The Reluctant Marquess Read online

  When the dance ended, Charity made an effort to lighten the atmosphere. She curtsied low and fluttered her fan like a merry lady. “Thank you, my lord. You dance divinely.”

  He glowered at her. “Don’t do that, Charity.”

  Crushed, she widened her eyes. “Do what? Don’t curtsey?”

  “Don’t cheapen yourself by acting the flirt.”

  She looked at him open-mouthed, struggling to understand him. “All the women here act that way.”

  “Not you. It doesn’t suit you.”

  Robert bowed and excused himself. She sadly watched him walk towards the gaming tables. She obviously was not what he wanted and could never be.

  Robert settled himself at a faro table and tried to concentrate. He had been mean again and had no right. His adult life up to now had been ordered and without conflict, he’d carefully seen to it. But now he struggled with see-sawing emotions quite out of his control, and he had no idea how to come to grips with them. How could he explain to Charity that he had come to value her naturalness and her honesty? He didn’t wish to see her turn into a jade whose falsehoods tripped from the tongue? Was it inevitable in this company that she would? He couldn’t bear to witness it.

  He rose from the table and excused himself as his friends protested. Walking back purposefully to the ballroom he intended to somehow try and explain his feelings or at least apologize for his rudeness. But Southmore’s head was bowed over Charity’s as they danced. And she was smiling up at him.

  Robert turned on his heel and left the room.

  Lord Southmore partnered her twice and asked her for a third, but wary of scandal, she refused.

  “You look so sad,” he said, gazing down at her. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “Goodness, no, thank you. I’m not at all sad, I’m thoroughly enjoying myself.” Charity fanned herself violently knowing she sounded brittle.

  She wished Robert to return by her side, but it was Southmore who kept her company, bringing a glass of champagne and engaging her in conversation. There was little she could do about it, and a part of her admitted she hoped Robert might be driven mad with jealousy.

  Through the French windows, Charity spied sculptured grounds. When she commented on how lovely they looked in the moonlight, Southmore invited her for a promenade on the terrace. She watched another couple walking through the doors with the same intention, and accepted.

  They strolled out into the cool evening and stood at the ornate balustrade. She took deep calming breaths of fragrant night air, feeling the cold stone through her gloved hands. What did the future hold for her, when her marriage was such a failure? She’d begun to feel so helpless.

  The other couple decided the breeze was too fresh and retreated almost immediately, leaving the terrace deserted. The clear night sky was filled with stars paying homage to a full yellow moon, and a bouquet of lilac and rose scents wafted on the breeze.

  In the moonlight, Lord Southmore’s face appeared too intense for Charity’s liking. She felt uneasy at such a shift in his demeanor and wondered if she had provoked it. Some men responded to helplessness and she was certainly exhibiting it. She straightened her shoulders and leaned down to admire the gardens alight with lanterns. “How very lovely the gardens look bathed in silvery light,” she said.

  He moved closer. “A sleeping beauty.”

  Taking her hand, he kissed her gloved fingers. “You are a lovely woman. Perhaps you need to be awakened.”

  Charity pulled her hand away. “You should not talk to me this way.”

  “Why not?” He cocked his head. “Don’t you enjoy being told you’re lovely?”

  “Only by my husband.”

  “And does he tell you?”

  “That’s none of your concern, Lord Southmore.” She stepped away. “The night air is a little cool. I think we should return to the ballroom.”

  Lord Southmore restrained her with a hand on her arm. “Stay just a little while please, and listen to what I have to say.”

  Charity bit her lip. “I’d prefer you said nothing. Please let me go.”

  “I feel things don’t go well with you and St Malin,” he said in an urgent undertone, while glancing at the door. “If you wish to be properly loved, I beg you will contact me.”

  “I would not wait for such a thing if I were you,” Charity said sharply. “And your hand is still on my arm.”

  “As you wish.” Lord Southmore removed his hand and shrugged, looking amused.

  He bowed.

  Over his shoulder, Charity saw Robert walk out onto the terrace.

