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‘And the profligate habits of your other three brothers.’
‘There was left little enough for the youngest son. I didn’t want to be a further drain on Robert’s slender resources—then or now. Once I leave the army, I must have another way to earn my bread.’
‘You know the best way to do it.’
‘You’d have me to find a rich woman to marry. ‘
‘Marrying a rich woman has been the alternative of choice for well-born but indigent younger sons for centuries—and a much safer alternative than trekking off to barter for treasure in foreign lands, as you propose to do! You might not possess a title, but your breeding can’t be faulted.’
‘The breeding you just disparaged?’ he pointed out.
‘Nothing wrong with the blood,’ she flashed back. ‘Just with several recent possessors of it.’
Declining to point out the lack of logic in that statement, he said, ‘I happen to believe setting up a trading operation is a better route to wealth than sacrificing myself on the altar of some India nabob hoping to marry his daughter into the aristocracy. Or confirming the whispers already swirling around Bath that I’m a fortune hunter, intent on seducing a rich lady of quality. The “parson’s mousetrap”, they call marriage. Whereas I’d describe being tied to just one woman as more like...fitting myself for a garrotte,’ he teased.
‘A garrotte, indeed!’ she scolded, whacking him on the arm. ‘Those who disparage marrying money never seem to object when someone in their own family manages it. Since you claim to be unable to tolerate wedding an heiress, I suppose you think if you dance attendance on me, I’ll leave you my fortune to invest in that trading empire?’ she asked tartly.
Johnnie merely chuckled. ‘If I were totty-headed enough to entertain that hope, I’d better be prepared to wait a long time! I expect you’ll outlive us all. Besides, I would think your own sons stood in line before me in that regard.’
‘They inherited wealth enough from Woodlings not to need mine.’
‘Your grandchildren, then.’
‘Both my boys had sense enough to marry girls with large dowries. Their brats won’t need my money either.’
‘In any event, I visit you—as you well know—because you’re the most interesting relative I possess. You may leave that fortune to your dog, for all I care.’
‘Hmmph!’ his aunt said, looking pleased at his response. ‘It would serve you right if I left it to some improving school for the instruction of indigent girls.’
As she spoke, the periphery of his gaze caught on a flutter of movement. Turning in that direction, he realised what he’d seen was the ripple of pale fabric against the green verge beyond the path.
Two ladies walked towards them down the central alley. He’d just begun to turn back towards his aunt when his gaze, scanning lazily upwards, landed on the faces of the ladies and stopped dead.
A bolt of pure physical attraction immobilised him, spiking his pulse, suspending breath. He’d bedazzled dark-eyed maharanis, beguiled matrons famed as the Diamond of their cantonment, but he didn’t think he’d ever beheld a woman more breathtakingly beautiful than the one now approaching them.
Realising, if the walkers continued straight ahead rather than taking the nearby cross-path, they would soon draw too near for him to make any discreet enquiries, he bent to whisper in his aunt’s ear. ‘Good L—Heavens, Aunt! Who is that divine creature?’
Lady Woodlings peered down the path before straightening with a snort. ‘Precisely the sort of female you need to avoid!’
Surprised by her vehemence, he gave the girl another quick glance. ‘Avoid—why? I know fashions have changed since I’ve been away, but she doesn’t look like a high flyer to me.’
‘She might as well be,’ Lady Woodlings retorted scornfully.
‘Aunt Pen, I’m only a simple male,’ Johnnie said with some exasperation. ‘A clearer explanation, please.’
Sadly for a body eager to have the seductive Beauty pass more closely, but fortunately for his compulsion to find out more about her, the lady and her older companion did in fact turn on to the cross-path and proceed away from him. In partial compensation, though, he was able to stare openly at her enticingly rounded figure as she glided away, the gold curls beneath her elaborate bonnet shining brightly in the afternoon sunshine.
‘Very well, Aunt Pen,’ he said, once he was sure they were out of earshot. ‘Who is she and why must I avoid her?’
‘One of the Scandal Sisters. The twin daughters of infamous Lady Vraux.’
No more enlightened by that information, he said, ‘Meaning, she was embroiled in some scandal in London? Remember, Aunt, I left university straight for the army and haven’t been near the city in years.’
