The Marriage Truce

At least her voice was cool and steady, despite the feeling that she had wandered into a strange dream where nothing made the least sense.

“It seems we are betrothed, Miss Chandler,” he said. “And in love.”

“In love? What…what sort of ridiculous notion is that?”

Dev folded his arms across his chest. “It was the only thing I could think of to explain last night’s debacle, particularly after my aunt accused you of trying to seduce me.”

“She thought I tried to seduce you?”

“Yes. Ironic, isn’t it? Your family thinks I tried to seduce you and mine is equally convinced you tried to seduce me.”

The Marriage Truce

Ann Elizabeth Cree

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANN ELIZABETH CREE

is married and lives in Boise, Idaho, with her family. She has worked as a nutritionist and an accountant. Her favorite form of daydreaming has always been weaving romantic stories in her head. With the encouragement of a friend, she started putting those stories to paper. In addition to writing and caring for two lively boys, two cats and two dogs, she enjoys gardening, playing the piano and, of course, reading.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter One

D evin St Clair, the fifth Marquis of Huntington, stood at the window of his bedchamber in Henslowe Hall and watched the Earl of Monteville’s carriage come to a halt in the circular drive below. He let the curtain fall and turned, a scowl on his brow. The prospect of the forthcoming ball was about as appealing as a stay in Newgate. Particularly now he knew the party from Monteville House had arrived. He had no desire to spend an evening under the same roof as Sarah Chandler.

‘Dev?’ His younger sister Jessica stood in the doorway. She was dressed for the ball in a pale pink gown, her thick dark hair pulled back in a knot, a few tendrils framing her pretty, delicate face. He felt a little tug at his heart. She looked much too young to be going to her own betrothal ball.

She smiled at him. ‘Are you ready? I thought perhaps you would not mind escorting me down.’

‘Of course not. Although I am surprised Adam is not fighting me for the honour.’ A smile lit his usually cool face. ‘You look lovely, Jess.’

‘And you look extremely dashing.’ She eyed his black coat and black silk breeches. ‘Oh, Dev! I am so glad you are here. I know it cannot be at all easy for you.’

He raised a brow. ‘I will own it was a trifle inconvenient of you to fall in love with the man whose future estate runs with Monteville House, and a cousin of the Chandlers to boot.’

A chagrined expression crossed her face. ‘I tried very hard not to.’

He moved forward and looked into her face. ‘I am only teasing you a little.’ He took her gloved hand in his. ‘Don’t look so worried, Jess. I quite like your young man, and I never would have consented to the match if I didn’t think he would make you happy. And I promise to behave myself.’

She tried to smile. ‘I am hardly worried about that. You have never done anything wrong, no matter what anyone says. It is entirely Lord Thayne’s doing!’ Her hazel eyes clouded with a touch of anger, before filling with concern. ‘It is only—I don’t want you to be hurt again.’

He pressed her hands lightly before releasing them. ‘There is nothing to worry yourself about. It is in the past.’ Which was precisely where he intended to keep all of it, especially the Chandlers. ‘Come, we must go down or Adam will think you’ve changed your mind.’

She gave him another little smile as he held out his arm. She placed her hand lightly on the sleeve of his coat.

But as they descended the winding staircase of Lord Henslowe’s country seat, the sounds of laughter and chatter drifting up from the ballroom below, his mouth curved in a bitter smile. It was going to prove devilishly difficult to keep the Chandlers where he wanted them. He had found it impossible to completely avoid Sarah Chandler a month ago in London, and now she was going to be under his nose again for an entire evening. It should be no problem, he would just make certain to stay on the opposite side of the room.

Sarah Chandler stood in one corner of Lady Henslowe’s ballroom, partially hidden by a Grecian column entwined with ivy and silk flowers, and wished, not for the first time this evening, that she could go home. Pleading a headache and quitting the ball would, however, be all too obvious.