  He nodded to Lord Southmore and turned to Charity. “Are you ready to return to the ballroom, my lady?”

  “More than ready, my lord.” She walked inside, without looking back. Lord Southmore had overstepped the mark, and if Robert wished to plant him a facer, she was quite agreeable.

  But when she finally took a peek, they had gone their separate ways. Lord Southmore became engrossed in conversation with a group near the door. And Robert returned to the gaming room. She suffered a small stab of disappointment.

  “What did you say to Lord Southmore, Robert?” she asked after they entered the carriage.

  “Nothing. I might have told him that as soon as I have an heir he was at liberty to pursue you if that was your wish. As it seems it is.”

  Charity spluttered. “But I didn’t…I don’t!” She had not intended the flirtation to go as far as it did.

  “You don’t? That’s not the way it looked to me.” Robert’s voice sounded indifferent.

  Was this heir going to materialize like magic? She thought crossly. So, he didn’t care if she eventually took a lover. Might he then happily continue to visit his mistress?

  Everything was wrong and had been from the beginning. But the more she struggled to right it, the deeper into trouble she fell.

  What could she do? How could she convince him Southmore meant nothing to her? She could beg him to believe her, but her pleas would fall on deaf ears. Somehow, she would have to show him.

  She settled against the velvet squabs of the luxurious carriage. Another awful silence enveloped as it continued on through the streets. In the dim light of the lanterns, Robert’s face looked closed as he sat back with his arms folded. His very stance shut her out. She wanted to creep into his arms and have him fold them around her, but it was fast becoming an impossible dream.

  In the corridor outside her chamber, he barely touched her gloved hand with his lips as he bid her goodnight.

  “Robert?”

  He turned back to her, his brows raised, looking every inch a marquess. “Yes?”

  She put her hand to the emeralds at her throat. “Shouldn’t you return these to the safe?”

  “That might be wise.”

  “Come in and help me take them off.”

  He followed her into her boudoir, as she removed her gloves. It was empty for she’d told her maid not to wait up.

  His touch on her neck felt cool and impersonal. He slipped the necklace into his pocket and turned to go. Charity touched his arm. “Won’t you kiss me goodnight?”

  He bent his head and touched his lips briefly with hers. She put a hand on his chest, feeling tension there. He was always annoyed with her and she struggled with the unfairness of it.

  “Stay a while?”

  “I thought you didn’t wish me to make love to you.”

  “Not in the salon. Here, in my chamber.”

  His blue eyes blazed hot with anger. “Perhaps Lord Southmore can oblige. He knows where to find your chamber.”

  Charity slapped his face. The noise seemed to reverberate around the room in the long silence which followed. They stared at each another, breathing heavily. “I did not deserve that. I find your behavior disappointing, my lord.”

  Robert raked a hand through his hair. He gave a crooked grin. “That makes your true feelings clear then, my dear, doesn’t it?”

  He turned on his heel and left her chamber, clos
ing the door behind him. The room seemed too quiet with just the ticking of the mantel clock. Charity put her hands to her flaming cheeks.

  His rebuff hurt as surely as if he’d thrust a knife in her heart.

  The moon cast a ghostly haze over the trees on Hampstead Heath. An owl flew low across the clearing in search of prey.

  Robert could still feel the sting of that slap as he waited. Something far more serious than physical pain lay behind it. The cool night air did little to dampen the rage burning in his breast. He did not believe Charity openly encouraged Southmore, for he knew what the man was. But be damned if he’d play second fiddle to Southmore in his wife’s affections. The sound of horses’ hooves on the road reached his ears. Moments later, two men emerged from the shadows lighting their way with a lantern. Sir Lionel Bartholomew walked towards them, Southmore behind him.

  Robert and his friend, Lord Percy Spencer, strolled across to greet them.

  “It’s damn cold, and it looks like rain. Are you sure you want to go through with this, Robert?” Spencer asked in an undertone.

  “Would it not be better to have a bout at the club?”

