Married to the Viscount Read online

  His smile vanished. “I know no such thing.”

  Abby glanced to Mrs. Graham for confirmation, but the woman just stood there gawking at him, apparently struck dumb by his outrageous denial.

  Reminding herself she was a descendant of a great Seneca chief, she squared her shoulders. “Then perhaps you’d better explain what you meant in your letters when you said you wished to marry me.”

  The clouds rolled back over his brow. “I didn’t write any letters to you.”

  “But I have them right here!” Now truly alarmed, she hunted through her reticule until she found them, then thrust them at him. “You see? These are yours.”

  He took the letters and scanned them swiftly. When he lifted his gaze to her, his eyes flashed lightning. “I have never seen these before in my life, madam.”

  She could hardly breathe, and not just because of the blessed corset either. “But that’s your signature on them!”

  “No, it’s not. It’s a very good forgery, I’ll warrant you, but a forgery nonetheless. Besides, it doesn’t even match the writing on the letters.”

  His thunderous stare made it clear that he expected her to offer the explanations that ought to be forthcoming from him.

  “Of course it doesn’t. Your brother said your secretary wrote the letters, and you only signed them. But Nathaniel insisted that you dictated them yourself and—”

  “Nat gave these to you?”

  “Yes. They were included with packages he said he received from you.”

  He scanned the letters again, and the color drained from his features. “That’s Nat’s handwriting, all right.”

  Panic gripped Abby’s chest. “You mean he wrote them? Why would he—I demand to speak to your brother.”

  “You’ll have to wait your turn,” he bit out. “He’s not here. He conveniently disappeared a few hours ago, and we’ve been looking for him ever since.”

  Dear heaven. Now it all made sense. Nathaniel had been the one to broker the marriage in exchange for part ownership of Papa’s company. He’d been the one to convince her and Papa that Lord Ravenswood was eager for the match. And it was Nathaniel who’d taken her dowry.

  Numbly Abby searched for the more official-looking piece of paper in her reticule. When she found it, she held it out with a wavering hand. “I guess that means you didn’t know about this, either.”

  Warily, Lord Ravenswood took the paper and examined it. When he lifted his head again, his mouth formed a pained line. “I am so sorry, Miss Mercer—”

  “No,” she whispered, backing away from the truth in his eyes. “No, it can’t be. You can’t be saying—”

  “I swear I did not authorize my brother to arrange any marriage. I can’t imagine why he’d do so. I’ll admit that he has forged my name a time or two in the past as a joke, but I never dreamed he would do something like this.”

  “Oh, Lordy,” Mrs. Graham muttered, fanning herself with the frantic movements of someone watching her dreams disintegrate before her very eyes.

  As Abby was watching her own dreams die. Lord Ravenswood had never meant to marry her. The fanciful feelings she’d attributed to him, the sweet fantasies she’d conjured up of their future life together…they were figments of her own imagination. Figments that Nathaniel had used to his advantage.

  The complete humiliation of it seeped into the marrow of her bones. She was here in England, having spent nearly all the meager funds left to her, with her dowry and her father’s business stolen—

  Spots formed behind her eyes. She tried to breathe, but the blessed corset wouldn’t let her, and suddenly the room spun and the spots joined to form one giant spot blotting her vision, and she sank down into blackness…

  Chapter 2

  Do not allow rude servants from other households to provoke you into bad behavior. Your employer will reward your forbearance, and those other servants will only succeed in annoying their own employers.

  Suggestions for the Stoic Servant

  When Spencer saw Miss Mercer’s usually rosy complexion pale to the color of milk, he feared the worst. So when her eyes glazed over and her knees buckled, he dropped the papers and lunged for her. He barely caught her in time to prevent her collapse on the floor.

  As he lifted her limp body in his arms, her head wobbled back lifelessly. She looked very ill, and it was all his fault.

  “Now see what you’ve done, you…you Englishman you!” Mrs. Graham cried, wielding the vile insult “Englishman” like a club. “How dare you act this way to my sweet mistress, who never done a body wrong in her life?”

