Lyn Stone - The Viscount

What had been done to Lily frightened her, Guy could see, but not nearly so much as what Bradshaw might be planning for her son. She was right about one thing. Being the nearest male relative, Bradshaw would acquire the title himself if the boy were out of his way.

“Who might be assisting him in this plot aside from Brinks? That’s what worries me,” Guy admitted. “He would have to prove your insanity in order to obtain a paper of committal to an institution.”

Guy watched her gaze slide away as she worried her lips with her teeth. “What is it? What are you not telling me, Lily?”

She sighed and sat back in the chair, looking almost defeated. “I rarely go out in Society, but I did attend a small soiree the Dansons held at Livsby Grange a week ago. I attended at Clive’s insistence. Apparently, I…I caused something of a scene there.”

Guy’s attention keened. “Of what sort?”

She busily pleated the hem of her coat as she made the admission. “Well, we partook of the buffet provided. Clive brought me a small plate and a cup of punch. All went well at first. I knew most of the neighbors who attended and the conversation was pleasant enough. Soon after we finished our refreshment, we took seats for the entertainment.” She halted.

“Go on. What happened?”

“The lights were lowered. A short while later…everyone began swaying as if to a song I couldn’t hear. There was a loud buzzing in the chamber. The noises within it grew terribly keen. Frightening. Then…everyone changed into…”

“Into what, Lily?” Guy asked, keeping his voice low and nonthreatening.

She blinked rapidly and her breathing came in fits and starts. “Horrible…things,” she whispered, obviously lost in the memory. “I must have screamed. I can’t remember. Clive whisked me out and the last I recall was being tossed into his carriage.”

“And later? What did you do?”

She raised her hands, palms up, then let them collapse on the arms of the chair. “Nightmares. I dreamt for the longest time, thinking I would never wake. You see, I knew I was sleeping, that none of it was real. But still it terrified me. The next day I decided I must have consumed something wholly disagreeable to my digestion. I was ill all morning. Other than an occasional bout of palpitations and a lack of appetite, I seemed well over it by that evening.”

“Nothing of a similar nature has occurred since then?” Guy asked.

“No. He must have drugged me.” She looked up at him, her gaze extremely worried. “Suppose some of those present believed me mad? Could Clive employ their testimony against me, do you think?”

No doubt in Guy’s mind that was precisely what was intended, but he held those thoughts to himself for the moment. She was upset enough as it was. Instead he said, “We must find a way to put you out of his reach for a while until we decide what must be done.”

“Clive is the only one with the right to have me confined, is he not?”

Guy nodded. “Since your husband is dead and your son too young to make that sort of determination, Bradshaw would be the one.”

“Then God help me,” she whispered. “I should have left off mourning at half a year and married Jeremy Longchamps when he asked.”

Guy laughed out loud, surprising both of them. “You can not be serious! He would give you about as much protection as a broken flyswatter. He fights like a girl.”

She smiled at that. “You obviously know Jeremy.”

“All too well,” Guy admitted, glad for the lighter topic. “We were at school together. How is it that you know him?”

“He was a great friend of Jonathan’s. We entertained him often. I quite like the fellow, odd quirks and all.”

“But not enough to marry him, obviously.” Thank heaven for that spot of good sense.

“No, not enough for that. I would have felt more like a sister to him than a wife, though he entertains Beau and thinks the world of him.” She sighed. “But marrying Jeremy might have prevented this problem. However, I don’t regret my decision, really. He deserves someone who would really care for him in a way I never could.”

“I shouldn’t think Jeremy would notice, he’s so full of himself,” Guy quipped. Though Longchamps had used to prove amusing at times, Guy had seldom encountered a fellow more feather-brained and oblivious to the goings-on around him.

“You do not seem to be that way,” she said. When Guy looked at her, she narrowed her eyes and regarded him as a cat might do a mouse. “You have been very kind in your treatment of me tonight. Are you always so gentle with those weaker than you?”

Guy smiled. “There is certainly no honor in throwing one’s strength around.”

“Yes, you do seem accommodating and I appreciate that. Tell me, Lord Duquesne—”

“It’s Guy, if you please.”

“Very well. Guy. Tell me, how do you feel about a marriage of convenience?” her expression looked pensive and even a bit sly.

“That depends. Whom do you have in mind?”

“You, of course.” She gestured toward him with one hand.

“Me? Ye gods and little fishes, I’m appalled at the very thought,” he answered with real conviction. “You don’t mean—”

“But I do.” She looked around her as if assessing his study. “It appears you could use…an infusion of wealth. I could provide that.”

“This is ridiculous!” But was it?

Arrangements such as she proposed happened all the time. Only not to him. Never once had he entertained the idea of marrying for money.

He frowned at her impudence. His paucity of funds had become a well-known fact in recent years. The upkeep and taxes on the estates at Marksdon, Perrins Close and Edgefield, as well as the town house here, were outrageous.

When one added the expense of providing the best of care for his father, Guy had stretched even his improved resources near their limits. Though he had overcome the threat of ruin some time ago, he kept to his frugal ways.

There were worse things than being regarded as poor. That state offered a certain freedom that being wealthy did not. It certainly whittled down his social obligations, which suited him just fine. Aside from the Kendales and the Hammersleys, damned few of his so-called peers bothered to give him so much as a nod.

Keeping his distance had become a way of life. A safer way, especially where women were concerned. Caring too much was not wise. Loving was bloody well stupid.

He answered Lily as gently as he could. “It’s kind of you to offer for me, and you do me great honor, Lily, but I must decline. You see, I’ll never marry. I cannot.”

“Of course you can,” she argued in as near a plaintive tone as he’d yet heard her utter. “Whyever not?”

He leaned closer to her as if to impart a secret. “Because, dear heart, there is bonafide insanity in my bloodline, as you must know. Everyone who is anyone is certainly well aware of it, no matter how carefully they tiptoe around the subject in my presence.”

Her eyes softened with sympathy. “Oh, Guy, I do regret your father’s indisposition and that you feel you need warn me of it, but his condition has no bearing on this at all. I am not the least concerned about that. All I would ask is that you provide the safety of your name for me and my son. In return, I shall give you my widow’s portion. A fair trade in anyone’s estimation. What do you say?”

“That you’d be irresponsible to disregard such a drawback, Lily. My father is out of his mind and has been for years. I absolutely refuse to make anyone heir to that.”

“Well then, we should be perfectly suited since I am unable to bear any more children.” Though she smiled, her eyes said too much of what that admission cost her.