A Countess of Convenience Read online

  She opened her eyes in surprise.

  “Your eyes are as blue as the deepest sea.” His fingers toyed with one of her curls. “Your hair has captured the sunshine.”

  Oh, dear! What was she to do? This wasn't at all proper. But it was definitely exciting. She had wanted to attract a man while in London, but this was more than she'd ever hoped for. Tentatively, she held up her hand, knowing she should stop him but not wanting to.

  He caught her hand with one of his and massaged her palm with his thumb. “I know we'll be good together, and I'll take care of you. I promise.”

  What was he talking about? Before she could ask, his lips settled firmly on hers in a kiss that sent her into such a spin she grabbed his shoulders to steady herself. She felt his arm go around her, pulling, lifting. She jerked away from his mouth, mewing in alarm.

  Then, in a mound of black silk ruffles, she found herself sitting on his lap. Her mouth gaped open in shock as she stared down into his intent face. One of his hands cupped the back of her head and pulled her into a kiss very unlike the others. His tongue went inside her mouth, stroking, imploring, beguiling. She sagged limply against his chest. His embrace tightened. The pressure of his lips increased. He touched the top of one breast. His fingers slipped beneath her clothing, moving closer and closer until he touched her nipple, turning it into a fiery point of pleasure.

  The door to the dining room suddenly opened and Neil's voice boomed out. “When the fellows found out you were here they insisted on meeting my— My God! What are you doing with my sister?”

  For a second, Malvern was too stunned to move. Then he yanked his hand away from Prudence's breast and pushed her back to her own chair. He looked up to see Weathersby glaring at him with an outraged expression while Foster Turnbull and Harry Cartland leered over his shoulder. “Now see here, Weathersby—”

  “I have seen—seen a man I called friend, a man I trusted, dishonoring my innocent sister. How could you, Malvern?” He fairly screamed the last part—the name—?and Malvern understood what a fool he had been.

  Weathersby rushed over to the still dazed Prudence and hurriedly draped her shawl over her bulging breasts. “Cover yourself, sister,” he said in a voice that sounded truly shocked.

  He pulled her to her feet, wrapped an arm protectively around her, and then looked at Malvern. “I have no choice but to call you out. Cartland, please serve as my second and make arrangements for our meeting on the field of honor.” He swept from the room, dragging Prudence along with him.

  Harry and Foster exchanged glances with each other before turning troubled faces to Malvern. “Ah—what would you like for me to do about this?” Harry muttered. “I've never served as a second. Didn't volunteer for this assignment.”

  “Perhaps you should go to the continent,” Foster said. “Avoid any to-do over the laws against dueling.”

  Malvern ran his hand through his hair and fought to control his boiling temper. “I can't fight a duel over a woman's honor, and Weathersby damn well knows it.” At the moment, he desperately wished he could fight. He'd befriended the young cub when he had first come to the city, had told him who the best tailors were, had introduced him to the right people, and this was the way the worthless whelp repaid him.

  Harry cleared his throat. “Oh, I see, the thing about your father! But what shall I tell Weathersby?”

  Through gritted teeth, Malvern forced himself to say, “You may tell him I will call on him and his sister tomorrow afternoon to discuss further arrangements. But wait until the morning to do so. I'd like for him to sleep as poorly tonight as I shall.”

  Despite his bubbling glee, Neil forced himself to frown as he hailed the nearest hack and helped Prudence inside. After calling out his address to the driver, he swung in beside her.

  She looked at him with large, frightened eyes. “You mustn't do this, Neil. You mustn't fight Lord Malvern.”

  He patted her arm. “Don't worry, sister. Everything will be all right.”

  Tears began to course down her cheeks. “But you—he—one of you might die.”

  He wished he could tell her the truth and calm her fears, but her rustic scruples would undoubtedly spoil everything. “I'll do my best to only wound.”

  She looked even more aghast. “It—it wasn't all his fault. I did nothing to stop him.”

