A compliment? From him? She thought about pinching her arm, to make sure she was awake. She thought about telling him she did wear powder blue and assorted shades in that hue often, that he was too wrapped up in his own agenda to notice.
Instead she asked with a frown, “Did I miss something? Just this morning you railed at me because I couldn’t tell you when Raphael would be back in town.”
“Yes, yes, and you railed back that you didn’t give a bloody damn if he ever came back,” Sherman complained. “Not exactly the right attitude to take where your future husband is concerned. He’s the only prospect you need to concentrate on, and since half of London already thinks you’re engaged to him, you only need to—”
“Those ridiculous rumors bear no substance.”
“You were seen kissing him just the other night. I can’t tell you how delighted I was that for once you followed my directions.”
“I’ve been kissed dozens of times, does that mean I have as many fiancés?”
“Stolen kisses that aren’t viewed by other people are irrelevant; ones that are witnessed damn well are.”
Ophelia took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Those damning rumors had been quite unanticipated. She was sure there was a way to put them to rest, but she just hadn’t thought of one yet. However, she was not going to get into this discussion with her father again.
While they still didn’t see eye to eye on anything, he hadn’t been nearly as tyrannical these last few days that she’d stayed at home. No doubt because of those rumors about her and Rafe had put him in such a good mood. Her father had assumed the rumors closed the lid on her marriage to the next Duke of Norford. He didn’t like hearing her disagree with that notion.
“Is this a new strategy of yours?” she said in a much calmer tone. “Making me so angry I don’t want to even leave the house?”
He sighed now, even leaned his head against the back of the sofa he was sitting on. “No. I really don’t know why you and I can’t have a normal conversation anymore.”
Anymore? When had they ever? But her mother returned, so she didn’t feel it necessary to answer her father. And what could she have said, anyway, that wouldn’t have set him off again?
“There,” Mary announced, standing in the doorway. “I told you it wouldn’t take me long.”
Ophelia moved over to tuck a loose underseam on Mary’s evening gown back under her neckline where it belonged. “You look wonderful, Mama. But let’s be off immediately. I don’t want to be late for the dinner when we haven’t eaten yet.”
Mary, in her typical motherly fashion, replied, “Are you sure you don’t want to eat something here before we go? It’s quite fashionable to just pick at your food at a social gathering, you know.”
More than just fashionable. Some hostesses didn’t even supply enough food because of it! But if they delayed leaving any longer, Ophelia would change her mind about going. She still didn’t feel up to social chitchat yet, and it didn’t take much to set off the tears again. But she hadn’t cried since yesterday. Anger had taken a firmer hold on her after she’d heard about those rumors. And she still had a husband to find. And hopefully Raphael Locke would stay the hell out of London until she was really engaged and not just assumed to be engaged.
Chapter Forty
“N OT ONE WORD, D’YOU HEAR?” Ophelia hissed at her dinner partner as he sat down next to her.
Rafe had shown up at the Cades’ home just as the guests were sitting down to dinner. They would have been at opposite ends of the table, since the only chair left was quite a distance from Ophelia’s, but their hostess did some last-minute rearranging to seat them next to each other. Those damn rumors again.
No one had actually asked her to confirm them. It would be her third engagement of the Season after all, likely a record, so someone should have asked. But apparently the assumption was set in stone already, so no one felt a need to get it confirmed.
It was a long table, extremely long, long enough to seat twenty-four people, which was all that had been invited to the small gathering. And which was why she was not surprised that with her on Lady Cade’s guest list, Rafe would also be invited. The rumors again.
At least Mary sat on her other side, and she turned to her mother to quickly say, “Talk to me, Mama. Say anything. Pretend we’re deep in conversation.”
“Certainly, dear. But it’s all right if you talk to him in public, you know. He is practically a member of the family already.”
Ophelia was incredulous. Her mother too? But that was no doubt her father’s doing. He’d obviously convinced his wife it was a foregone conclusion that Ophelia would be marrying the viscount.
Rafe put his arm behind her chair and leaned closer to her, as if the three of them were conversing. “You’re not exactly whispering, Phelia,” he said in a teasing tone.
She turned back to him, gave him a smile for the benefit of the many people watching them, but gritted out, “I thought I told you not to talk to me.”
He sighed. “I don’t know why you’re so angry—well, I do, but if you’d just think about it, you know very well my effort to help you was sincere. That silly bet was only the motivation for it. And ignoring me isn’t going to get us out of this mess.”
“Ignoring you is my only option,” she whispered angrily, “unless you want to be part of a scene that will embarrass you into the next century.”
“I’ll pass on the scandal, thank you.” He turned to the chap on his other side and struck up a conversation with him.
She stared at the back of his head in disbelief, her mouth open. He was giving up at the mere threat of a scandal? He wasn’t going to say anything else in his defense or convince her that he and Duncan hadn’t been amusing themselves at her expense? He’d turned her life upside down for a stupid wager, and there was nothing really that he could say to make that more palatable.
Her old shell settled about her shoulders. It had served her well for many years. It didn’t keep her bitterness inside, though, and never had. It didn’t contain her anger either. Nothing could at the moment.