  “What, and have all of London agog as to the reason?” Robert shook his head. He divested himself of his coat and slipped his shirt over his head. Southmore had this coming. He would have preferred a pistol at forty paces, but he was a better shot than Southmore. And the temptation to run him through with his sword was too strong; if he killed him, he’d be ostracized for years. No, he intended to give the man the licking of his life. Not just for him, but for all the cuckolded husbands in London.

  He moved towards where Southmore stood waiting, stripped to the waist and licking his lips nervously, his hands clenched into fists.

  Robert bowed. “Southmore.”

  “St Malin.”

  The men circled each other.

  Robert sized up his opponent. He knew Southmore didn’t pursue the sport as keenly as he, but he was light on his feet. Robert had the advantage of being fuelled by anger. His anger might be directed at a friend who had betrayed him, but he was also angry at himself.

  Southmore executed a few fancy steps ducking and weaving, better on a dance floor and in a ladies boudoir, perhaps. The thought of him in Charity’s boudoir made Robert’s lips thin and his eyes narrow.

  Southmore took a wild jab at him and missed when Robert ducked.

  The action unbalanced Southmore, and he rocked backwards. Robert saw his chance. He struck the first blow on his jaw with a right uppercut and followed it with a left.

  Southmore’s head slammed back. He cursed and staggered, his body already slick with sweat.

  Another right hit its mark. Southmore fell to his knees but recovered quickly. Robert felt the sting to his knuckles and began to enjoy himself. Poor Southmore would take a beating for the sins of many others as well as his own this night.

  The silent woods filled with heavy breathing, the pounding of flesh on flesh, and the cries of the men’s friends urging them on.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next day, after lunching alone, Charity asked for the town carriage to be brought round. “I wish to visit Lord and Lady Charlesworth,” she told the butler. “I’m not sure where they reside.”

  “I believe they have a house in Portman Square, my lady,” Hove said.

  “Won’t take John but a moment to drive you there.”

  As the curricle negotiated the London streets, Charity clung to the window-frame and watched sightlessly as the buildings flew past. Was she doing the right thing? It was an enormous risk she knew, but she could think of no other possible course to take.

  The curricle pulled up outside an impressive three-story townhouse. It faced the leafy trees and flowerbeds of a square contained by a black iron fence. A mother sat on a bench while her children played with a ball on the grass in the sunshine. Charity climbed the steps still wondering if she’d been rash. She smoothed the skirts of her redingote. Was she dressed correctly? The butler answered her knock at the glossy black door and when she gave him her card, he failed to hide his surprise.

  “Please inform Lady Charlesworth I’m here to see her.” She was aware it was too late for a social call, but if she waited until another day, she’d lose her nerve. She could only hope the lady would agree to see her.

  He bowed. “Please wait, Lady St Malin.”

  She sat in the marble vestibule, watching him climb the grand staircase and disappear where it branched at the top. She clutched her gloved hands together. What if Robert’s mother refused to see her?

  The butler returned in a moment and led Charity upstairs to the drawing room. She walked into a room furnished in the dainty Chinoiserie style which suited its occupant perfectly. A blue and gold patterned Aubusson carpet covered the floor, and swags of gold silk hung at the windows.

  Birds adorned the gold wallpaper. Floral bouquets in porcelain urns were placed about on gilt-edged tables. Lady Charlesworth, like a flower herself, dressed in a lilac round gown, was pacing the floor, her embroidery on the floor at her feet. A flush coloured her cheeks.

  It occurred to Charity that she may have hoped her son accompanied her. The lady rushed forward, arms outstretched.

  She took Charity’s hands in hers.

  “Lady St Malin, how good of you to come.” She drew Charity down to sit beside her on the gold damask sofa. “I was just about to have tea.” Lady Charlesworth rearranged the cashmere shawl hugging her slender shoulders with quick nervous fingers. “So you are Robert’s wife. I knew his uncle planned to have him marry the woman of his choosing.” She smiled. “But I confess you were a surprise.”