The only redeeming factor was no one had quarrelled, at least publicly. But the air was thick with unspoken tensions. It hardly helped that the ballroom had somehow become divided into two sides which resembled nothing as much as two armies preparing for battle. The Chandler relations stood on one side near the tall double doors leading into the hallway, and the St Clairs on the opposite side near the doors leading to the garden. The rest of the guests chose the other two walls with a few brave souls meandering between the two. The only thing that would make it worse was if her brother, Nicholas, was present. Thank goodness, he was safely in Scotland.

She looked over at the dancers and picked out Adam, her second cousin, gracefully executing the steps of a quadrille with his betrothed. From the way they gazed into each other’s eyes, it was apparent they were deeply in love. How unfortunate that Lady Jessica’s brother undoubtedly detested the Chandlers more than anyone on earth. At least Adam was only a cousin. It would be much worse if Lady Jessica was marrying into Sarah’s own family. But of course, Lord Huntington would probably send his sister to a convent before he would allow such a thing.

She glanced over at the St Clair wall. For once he wasn’t staring at her, thank goodness. He leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, regarding the company with a faintly amused look on his darkly handsome face as if he found the ball a source of sardonic amusement. Of course, he had had a similar expression on his face nearly every time she saw him in London last month, so that was nothing unusual. Certainly the tensions seemed to affect him not at all. But neither had the speculations and stares cast his way in London.

Sarah would have thought him completely indifferent except that once or twice she caught an expression on his face that was oddly vulnerable, despite his cool stance. And then had experienced the most insane desire to approach him. But of course, he would only have walked away from her.

As if sensing her interest, he turned his head and looked at her. His mouth curved in a slow, rather wicked smile that made her feel vulnerable. She flushed and forced her gaze to a spot over his left shoulder, trying to pretend she found something there quite fascinating before looking away. For not the first time, she wondered why Adam must fall in love with Lord Huntington’s sister. She only prayed Huntington wouldn’t feel obligated to visit the Henslowe estate very often.

‘Sarah, are you hiding again?’

Sarah started. Her cousin, Amelia, Lady Marleigh, appeared at her side. She was tall and blonde with a slender graceful figure, and a pair of lively blue eyes. ‘Not that I blame you. ’Tis the most dreadful ball I have ever attended. I’ve never seen a group with such dismal faces.’

‘I know. It’s rather like the air before a thunderstorm. The clouds are gathering and the air is still and sticky and one is just waiting for the storm to break and clear the air.’

‘What do you think the storm will be? A duel, perhaps?’

Sarah made a face. ‘No, please not that! I don’t think I could bear another duel!’

‘Well, perhaps we should go and stand with the St Clairs. That would certainly create a diversion. Perhaps by Lady Beatrice. She looks extremely displeased. Or…’ Amelia’s vivid blue eyes sparkled with sudden mischief. ‘We could have Lord Henslowe present you to Huntington as his next partner.’

‘No, thank you!’ Sarah nearly shuddered at the thought. ‘He’d probably just look at me in his odious way and walk off.’ Or, worse, accept and she’d be forced to spend an entire set with his sardonic gaze and confusing remarks. Such as the time in London when Lady Ralston made the grave error of seating her next to him at dinner. Or the time she’d backed into him at a rout where he’d looked down his arrogant nose at her while she stammered an apology. She still cringed at the memory.

‘Are you certain? He’s been staring at you all evening. Just as he did in London. Even John said something and he is so terribly dense at noticing such things.’ A mischievous smile crossed her face. ‘I sometimes wonder if Lord Huntington has a tendre for you.’

‘That is the most ridiculous notion,’ Sarah snapped. ‘In fact, he quite detests me. Not that I can fault him.’

Amelia rolled her eyes. ‘How perfectly idiotic! I will admit, I find this whole quarrel tedious. Certainly the affair was very dreadful, but it happened nearly two years ago. I can understand why he wants nothing to do with Nicholas, but with you? You had nothing to do with it.’

Sarah looked away. Amelia was wrong, she had everything to do with it. If she hadn’t invited Mary to stay with her, if she hadn’t been so worried about Mama, if she hadn’t been so naïve, perhaps things would have turned out differently. As it was, every time she saw Huntington, she felt the same regret and guilt all over again.