  He was well aware of that. He'd rushed Foster and Harry back to the private room expecting to find his naive sister fighting off the randy earl, not sitting in his lap in a near swoon. Of course, he wouldn't complain; the more blatant the liberty, the tighter the noose around Malvern's neck.

  Then he noticed how Prudence hung her head and the spots of red on her pale cheeks. He couldn't allow her to accept the responsibility for tonight's little scene. “Don't blame yourself. Malvern is a notorious womanizer. An innocent woman like you would be defenseless against his charm. I would not have left you alone with him, except I thought he would treat you respectfully because of our long-standing friendship. So this is really my fault. I must seek redress.”

  Dabbing at her tears, Prudence said, “But a duel? Nothing really bad happened. Can't we just forget it?”

  Neil looked at her in surprise. Didn't she realize how serious her position was at this moment? “Pru, you were seen in a state of dishabille in a public house with a well-known peer. This story will be all over England in no time. If I don't defend your honor, everyone will assume you are nothing more than a lightskirt. In fact, no matter what happens to me, you must insist Malvern forced his attentions on you.”

  A visible tremor ran through her body. He put a consoling arm around her shoulders. “Don't be frightened, dear sister. I'm really quite handy with a pistol.”

  With a small cry of horror, she buried her tear-streaked face against his shoulder. He disliked frightening her with all this nonsense about a duel, but for now, it was the only way to impress upon her the desperate nature of their situation.

  As a woman, she'd been cared for by others all her life. She didn't understand how difficult it was to make your own way in the world. A night of worry about the duel's outcome would make her eager to accept an alternative: Malvern's offer of marriage.

  And he would surely offer. He couldn't afford to bring more scandal down on the family name, could he? Neil felt a bit of a tremor run down his own spine. Malvern had taught him everything he knew about dueling pistols. Could the student best the master?

  Malvern had been pacing in his mother's downstairs salon for at least thirty minutes. Did she keep him waiting just to irritate him? By God, how much was a man expected to bear? He had a good mind to simply barge up the stairs bellowing.

  Before he could follow his impulse, the butler marched haughtily into the room. “The countess will see you now, my lord.”

  “Where?” Malvern barked and started for the doorway.

  “Her personal sitting room.”

  He took the stairs two at a time and entered the room adjacent to his mother's bedroom without knocking. She sat on a divan, still in her dressing gown, but with her hair neatly coiffed. As he'd expected, a tray with tea and pastries sat on a table in front of her. Looking at him with disdain, she said, “I trust you have a very good reason for disturbing me at such an hour?”

  “It's nearly eleven o'clock,” Malvern replied.

  “You know I'm not an early riser.”

  “I also know you don't like surprises, so I had to get to you before your gossiping friends.”

  She placed her hand against her nearly wrinkle free brow as though suffering from a headache. “What now? No, wait. Let me fortify myself first.” She reached for a cup of tea.

  Malvern sat in a chair across from her and forced himself to take deep breaths. Years ago he had accepted the fact that the Countess of Malvern always made the most of life's dramatic moments. If he hoped to win her cooperation, he had to exercise patience.

  Finally, she lowered the cup to the saucer and turned her full attention on him. “And what wi
ll the gossips be saying?”

  He looked her in the eye. “Last night I was seen in a private dining room of the Metropolitan Hotel in a compromising situation with the half-sister of Neil Weathersby. He has challenged me to a duel.”

  The countess blanched, and the cup and saucer clattered to the floor. Despite the thick carpet, the delicate china shattered. “Just like your father!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “I warned you your reckless lifestyle would lead to ruin. Why didn't you confine your debaucheries to actresses and slatterns as you usually do? How could you let this happen?”

  When she paused to take a breath, he took the opportunity to speak, deliberately keeping his voice low, hoping to calm her by example. “How it happened doesn't matter. It has happened, and I will do the only honorable thing and offer for the girl.”

