relief, afraid he might change his mind if she stayed any longer, Thea rapidly shook her head. “No, thank you. I have to pack my things,” she replied, moving quickly to the French doors.

  “Let me call a carriage for you. It’s a terrible day for walking.”

  Her hand already on the latch, she half turned to answer. “No, thank you. I don’t mind. I enjoy walking. It’s not far and I’ll be halfway to the inn by the time the carriage is ready.”

  Before he could say another word, Thea was out the door and walking across the terrace as fast as her dignity would allow until she reached the steps leading to the garden. Then her dignity gave way to excited relief and she broke into a most unladylike run.

  Once out of the formal garden with its trimmed hedges and into the wilder wood bordering Sir Develin’s estate, she stopped to catch her breath, leaning against an ancient oak where she couldn’t be seen from the manor house. The very large manor house with its stone carving and that paneled room that seemed to embody the ancient and noble family that resided within.

  But it was not of the garden, or the house, or the furnishings or the wood that Thea was thinking.

  “He agreed!” she whispered, not quite able to believe what had just happened. “He agreed!”

  She was going to be married to a rich and titled man. She would never live a life of poverty and want, cold and hunger, ever again. Even better, she didn’t have to resort to the plan she’d prepared if Sir Develin had refused.

  And he’d done more than simply agree. Her fingers went to her lips that he had kissed with such passion. It was as if he actually found her desirable, and when she thought about their wedding night...

  It would be wise not to think about that too much, she told herself as she pushed off from the tree and walked rapidly toward the village.

  He could, after all, change his mind.

  * * *

  By the time Dev reached the French doors, Lady Theodora had disappeared into the morning mist like some kind of sprite or other supernatural being.

  Maybe she was, he thought as he turned away. A vision conjured up by his guilt and remorse. Or perhaps he was feeling this combination of confusion and excitement because he’d never before met a more bold and determined woman, or one who kissed with such unbridled, unstudied passion.

  He crossed to the table bearing the brandy bottle and glasses and poured himself a drink. Now that
Sir John’s daughter was no longer there, with her big gray eyes and distracting, tempting lips, he could surely think more rationally.

  She was right about his feeling of being on display in a shop. It had reached the state where he dreaded going to balls and parties. Her other arguments in favor of the marriage she proposed were well taken, too. And how many men were offered the chance to be married and yet still live the life of a bachelor?

  Her unexpected, undeniable passion was a point in her favor as well. She had responded not with the practiced ease of his former lovers, but with a guileless desire that increased his own.

  Yet what would his friends and the rest of the ton say if he appeared with a bride nobody knew and who many wouldn’t consider beautiful? They wouldn’t necessarily notice her shining, shrewd eyes, lithe and shapely body or soft, full lips.

  His solicitor would surely think he’d lost his head and a doctor should be summoned.

  He glanced again at the portrait of his father over the mantelpiece. That judgmental gentleman would have had Lady Theodora cast out of the house and the dogs set on her the moment she revealed who she was. He would have been completely unmoved by the look of desperate yearning that had crept into Lady Theodora’s large, luminous eyes as she waited for his answer to his proposal, a look that not only appealed to his honor, but touched his lonely heart.

  Dev downed another drink, then wandered toward the French doors, looking out at the sodden garden again. At this time of year, no flowers bloomed, so the only greenery came from the neatly trimmed hedges and cedar border, and the wood beyond. It seemed like his life—merely existing while waiting for the warmth of spring and summer.

  Putting aside such fanciful thoughts, he contemplated what he ought to do. Marrying Lady Theodora would assuage the guilt he’d been carrying ever since he let his pride, his need to win at all costs, keep him at the gaming table in spite of Sir John’s growing panic and despair.

  But did he have to pay for that mistake by binding himself to a woman he didn’t love or even know?

  Let Lady Theodora fend for herself. She certainly seemed capable enough.

  After all, as he had said, her father could have left the gaming table. She wasn’t his responsibility and never had been and need never be.

  Except...

  He had agreed.

  And the die had been cast, although not that morning when Lady Thea appeared and made that unexpected proposal. He had cast it himself the night he gambled with Sir John Markham.

  And cheated.

  Chapter Two

  “Can I get you anything, miss? Some bread and butter? A cup of tea, perhaps?” the servant girl asked Thea the next morning as she sat by the window in the main room of the inn overlooking the yard.

  It was a large chamber and comfortable, with wide chairs and a fire blazing in the hearth—comfortable, provided you weren’t waiting to discover what your future would be. Or if you were not the object of curious stares and whispers, as Thea had been since she arrived on the coach from London two days before, alone and with only a small valise. It would surely cause more talk when—if—Sir Develin arrived and she left with him.

  “No, thank you,” Thea replied to the plump young woman. The maidservant’s hair was messily tied in a loose bun. Her dress and apron were clean and neat, though.

  Thea was glad she had so much experience keeping her expression placid. The ability had stood her in good stead with angry merchants and landlords for many a year and had proven rather impressive at curtailing gossip, or the persistent inquiries of curious people.

  The young woman nodded at the hearth. “Maybe you’d rather wait by the fire.”

  Thea shook her head. “No, thank you.” She preferred to stay where she was, watching the yard for any arriving carriages.

