“Charity!” Markham called. “Will you not reconsider? I dare say leaving now would be a mistake, for I had grand plans,” he declared.
She stopped and turned back just in time to see him approaching her.
“It has come to my attention that there are some dreadful things being said about you,” he said, his voice much louder than was necessary. “Another man might be put off by such gossip, but I know you. I adore you, and no gossip in the world would ever keep me from wanting to make you my wife! Now, what do you say? Shall we put all these rumors to rest by sharing a dance? To show all the world you are not a loose woman but engaged to a respectable man?”
Charity's ears rang. Hehaddone it. He had proposed once more, and in public no less.
He had done it so publicly that she had no chance of refusing him now. Not with all the stories he had planted all around the ballroom. If she didn’t agree, her chances of ever marrying anybody were as good as gone.
She would have to become Markham’s wife, or any chance of a life she had imagined would be over.
Her heart thundered as she thought of her mother; she would be so disappointed. Charity imagined her mother gossiping in every drawing room in London. And Eleanor? Her poor sister. She would start her first season next year with her sister’s tattered reputation hanging over her.
She couldn’t do this to her, could she? No. She had no choice. She would have to say yes.
She opened her mouth, though the inside felt as dry as though she had eaten sand. She cleared her throat to try to form words, but nothing came. Instead, only a croaking sound escaped. Then, out of nowhere, a hush and gasps swept through the crowd as a heavy footstep approached.
“I am sorry to say, Lord Markham, that Lady Charity will not be able to marry you because she is already married. To me.”
Charity turned to where the voice had come from and saw a tall, black-haired man with bright green eyes. He wasn’t dressed for a ball but rather for a casual evening spent in one’s drawing room. Though she had never seen him before in her life, there was a familiarity about him. Who was he? And why in the world had he proclaimed himself to be her husband?
She had no time to think about it because the man turned to her.
“Isn't that right, my beloved bride?” he said, extending his hand to her.
She stared at it, feeling her mouth drop open and her eyes widen, aware that she must look like a fish, gasping for water. But then she felt the sharp sensation of Millie’s fist, nudging her in the small of her back, jolting her out of her trance. Without realizing what was going on, she found herself speaking.
“Yes, that is right.”
The man stepped beside her.
“Now, if you will excuse me, my wife and I have other engagements to attend to,” the man said and proffered his arm. She stared at it, speechless for a moment, but then took it and allowed this stranger who’d declared himself her husband to escort her from the ballroom and into the night.
CHAPTER5
Eammon
Well, that was done, Eammon thought as he took her arm and escorted her out of the ballroom, accompanied by assorted “oohing” and “aahing.” When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Lord Markham standing there with his mouth agape and smiled.
I take great pleasure in besting this scoundrel.
The moment he’d found out about the truth and what was really at stake if Lady Charity were to marry this man, he had rushed here at once, aware of what he had to do. He could not allow Lady Charity to fall into the hands of a man like Markham. He was calculating and devious. And he would use Charity to gain power over his peers if he could access whatever secrets Lord Pembroke had kept.
If Pembroke had kept Eammon’s parents’ secret safe then who knew what other secrets were hidden in his inheritance. He sighed. He had to gain control over Pembroke’s affairs, over his papers, his books—anything that could hold the key to his secrets. And the only way to keep someone like Markham from getting to that key was to keep him from marrying Charity. To keep anyone from marrying Charity.
And to do that, he knew he would have to do it himself.
He hadn’t intended to get married—if at all, since he had never truly wasted much thought on such ideas—but here he was.
He glanced at his bride-to-be and was taken aback by her appearance. Her jaw was set, her chin pushed forward, and her eyes narrowed; a quiet fury radiated off her.
So, she is upset. I’ve ruffled her feathers.
He sighed. What a wonderful start to their married life. Of course, he hadn’t expected her to be delighted at his appearance. They did not know one another, after all. Yes, he’d met her when they were children and had often heard of her, but they hadn’t met as adults and hadn’t exchanged so much as a word in years.
In fact, he was shocked at how she had changed. He recalled her as a small child with wide eyes that were always somewhat startled and curious about all she encountered. Now those same eyes reflected—well, fury. That was the only word befitting their appearance.
Right. He had to talk to her, and now.