Amelia shut her fan. ‘Well, you would be better off with Huntington than with Cedric Blanton. I fear he’s about to ask you for another dance. If you stand up with him one more time, everyone will consider you practically betrothed.’

‘Oh, dear.’ She turned and saw that Amelia was right, Cedric Blanton was heading in their direction.

A rather florid man in his early thirties, he had recently bought a small estate nearby nearly a year ago. From the first time she met him at a dinner party, he had made his interest in her quite clear. He had even appeared in London when she had been there for a month visiting Amelia and her husband John. She found his conversations annoying. She did her best to avoid him, but tonight had been difficult.

‘Since you cannot bring yourself to snub him, I think you should make your escape,’ Amelia said. ‘Go. I will keep him occupied with my witty conversation.’

Sarah cast her a grateful look and started around the edge of the ballroom. The best route of escape looked to be towards the double French doors leading to the veranda. Unfortunately, it was also the St Clair wall, but perhaps if she hurried past no one would notice her, or at least she wouldn’t notice them. She had just arrived at the enemy wall when a plump elderly woman stepped in front of her.

Sarah side-stepped in order to avoid standing on the lady’s foot. Instead, she landed squarely on a masculine shoe fastened with a shiny buckle. She glanced quickly up at the tall figure standing before her. ‘I beg your…’ The words died on her lips when she saw the man’s face.

Lord Huntington looked as startled as she felt and then his brow shot up in his arrogant fashion. ‘Miss Chandler, I am beginning to think you desire a more intimate acquaintance with me.’

‘You are quite wrong,’ Sarah snapped.

‘Then why do you persist in stepping into me?’

‘I could ask why you persist in standing in my way.’

His gaze roved over her face in a careless fashion that made her flush. ‘Perhaps because I desire a more intimate acquaintance with you.’

He was doing what he always did, making some sort of suggestive remark that erased any sympathy she might have felt, and flustered and irritated her at the same time.

She gave him her most quelling look. ‘I fear you are merely attempting to annoy me, my lord.’

‘Why would I wish to do that?’

‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps you could let me pass.’

‘I could. However, are you certain it is safe?’

‘Now what do you mean?’

His smile was most annoying. ‘This appears to be the St Clair side of the room. Perhaps you should retrace your steps and take the, er…safer route. Not to mention that our host seems to disapprove of your conversing with me.’

She glanced around and saw that Lord Henslowe was indeed watching them with his most thunderous look. She turned away, feeling even more impatient. ‘This is the most ridiculous…. really, there is no reason why anyone shouldn’t take whichever side of the room they want. Or speak with whomever they choose.’

His brow rose again. ‘Does that mean you are here because you wish to talk to me?’

‘No! Must you…’ Over his shoulder she saw Cedric had broken away from Amelia and was peering around the room. He caught sight of her and started in her direction. ‘Please excuse me, I cannot stand here trading nonsense with you.’

Huntington still watched her in that lazy way that made her want to hit him. ‘Then perhaps you would consider continuing the, er, nonsense while we danced.’

Her mouth fell open and hot colour rushed to her cheeks. ‘I…I pray you will not tease me in such a fashion.’ She backed away. ‘I…I really must find my…my grandfather.’ She dashed away towards the open doors leading to the veranda and had no idea whether it was Huntington or Blanton that she wanted to escape most.

Dev watched Sarah Chandler brush through the double doors that opened on the veranda. She was looking for Lord Monteville in the garden? She would do better to try the card room.

He frowned. What the hell came over him every time he saw her? He had no idea why he wanted to tease her out of the wary disapproval with which she regarded him. Or bring a blush to her lovely cheeks. If he had an ounce of sense, he’d stay out of her way. Certainly, from the horrified look on her face when he suggested she dance with him, she fervently wished he would.

‘At daggers drawn again, I see. Now, what devilish thing did you say to Miss Chandler to cause her to run off?’ His cousin Lord Jeremy Pennington, appeared at his side.

Dev quirked a brow. ‘I merely asked her to stand up with me.’

‘Not quite the usual reaction to such a request from you. Not that I blame her. You seem determined to needle her.’