  His concern increasing by the moment, he examined Miss Mercer’s usually vibrant face, which now seemed drained of life. Damn it, she should be rousing by now.

  “You changed your mind, is that it?” the angry servant went on. “Or you drummed up some scheme with your brother to steal her dowry—”

  “There’s a dowry?” he muttered. This was a nightmare.

  “You know very well there’s a dowry!”

  “I had no idea. But apparently my brother knew.” Was that why Nat had done this fool thing? For some dowry?

  “Aye, he knew all right.” Mrs. Graham’s voice grew shrill. “Your brother ain’t nothing but a common thief, I tell you! And if you think I’ll stand by and watch while you rob my mistress blind, then you—”

  “Good heavens, what is all the commotion about?” came a voice from behind him.

  Lady Tyndale. Bloody, bloody hell. His nightmare worsened by the moment.

  “Has Nathaniel arrived?” asked another younger voice.

  Spencer glanced back to see both Lady Tyndale and Evelina staring at him and his armful of woman. “No. Go back in the dining room.”

  “Who is that woman?” Evelina asked.

  “His lordship’s wife,” Mrs. Graham offered with a determined glint in her eyes, “newly arrived from America.” She picked up the papers Spencer had dropped, then handed them to Evelina.

  Torn between caring for the still alarmingly unconscious Miss Mercer and making explanations he didn’t know how to make, he opted for the more immediate problem.

  “McFee,” he barked, “you and Mrs. Graham see that the ladies’ bags are brought in. The rest of you return to the dining room, if you please. This is a private matter. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  He stalked down the hall. He had to get Miss Mercer somewhere warm to revive her—he couldn’t do it in this drafty foyer built more for intimidation than for comfort. But his study was close by, and the fire would be burning.

  Thank God. Her shallow breathing and the sickly cast of her generally healthy complexion worried him. He’d never made a woman faint in his life. And to have it be this particular woman, who’d always seemed to robust and happy in America, turned his stomach.

  But damn it, she’d taken him by surprise. Forged letters? A marriage license? A stolen dowry? What in bloody hell had come over his brother?

  The answer came to him in a flash. It must have something to do with Nat’s determination to gain that partnership. Why else had the scoundrel vanished earlier? He must have heard about Miss Mercer’s arrival in England and scurried off to hide.

  As well he should. When the idiot eventually showed up, Spencer was going to thrash him within an inch of his life.

  As Spencer entered the haven of his study, he heard Mrs. Graham explaining to anyone who would listen about how he’d married Miss Mercer by proxy. Good God, what a mess.

  Still, his first concern must be Miss Mercer. He carried her motionless body over to a chaise longue. But when he laid her on it and she didn’t even moan, his concern exploded into alarm.

  Smelling salts. He needed smelling salts, but where was he to find them in a bachelor household? He could call for his housekeeper…No, there wasn’t enough time.

  Then he spied Miss Mercer’s reticule, miraculously still attached to her wrist by its cord. Jerking it open, he was relieved to find a bottle inside. He twisted off the cap, then
waved the bottle under her nose.

  Just as a sweet herbal scent wafted to him, making him wonder if this was smelling salts after all, she gasped and her fragile eyelids fluttered open. Thank God. He set the bottle on the floor, then chafed her hands in his, alarmed by how frigid her fingers were.

  “Miss Mercer,” he said in a low voice, “are you all right?”

  “Wh-what happened?”

  Her voice sounded far too reedy and weak to him. “You fainted. What can I do to make you more comfortable? Fetch you some wine? Or brandy perhaps?”

  “C-corset,” she whispered, licking her lips.

  Good God, had she lost her wits when she’d lost consciousness? “What?”

  “Can’t breathe,” she rasped. “This…corset. Not used to…wearing one.”

