A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement) (10 page)

CHAPTER NINE

"Love’s a malady without a cure."-
John Dryden

Russell House, Bedford Square—Three weeks later

"MARIAH!" Lydia exclaimed, taking her cousin into as close an embrace as her great belly would allow. "I am so happy you have come!"

"How could I not when you have asked me to be the godmother? Lyddie, you are big as a house!" Mariah declared with a laugh. "Are you quite sure you do not carry twins?"

Lydia scowled. "Marcus boasts that I carry triplets. The beast has already christened his three unborn sons Maxim, Maximillian, and Maximus. 'Twill serve him right if I birth a daughter."

"How soon, Lyddie?"

"The doctor has said another fortnight at least, but the midwife believes it could begin in a few days with the full moon. I hope my daughter will wait until then. I would hate to miss the celebration."

"What celebration is this?"

"Next week there is a grand gala at Richmond House in Whitehall. The king was so distraught about the debacle at Green Park that the duke has taken it upon himself to host a private performance at his home."

"What debacle?" Mariah asked.

"Have you not heard about it?"

"No, I rarely read the London papers. What happened?"

"It was the command performance of Mr. Handel's musical tribute to the peace signing last autumn. It was to be a very grand affair with a one hundred-piece orchestra and a spectacle of illuminations. So great was the anticipation that the
dress rehearsal at Vauxhall shut down London Bridge for over three hours! The papers estimated a crush of twelve thousand!"

"Twelve thousand!" Mariah exclaimed. "I can't even imagine so many people gathered in one place. What then happened at Green Park?"

"The weather was atrocious. The illuminations were rained out, and then in the middle of the musical performance, the pavilion caught fire! It was an utter disaster! The king was said to be disconsolate over it.”

"According to Lady Russell, his privy council called a special meeting specifically to come up with something to restore his good humor. They have decided to put on a gala at the Duke of Richmond's home on the Thames. Bedford is to provide the orchestra, directed by Mr. Handel himself, and the Duke of Montagu is arranging the illuminations. The king knows nothing of their plans. It will be a great surprise!"

"How exciting," Mariah agreed. "But is
it advisable for you to go out among so many people
in your condition?"

"Marcus and I had a battle royale over it, but we finally struck a compromise. We will make the briefest possible appearance at the party and then observe the illuminations from a distance. We will travel by private barge as we should also be able to hear the music since sound travels so well across water."

"That sounds ideal—to be able to enjoy the celebration without fighting the swarms of people."

"I know how much you dislike crowds, Mariah, but I'm afraid you will have to accustom yourself to them if you will be staying in London."

Mariah sighed. "You must know how much I dread what is to come."

Lydia took her hand. "I know, dearest, but this is the perfect opportunity to introduce you to London society. Moreover, all the eligible gentlemen of the ton will there. I promise that Lady Russell and I will do all that we can to help you find the right one."

"I thought I already had," Mariah said sadly.

"You still haven't told me what happened between you. I thought you and Mr. Needham had an understanding."

"We did but it . . . expired."

Lydia looked confused. "Expired?"

"He asked me to wait one year and made me promise that I would look for another if he did not return to claim my hand within that time. We corresponded weekly for over six months. I cherished every precious letter I received from him, but then they started arriving with less frequency. At first, I thought it was the unreliability of the foreign mail, but then I also noticed a difference in his tone. His letters became shorter. He spoke more about the present and less about our future. It was as if he was emotionally withdrawing from me. It was then that I started to wonder if his sentiments toward me had changed. Then, three weeks ago, almost a year to the day we sealed our bargain, I received a letter stating that he released me from my vow." She fought the quivering that had begun in her lip and blinked fiercely against the threat of tears. "I can only presume by his actions that he has indeed found someone else."

Lydia's eyes widened. "You cannot know that, Mariah! Perhaps he was only thinking of you?"

"I wonder if he's thought of me at all," Mariah replied bitterly. "I believed he truly cared for me, but the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that he only cares about himself and what other people think of him."

"That's harsh, dear. Why would you say that?"

"If he truly loved me, wouldn't he set his pride aside to be with me?" She continued with an angry sniff, "I hope his infernal pride keeps him warm at night."

"Come," Lydia hooked her arm through Mariah's, "I will take you to your room and then I will show you the nursery."