  “We’re not expecting any coaches for some time yet,” the servant girl noted. “You are waiting for a coach, aren’t you? To go back to Liverpool? Or London maybe?”

  Thea wasn’t about to tell her where she was bound. After all, she wasn’t really sure herself. In spite of what Sir Develin had said the day before, he might not keep his word.

  When Thea didn’t reply, the maid frowned, then shrugged and mercifully went away, leaving Thea to watch the activity in the yard. Although the day was getting off to a cool and misty start, the yard was already a-bustle with grooms, stable boys and servants mucking out the stable or washing down the cobbles, filling the trough and bringing wood to the kitchen. Steam issued from the door of an outbuilding Thea assumed was the laundry—judging by the huge baskets of linen being carried there by strong-armed maidservants—any time it was opened. A cart full of large milk cans arrived and unloaded at the dairy, where a glimpse inside showed at least one young woman churning. A fishmonger came next, with baskets of freshwater fish and eels. The cook, wiping his hands on his apron, came out to appraise his offerings.

  Then, when she was beginning to believe Sir Develin must have changed his mind, a shiny, black barouche-landau pulled by four beautifully matched white horses rolled into the yard. A coachman in dark green livery expertly brought the vehicle to a halt. When the coachman got down from his seat and opened the door, Thea’s heart leaped with relief. Sir Develin Dundrake, resplendent and handsome in a tall black hat, three-caped greatcoat and shining boots, stepped out.

  Thea wasted no time. She grabbed the worn handle of her small valise and hurried outside, walking as fast as her pride and dignity would allow before coming to a halt a few feet from the barouche and Sir Develin. She also did her best to ignore the inquisitive stares of the coachman and other servants in the yard.

  “Good morning, Sir Develin,” she said, managing to sound much calmer than she felt.

  “Good day to you, Lady Theodora,” he replied, running his gaze over her from the crown of her bonnet to the hem of her pelisse.

  She was aware her garments were not pretty and his intense scrutiny only made that fact more painful. Undaunted, however, she returned his perusal, noticing that in spite of the energy with which he’d disembarked from his coach, he was clearly exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept all night.

  Perhaps he had had second thoughts and had come to tell her—

  “We’d best be on our way if we’re to reach our destination before the day is out,” he said, giving her a smile and holding out his arm.

  He hadn’t changed his mind! He was going to marry her!

  As exhilarated as she was at that moment, though, a sense of dread haunted her, too. But it was follow through with her plan, or live in poverty and insecurity the rest of her life.

  She put her hand lightly on Sir Develin’s forearm, aware at once of the muscle beneath the fine clothes.

  “We’re going north,” he said to the coachman. “To Gretna Green.”

  Ignoring the shocked look on the face of the coachman, Thea straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and climbed into the carriage.

  * * *

  As the barouche rocked and bumped its way north toward Gretna Green, Dev surreptitiously watched the woman seated across from him. She’d squeezed herself into the opposite corner, as far away from him as it was possible to get within the small confines. What did she think he was going to do? Attempt to seduce her right there in his barouche?

  Even if he was tempted to do so—and he was, a little—he was too exhausted to make the effort. He hadn’t slept well for the past fortnight, and last night was even worse. He’d paced the floor for hours, trying to decide if marrying her was the right thing to do, for either of them. In the end, the arguments she’d presented in favor of the marriage had outweighed his objections.

  At least for now.

  Until the ceremony was concluded, he could still change his mind. And so could she.

  “How long do you think it wi
ll take us to reach Gretna Green?” she suddenly demanded, one shapely eyebrow arched in query.

  “By midday, I should think, if the roads are dry,” he answered.

  “Your coachman looked quite surprised when you said we were going to Gretna Green. Did you not tell your household where you were going and why?”

  How could he, when he wasn’t even sure she’d be waiting for him at the inn despite her boldness the day before? “I said I was meeting a lady.”

  “That’s all you told them?”

  “That was all they needed to know.” He crossed his arms and regarded her with a serenity he didn’t feel. “After all, you might have changed your mind.”

  “Not I,” she swiftly and firmly replied before she went back to looking out the window.

  She was certainly determined. That made her an interesting female, but was that really a quality he wanted in a wife? On the other hand, she had kissed with a boldness that had been quite exhilarating. No squeamish missishness from her!

  As for the wedding night...

  He wouldn’t think about that. Instead he took the opportunity to study this woman he had pledged to marry.

  She wasn’t beautiful, but she was pretty. Her movements were graceful, her fingers long, and her body slim and shapely beneath that horrible pelisse. Her straw bonnet was equally unattractive and cheap. It looked like the sort of thing a farmer’s wife would wear. A very poor farmer’s wife.

  She abruptly turned and fixed him with her powerful gaze. “Has no one ever told you that it’s impolite to stare, Sir Develin?”

  Like a green lad, he felt a flush steal over his face and damned himself for it. “Those are the ugliest garments I’ve ever seen,” he said, his embarrassment making him sound more harsh than he intended. “Surely that wasn’t the only color of fabric available. It looks like snuff. Used snuff.”

  She did not blush. Instead she regarded him with what could only be called a glare. “It was the best fabric I could afford. The color made it less expensive. I daresay the cost of clothing is something a privileged scion of a noble house never has to consider.”