A small, wiry, middle-aged man appeared on the run, the men exchanged a few brief words, and Ormond returned to the bedroom.
“Who was that?” Claire whispered, huddled under the covers, knowing she could never be so degage as to stand naked before a servant.
“Lamont, my valet. He’s completely trustworthy. Have no fear. I took the liberty of sending your aunt a message as well. I told her you were invited to dinner at Lord and Lady Arnoudt’s. She is not to worry.”
“It seems your world is always smooth water and fair winds.” She tried to keep the petulance out of her voice and failed.
“Allow me the pleasure of easing your life as well,” he gently said, understanding the reasons for her peevishness.
“I should become spoiled. Then how would I feel when you grew bored with me?”
“I won’t.” He was unprepared for the intense pleasure he felt at his reply. “Furthermore,” he added, her mention of boredom bringing to mind the reason he’d needed his solicitor that morning, “I have a guarantee that you will enjoy independence in all respects-although hopefully not from me.”
Moving to a small bonheur du jour in the corner of the bedroom, he extracted a sheaf of papers from the drawer. “You are the new owner of this building,” he said, returning to the bed and handing her the papers. “So you will no longer be beholden to your aunt, your school will not be in jeopardy, and I will continue as your tenant as long as you want
Pushing up on the pillows, she quickly scanned the document. “I can’t take so generous a gift,” she said, dropping the papers on Ormond’s chest.
“Too late.” He tossed the pages on the carpet. “Your name’s on the deed. Sell it if you don’t want it.”
“It’s too much,” she explained. “It’s outrageously extravagant.”
How to reply without belittling her worth when the purchase price was a mere bagatelle for him. “You deserve much more, darling,” he replied. Tracing the curve of her arm with his fingertip, he knew he didn’t wish to let her go, not now, not ever. Whether it was primal male prerogative or the more admirable emotion called love he knew not. But he didn’t want her to leave him. “What would you say to the proposition that we take a page out of Seego’s book and elope?” A gambler by instinct and choice, he went for broke.
It took her a moment to reply. Unlike Ormond, she was no gambler. “You’d be sorry within the week. You would soon find me no different from all your other women. Admit it-you are even now wondering why you said what you said.”
“I beg to differ with you. As for me not knowing the difference between one woman and another-” his brows rose-“I am an authority on the subject.”
“Kindly don’t remind me,” she said, half pettishly, half teasing because he was lying beside her in all his godlike splendor with his lazy, sardonic smile directed at her. “I would much prefer you were a virgin.”
He laughed. “Surely, you jest. You like to play-admit it.”
“Perhaps…just a little.”
“More than a little.” He grinned. “I have had to utilize all my-if I do say so myself-considerable resources to keep you happy.”
“And I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
He smiled. “The feeling’s mutual, believe me. In fact, I’m feeling all warm and cozy when I’m usually looking for the nearest exit. It must be a sign. So what do you say?” He’d spent his life taking risks. “Come darling, Fortune sides with him who dares. And what do you have to lose? Life with your aunt?”
She sat up as though if she were upright, she would be more rational. “You wish me to elope with you on a dare?”
“You were cautious once-and lost,” he gently noted. “Think of that.”
She had been; he was right. And the years since then had offered her little. “So I should throw caution to the winds?” she whispered.
He smiled. “The scandal sheets would be pleased if you did.”
“Because I have brought the infamous Ormond to heel?”
He grinned. “I couldn’t have said it better. We will save the editions for our grandchildren to see.”
“Grandchildren?”
“Believe me, I’m as surprised as you. I’ve never wanted children; I’ve been scrupulously cautious as you know. And suddenly the notion of your children-our children-” he smiled-“pleases me. Say yes and I will see that we are married.”
“Just like that?”
“Say, yes.”
“I don’t know-”
Reaching up, he stopped her protest with a finger to her mouth. “Yes-say it.”
She saw something in his eyes that she’d never seen even with John whose memory she’d cherished for so long. It was a wild and heady consciousness that life was for living and Ormond was offering himself to her in all his prodigal beauty and entanglements.
If she but had the nerve.
“You are rash,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“And headstrong.”
He nodded.
“Bold and audacious, too,” she murmured, uncertainty in her voice and eyes.
“But I will make you happy.” He was not a man who harbored doubts. “Now, say it,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms so his scent filled her nostrils, so his breathtaking beauty overwhelmed her-so she could no longer pretend she didn’t want what he wanted.
“Yes.”
It was the smallest, most trifling of sounds, but he heard it with the clarity of thunderous artillery. “Don’t move,” he muttered, quickly kissing her before leaping out of bed and bellowing for his valet.
They were married in the drawing room three hours later, the bride attired in a sumptuous gown of gold- embroidered lace, the groom
It was a quiet affair, but joyous in every respect for the bride and groom knew better than most that happiness was exceedingly rare in the world.
They were grateful beyond measure.
The scandal sheets were even more grateful.
Every detail of Ormond’s life was hashed and rehashed in the following fortnight, while his new bride was portrayed as a sorceress of mesmerizing charms to have bewitched the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom.
Not that the Viscount or Viscountess Ormond paid any mind to the tittle and tattle that passed for amusement in the
They were at the viscount’s country house, busy making babies.
MISCHIEF AND THE MARQUESS by Sylvia Day