  “Oh.” A bit of color came back into her cheeks. “You said she's Weathersby's half-sister. Who is her father?”

  “The man is deceased. He was a tradesman named Crump.”

  The countess groaned and placed her hands over her heart. “A tradesman's daughter! And you could have married into the finest families. Why didn't you listen to me? I begged you to marry early.”

  “Like you and Father did?” He knew that was a cruel thing to say. His father's death had been the great tragedy of her life, but he had no intention of letting her continue this tirade. He didn't have the time or the patience.

  She drew a perfumed handkerchief from her cuff and sniffed at it.

  Hoping to forestall a fainting spell, he hurried on. “Even if she isn't from a fine family, at least I'll have a wife and can produce the heir you're always harping about.”

  A rosy glow rushed into her cheeks, and she drew an indignant breath. “Harping? You bear an old and—until your father's debacle—honorable title. You are the last male heir. I don't consider urging you to live up to the responsibilities inherent with your position harping.”

  He waved his hand impatiently. “To save the Malvern name from further scandal, I'm about to go into a marriage I do not want. I can think of no greater sacrifice for the family honor. Now, will you help me?”

  Malvern had made it a practice since reaching his majority to never ask his mother for anything. His sudden request for aid obviously surprised her. “You've already decided on your course of action. What do you want from me?”

  “The gossips will still make much with this sudden marriage. Your apparent approval will help douse the talk.”

  A thoughtful expression deepened the wrinkles around her eyes. “Do you intend to get a special license?”

  “I'd rather not. Miss Crump's mother passed away six months ago. She's still in mourning. I thought we could use that as an excuse to have a private wedding. Read the banns at Malvern village church.”

  “How soon?”

  “Immediately.”

  She shook her head. “I can't possibly have Malvern Hall ready for a wedding in four weeks.”

  “There's nothing to prepare, Mother. The cleric and a few witnesses are all who need attend. Miss Crump has only been in London for a few days. Aside from her brother, she knows no one here. Other relatives live somewhere in the north. There's no need to invite them.”

  She waved her handkerchief as a signal of distress. “But you are an earl. People will expect—”

  He interrupted her. “This is no love match. I want no violins played or doves released. Understood?”

  She nodded reluctantly. “Can I at least prepare an announcement for The Times? What is this Crump person's full name?”

  “Prudence.”

  She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “An obvious misnomer.”

  Malvern couldn't withhold an indignant huff. “It depends on how you define the word. For a tradesman's daughter with no dowry, she'll be marrying quite well.”

  His disgruntlement obviously brightened her mood. “Is she just too terrible?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  “If she were terrible I wouldn't have gotten myself into this fix. There's something else I'd like to ask of you. Miss Crump is staying with her brother in rented rooms in Chelsea, hardly a fitting address for a future countess. I wondered if she could move in here until we leave for the country.”

  “Hmmm.” His mother pursed her lips in thought. “The poor girl's manners are probably lacking, not to mention her wardrobe. I suppose the sooner I get to her the better.”

  “This is only a marriage of convenience, Mother. No need to put yourself out over it.”

  Her chin firmed with determination. “Convenient or not, she'll still be the Countess of Malvern. I won't have her disgracing the title I've carried with dignity despite the most trying of circumstances. Get her to me as soon as possible.”

  Assured of his mother's cooperation, Malvern breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, she'd complain every step of the way, but there was nothing the Countess of Malvern liked better than correcting other people's faults. Miss Prudence Crump would pay a price for the riches she was about to acquire. His mother would see to it.

  Now all he had to do was inform those scheming siblings of his plans. He didn't imagine they'd raise any objections. Forcing marriage on him had obviously been a carefully thought out plot. At least on Weathersby's part. Prudence had seemed as genuinely distressed last night as Malvern had been. Although, she could have been acting. If so, she'd missed a brilliant career on the stage.

