Page 2 of The Lady’s Deception

“I’m fine,” Rosamund insisted. Or rather, tried to insist. Even to her own ears, her voice lacked all conviction.

“And Eugenia was right. You are pale. Though,” he added wryly, “one wishes she had chosen some other simile.”

“Yes.” Rosamund hesitated. “Although, in truth, I did see something—”

“Have my children been repeating the servants’ ridiculous stories to you?” His accompanying sigh was deep, and his shoulders must have sunk with it. His arm grew heavier still. “Clearly, they need a steadying hand, the influence of a sensible woman.” He paused and gazed down at her. “Poor motherless things…”

They had reached the corridor in which her chamber was located. “I wish you good luck in finding such a woman, my lord. I do believe this place could turn the soberest mind.” Her words appeared to take him aback, giving her another opportunity to make a bid for freedom. “I will say good night.”

His grip on her shoulders tightened. “So soon?”

“It’s very late.”

His other arm came around her, caging her between his body and the wall. Her shawl was no barrier to the chill of the stones against her back. Instinctively, her hand rose to his chest and she tried to push him away.

“Come now, Miss Gorse. Surely you will not deny your future husband a good night kiss?”

He had stopped beneath an unlit sconce, casting his expression in shadow. But he must be teasing her. Future husband? Much as she might long for a family, marriage to Lord Dashfort was the furthest thing from her mind. Why, the earl was her brother’s old school chum, more than twice her age. Worse yet, he—

In the near darkness, his hot, moist mouth grazed her cheek, bringing with it the stench of brandy and mushroom ragout and making her stomach churn. Twisting sharply, she winced as the rough stone snagged her shawl and dug into her skin. “Lord Dashfort, unhand me this instant!”

He relented, but not because of her words. Farther down the corridor, a discreet, masculine cough had broken the stillness.

“Charles,” she gasped, slipping away from a stunned Lord Dashfort and hurrying toward her brother.

Her brother regarded her coolly, arms crossed over his chest. “You should be in bed, Rosie.”

Arrested in her flight, she rocked back on her heels, thinking of Alexander and Eugenia’s pet names for one another. She was only ever Rosie when Charles was unhappy with her. Which was most of the time.

“Yes, Charles.” With a backward glance at Lord Dashfort, she slipped into her room.

Hardly had the door closed behind her when Charles spoke.

“I am appalled, Dashfort.”

For just a moment, foolish hope sparked within her. Of course her brother would defend her honor. Only…only instead of reprimanding Lord Dashfort’s shocking conduct, Charles sounded…bored?

“Setterby.” Lord Dashfort’s voice was little more than a growl. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that the earl and her brother were enemies, rather than friends. “It was your suggestion that I begin to accustom her to the idea of our marriage.”

“Yes,” said Charles, and the tiny flicker of hope in her breast sputtered. The earl had not been teasing her, after all. No wonder he’d been so inordinately attentive to her during their visit. No wonder the children had been on their worst behavior. They resented their father’s plan to remarry. They were doing all they could to prevent their mother’s place from being usurped.

How naïve she’d been.

“But I have no intention of allowing you to anticipate the wedding night,” continued her brother, chiding.

It was not difficult to imagine herself trapped in the unwelcome embrace of an old—well, almost old—man with foul breath and clammy hands and one wife already in the grave. Her shudder rattled the door against which she leaned.

Undisturbed by the sound, her brother continued speaking. “At least, not until I have the money in hand…”

The chill in his voice snuffed the last embers of hope. Money? Had she gone back in time when she’d crossed beneath the portcullis of Kilready Castle? Returned to some feudal age? It seemed Charles had done more than arrange what he imagined to be an advantageous match on behalf of his sister. It sounded for all the world as if her brother were trying to sell her!

Of course, he was forever bemoaning the state of the family finances. But how on earth had he persuaded anyone to pay for the privilege of wedding her?

And what might the earl expect of her in exchange?

She quelled another shudder. Her brother did not like to be gainsaid, as she well knew. But this time she was going to have to put her foot down.

“We agreed on Lady Day,” Lord Dashfort was quick to remind him, forgetting to whisper. “I’ve spoken to Quin, my agent. The new rents will be more than enough to meet your price.”