‘I cannot help it if she regards me as the devil incarnate.’

Jeremy glanced at him. ‘She has nothing to do with her brother’s sins.’

‘No.’

‘I don’t suppose you would consider some sort of reconciliation? It’s bound to make things a trifle awkward now with Jessica and Adam.’

Dev shrugged. ‘Even if I should wish that, I doubt if Miss Chandler would agree.’

Jeremy looked at him, a little smile at his lips. ‘I was not speaking particularly of Miss Chandler.’

Dev frowned, and then his attention was caught by Cedric Blanton who stood at the doors leading to the garden. He seemed to be looking at something outside. And Dev had a good idea what it was. His fawning after Sarah Chandler in London had been obvious to any fool. It made Dev exceedingly uneasy, particularly after a houseparty Dev had attended last summer where Blanton had also been a guest. Blanton had pursued the Duke of Wrexton’s daughter in the same fashion. Like Sarah, Lady Alethea had attempted to avoid the man as much as possible. She’d been successful until the picnic two days before they were to leave. And then Dev had caught Blanton almost ravishing the girl near a thicket of bushes by the lake. Dev had stopped him, barely restraining himself from mowing the man down. Only the knowledge of the certain scandal and insult to Lady Alethea’s name that would be the certain result kept him from doing so. Instead, he’d threatened to ruin Blanton if a word of it leaked out.

The music had stopped and a footman appeared to announce the supper. Jeremy glanced at him. ‘Coming? Aunt Beatrice has commanded that I escort her. I’ve no desire for a scold if I don’t appear on time.’

‘Not yet.’ He shifted his attention back to Blanton, who still stood in the doorway.

Jeremy gave him a curious look. ‘Later, then.’

Dev watched Blanton disappear through the French doors. He frowned. Was Sarah Chandler still foolish enough to be outside? A quick search of the guests milling towards the doors and out of the ballroom revealed no sign of a slight figure with a crown of rich auburn hair in a cream-coloured gown. And surely he’d have noticed if she had come back in.

He stalked towards the terrace doors, wondering what sort of a fool he was about to become. If she were there, she would probably stare at him with her calm, collected look as if he was partially invisible.

The garden was cool and dark. A veil of wispy clouds covered the moon. He walked to the edge of the terrace and looked down into the garden. At first he saw nothing, then he heard voices coming from the shrubbery. He moved down the steps with a light tread. He rounded the edge of the circle of shrubs, just in time to see a woman struggling in Blanton’s arms. She suddenly yanked away and Blanton grabbed for her. There was an ominous sound of ripped fabric. And Dev caught a glimpse of Sarah Chandler’s frightened face.

‘Let me go!’

‘No, my dear, I must speak to you,’ Blanton said smoothly.

Without a second thought, Dev stepped forward. ‘I suggest you do as the lady asks.’

The two froze. Blanton’s head whipped around and he stared at Dev, his eyes unfocused. Then he glared, hatred shooting across his face. ‘What do you mean by interrupting a private conversation, my lord?’

Dev regarded him coolly. ‘If you wish to hold a private conversation, I suggest you find somewhere less public than this. Particularly during a ball.’ His eyes briefly swept over Sarah. She stared at him, her arms crossed over her breast, trying to hide the damage to her bodice. She looked dismayed, shocked and completely miserable. He fought to keep his fury at bay. ‘Although the lady does not appear to particularly enjoy your conversation.’

Blanton took a step towards him, his chin trembling with anger. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘It should be obvious. Miss Chandler wished to go and you attempted to detain her by force,’ he said indifferently.

Blanton tugged at his stock. ‘It was hardly by force. And she is my fiancée.’

Sarah gasped. ‘I am not!’

Blanton turned to her. ‘But you will have to marry me. It will hardly do to have it spread about that we were alone together and you were allowing my embrace. Your reputation will be ruined.’

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘Such lengths are unnecessary.’ Dev folded his arms across his chest, regarding Blanton with contempt. ‘I’ve no intention of mentioning this particular conversation.’