With considerable relish, his aunt launched into the tale of a beautiful but immoral, high-born lady who, after presenting her long-suffering husband with a son and heir, proceeded to scandalise the ton by blatantly flouting her many lovers, one of whom sired her second son, another giving her twin daughters. ‘Why the devil Lord Vraux allowed her to name the chits Prudence and Temperance, I can’t imagine! As if transgressing moral boundaries weren’t enough—she must mock them, too.’
‘So the daughter has shown herself as profligate as her mother?’ he probed.
‘Not yet. She’s not even out, officially, though she must be approaching the age where most young ladies would be at their last prayers! The on dit was the girls were to be presented in London this Season—but then, a few weeks ago, two imbeciles just down from Oxford fought a duel over their mother. Of course, a presentation in the face of that would have been impossible. I’m surprised her aunt—that was her father’s sister, Lady Stoneway, walking with her—dares to let the creature show her face, even in Bath! Though one must pity the poor woman, trying to find husbands for such a pair. It won’t be easy, their fat dowries notwithstanding!’
‘But you know nothing to the detriment of the daughter?’
‘How could I, when she’s not out yet?’
‘Precisely my point, Aunt,’ Johnnie said drily.
‘Never you mind, she’ll embroil herself in some scandal soon enough. As I’ve been saying, blood will tell. And you may get that look out of your eye, Johnnie Trethwell!’
‘What look, Aunt?’
‘The look of a hound who’s just scented a fox! Why is it that, whenever one tries to warn some rascal with more energy than sense to steer clear of danger, he’s immediately compelled to charge after it?’
‘Probably because he’s a rascal,’ Johnnie replied with a grin. ‘Come along now, Aunt Pen. Introduce me.’
His aunt drew back, a horrified expression on her face. ‘I will never! I know I’ve been urging you to marry an heiress, but the poor looby who marries that girl? He may be able to spend her money, but he’ll never stop worrying over who he’ll find in her bed.’
‘A pity. I shall have to contrive some other way to make her acquaintance.’
‘Mark my words, John Stewart William Trethwell,’ his aunt said indignantly. ‘Take up with that creature and you’ll never see a penny of my money!’
Johnnie leaned down to kiss his aunt’s hand. ‘There’s nothing for it, then,’ he said as he straightened. ‘You’ll have to leave it to the dog.’
With a hint of a limp, he set off down the pathway, determined to wangle an introduction to the divine Miss Lattimar.
Keeping a discreet distance, he trailed the young lady and her aunt as they left the gardens and proceeded towards the Pump Room. Once there, he was able to station himself across the room from her, where he could observe her without his scrutiny being obvious.
Her beauty certainly did not pale upon closer examination. Eyes of the deepest cerulean blue set in an oval face graced with flawless porcelain skin, full, apricot lips, those glorious golden curls and a figure that approached the voluptuous... He’d never seen a lady so breathtaking. But having seen—and possessed—a great number of ladies, as he observed her behaviour, his scepticism about the validity of his great-aunt’s claims about her character increased.
It wasn’t just the ethereal beauty of her face, which brought to mind the image of angels singing in heavenly chorus. There was a sweet gentleness and deference in her manner towards the lady who’d been identified as her aunt—and a wary caution when they were approached by anyone else. The blush that tinged her cheeks and the slight stiffness in her manner when a gentleman stopped to greet them—even the old retired soldiers there to take the waters—was so at variance to the sort of flagrantly seductive behaviour of which her mother was accused, he couldn’t believe she was cut from the same cloth.
Unless she were the best actress in the history of the English stage, he concluded that she was exactly what she appeared to be: a beautiful, well-bred, pretty-behaved virgin.
Not, to be frank, the type of female with whom he had previously had any desire to further an acquaintance. But something about the unfairness of having this woman, who in his observation was exactly the lady she purported to be, accused and convicted virtually sight unseen of being a wanton, even by someone normally as non-judgemental as his great-aunt, roused his fighting spirit. And when a crony of his aunt’s, one of the old beldames who ruled Bath society, gave her an obvious snub when her chaperon attempted to call the lady over, he found himself on his feet before he knew what he intended.