***

White's Gentleman's Club, Mayfair

"Needham!" The moment Nick entered the room, Marcus strode past the tables of gamesters with arms extended. "What a fortuitous meeting! Pray tell me what brings you back to London so unexpectedly?"

"Business of a most disconcerting nature," Nick replied soberly. "I am so glad to have found you here."

"It is lucky indeed. Lydia and I only arrived from Modena a fortnight ago. Lydia refused to give birth outside of England. She believes it would make our sons less English."

"Sons?"
Nick gaped. "As in more than one?"

Marcus grinned. "I'll let you be the judge when you see her. Indeed, there is even a wager placed in the betting book about how many she carries." He inclined his head to the table displaying the infamous tome. "So how do you fare under Rochford, Nick?"

"It took a while for him to look beyond my batting ability to my actual qualifications, but now he has gone so far as to entrust me with some business of an unusually personal nature."

"Unusually personal? Intriguing. Come, man." He laid a hand on Nick's shoulder. "Let us repair to a quiet corner for a drink, and we'll talk."

Marcus led Nick to his corner table, where a servant poured a generous amount of deep amber liquid into two glasses. Marcus offered the first to Nick, who slouched back in his leather-covered chair to take in the once-familiar surroundings—the low murmur of voices, broken by an occasional laugh, the distinctive riffle of cards, and the rattle of dice boxes from the next room.

Accepting the glass, Nick inhaled deeply of the smoky, sweet scent. "Brandy? You have given up port?"

Marcus grinned. "As our esteemed Dr. Johnson would say, ‘Claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy.’ Now that we are no longer at war with France, I am endeavoring to make up for eight years of deprivation. It's a pleasure I have sorely missed, but it is still a far second to the company of my best friend. So what is this personal business that has you overset? Does Rochford desire you to play pimp for him?"

Nick almost laughed aloud, so close was Marcus's jibe to hitting the mark. "Not quite, but very close," he answered. "He has appointed me his agent in a mission of matrimony. He has promised me a position in the department of my choosing if I successfully negotiate his marriage."

"Matrimony? Is that all?" Marcus's laugh echoed through the chamber. "And precisely why is this so
disconcerting
to you? Isn't this precisely what you'd hoped for—an opportunity to advance?"

"Because it's a veritable devil's bargain, that's why! His first choice of bride is Mariah."

Marcus paused, glass raised to his lips. He took a swallow and carefully set it down. "Mariah Morehaven? Lydia's cousin?"

"Yes. And I am in dire need of a friend's counsel."

Marcus's smile dimmed. "Are you indeed? I knew you were taken with her, but did you and she have some kind of understanding?"

"Of a sorts," Nick replied. "But only weeks ago, I wrote to release her from her promise."

"You did? Why would you do such a stupid thing?" Marcus asked.

"Because I'm a bloody dolt! I'd had too much to drink and was feeling sorry for myself. I essentially commanded her to seek someone else because I didn't want to ruin her life waiting for something that was never going to happen."

Marcus took a slow sip. "I hate to be the bearer of ill-tidings, but she seems to have taken you at your word."

"What do you mean? Have you heard something?"

"More than that, I'm afraid. She's asked my mother to help her find a suitable husband."

Nick stiffened. "She would act so soon?"

"Her mourning period has ended, and you released her. How long do you expect her to wait?"

"I . . . I . . ." Nick found himself at a loss for words. Why was he so distraught when she was only doing what he himself had made her promise to do?

"If it makes you feel any better, I believe her circumstances oblige her to act. Mama informed me that her father's will demands that she wed within a year of his passing or forego a large portion of her inheritance. You must go to her and tell her you're a bloody jackass and then beg her clemency."

"To what purpose? I am in no better position to offer for her than I was a year ago."

"Do you fear she would refuse you?"

He shook his head. "She said she would have me."

"Then take your bloody head out of your arse and ask her!"

"And become precisely what I despise? I have no respect for men who wed women for their money."

"Do you intend to squander her fortune?"

"Of course not! Were I her husband, I would do my very best to make her life happy and comfortable and secure. I would ensure that her tenants' needs were met and that her estates and investments were managed with the greatest prudence."

"Would you keep a mistress?"