‘I have no reason to trust your word.’ Blanton looked as if he held a trump card. ‘You detest the Chandlers. What better method of revenging yourself than by destroying Miss Chandler’s reputation? It would bring disgrace down upon her entire family.’

‘You are mistaken. I would no more enact revenge by ruining a lady’s reputation than I would force her into marriage by the same means.’ Dev took a step towards him. ‘So, unless you wish to meet me tomorrow, I suggest you keep such speculations to yourself.’

Blanton stiffened, fury distorting his features. Dev took another step in his direction and Blanton tugged at his cravat, backing away, and then scurried off.

Dev watched his portly figure retreat through the ballroom doors. Then he looked over at Sarah. She stood motionless as if she’d gone into shock. ‘Are you all right?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

He found himself half-wanting to shake her and half-wanting to take her into his arms, and erase the misery and shame from her face. The unexpected thought made him scowl. ‘What the devil were you doing out here with Blanton?’

‘I…I wasn’t out here with him. That is, I was here alone and he…he followed me.’

‘I don’t suppose it occurred to you that wandering around in dark gardens alone is not only improper, but highly dangerous? Unless, of course, you wish to encourage behaviour such as Blanton’s.’

That seemed to jolt her out of her trance. ‘I most certainly do not! And I was not wandering around—I…I was merely standing here.’ Her voice quivered and she suddenly looked utterly defeated. ‘I…I know it was quite improper to come here, but I…I wanted to escape for a few minutes and it was nice to be alone and I did not want to go in and suddenly he…he appeared…’

She looked away from him for a moment as if trying to collect herself. When she spoke, her voice was calm. ‘So, I suppose it was my fault. If you will excuse me, my lord, and thank you for…for rescuing me.’ She started to move past him, still clutching her bodice.

‘Wait.’

She glanced up at him, a question in her dark eyes.

He frowned. ‘How bad is the tear?’

‘Not very bad. A small rip in the lace, I think. Nothing that cannot be mended with a needle and thread.’

‘You cannot go into the ballroom with a rip in your bodice.’

‘I have little choice. At least everyone has gone into supper.’

‘We can only hope,’ he said drily. His glance fell to the small brooch she wore. ‘Your brooch. Can you use that to repair the tear?’

She looked down also. ‘Perhaps. I…I think so.’ She fumbled with the clasp, but her fingers were trembling and he realised that, despite her collected manner, she was very badly shaken.

‘I’ll do it.’ He stepped forward. She went very still as his fingers brushed her breast. His fingers suddenly seemed as clumsy as hers and he was finding it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. Her scent was soft and sweet and feminine and the fact she seemed to be trying very hard not to breathe was making his own breath come far too fast.

‘My lord, I…I think I should go in.’ Her voice was faint.

He scowled. ‘In a moment.’ He’d just about extricated the pin from the soft silky fabric of her dress when he heard a screech from behind them.

And then, ‘Oh, my! Oh, my goodness!’

He spun around, the brooch in his hand. Lady Henslowe stood behind them, a hand clasped to her breast. Even in the faint moonlight, he could see her eyes were wide with shock. And with her was Lord Henslowe, a murderous look on his normally placid face.

‘Damnation.’ He was beginning to think fate fully intended to make him pay for every one of his numerous sins.

Chapter Two

N ever, even if she lived to be a hundred and one, would Sarah forget the shocked expressions on the faces of Lord and Lady Henslowe. She closed her eyes and prayed she could vanish. Or die on the spot.

But she did not. She opened her eyes to find Lord Henslowe advancing on Huntington. He fixed him with an icy stare. ‘I trust this means there is to be a betrothal, my lord.’

‘Yes,’ Huntington said coolly.

‘No,’ Sarah replied at the same time.

‘But, my dear, you cannot allow such…such liberties and not marry him!’ Lady Henslowe exclaimed. ‘And, oh my! Your gown!’

Henslowe’s gaze swung to Sarah’s torn bodice. He stared and then glowered at Huntington. ‘So this is how you repay my hospitality! By attacking my guests! It is too late to forbid the marriage between my son and your sister but, damn you, you will not set foot in this house again!’ He advanced on Huntington as if he meant to thrash him.