  Her words sounded sincere and warm. Charity could detect no criticism in them, although she would be entitled to wish a better marriage for her son. Charity decided to get to the point before the moment turned awkward. She leaned forward. “I’ve come to ask for your help, Lady Charlesworth.”

  The older woman put a pale hand to her throat. “I don’t know that I could be of any help to you, my dear. But I’ll certainly try.”

  “Robert appears troubled. I’m at my wits’ end to understand why.”

  “Troubled?” Tears sparkled in Lady Charlesworth’s blue eyes, which were disturbingly like her son’s. Her obvious distress sent a shaft of guilt through Charity. “It might be because he has lost his uncle of whom he was inordinately fond.” Lady Charlesworth put her hands to her flushed cheeks. “You must be aware that my son and I have been estranged for some time. I don’t expect that will change now. I used to pray for his forgiveness, but now I just want him to be happy.” Her lips trembled. “I’m sorry if he isn’t.”

  “Robert has told me nothing of this estrangement.” It was obvious at the ball that something was badly wrong between them. He was stiff and aloof in his mother’s presence and had later refused to talk to her about it.

  “No, that doesn’t surprise me. He keeps his own counsel.”

  She said no more and Charity wondered if she’d come on a wild goose chase. She leaned forward. “I’m desperate, Lady Charlesworth.”

  “Oh?” Her ladyship fingered the lace on her sleeve. “I wish he would talk to you. It would be so much better for him.” She paused. “It would be better for you to know what you’re dealing with.”

  “I shall be discreet about anything you tell me, Lady Charlesworth,” Charity urged.

  “The trouble between us, if that is what is behind this, began some time ago, when I married Lord Charlesworth. It was only a short time after Robert’s father died, and far too soon for some.”

  The recollection seemed to upset her. She drew a handkerchief from her sleeve and twisted it in her lap. “I became enceinte almost immediately and my daughter was born a month early. For some time, I was censured by the ton. Vicious rumors abounded. It was said that I’d been unfaithful while Robert’s father lay dying.” Her eyes took on a stricken look. “As if I could do such a thing. The ton can be monstrously cruel. Once bereaved, a man may marry imme
diately, if he chooses, but a woman must wait a year. I could not afford to wait. I was in dreadful financial straits and didn’t know which way to turn. I was afraid for myself and my son. Robert was but a boy and away at school. I believe he suffered from the gossip also, but I could never tell him his father was an insatiable gambler. I beg you not to tell him that, for it would serve no purpose now.” Her hand returned to the pearls at her throat.

  “My husband and Robert got off to a bad start. Robert never accepted my husband, which is a shame, for he is a good man.

  “And then things grew worse after Robert became enamored of a young lady who did not meet with our approval. He and Lord Charlesworth argued over it dreadfully. It was the final straw, and Robert became estranged from us.”

  Charity’s heart swelled with sorrow for Robert. “He could not marry the woman he loved?”

  “I don’t believe it was because of our disapproval. She chose to marry someone else.”

  “How surprising.” Charity found it impossible that any woman could resist Robert’s handsome face. And he could be very charming, when he wished. If only she’d been the object of his affection and seen that side of Robert, the ardent suitor, seeking her hand in marriage. She felt a swift rush of jealousy which ebbed away into despondency.

  Lady Charlesworth nodded with a small smile. “After his separation from us, he grew closer to his uncle. I did feel he would have come back to us if his uncle had not been there.” She drew in a breath. “I was glad he had the love and support of St Malin, even so.”

  Charity wondered if Lady Charlesworth had loved Lord Charlesworth when she first married him. Or was it a marriage of convenience like hers and Robert’s? She certainly seemed fond of him now, and this gave Charity a small spark of hope for the future.

  A servant brought in a tea tray and placed it on the octagonal table in front of the sofa.

  Lady Charlesworth presided over the tray. “Cream?”

  “Thank you.”

  Lady Charlesworth poured tea into flowery cups. She gestured toward the array of cakes on the silver tray. “Do have something to eat, please.”