what belongs to me,’ the woman replied, her green eyes flashing with temper. ‘He owes me and this is scarcely recompense for what he took.’
‘Are you telling me you were a virgin before this evening?’
‘Would you believe me?’
‘No.’
‘Then I shall tell you nothing,’ the woman said and passed him, going out of the room.
Nicolas had let her go. In truth, he was still stunned by what he had seen. Returning to the main rooms a little later, he discovered Sir Charles at the tables, and standing at his back was the young woman he had seen going through Ralph’s pockets moments earlier. Nicolas had thought he must have been mistaken, but there was no mistake. Clarice Stanton, his bartered bride-to-be, had robbed his friend while he lay in a drunken stupor.
‘Ah, Rothsay,’ Sir Charles said, looking up. ‘Sit down and join us, won’t you? Clarice is bringing me luck tonight. I was down to my last guinea but she brought me ten more and I have won the pot of two hundred.’
Which he would no doubt lose before he rose from the tables, Nicolas thought.
Nicolas looked the young woman in the eyes and saw her flush. Until this evening, he had not met Stanton’s daughter, not bothering to propose to her but leaving it to the father to tell her of their arrangement. He supposed that he had intended to speak to her in his own good time. When he recklessly signed the marriage contract, he had been acting on impulse. He had heard on the rumour mill that Stanton’s daughter was pretty, but as he was engaged to her already, sight unseen, her looks were not his primary concern. He had thought only that she was available and would give him the heir everyone said he needed.
To his horror, he had contracted himself to marry a thief and a wanton. What a damned fool he had been!
Henrietta had begged him to marry for the sake of the family. He hardly dared to contemplate what she would say if she knew the truth.
He must find a way to withdraw—but how could it be done? Anger smouldered inside him as he saw the young woman continue to encourage her profligate father at the tables. When Stanton rose a winner of some two thousand pounds or more, she flashed him a look of triumph, as if daring him to expose her to the world.
Needless to say, Nicolas had kept his mouth closed. It would have exposed him to ridicule, as well as Ralph, whom he knew to be newly engaged to a respectable English girl. His friend had been feeling a little hedge-bound, because his mother-in-law to be was demanding he dance attention on her daughter the whole time. Ralph had escaped to Paris for a last fling, and would never know that he had not spent all his guineas at the tables. The loss was one he could afford, but Nicolas was affronted by the idea that he had agreed to marry a woman of such low morals.
Nicolas had left Paris the next day, sending his would-be father-in-law a sharp note dictating that he take his daughter back to England to await his further instructions.
As soon as he had set foot in town, Nicolas visited his family lawyer to discover if the contract was watertight, and apparently it was. Nicolas could of course withdraw and compensate the girl for breach of promise. He would no doubt have to pay through the nose to be free of her. His mouth drew into a thin line as he contemplated the scandal.
No, better that he find a way of forcing the woman to withdraw. He would be ridiculed in the clubs whichever way it went, but if Miss Stanton withdrew it could all be settled by a payment for her bruised pride—if she had any—and there would be less scandal.
It was his own fault for giving in to a wild impulse. He could not blame Henrietta, who would certainly not have advised such a reckless affair. Nicolas smiled wryly. The irony of it was that such a marriage would have suited him had the woman not been a thief and a cheat. She was certainly pretty enough, and, if compliant, might have had her own house and done much as she pleased once she had given him a couple of heirs.
So for now, it seemed that he must go through with the formal arrangements. Henrietta must be told of his impending marriage and in due course an announcement must be made in The Times. Yet he would hold back on the announcement for a while; there was still a chance he might be able to persuade the young woman to withdraw. He must post down to his country house and put some work in hand. Nicolas seldom bothered to pay more than a flying visit to his family home; it would certainly need some changes if his wife were to live there.
His wife… Nicolas felt as if a knife had struck at his heart. There had once been someone he hoped to make his wife, but Elizabeth had laughed in his face and married an older, richer man. For years he had allowed his hurt pride to eat away at him, but it was time to put it aside. When this fiasco was over, he must look for a suitable wife in earnest.
‘I shall not marry him. I told Papa in Paris that I would not. He refused to tell the marquis that the contract must be broken. I know there is a debt, but he won a little before we left Paris, after I wrote to you. I dare say if we sold this house he could pay the debt.’
Lottie looked at her sister’s flushed face and wondered how Clarice could be so selfish. Did her twin never give a thought to anyone else’s comfort but her own?
‘What about Aunt Beth and me?’ she asked. ‘Where should we go if the house were sold? Aunt Beth has little enough income as it is—and I have nothing at all.’
‘I will find a rich husband and rescue you both.’ Clarice flashed a beguiling smile at her sister.
‘Surely the marquis is rich enough? Papa said he was rolling in the blunt.’
‘Well, I dare say he is, but I do not like him. He is arrogant and cold—and I shall not marry him.’
Clarice took up Lottie’s hairbrush and began to brush her twin’s hair.
‘I hate him, Lottie. Papa is mean to say I must marry him. I would rather die—besides, there is someone I really like. I met him in Paris and I think he is in love with me.’
‘Oh, Clarice…’ Lottie sighed. ‘If the marquis is that horrible, I should not want you to marry him. Is he very old, dearest?’
‘Oh, middle-aged, I should say…thirty or more.’
‘That is not old.’ Lottie frowned at her. ‘Is he ugly?’
‘No, not ugly…stern, I suppose.’ Clarice put down the brush. ‘You must agree with me or Papa will make me marry him.’
‘If he is presentable and rich…’ Lottie looked thoughtful. ‘It would be the answer to Papa’s troubles, Clarice. Could you not marry him for his sake and ours?’
Clarice made a face at her in the mirror. ‘If you think he sounds presentable, you marry him. He would never know the difference…’ Clarice stared at her in the mirror and her expression became one of excitement. ‘Why not? Why do you not wed him in my place? You could be certain that Aunt Beth had a decent home and Papa could come to you whenever he was in trouble.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Clarice.’ While it was true that they were almost identical in looks, apart from a mole on Lottie’s right breast that Clarice did not have, they were very different in character. ‘Surely he would know the difference? I know that many people cannot tell us apart but he must know you better than most.’
‘We have
