“The scandal attached to this will cast a black mark upon my family, and I hold you personally responsible, Miss Chilton-Grizedale. I shall make it my personal crusade to ensure that you never again foist your matchmaking ‘skills’ upon anyone.” He turned to Lord Greybourne. “As for you, the only bright spot in this entire disaster is that my daughter did not marry an imbecile such as yourself, whereupon she would have given birth to a future generation of imbeciles. Although, rumor has it that you wouldn’t have been able to give her a child anyway.”
Meredith could not suppress her gasp at the duke’s unmistakable implication. She risked a glance at Lord Greybourne. His lips were pressed together and a muscle ticked in his jaw.
Lord Greybourne took one step forward, every line of his body taut with obvious tension. “You may say what you wish to me, but you will recall there is a lady present. You are about to cross a line that, I assure you, you’ll regret crossing.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but there was no mistaking the menace emanating from him.
“Are you threatening me?” the duke asked, the bravado in his voice lessened by his hasty backward step.
“I am warning you that my patience with you is about to end. Now, unless there is something else in Lady Sarah’s note that you wish to tell me, I believe there is nothing more to say.” He nodded to the left. “The exit is that way.”
Favoring them both with one last scathing look through his quizzing glass, the duke turned on his heel and stalked away. The sound of his boots against the wooden floor faded, then a door slammed closed and the warehouse was silent.
Meredith forced herself to take long, deep, calming breaths. A half sob, half laugh rose in her throat, and she pressed her hands to her lips to contain it. Dear God, she hadn’t thought this situation could get any worse, but now with Lady Sarah married, this situation was indeed very much worse. It was, in fact, a complete debacle.
Lord Greybourne stepped in front of her. Behind his spectacles, his brown eyes simmered with anger, although there was no mistaking his concern. Reaching out, he gently grasped her shoulders. “I’m sorry you were subjected to such inexcusable rudeness and crude innuendo. Are you all right?”
Meredith simply stared at him for several seconds. Clearly he believed she was distraught due to the duke’s remark regarding Lord Greybourne’s… manliness. Little did Lord Greybourne know that thanks to her past, very little shocked Meredith. Nor could she fathom that anyone could so much as look at Lord Greybourne and have a doubt regarding his masculinity.
Lowering her hands from her mouth, she swallowed to find her voice. “I’m fine.”
“Well, I’m not. I’d have to place myself firmly in the category of ‘vastly annoyed.’ ” His gaze roamed over her face and his hands tightened on her shoulders. “You’re not going to faint again, are you?”
“Certainly not.” She stepped back, and his hands lowered to his sides. The warm imprint from his palms seeped through her gown, shooting tingles down her arms. “You may place me firmly in the category of ‘females who do not succumb to vapors. ’”
He cocked a brow. “I happen to know that is not precisely true.”
“The episode at St. Paul’s was an aberration, I assure you.”
While he did not appear entirely convinced, he said, “Glad to hear it.”
“You came to my defense in a very gentlemanly way. Thank you.”
“I’m certain you don’t mean to sound so surprised.”
Indeed, she was surprised-stunned, actually-although she had not meant to sound as if she were. But she’d have to reflect upon that later. Right now there were other, bigger issues to contemplate.
Unable to stand still, Meredith paced in front of him. “Unfortunately, with the duke’s news, we must now recategorize our situation from ‘bad’ to ‘utterly disastrous.’ Your bride is well and truly lost, ruining our plan for you to marry on the twenty-second, and my reputation as a matchmaker is in tatters. And with your father’s ill health, time is short. There must be a way to somehow turn this situation around. But how?”
“I’m open to suggestions. Even if we are successful in finding the missing piece of stone, my marrying is out of the question without a bride.” A humorless sound escaped him. “Between this curse hanging over my head, the unflattering story in the newspaper, and the gossip Lord Hedington alluded to circulating about my ability to… perform, it seems that the answer to the question posed in today’s issue of
She swung around to face him. “Unmarriageable,” she repeated, her drawn-out pronunciation of the word in direct contrast to her runaway thoughts. “Yes, one might very well christen you the Most Unmarriageable Man in England.”
He inclined his head in a mock bow. “A title of dubious honor. And one I’m surprised you sound so… enthusiastic about. Perhaps you’d care to share your thoughts?”
“Actually I was thinking you exhibited a moment of brilliance, my lord.”
He walked toward her, his gaze never wavering from hers, not stopping until only two feet separated them. Awareness skittered down her spine, and she forced herself to stand her ground when everything inside her urged her to retreat.
“A
“I think we can agree that Lady Sarah marrying Lord Weycroft places us both in an awkward situation.” At his nod, she continued, “Well then, if you are the Most Unmarriageable Man in England, and it seems quite clear you are, the matchmaker who could marry you off would score an incredible coup. If I were successful in such an undertaking, you would gain a wife, and my reputation would be reinstated.”
“My moment of brilliance clearly remains upon me, as I’m following your thought process, and what you’ve described is a good plan. However, I cannot marry unless I am able to break the curse.”
“Which a brilliant man such as yourself will certainly be able to do.”
“
Meredith’s brow puckered, and she once again commenced pacing. “Hmmm. Yes, that is problematic. Yet surely in all of London there must be one unsuperstitious woman willing to be courted by a cursed, gossip-ridden viscount of questionable masculinity who will most likely fill their homes with ancient relics.”
“I beg you to cease before all these complimentary words swell my head.”
She ignored his dust-dry tone and continued pacing. “Of course, in order to ensure the reinstatement of my reputation, I must match you with just the perfect woman. Not just any woman will do.”
“Well, thank goodness for that.”
“But who?” She paced, puzzling it over in her mind, then she halted and snapped her fingers. “Of course! The perfect woman for the Most Unmarriageable Man in England is the Most Unmarriageable Woman in England!”
“Ah. Yes, she sounds delightful.”
Again she ignored him. “I can see the Society pages now-England’s Most Unmarriageable Man Weds England’s Most Unmarriageable Woman-and praise to Meredith Chilton-Grizedale, the acclaimed Matchmaker of Mayfair, for bringing them together.” She pursed her lips and tapped her index finger against her chin. “But who is this Most Unmarriageable Woman?”
He cleared his throat. “Actually, I believe I know.” Meredith halted, and turned toward him eagerly. “Excellent. Who?”
“You, Miss Chilton-Grizedale. By the time Society reads tomorrow’s edition of
Five