"I have never done such a thing, even as a bachelor. I could never break faith with the woman I love."

"Then you are already superior to almost any other man she might marry. Do you suppose Rochford will give up gaming or mistresses for her?"

"Not bloody likely," Nick scoffed. "I won't have it, Marcus. I'm not about to give her up to some worthless sod who will only hurt her."

"Then what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm damned if I know." Nick took a long drink of brandy, shutting his eyes to the slow burn as it slid down his throat. "Rochford sent me here. Honor compels me to do as I promised him. I can't betray his trust, Marcus, but I'll be damned if I'll let him have her. There is no question in my mind that she would be desperately unhappy with him."

Marcus thoughtfully swirled the liquid remaining in his glass. "Then who is to say she would even accept him? If you were to propose on his behalf and she refused the proposal, you would have no option but to find Rochford another bride."

Nick frowned. "You aren't suggesting sabotage?"

"Nothing of the kind, my friend," Marcus replied lazily. "There is absolutely no need to besmirch the prospective groom. You only need to allow the facts to speak for themselves. You must simply present the reality of what a marriage to Rochford would be."

"Marcus, you are a bloody genius!" Nick exclaimed. "I was so self-absorbed in my misery that I couldn't see the obvious." Nick drained his drink and set down the glass with a sigh of relief. He finally had some semblance of a plan. Now all that remained was its execution. Nick waved his hand as Marcus reached to pour another drink. "I haven't time, I'm afraid. 'Tis four days’ travel to Derbyshire. I must be off at once."

"Derbyshire would be a wasted trip," Marcus said.

Nick froze. "What are you saying? Has she already accepted someone?"

"Not what I mean, ol' man. Mariah isn't in Derbyshire."

"How the devil would you know?"

"Because she's due to arrive in London today. She will be staying with my mother at Russell House."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me to begin with?" Nick snapped.

"Marcus's mouth stretched into a slow smirk. "Because you didn't ask me."

CHAPTER TEN

"Love works a different way in different minds,

The fool it enlightens, the wise it blinds." -
John Dryden

"YOU HAVE A CALLER, Lady Mariah," the footman announced. Mariah's hands froze on her needlework. Lydia and Lady Russell raised their brows in unison as the servant crossed the morning room to offer her a gold-embossed calling card.

"Who do you suppose it could be? I don't know a soul in London." Bewildered, she accepted the card and turned it over, only to grow even more puzzled. "Lord Rochford?"

"Rochford?" Lady Russell repeated. "I thought he was in Turin."

"He was," Lydia confirmed. "Perhaps he has returned for the king's celebration? He was, after all, one of the treaty's chief engineers."

"But why on earth would he wish to call on me?" Mariah asked.

"My dear," Lady Russell began in a maternal tone, "it is hardly the mystery you would make of it. You only need ask yourself, what is the primary motive when an unwed, titled gentleman calls on an unwed, titled lady? Did he not once imply his interest in you?"

"But that was over a year ago,” Mariah said. "I have heard nothing from him since our first meeting at Woburn Abbey."

"Most men are wont to drag their feet in matters matrimonial," Lady Russell explained. "But perhaps his circumstances have changed, just as yours have."

"Yes. Mine have changed." A year ago, she would not have given the least thought to anyone of Rochford's ilk, but now, what did it matter?

"Are you at home, madam?" the footman inquired.

Mariah looked in panic to Lady Russell.

"Rogers," Lady Russell smoothly interceded, "please order some tea and show Lord Rochford to the drawing room."

"Of course, madam," Rogers bowed in reply.

"Thank you, my lady," Mariah said. "But I don't even know what to say to him."

"Then let him do the talking, my dear. Gentlemen rarely listen to a thing we say anyway. If it helps your unease, Lydia and I will take tea with you and discreetly excuse ourselves if and when it appears judicious to do so."

"You are all that is gracious, Lady Russell.” Setting down the linen gown she was embroidering for the baby, Mariah stood and shook out the skirts of her yellow chintz morning gown and removed her apron. "Should I change?"

"You look charming, my dear," Lady Russell assured her. "A gentleman should expect some informality when calling upon a lady at such an unfashionably early hour. Pray greet your guest, Mariah. Lydia and I will follow anon."