  When she unhooked the fastenings at the front of her gown, he realized what she was trying to tell him. He watched speechlessly as she unhooked her gown, then wriggled out of the restrictive bodice, shoving it down to her waist so she could reach the laces of the corset tied at the back. For a moment, all he could do was gape at the golden female flesh that showed above the lace of her chemise.

  Then she glanced up at him as she struggled to catch her breath. “H-help me,” she pleaded.

  That spurred him into action. First he closed the door to the study, then returned to shift her onto her side. But when he started on the laces, he found them knotted.

  “Just cut them,” she whispered. “Get it loose!”

  Grimly he drew out his penknife, but cutting through the too tight laces of her corset wasn’t all that easy. No wonder she couldn’t breathe. He had to work his knife into the fabric just to get under the strings. Even then it took some sawing before the annoying thing gave way.

  With a satisfied “Ahhh,” Miss Mercer relaxed and dragged in several deep breaths.

  “I cannot fathom why you women wear such torture devices,” he muttered as he pocketed his knife.

  “I don’t generally.” She rolled onto her back again, her bodice now crumpled down about her waist and her corset loosely covering her chemise. “But Mrs. Graham insisted that a viscountess should wear a corset, so—” She took a shuddering breath. “Anyway, she thought it appropriate.”

  For a viscountess. A pang of guilt shot through him. Nat might have deceived her about Spencer’s desire to marry her, but she’d had good reason to believe him. The American courts would consider both the letters and the marriage certificate valid until Spencer proved otherwise. Now what the hell was he to do about it?

  He felt rather than heard someone enter the room behind him.

  “Is she all right?” Evelina asked timidly.

  Lady Brumley’s arch voice answered, “She looks more than all right to me.”

  Spencer groaned. Lady Brumley had intruded into his study, too? Damn, the last thing he needed was that sharp-tongued creature in here, stirring the pot.

  “Really, Lord Ravenswood,” the Galleon of Gossip went on, “you could have waited until your guests were gone to…er…exert your husbandly right.”

  Bloody hell. He hadn’t thought how it might look with his “wife” lying here prone, her gown half undone, her corset unfastened, and him hovering over her like some lecher. He jumped to his feet.

  “His lordship was merely trying to make me comfortable,” Miss Mercer explained.

  “I’m sure he was.” Lady Brumley stooped to pick up the bottle Spencer had left on the floor. “What’s this? Something to enhance your…er…comfort?”

  “It’s smelling salts,” Spencer snapped as Miss Mercer said, “It’s the Mead.”

  Then Mrs. Graham burst into the room. “Oh, my lady, are you all right?” She caught sight of her mistress’s state of undress and cast Spencer a horrified glance. “What has this monster been doing to you?”

  “Out!” He’d had enough of this farce. “All of you, out! I need a moment with Miss…with my…Just get out, will you? And give a man some privacy.”

  “My lord, you must let me explain to them—” Miss Mercer began as she sat up.

  Then her corset fell completely off, revealing a chemise so sheer that the dark buds of her nipples showed through it with startling clarity.

  For a moment they all stood frozen, Spencer included. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the astounding picture of Miss Mercer bursting free of her corset like a bachelor’s erotic fantasy.

  Then Lady Tyndale cried, “My dear, your clothes!” and that snapped him out of his shock.

  Stepping in front of the chaise longue to block Abby from their view, Spencer whirled to face the growing audience crowding into his study. “Get out now! All of you! You, too, Mrs. Graham. I’ll tend to your mistress.”

  Reluctantly, the servant retreated, as did the others, who looked thoroughly scandalized. Even that nosy Lady Brumley, after casting a sly glance at Spencer, pocketed the bottle she’d been examining and walked out.

  A blessed silence descended on his study. Then a small voice behind him broke it. “I-I can’t make it work.”

  He turned to find Miss Mercer sitting up. She’d tossed the corset aside, had wriggled her arms through the sleeves of her gown, and was now futilely attempting to refasten it.