Limping quickly over, he seized the beldame’s hand before she could walk away. ‘Lady Arbuthnot, what a pleasure to see you again and looking so fine!’ he said, bowing. ‘That’s a charming bonnet!’
Pinking with pleasure, the lady replied, ‘I’d heard you were visiting Lady Woodlings, Lieutenant Trethwell! Welcome back to England. What a relief it must be to be home again! I do hope you are making a good recovery from your injury.’
‘How could I not, back in the salubrious climate and genteel company of my home country? Speaking of that—’ Leaving a hand on her arm, he subtly steered her around. ‘Would you do the honour of introducing me to these charming ladies?’
Too late, the woman realised that Johnnie had manoeuvred her into facing the women she’d just attempted to cut. The charm of the smile he fixed on her at odds with the tension in his gut, he waited to see whether the embarrassment of making a scene by refusing his request would outweigh her righteous indignation at having to acknowledge a girl of whom she disapproved.
Deciding to throw his last weapon into the fray, he said sotto voce, ‘If you could do so at once, ma’am? Standing’s not good for my bad leg.’
Apparently, that was enough to tip the balance. ‘I suppose I can’t refuse the request of one of his Majesty’s brave soldiers,’ she said with ill grace. ‘Lady Stoneway, a pleasure to see you in Bath. May I present to you Lieutenant Lord John Trethwell, the great-nephew of my good friend Lady Woodlings and brother to the new Marquess of Barkley?’
The Beauty was even more beautiful at close range, Johnnie thought, everything masculine in him leaping to the alert. Though she stood serenely unmoved while the introductions were made, the flush on Lady Stoneway’s cheek and that lady’s tremulous smile showed at least her aunt recognised the significance of his intervention. ‘Delighted to make the acquaintance of one of our brave soldiers, Lady Arbuthnot,’ she replied. ‘As is my niece, Miss Lattimar. Aren’t you, my dear?’
He’d thought her shy, but the Beauty who dipped him a graceful curtsy was quietly self-contained, he thought, rather than nervous or uncertain. ‘Almost past her last prayers,’ his aunt had described her. Though a female possessing such youthful beauty could never be considered a spinster, she was no blushing ingénue, even if she hadn’t been formally presented. And small wonder she was self-possessed, if ever since she’d budded into womanhood, she’d been facing down innuendo that equated her to her infamous mother.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant.’
Her voice was as lovely as her face. He’d intended only to force Lady Arbuthnot to recognise her and then remove himself—not having, despite his aunt’s urging, any interest in trying to entice a wealthy young female to wed him. But he found he simply couldn’t walk away.
Instead, he held out his hand. ‘With your permission, Lady Stoneway, may I make a turn about the room with your niece?’ And before her chaperon had a chance to reply, he clapped a hand on Miss Lattimar’s arm and bore her off.
Chapter Two
Not sure whether to be amused or indignant, Prudence obliquely studied her escort from the corner of her eye as she walked beside him. ‘Was that an introduction, or a kidnapping?’
‘You really couldn’t refuse to stroll with me. Not after the signal service I just performed.’
He had her there. Truly, she wasn’t sure what to make of him.
The image of a pirate had flashed through her mind when she’d first observed him in Sidney Gardens, leaning his tall, raw-boned frame down to murmur in his aunt’s ear, dark golden hair curling over the collar of his regimentals. And the gaze he’d given her! Admiration and interest shining in grey-green eyes with a look so penetrating, it seemed he was trying to see right into her soul.
She felt another stir of...something, in the pit of her stomach, just recalling it.
Viewed up close, his lean, tanned face was even more compelling, with its high cheekbones, thin, blunt mouth, purposeful nose and arresting eyes. His regimentals hung rather loosely on him, as if he’d been ill. A fact his slight limp and Aunt Gussie had confirmed, when her aunt, alas, had steered them on to a side path back at the Sidney Gardens, warning Pru she should avoid this youngest son of a notoriously rakehell family.
Rakehell or not, he’d boldly coerced that disapproving matron into recognising her. A move that, had it failed, would have embarrassed him as much as her. Was he compassionate, clever—or just reckless, indifferent whether the gamble would work or not? Uncaring, if it failed, that he had brought humiliating and unwelcome attention to her?
But it had worked and would give a definite push to her campaign for acceptance.