She had a mind to accept the next proposal that came her way, but then she realized there wouldn’t be any more proposals, not as long as everyone in town thought she was engaged to that devil sitting beside her. How utterly infuriating! She couldn’t even rub his nose in the fact that she’d prefer any man over him. Well, then, she’d marry him instead and make him regret, in a thousand different ways, that he’d tampered with her life.
It wasn’t the first time she’d had that thought since she’d heard about his bet with Duncan. And it had stayed in the back of her mind despite her bouts of tears. And that wasn’t even the worst of her vengeful thoughts. She wanted him to think that he’d failed utterly, that he hadn’t won his bloody bet at all, that her becoming a nicer person was just a ruse she’d come up with to get herself back to London.
Thoughts weren’t actions, however. She wouldn’t really do any of that. The old Ophelia might have, but she…God, why didn’t he even try to assuage the hurt and the anger he was causing her?
Her mother nudged her arm. “Your food has been sitting there untouched for five minutes. I could have sworn you said you didn’t want to miss it. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Ophelia picked up her fork. “I was just a little distracted.”
“Or plotting my demise?” Rafe said from her other side, proving he was still listening to her every word.
She turned to glare at him. “How did you guess? Dense men aren’t usually so perceptive.”
“Going to regress to insults, are we?”
“Who is regressing? You don’t really think you won that silly bet, do you?”
So much for thinking she could keep that vengeful scenario in the realm of fantasy. Appalled at herself for what she’d just implied, she was still gratified to see that she’d scored a perfect hit. He stiffened. A muscle ticked in his cheek. And the expression in his eyes was no longer cordial
.
“You started these rumors about us?” he said in a low, menacing tone.
“Not so dense after all, are you?” she shot back, and even managed a smirk for icing.
“To what purpose? You don’t really want to marry me, do you?”
“To make you pay, yes, I’d do even that. Mark my words, taking away your precious bachelorhood will be just the start.”
His response was to stand up, grab her hand, and drag her out of the room, leaving nothing but shocked silence behind them. Horrified that he’d just caused the scene she’d threatened him with, she was speechless. Until he led her into Lord Cade’s study and closed the door behind them.
She jerked her hand from his and whirled around at him. “Are you positively mad?”
“Yes, furiously so.”
“I meant insane.”
“I’m close to that too.”
“You’ve just added to those bloody rumors. You do realize that, don’t you?”
“No, I’ve just given us an out from them. Lovers tiff, et cetera, too enraged to reconcile, et cetera.”
“With what excuse? Because I chose to break with fashion and eat the food put before me?”
He stared at her blankly for a moment, almost cracked a smile, but then growled, “Dammit, Phelia, how could you!”
“What? Fool you into thinking you’d won your bet? Very easily. I should have been an actress. No, really. I think I’ve missed my calling.”
He stared at her hard. She almost backed down, felt a distinct unease. If she weren’t so angry, she would probably have ended the ruse right then and there. But the anger was still with her and she gave him a tight little smile instead.
“How does it feel, being pushed into the proverbial corner with no avenue for escape? Not very pleasant, is it?” she taunted. “It’s what you did to me, you bastard! And for what? Just so you could win a stupid wager?”
Someone knocked on the door, probably her mother. Or possibly Lord Cade objecting to their use of his study. Rafe just leaned his weight back against the closed door so it couldn’t be shoved open and growled, “In a moment!” The knocking stopped.
“I’m going to ask you to think this through.” He even managed a calm tone. “Marrying for the wrong reason, especially for spite, is going to be more detrimental than you’ve possibly realized. I know you’re capable of it. You refused to marry me before just to spite your father. Now you’ve turned that spite on me, but consider this. Vengeance is fleeting, but you’re talking about the rest of our lives, Phelia.”
“I don’t care!”
“You’re not going to even think about it?”
“The only thing I’ll be thinking about is how to make you suffer!”
“Very well, then I see no reason to wait.”
He didn’t give her a chance to ask what he meant. He grabbed her hand again and pulled her back to the dining room where he announced to the guests, “Ophelia and I have decided to speak our vows tonight. If any of you would like to come along to bear witness, you’ll be welcome.”
Chapter Forty-one
I T WAS THE KIND OF bad behavior Ophelia had indulged in when she was growing up—speaking words hastily, being too stubborn or too hurt to take them back before it was too late, and suffering the regret afterward that never went away. There was more than just regret this time, however. Much more.
She was married to Raphael Locke, Viscount Lynnfield, in the narrow foyer of a magistrate’s house, the special license his father had given him to use at his discretion making their marriage possible, with only Lady Cade and Mary Reid there to witness it. The rest of the Cade guests had been too shocked to come along, but Lady Cade had jumped at the chance. It would be the icing on the cake, the premier event of the Season, and she’d be able to tell it all, right down to the I do’s.
