Lucien’s heart. Fool! he chastised himself. Just ask her the damn question and be done with it. ‘Will you marry me?’ He felt the start of the slim body beside him, felt more than saw the shock upon her face.
‘You want me to be your wife?’ Disbelief raised her voice to a mere squeak.
‘Yes. It’s by far the best solution to our problem.’ He tried to convey that it was the logical answer for them both.
‘Lord Farquharson is my problem alone, my lord, not yours. You have no need to marry me. Why should you even care what he does to me, let alone wish to sacrifice yourself on my behalf?’
‘I have my reasons, Miss Langley. Suffice to say, it is in both our interests to stop him.’ Sacrifice was a very strong word, and the wrong word. It did not describe at all what it was that Lucien Tregellas was doing.
‘But marriage?’
Why should she find it so unbelievable? ‘Think of it as a marriage of convenience, if you prefer,’ he said, trying to make her feel easier.
‘I cannot just marry you.’
‘Why not?’
‘My family, the scandal—’
‘Would blow over. Your family will not suffer. I’ll ensure that. I’m not without influence, Madeline.’
She seemed embarrassed at the sound of her Christian name upon his lips, and glanced down nervously at her lap. He remembered how innocent she was.
‘Lord Farquharson would sue for breach of contract.’
‘It’s only money, a commodity of which I have plenty.’
A short silence, as if she was digesting his words. He heard her hands move against the blanket.
‘Such an act would publicly humiliate Lord Farquharson. He would be obliged to demand satisfaction of his honour.’
‘We both know that Farquharson has no honour.’
‘Society does not. He would call you out.’
‘So much the better.’
‘But your life would be in danger. He might injure you, or worse!’
He smiled then, a chilling smile, a smile that held in it five years of waiting, five years of hatred. The light from a street lamp glanced across his stark angular features, casting a sinister darkness to his handsome looks. ‘Have no fear of that. I promise you most solemnly that when I meet Farquharson across a field again I will kill him.’
Her breath expelled in one rush.
‘Have you any more objections, Miss Langley?’
‘It … it does not seem right, my lord.’
‘I assure you that it would be the best for everyone, involved.’
‘I-I’m a little shocked,’ she stuttered.
‘That is only to be expected,’ he said. ‘If you marry me, you would be well provided for, have anything you desire. I have no objection to you seeing your family as and when you please. You would be free to live your own life—within reason, of course. And, most importantly, you would be safe from Farquharson.’
‘What do you wish from me in return, my lord?’
He blinked at that. What did he want? All his careful thinking had not made it that far. He had not expected her to ask such a thing. And then he understood what it was she was asking, or at least thought he did. ‘Discretion,’ he replied, trying to be tactful.
When she still did not understand, he elaborated. ‘It would be a marriage in name only, Madeline. We would both go on just as before, nothing need change save your name and our living arrangements for a short while.’
She bowed her head. ‘You seem to have considered everything, my lord.’
Another silence.
‘Then you must choose, Madeline. Will you be my wife or Farquharson’s?’
She touched the fingers of her right hand against her forehead, kneading the spot between her eyes.
He could sense her tension. The small body next to his was strung taut as a bow. ‘Madeline,’ he said softly, and captured her left hand into his. ‘Your half-hour is fast expiring. Will you not give me your answer?’
She shivered. ‘Yes, my lord,’ she whispered, not daring to look round at his face. ‘I will marry you.’
His fingers communicated a brief reassurance to hers and were gone. ‘Thank you,’ he said, then thumped the roof of the carriage with his cane and thrust his face out of the window, ‘Home, please, Jackson.’
‘But … but aren’t we going back to Almack’s? What of my mama—?’
‘Speed is of the essence. I’ll send a note to your mother explaining our decision.’
‘I would prefer to tell her myself, my lord.’
The anxiety in her voice scraped at his conscience. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, Madeline. You’ll see her soon enough when we’re safely married. I’ll explain all once we reach Cavendish Square.’
The carriage drove on in silence.
Chapter Five
Tregellas’s townhouse in Cavendish Square was not a house at all, not in the sense that Madeline knew. Mansion was the word she would have used in its stead. It was a large imposing building set back in a fine garden. The hallway alone was bigger than the parlour and dining room put together in the Langleys’ home. Floors beautifully laid with Italian marble, walls covered with exquisite neo-classical plasterwork—all nymphs and cherubs, wreaths and festoons—expensive oriental rugs, windows elaborately dressed with rich curtains, huge crystal chandeliers that shimmered in the light of a hundred candles. Madeline stared around her in awe.
‘This way, Miss Langley.’
Lord Tregellas steered her down a passageway and into the most palatial, enormous drawing room she had ever seen. But it wasn’t the luxurious décor or the expensive furniture that drew Madeline’s eye. That was accomplished much more readily by the two gentlemen standing before the fireplace, one of whom she had just seen at Almack’s Assembly Rooms, dancing with her sister: Viscount Varington and Colonel Barclay. Realisation dawned. She peered round at Lord Tregellas with great wide eyes. ‘You used your friends to distract Mama and Angelina!’
‘I did not think that Mrs Langley would welcome my direct approach.’
That was putting it mildly. Mama would have run squawking to Lord Farquharson as fast as her legs would carry her. Madeline’s brow wrinkled. But what, then, were the gentlemen doing here?
The men stepped forward, the taller of the two electing to speak. ‘Miss Langley, honoured to make your acquaintance at last.’ When he looked into her face she saw