‘In fairness, I do owe you thanks,’ she acknowledged at last. ‘Lady Stoneway’s credit and that of her friend Mrs Marsden are sufficient that most of Bath society deigns to receive me, but there have been...recalcitrants, Lady Arbuthnot chief among them.’ She laughed. ‘Now that you’ve so cleverly manoeuvred her into recognising me, I can breathe a sigh of relief. Although, ungrateful as it may seem, I’m afraid I can’t afford to show my thanks by associating with you once this stroll is concluded.’
‘What, have you been warned against me?’ he asked with a smile. ‘Didn’t think I’d been in Bath long enough for that.’
‘I saw you at Sidney Gardens earlier today with your aunt. I don’t mean to be uncivil, but Aunt Gussie said you have the reputation of being a...a reckless adventurer. And with it presumed that you’re about to leave the army, it’s also said you are...’ She hesitated, her own experience with rumour and innuendo making her loath to repeat further ill of him without knowing the truth.
‘A fortune hunter?’ he supplied, seeming not at all offended. ‘Or have you heard the other version, the one in which I’m in Bath trying to turn my aunt up sweet, so she’ll settle funds on me? You mustn’t feel uncomfortable, repeating the rumours, Miss Lattimar. After all, I’ve been warned against you, too.’
She stiffened, a feeling almost of...betrayal escaping. So her scepticism had been warranted. He hadn’t helped her out of kindness, just on a whim, too devil-may-care to worry about the consequences. ‘I wonder then that you bothered to rescue me,’ she said, unable to keep the anger from her voice.
He halted, forcing her to look up at him. ‘I should think you, of all people, would understand. I dislike seeing someone branded for something only rumour alleges—me, or anyone else. A sentiment I suspect you share. I shall judge you as I find you, not for who your mother was. Everyone in Bath ought to do the same.’
So he had acted out of compassion. Anger faded, replaced by chagrin that such a gesture had been necessary—and that she’d initially judged him more harshly than he had her. Following on that was something else more unexpected—a deep sense of...kinship at his empathy. As if they understood each other.
She had no business feeling either chagrin or connection for a penniless soldier of dubious reputation. Calling on years of practice, she suppressed the volatile emotions before they could show on her face.
She’d be wise to escape the company of a man who had, in the space of a few moments, called up feelings strong enough to compromise the tranquil façade she must present to the world. And whose escort would do nothing to further her aim of attracting an eminently respectable man to marry.
Once she was sure her voice wouldn’t tremble, she said, ‘Much as I honour you for those sentiments, you must realise that with my reputation, I can’t afford to be seen on easy terms with a man usually regarded as a careless adventurer.’ She gave him a deprecating smile. ‘The fortune-hunter part is less of a problem, since it’s widely believed that only my large dowry would ever induce a man to risk marrying me.’
‘Then he would be a very great fool.’
Surprised, she lifted her gaze back up to those grey-green eyes—and was mesmerised. Something flashed between them, some wordless connection accompanied by an attraction as fiery as it was unexpected. Her stomach swooped, her breathing grew unsteady and she could almost feel his arm burning her fingertips through the layers of her gloves and his sleeve. A sudden, inexplicable desire filled her to move closer, feel his arms around her, his lips...
With a start, she looked away, ending the fraught moment. Merciful heavens, what had come over her? This man is even more dangerous than I thought.
Jerking her hand free, she said, ‘I had best return to my aunt.’
He caught up to her in a step. ‘At least, let me walk with you. Otherwise, it will be said that you found my conversation so improper, you felt it necessary to abandon me in the middle of the Pump Room. Which will do my reputation no good.’
‘Very well,’ she said, not looking at him—and very careful not to take his arm. ‘But as I already told you, I won’t be able to walk with you again.’
‘Do you always do what propriety dictates?’ he asked.
She looked at him then. ‘I haven’t a choice,’ she said bleakly.
‘We always have a choice, Miss Lattimar. I’ll say “goodbye”, not “farewell”,’ he murmured as they reached her aunt. ‘Lady Stoneway, Miss Lattimar, a pleasure,’ he said more loudly, bowing as he turned her over to her chaperon.
And then left them. She couldn’t help watching as, his soldier’s bearing erect despite his injury, he limped away across the room.
