The Shocking Lord Standon. Louise Allen

there we were, presenting the perfect alliance to unite two great estates.’

      ‘Our fathers exchanged letters formally agreeing to the betrothal,’ Maude picked up the story. ‘And here we are.’

      ‘But you are not legally bound?’

      ‘No, this is not the Middle Ages, thank goodness, but Papa controls my money until I am thirty or I marry with his consent. And he has made sure everyone believes us to be betrothed.’

      ‘Then why don’t you do as he asks?’ Jessica persisted. ‘You can hardly object to Lord Standon, surely?’

      ‘Thank you Jessica,’ he said gravely.

      ‘I meant,’ she said repressively, kicking herself under the table for thinking aloud, ‘you are apparently highly eligible and you like each other.’

      ‘They made the mistake of bringing us up like brother and sister—we simply can’t think of each other except as that. And I know perfectly well that somewhere, out there, is the man I am going to fall in love with,’ Maude said flatly. ‘And I do not want to be married to someone else when we meet. Doomed love and broken hearts may be all very well in novels, but I have no intention of subjecting myself to such discomfort.’ She attacked an apple with a pearl-handled knife and a fierce expression. ‘But I will never get to know any men to fall in love with because no one will do more than make polite conversation because they are all scared of Gareth.’

      ‘He is rather formidable,’ Jessica agreed, eyeing his lordship’s brooding figure at the head of the table.

      ‘Thank you,’ he said again, politely. ‘We are agreed that I am eligible and formidable and that Maude cannot be sacrificed upon the altar of matrimony other than to a man she truly loves. You will also have observed that her father is a thick-skinned old termagant who won’t take no for an answer. You are a young lady whose common sense is her stock in trade—what do you suggest?’

      Jessica pondered the problem, her abstracted gaze fixed on the rather attractive whorl of Gareth’s left ear where the crisp brown curl of his hair set the defined shape into sharp relief. She knew exactly what the skin there smelled like.

      ‘Um… You could pretend to become betrothed to someone else. Lord Pangbourne would admit defeat then, surely? But that means you need to find a complacent lady who would not mind such a charade, and you risk finding yourself permanently attached if she proves unscrupulous. Or you could do what Lady Maude suggested and embark upon a course of debauchery so public that even Lord Pangbourne will be forced to admit that he cannot marry his daughter to you. After all, he has just surprised you apparently making love amidst the marmalade.’

      Maude suppressed an unladylike snort. Jessica contemplated another slice of bread and honey, decided that she was eating merely to keep her mind distracted from Gareth’s proximity and sucked the tips of her sticky fingers. Then she realised his gaze was resting on her lips and promptly snatched up her napkin. ‘The latter course would be safer—the debauchery, I mean, not the marmalade.’ Maude gave way to giggles. ‘I imagine that you could hire a professional without risk of finding yourself sued for breach of promise.’

      She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining Gareth back in that brothel interviewing candidates for a charade of debauchery. Only, once having paid for them, she assumed it would require a saint not to avail himself of the services thus acquired, so playacting would not be required. He is a man, she reminded herself briskly. That is what men do. And in any case, what is it to me?

      ‘Excellent. We have a plan.’ Maude tossed her napkin on to the table and stood up, ignoring Lord Standon’s grimace and shaken head. ‘You see, Gareth, Jessica agrees with me.’ She smiled across the table. ‘Now, I will drive home and then send my carriage back to collect you and take you round the agencies. As soon as that is done you can come and stay with me until you are settled.’

      ‘But Lord Pangbourne has seen me.’

      ‘He saw a wanton female with her hair down, half-dressed in a improper nightgown and from the back. He will not recognise you, Jessica, take my word for it.’ Gareth walked across and opened the door. ‘Maude’s offer of the carriage is a sensible one.’

      Gareth strolled through the doors of White’s, nodded absently at the porter who relieved him of his outer garments, and climbed the stairs to the library. He needed some peace and quiet to think about Maude’s predicament. For himself, although it was tiresome, Lord Pangbourne’s ambitions were merely a nuisance. He could, and would, marry where he chose. One of these days. When he got round to it.

      But Maude was a considerable heiress and, if her father truly intended to, he could keep her financially dependent on him until she was thirty. She could choose herself a husband, he supposed, always provided she could find someone prepared to ignore the persistent rumour that she was already betrothed to him, or who was prepared to take a dowerless wife, but that was assuming a case of love at first sight and a determined lover at that.

      He could put an advertisement in the paper, denying the rumours, but that would create a scandal—the presumption would be that there was some reason discreditable to her, which was why he did not want to marry Maude. He could carry on denying it whenever it was mentioned—but no one believed him when he did. By common consent, he would be insane to refuse to marry a lovely, high-born, wealthy young woman who would bring the Pangbourne acres to join his own. And everyone knew that Gareth Morant was no fool. He was simply, the gossips concluded, in no hurry to assume the ties of matrimony.

      Meanwhile poor Maude was effectively out of bounds to any gentleman who might otherwise court her, unless he took the first step and married.

      Gareth picked up a copy of The Times and found a secluded corner to read it in. Ten minutes later it was still folded on his knee and he was passing in review each of the young ladies currently on the Marriage Mart and dismissing all of them. There was a new Season about to start in a week or two; that would bring the new crop fluttering on to the scene.

      Gareth steepled his fingers and contemplated marriage to a seventeen-or eighteen-year-old. It was not appealing. He liked intelligence, maturity, wit, sophistication…

      ‘Morant, thought I might find you here.’

      Hell and damnation and… ‘Templeton.’ Gareth tossed his newspaper on to a side table and got to his feet. He might feel like strangling Maude’s father, but good manners forced him to show respect for the older man.

      ‘Gave me a shock this morning! Ha!’ Lord Pangbourne cast himself into the wing chair opposite Gareth and glared around to make sure they were alone. ‘Young devil.’

      ‘If I had expected you, my lord—’ Gareth began.

      ‘You’d have kept your new doxy upstairs, I’ll be bound.’

      ‘And what makes you think she’s a new one?’ Despite his irritation, Gareth was intrigued.

      ‘No sign of her before. Discreet, that’s good. I was a bit out of sorts.’

      It was, Gareth realised, an apology of a kind. The best he was likely to receive. He snatched at the sign of reasonableness. ‘You know, my lord, that neither Maude nor I wish to marry each other; we have told you time and again.’

      ‘You’ll grow out of that nonsense.’

      ‘Sir, I am seven and twenty. Maude is only four years younger. She’ll be on the shelf if she has to wait much longer.’

      ‘She’s on your shelf, that’s the thing.’ The older man looked smug. ‘Snuff?’

      ‘No, thank you.’ Gareth scarcely glanced at the proffered box. ‘And if I do not marry her?’

      ‘You will, I have every confidence in your good sense. You are perfect for her and she’ll bring the Pangbourne estates with her when I go. Mind you, I’m not going to put up with these vapours of hers much longer. One more Season I’ll stand for and then she can go back to the country and wait for you there.’