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  Chapter 3

  Neil kept his expression blank as Cartland delivered Malvern's message. Then he nodded and said, “Very good. I'll look forward to settling the matter this afternoon.”

  He could see by Harry's shifty eyes that the man was torn between wanting to leave and wanting to stay in the hopes of gathering more gossip. Neil didn't consider Harry a particular friend. He'd only included him in his plan because Harry's reputation for carrying tales among the ton would destroy any hopes Malvern might have of keeping last night a secret. Deciding Harry now knew enough to win him a month of dinner invitations, Neil stood, signaling the meeting over, even as he continued to thank him.

  After showing Harry out, Neil leaned against the closed door, finally able to breathe deeply. It was working! His plan was actually working. He had failed so consistently in the past it was hard to believe he was succeeding this time.

  Of course, he still had Prudence to handle, but surely the girl would recognize a golden opportunity. Squaring his shoulders, he turned toward her room. Better start now. He didn't want her to say something stupid when Malvern arrived.

  He found her sitting on the edge of her bed with her hands tightly clenched, anxiously awaiting news of the duel. At least he could put her mind to rest on that score.

  “Is it arranged?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  Neil grinned happily. “It appears there is to be no duel.”

  Her head snapped back in surprise. “He—he has refused to fight?”

  Hiding the humor he found in her disappointment over her lover's apparent cowardice, Neil sat down beside her. “Cartland informed me Malvern will call on us this afternoon to discuss different arrangements.”

  Her brow wrinkled with confusion. “What does that mean?”

  He could no longer contain the good news. “What else? He'll offer for you.”

  Prudence stared at him in obvious confusion. Finally she said, “Surely not. We just met last night.” She paused as if in deep thought and then said, “Of course, he did seem greatly taken with me.”

  Neil laughed at her naivete. “Pruddy, this has nothing to do with attraction. As a man of honor, he must choose either a duel or marriage. He's undoubtedly picked the latter because of the scandal his father's death caused.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His father was killed in a duel when Malvern was just a child.”

  Prudence gasped and pressed a hand against her chest. “Oh, Neil, I don't want to marry a man who is being forced into
it.”

  The very thought that she might refuse to cooperate sent a spurt of anger through him. “Think of your good fortune. Little Pruddy Crump will be the Countess of Malvern. When I promised Mother I would see you comfortably settled in a good match, I never dared hope for this kind of success.”

  “But I'll be married to a man who, at the very least, will resent me for keeping him from a love match.”

  “Oh, Pru, aristocrats don't marry for love. With them it's all about position and money.”

  “And I have neither.”

  “But Malvern has plenty of both. You should be thanking me for risking my life to ensure your future.”

  “There are more important things in life than security.”

  Now he was truly disgusted with her. “Wake up. Don't you realize the precarious position your father left you in? Even if he had provided a dowry, which he did not, he left everything under his brother's control. To make a truly good match, you need at least one season in London with all the necessary frippery. Something miserly Oscar Crump would not agree to. And even if he had, Mother's lengthy illness dangerously delayed matters. You're twenty-three now, past the prime age for marriage.”

  He realized from her shocked expression that he had made his point, so he forced his voice into a more moderate tone. “If I could provide for you, I would. But I'm sure you can see I'm barely able to provide for myself. None of my grand dreams for investing my inheritance have materialized. I'm truly sorry, dear sister, but without this marriage your future will be in ashes.”

  Her eyes grew watery. “But—but to marry a man who hates me...”

  He didn't want her to start blubbering and have a puffy, red face when Malvern arrived, so he leaned forward and patted her hand. “Malvern is not a cruel man. I wouldn't let you marry him if he were. He's against marriage because of his parent's disastrous example, but marry he must to supply the prerequisite heir. You can be just what he needs, a wife who will fulfill his responsibilities to the earldom but leave him free to pursue the life he enjoys. In return you will have a comfortable—no, a luxurious life. Both of you will benefit. What more can anyone ask of marriage?”