It certainly wasn’t how Ophelia had imagined her wedding. She’d fantasized many times walking down the aisle in a grand church, wearing a magnificent wedding gown, the seats filled with smiling ladies glad to see her exit the marriage mart, and frowning gentlemen, her many admirers bemoaning that they hadn’t won her. It was in fact quite tawdry, a rushed civil service, nothing grand about it. The magistrate’s mother was even snoring in the next room! Which was the reason why they weren’t invited into the parlor to speak their vows. If they were vows.
Maybe they were only promising to get married at a later date. She was so dazed that she couldn’t think coherently or focus for long on what was really being said. But if it was quite final, the only bright side to it that Ophelia could grasp to her bosom was that her father wasn’t there to gloat because he was getting exactly what he wanted.
Nervous and confused, Mary chatted nonstop about nothing pertinent to the situation while they drove Lady Cade back to her home. The newlyweds said not a word to each other, though as if they were on their way to some minor affair, they did join in the conversation, but strictly for Lady Cade’s benefit. At least Rafe did. Ophelia had to be nudged to contribute, just as she’d had to be prompted for each word during the ceremony. Somewhere in the mire of her shock she grasped that it was necessary for her to play along. Putting on a good show, as it were. When the news broke in the morning, Lady Cade would be able to say the ceremony had been rushed, yes, and certainly wasn’t suited to a duke’s son, but how romantic that the couple couldn’t wait. Such impatience!
Silence prevailed after they’d returned Lady Cade to her residence. But it was only a few short blocks to the Reid household. However, Rafe wasn’t just dropping Mary off there. He also ushered Ophelia out of his coach.
“Now you live with it,” he said tersely before he slammed the door and his coach drove away.
There was no snow or ice on the walkway, but Ophelia was frozen in place nonetheless. One shock after another, but this last one was too much. Having married her, why had Rafe returned her to her parents? Or were they married? She hadn’t really listened to anything the magistrate had said.
Mary put an arm around her waist as they both stood there watching the viscount’s coach disappear into the distance. “I don’t understand what just happened,” Mary said in her own confusion. “If your father hadn’t assured me you would be marrying that man, I never would have let him rush you off to that magistrate’s house. What could you have been thinking, Pheli, to agree to that?”
Agree? Had she? By goading Rafe into it and taking the credit for rumors she hadn’t started, yes, she supposed that could have been unspoken agreement. By promising him she’d take his bachelorhood away to make him suffer, yes, that too was an obvious sign of compliance. But she certainly hadn’t counted on such immediate results or this particular reaction from him. Actually, she hadn’t simply thought any further than trying to hurt him just as he’d hurt her.
“Am I really married, Mama?” she asked in a small voice, still staring in a daze down the empty street. “Or was that just a preliminary process of some sort that we needed to take care of before an actual wedding could take place? Like an official promise to get married that required witnesses and putting it in writing?”
“I’ve never heard of anything like that.” Mary frowned.
“Maybe only duke’s sons are required—?”
“Let’s get out of the cold.” Mary turned Ophelia toward the house. “And, no, there was nothing preliminary about what happened tonight. The only oddity was that you were married the same day the marriage was decided upon, but then I’m not surprised the Lockes would have a special license lying around for emergencies. You know, it’s the little things like that, the special privileges of the very highest echelon of society that have always annoyed your father so much, because he doesn’t have the connections to acquire the same.”
“Then he should have married into that echelon himself, instead of pushing me up the social ladder,” Ophelia mumbled to herself.
Mary heard her and smiled. “That was his intention, dear—until he fell in love with me.”
She gla
nced at her mother. She’d never actually heard that about her father before. He gave up his own aspirations for Mary? That would have been quite romantic of him—except he hadn’t really given them up, he’d just switched them to his daughter instead.
Mary sighed as they removed their wraps in the foyer. “So much for the grand wedding I’ve always dreamed of arranging for you. When it really sinks in, I’m going to be quite disappointed I’m sure.”
Guilt now for that, added to everything else Ophelia was feeling. But entertaining was Mary’s forte, her sole purpose, as it were, and the wedding for her only daughter could have been her crowning achievement. But not now. She’d had no part in it other than to be present.
“I’m sorry,” Ophelia said.
“Don’t be, dear. It certainly wasn’t your fault that your young man was so impatient. I could see it on your face, that you were as surprised as the rest of us. If anything, I blame the special license. If you have something like that sitting in your pocket, you’re tempted to use it.”
The guilt got worse, forcing the words out of Ophelia. “You have the wrong impression about what occurred, Mama. There was nothing romantic about it.”
Mary’s frown returned. “What are you saying?”
“You haven’t wondered yet why he left me here with you, instead of taking me home with him?”
“Well, of course I have. I did sense some anger from him, which he was trying admirably to hide. But I’m sure there’s a good reason.”
“Oh, there is, a very good reason. It’s because he didn’t want to marry me at all, any more than I wanted to marry him. My anger goaded him into it, though that wouldn’t have done it alone, not without the rumors circulating about us.”
All Mary heard and addressed was “You really didn’t want to marry him?”
“Well, I would have wanted to if Papa hadn’t been insisting on it, and if Rafe and I had found the right reasons to. We came close to finding them, but—it just wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”