"Yes, my lady." Mariah departed the morning room as square-shouldered and stiff-backed as if she were preparing to face a firing squad.

As she crossed from the back of the house to the front drawing room, she tried to conjure Lord Rochford's face and failed, surprising after having spent an entire evening in his company. She only recalled that he was tall, slender of build, and fair-haired. Yet Nick's golden-brown eyes and bare hint of a smile were still fresh in her mind.

She also recalled all too vividly the way her pulse had raced just seated beside Nick in the carriage. Tiny shivers had coursed down her spine when he'd caressed her
gloved
hand. And the memory of his heated kisses were imprinted in her mind forever.

The earl's touch, on the contrary, had virtually no effect on her. No spark, no connection of any kind when they had danced. She didn't understand how she could be so affected by one man and then feel nothing at all for another. She fervently wished it were not so. 

Stealing a breath, she raised her chin and forced a welcoming smile to her lips, and then nodded to the footman to open the drawing room door. "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, my lo—" The rest of the sentence froze on her tongue.

Though he stood looking out the window with his hands clasped behind his back, she would know Nicolas Needham anywhere. Her stomach did a somersault as he turned to greet her. "Y-you?" 

"Lady Mariah." The man who stepped forward with a bow was unquestionably Nicolas, but there was something very changed about him. It wasn't just the silks and velvets he wore or the bronzed skin that gave him a faint look of a Barbary corsair. His manner was unusually formal and reserved, almost as if they were strangers.

"I-I don't understand," she began. "The footman presented me Lord Rochford's card." Her gaze desperately searched the room for the elusive earl.

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you," he said dryly, "but I am indeed come on Lord Rochford's business."

"And what business might that be?" she inquired, tight-lipped.

"May we sit, my lady?" he inclined his head to the settle.

Mariah feared her legs might give out before she made it to the settle. What was he doing here? "H-how long have you been back?" she asked as she sank into the silk damask cushions.

"Two days only," he replied. "I believe I arrived on your heels." His mouth twitched. "Or perhaps you arrived on mine."

"Why did you write me that letter if you knew you were returning?" she asked, her throat so dry that she barely managed a whisper.

"I did not know I was returning until well after I posted the letter."

"I see." She swallowed. "But now you are here."

He extended his arms, palms turned upward. "In the flesh."

Half of her wanted to throw herself into those arms and kiss him madly while the other half wanted to shout and thrash and rage. She willed herself to do neither. "Why have you come here?"

"I am on a mission from Lord Rochford."

"And what has that to do with me?"

"You, my lady,
are
the mission."

"I don't comprehend you."

"The earl wishes to wed. Her Grace the Duchess of Bedford wishes to help him achieve this desire. She selected ten eligible, well-bred maidens. Of the ten, the earl chose to pay his respects to you."

"But I met the man only once!" How could this be happening? How could he be so cold and aloof after all they had shared? She felt as if her heart was breaking all over again.

"Nevertheless, he remembers you favorably."

"And I barely remember him at all," she replied coldly. "How could he possibly think that I would be an appropriate helpmeet for him?"

"He believes you would have sufficient compatibility."

She shook her head, barely stemming a flow of hysterical giggles. "I am at a loss as to how he possibly could have come to that conclusion. I can't think of a single thing we have in common."

"Rochford is suitable. As his wife, you would have every advantage the world has to offer. Did you not come to London to seek a husband, Lady Mariah?"

"Yes." She forced herself to meet his gaze straight on. "I did." He appeared to wince, or had she imagined it? "What precisely does his lordship seek?"

"He desires a bride of noble breeding and good character. Your family is one of the oldest in England. He is assured by the Duchess of Bedford that your reputation is impeccable, your dowry is considerable, and that your lands produce a highly respectable income."

“And that is
all
he desires in a wife? What of compatibility?" she asked, her gaze searching his. "And affection?"

"'Tis hardly a prerequisite for people of your station. He has no reason to believe you shan't get along. As to affection, he does not consider that a requirement from a wife."

The implication was clear. If wed, her husband would seek affection elsewhere. "I see. The offer he puts forth is purely for convenience. But convenient for whom, Mr. Needham? What about my desires and needs? Are those not to be taken into account?" Although she had accepted how it would be, she nevertheless found the reality of a loveless future disheartening.