  “Without the corset, I can’t bring the bodice together over my…well…”

  Struggling to keep his eyes off the twin endowments preventing her from fastening her gown, he quickly removed his coat and draped it over the front of her. He got a whiff of that same herbal scent, but this time it came from her—sweet, lilting, sensual…

  Good God, he must stop thinking of her like this.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she murmured. “I was beginning to feel…exposed.”

  “That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have cut up your corset.”

  She cast him a wry smile. “If you hadn’t, I’d have expired on the spot.” Then her smile faded, and she dropped her head. “I feel very stupid. I’ve never fainted before.”

  With a sigh, he sat down beside her on the settee. “Under the circumstances, it was understandable. My brother has much to answer for.”

  “You mean, because he arranged a marriage to a man who doesn’t want me?” she burst out. Throwing her legs over the edge of the chaise longue, she arranged her skirts. “How stupid I was to believe all his claims. I should have known that men like you do not marry American nobodies, but your brother was so very convincing—”

  “Yes, Nat can be quite convincing when he wants.” He should correct her assumption about her suitability as a wife. But that would mean telling her that he never intended to marry at all, thus inviting the usual questions. Since he had no answer but the truth—which he refused to reveal to anyone—it was better not to raise the subject.

  Besides, it would only muddy the waters. The woman had come halfway around the world because she wanted this marriage. If he even hinted at how appealing he found her, she would dig in her heels when he attempted to extricate them from this mess.

  No, he couldn’t tell her. But he must figure out exactly how legally entangled he was. And that meant getting answers from her.

  He examined her face, but her color seemed much improved and she didn’t look as if she might faint again. Now was as good a time as any to probe the matter. “Mrs. Graham mentioned a dowry. Is it true that my brother took it?”

  She met his gaze evenly. “Yes.”

  Bloody hell. He’d hoped that was just the babbling of an outraged family retainer. “How can that be possible? Surely your father would have made the bank draft out to me. And Nat couldn’t cash it without my cooperation.”

  She winced. “Unfortunately, my dowry was in gold coins that Papa had saved up. If anything happened to the business, he didn’t want his creditors to be able to touch it. So he kept the money secreted away at home until I married.”

  Spencer scrubbed his hands over his face. Could this night possibly get any worse? “I’m almost afraid to ask, but how much were these coins worth?”

  �
��Papa had it assessed in English pounds for your brother, and I believe it was five thousand pounds, give or take a few.”

  Yes, the night could get infinitely worse. Five thousand pounds was certainly enough blunt to tempt a man whose yearly allowance was nowhere near that. “Miss Mercer, perhaps you’d better explain how this…er…marriage came to be.”

  “All right.” Though she held herself rigid, he glimpsed her vulnerability in the trembling of her chin. “After you left Philadelphia, Nathaniel was very attentive to Papa.”

  His brother’s Christian name on her lips inexplicably sparked his temper. “And to you, too, apparently. You speak of him quite informally.”

  She thrust out her chin. “He asked me to. Because I was soon to be his sister.”

  Spencer sighed. “Right. Go on then.”

  “Papa had always planned to leave half his business to my husband, whoever that ended up being. He hoped your brother would marry me, but Nathaniel claimed that his affections lay elsewhere.” Her pretty eyes flashed. “I suppose that was another lie.”

  Devil take Nat for making this perfect creature doubt her attractions for even a second. “Actually, that was true. His fiancée is here tonight, as a matter of fact. She was the one who first entered the study a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh.” She stared down at her gloved hands. “The elegant young blond woman.”

  “They’ve been intending to marry for some time.” He rose to pace the room, too restless to sit still. “Tonight was their betrothal dinner, but Nat never showed up.”

  A delicate frown creased her lovely brow. “Could he have heard somehow of my arrival in England?” She thought a moment. “Oh, of course—I wrote a letter to you giving all the details of our expected arrival. He must have intercepted it.”

  “That would certainly explain his recent obsession with the mail. How many letters did you write me?”

  “Two. One after we first married and the one about the ship. There was no time for more.” She winced. “But I sent the first one with him when he returned.”