Her aunt’s fan tapping at her wrist recalled her attention. ‘That was handsomely done,’ she said, inclining her head towards the departing soldier. ‘I hope you thanked him as you walked with him, because you mustn’t do so again. It would do your chances no good for you to become more closely acquainted.’ Aunt Gussie sighed. ‘A shame, for he is a handsome devil, isn’t he?’
‘Is he a womaniser? Or is his reputation just rumour?’ As mine is.
‘His reputation is more that of an adventurer. He went out to join the army in India right after university. Not that he had much choice, with the family already done up and no source of income for him here in England. Got himself wounded in some clash with the natives. His oldest brother inherited while he was away—a mountain of debt. With three other brothers who never met a lightskirt they didn’t try to seduce, a horse they wouldn’t wager on, or a Captain Sharp they didn’t try—and fail—to best in a game of chance, it’s no wonder he stayed away. Or is considering wedding himself to a fortune, if he’s decided his wandering days are done. His pedigree is elevated enough that, despite his lack of funds, he might very well accomplish that—though he hasn’t thus far shown any interest in doing so.’
‘Has he never met a lightskirt he didn’t try to seduce, a horse he wouldn’t wager on, or a Captain Sharp he didn’t want to best?’
‘Whether he’s as profligate as his brothers, no one knows. As I said, he’s been away from England practically since he was a schoolboy. Another rumour claims that he has no wish to marry and is hanging about Lady Woodlings’s skirts instead, hoping she’ll leave her money to him. That one may be more credible, given the tittle-tattle about him cutting a swathe through the faster matrons at the cantonments in India. There are even rumours of a Eurasian paramour—a maharani, if I recall correctly.’
With her upbringing, Pru was hardly scandalised. Instead, she realised ruefully, she felt a little envious, that a man could go anywhere in the world and do anything he wanted. While she had to watch every word she said and every action she took.
His reputation as an adventurer might make him unsuitable husband material for her—but it certainly enhanced his fascination.
‘People love to gossip about the strange and foreign.’
Aunt Gussie chuckled. ‘When they aren’t gossiping about the present and familiar! In any event, I doubt he’s lived as a saint—not a man adventurous enough to leave hearth and kin at such an early age with scarcely a penny to his name and make his way in a continent halfway around the world.’
What would it be like to have such adventures? Pru wondered. To boldly go wherever the whim took you, pit your wits and courage against whatever obstacles you encountered?
Something she would never discover, she thought wistfully. She’d count herself fortunate to land a respectable husband and settle in a quiet, conventional village.
Suppressing the envy as she did every other disturbing emotion, she said, ‘With his birth and that handsome countenance, I doubt it would take him long to charm some susceptible lady of fortune into marrying him. Charming his aunt, I’m not so sure.’
‘I’m sure of neither, despite that handsome face. He’d do better to cozen up to a rich widow. Although, with his lineage, he’d be considered a good catch by most society families, the highest sticklers might not favour having a man with an adventurer’s reputation marry their daughter.’ Her aunt gave her a look. ‘A young lady of...fragile reputation should never let an adventurer approach her at all.’
‘You needn’t preach, Aunt Gussie. I understand my limitations quite well.’ Even if she had to squelch a ridiculous little pang of loss at the idea of never speaking again to the intriguing Lieutenant Trethwell. Never being able to coax him to tell her about his adventures in lands she and Temper had only read about in travel journals and memoirs—what a Hindustani village really looked like, what it was like to hunt a tiger, what sort of jewels a maharani wore.
Even if her fortune interested him, she couldn’t redeem her reputation by marrying a man almost as infamous as she was. Those few heated glances, that unexpected rush of attraction, were all she’d ever have of him.
What they wanted for their futures was completely different.
She tried to picture him in civilian dress in some small country manor, talking about crops and dandling a baby on his knee, and laughed out loud.
Impossible!
As was any foolish desire for more of his company. She needed to keep her mind fixed on her goal: to marry a man with a reputation impeccable enough to rehabilitate her own, live with him and raise their children in a quiet village, creating a warm, happy family far away from the gossip and casual cruelty of society. She should lose no time scouring Bath for such a man—and then charming him into marrying her.