"Lord Rochford offers a highly respected family name with close connections to the king and queen, as well as a house in Berkley Square and estates in Suffolk, Essex, and the
Utrecht province of the Dutch Republic.
You would have a life of great comfort in return for bearing his offspring. Should you accept, you would go to him in Turin and remain there until an heir is born. After that, you would be free to choose where you wish to reside."

"Separate lives, Mr. Needham?"

"That is often the way of it," he replied. "The earl would only expect an appropriate degree of . . . circumspection on your part."

"Circumspection? Are you saying he would not only expect his wife to take lovers, but would turn a blind eye? I don't wish to hear any more."

"Might I convey to his lordship which part of his proposal you find objectionable?"

"I think perhaps I object most to Lord Rochford's choice of emissary." She rose on legs that still felt like aspic. "Forgive me if I do not invite you to stay for tea, Mr. Needham. I am feeling quite indisposed." That much was true. Would she even make it out the door before the dam of emotions burst? "Rogers will be happy to see you out."

She only managed four steps toward the door before he murmured her name.

"Mariah, please. I can explain everything."

She willed herself to keep her back to him. If his expression matched his pleading tone, she would surely fall to pieces. "There is no excusable explanation for what you have put me through,
Mr. Needham
. Please leave. I don't wish to see you again."

***

"Can you believe the audacity of the man?" With skirts swishing, Mariah paced the chamber. "I feel like such a fool for ever caring about him!"

"What reason did he give for breaking it off?" Lydia asked.

"He didn't! We never even discussed it. I had barely overcome the shock of seeing him before he began speaking of Lord Rochford."

"So Rochford has offered for you by proxy? How will you answer him?" Lady Russell asked.

"I cannot even fathom considering an offer from Lord Rochford," Mariah replied.

"Why is that, child?"

"When I wed,
if I ever wed
, I would at least like it to be for my person, not just for my purse. I never held overly romantic notions of marriage, but I do aspire to marry someone who at least treats me with kindness, courtesy, and a modicum of respect. In return, I cannot respect any man who sends another to woo his bride." Her throat tightened as she fought another onset of tears. "How could he be so cruel as to come to me bearing an offer of marriage from another?"

"Perhaps it was not by choice?" Lady Russell suggested. "He is in Rochford's employ after all."

"Supposing that is the case, he should have refused, given the circumstances."

"But those circumstances are what brought him back to London," Lady Russell pointed out. "You cannot know what he is thinking. Perhaps you should have given him a chance to explain himself."

"I still can't believe you sent him away," Lydia said.

"What would you have done in my place, Lyddie?" Mariah asked.

"The same, I suppose," Lydia confessed. "I would have none of Marcus for weeks after he returned from Breda. But when we were forced together," she slanted Lady Russell a mildly accusing look, "we began to realize just how compatible we really are."

"And in the end you reconciled with him," Lady Russell said with a self-satisfied smile.

"Why, Lyddie?" Mariah asked. "You were so determined to break it off after he made you wait so long. What softened your heart toward him?"

"In truth, I didn't want to soften," Lydia said. "But then Marcus began to see me as a true helpmeet. After I won his respect, he won back my love. He is still an arrogant arse, but I do love him passionately." Lydia smiled. "I confess our physical attraction was another major point in his favor."

"One should never underestimate the power of passion," Lady Russell said. "My own marriage to Wriothesley was a most fortuitous match. We wed for convenience but discovered passion in our union. I recall sleeping very little in the first years of our marriage." Her eyes misted with a faraway look. "We would no doubt have had many more children had he not been taken from me so early."

"Are you content with memories, my lady? Is that why you never remarried?" Mariah asked.

"In part. Although I cherish those years still, in all truth, I have no real need of a husband when I have all the comforts of a queen. But we digress. We were speaking of you."

"And I can't help desiring what you had, my lady."

"Do you still have tender feelings for Mr. Needham?" she asked.

"I don't want to after the ill way he has used me, but I don't know how I feel anymore," Mariah replied in a choked voice.

"Of course, my dear," Lady Russell consoled. 

"Even if he begged, how could I ever forgive him?" Mariah asked. Yet, even as she railed against him, she couldn't banish his face from her mind.