Christine Merrill - Two Wrongs Make a Marriage

‘But that happy future will not come to pass until you have the courtesy to die,’ she said. ‘I suggest you get about it.’

‘Without your fortune, the earl has nothing to offer you. Adding two ciphers does not make an appreciable sum. If I were to die now, you would be a poor widow on the morrow.’ He held his hands out again and pulled a frown. ‘I see you in shabby black, tinged with the green of hard wearing. Perhaps you will take in sewing and live on the charity of the church.’

‘I will not!’ she shouted back at him. ‘I could not make nearly enough by sewing,’ she added softly, resigned. Then a thought occurred to her. ‘I don’t suppose there is a real Lord Kenton somewhere. Perhaps I am not married to you at all.’

Jack shook his head. ‘Died as a child along with his mother on a trip abroad. Spayne kept the illusion alive because he did not want to be troubled by his family to produce an heir. But the foolish deception has gone on too long and, of late, his brother was clamouring to see the prodigal son.’

‘Henry de Warde,’ Thea announced bitterly.

‘You know of him?’

‘Only because he is the reason for my family’s poverty. He sold my father a certain …’ What would be an appropriate description? ‘A fraudulent artefact,’ she decided.

‘That your father was willing to spend the whole of the family fortune to gain?’ Her faux husband was eyeing her with suspicion, waiting for the rest of a story she had no intention of telling.

She ignored the unstated request for detail. ‘It was no more unwise then Spayne’s mythical son.’

‘Probably true,’ Jack admitted.

‘I spoke to de Warde about it. I pleaded with him for mercy.’

‘And he suggested that you work off the debt on your back.’

It had been the single most revolting moment of her life. But now that she had destroyed herself, it was likely to be the first of many. ‘How did you know?’

Jack was staring at her with something almost like sympathy. ‘Because it’s what any sane man would have done.’

Now he seemed to be assessing her value and she wondered if he would have behaved the same, had he been de Warde. A glance at her reflection in a nearby cheval glass told her that it was too late to protect her modesty from him. A single pillow could not have hidden enough. ‘I refused him. But now …’ she looked at the man in front of her and resorted to complete honesty, which her teacher, Miss Pennyworth, had assured her was the shield and bulwark of any virtuous young girl ‘… I don’t know what I shall do.’

He continued to stare. ‘Suppose I were to suggest another way.’

‘Anything.’ She’d spoken too quickly. This was a man willing to steal from innkeepers, trick her into wedding him and fake his own death. He had made no mention of seeking a marriage in name only, at any time in his plans. There was no telling what scheme he intended now. ‘Anything within reason,’ she amended.

‘I do not know how reasonable my plans are,’ he admitted. ‘But recent actions proved that we are both willing to consider unreasonable options to gain success. The kidnapping was an admirable twist,’ he added, nodding with approval.

‘Thank you.’ She frowned. ‘I did not think it would work.’

‘A more timid tactic might not have got me. And you were not the most convincing actress I have seen. But the combination of beauty and risk was irresistible.’ He paused dramatically. ‘As I suppose my performance was to you.’

Silently, she cursed all actors and their perpetual need for approval. ‘Actually, it was your relationship to de Warde that attracted me. Any man would have done.’

‘I see.’ She watched as his excessive pride deflated. Then he rallied. ‘It makes me wonder what we might achieve by working together against a common enemy. There is more to Spayne’s story than I have told you. And you are still keeping secrets as well.’

‘I?’ She tried to look guileless.

‘You,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘And why did I not see it before? But it is clear that Henry de Warde is at the crux of both troubles.’

‘What do you think you can do about him?’ It was unlikely that the man before her had a simple solution to her problem, but a forlorn hope was better than no chance at all.

‘I will not appeal to his better nature, that’s for certain. I doubt he has one. If we are to get anywhere with the man, we must do it in the same way he’s got one over on us, using base trickery, lies and chicanery.’ He walked past her to the bed, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. ‘But the details can wait until after we have spoken to Spayne. If we must travel tomorrow, an early night is in order.’ He stretched out upon the mattress and patted the space at his side.

‘Certainly not,’ she said. Then she remembered what her mother had said about the transparency of nightwear and did her best to move out of the firelight.

He smiled invitingly and his voice, though slurred, was still as soothing as warm honey. ‘You were not so ungenerous this morning.’

‘That was when you were Kenton.’

‘And you mean to hold out for nothing less than a viscount.’ He sighed. ‘My loss, I suppose. But you are wise to have standards.’ He picked up the pillow she had thrown and tossed it back to her. ‘I suggest you remove yourself from the vicinity of my bed, before I forget what you have done to me and take advantage.’

‘And where am I supposed to sleep?’

‘The house is large. Call a servant. They will find you a place.’

‘They will know that we did not …’

‘Then take the couch on the other side of the room.’

She glared at him. ‘A true gentleman would leave me the bed.’

‘As we have established, I am not a gentleman,’ he said with a smile. ‘But at least I have my wits. I have survived on those and little else for thirty years. If you wish me to apply it to this situation, I will need to be well rested. Good night, my dear.’ And with that, he rolled so that his back was to her and closed his eyes.

In the company of her new husband, the imposter Jack Briggs, the ride to Essex was proving intolerable. Instead of the sweet afterglow of a honeymoon, the day after Thea’s marriage was rather like waking with a bad head from too much wine. Her brain ached from trying to comprehend what had happened to her. Her body was stiff and sore from a night spent without sleep on the hard couch in her husband’s room, muscles rigid and teeth clenched with anger and frustration. The Kenton carriage was well sprung and roomy, but she might as well have been travelling in an open dog cart for all the comfort it gained her.

It was precisely the condition that the false Lord Kenton should have been experiencing. He had snored his way through the night, wrapped in a cloud of cheap spirits and the monogrammed linens of one of the finest families in England. Instead of waking the worse for drink and racked with guilt at how he had treated Thea and her family, the morning found him happy, relaxed and quite pleased with the way the day was going. When she had pressed him for an explanation, he had been unwilling to share the reason for his good mood. He acted as if lying about his life and identity, marrying some unsuspecting girl and being sorely disappointed in the result was an activity that happened every day.

Perhaps, to him, it did. The idea that she might be one of a string of similar Lady Kentons was more than disturbing. He did not seem the sort to travel from town to town, ruining innocents and stealing fortunes. But until last night, she’d have sworn that such a thing as had already happened was quite impossible. How could she be sure?