As they stepped outside Stafford House, past a few late arrivals who would most certainly be upset at having missed the grand show, he stopped.
“Well, we should tell your mother the news. I hear she is eager for you to be wed, and this ought to do.”
“This ought to do?” she spat. “I beg your pardon, but I do not even know who you are? You wish to tell my mother we are wed? What...what is this? You cannot simply burst into the room and declare yourself my husband when we do not even know each other. The audacity.”
“You agreed we were wed, did you not?” he said, shrugging. For a moment, he’d wondered what he would do if she did not agree with his claim, but fortunately, the woman with her had quickly stepped in.
“I had to! What else was I to do? Refuse and be at the mercy of Lord Markham again? I know you know what he did, proposing to me as he did.”
“I know. That is why I claimed you as mine, to save you from him. This is all to protect you, Lady Charity,” he said earnestly.
“You still have not told me who you are? And where are we going?” she asked and looked around. Eammon hadn’t been sure where to take her after this, but he knew he had to speak with her privately so they could make arrangements. After all, they had to turn the lie into a reality swiftly.
“Excuse me, it was rude of me not to introduce myself properly. Eammon Hayward, Duke of Leith,” he said, bowing. She blinked and curtsied, and he smiled at the odd way they both clung to propriety in this rather peculiar situation.
“The Duke of Leith? You... your father and mine were friends. I remember him well. My father traveled south for his funeral not a year ago.”
He nodded. “He did indeed. It is because of our connection that I must ensure you are safe and protected—and a marriage to Lord Markham would not have accomplished that. So, I do hope that you will be agreeable to this arrangement, as we must move quickly. We must wed before anyone finds out about our deception.”
She raised a gloved hand. “Our deception? Surely you must mean yours. And marry you? I only just learned your name!”
“Well, you will have to. You just declared we are husband and wife. What do you think will happen if you suddenly go back on that declaration? You will be seen as a liar—and I am certain Lord Markham will take advantage of the matter and force a marriage. Do you want that?”
He looked at her, arms crossed, and saw her eyes widen and her nostrils flare. She was angry, no doubt about it.
However, this was what was best for her and him. He needed to protect both their futures. Heaven forbid Lord Markham should get his claws into her; they would all be ruined.
“So I am to submit without question, without protest?” she demanded as he walked down the pavement with her in hot pursuit.
“Unless you would rather be Viscountess Markham, for that is what you will be once Markham has a chance to talk to your mother about what has happened. Or you could be Duchess of Leith—which everyone thinks you already are by now,” he said. As he spoke, his head pounded at an ever-increasing pace. There was so much to arrange. He had to find a way for them to marry quickly. He had to inform his family, find a witness, and make sure they were believed.
He paused. Was it worth it? Were his secrets worth all of this? Then he shook his head. Of course, they were worth it. His entire life depended on getting control of Charity's inheritance and with it, access to her father's secrets—and his own.
“You told everyone we are already married,” she argued. “Even if I agree to this, how would we explain that we are not?”
He rubbed his lips together. He should have said they were betrothed. That might have been enough, but in the heat of the moment, he hadn’t thought of it.
“We will wed tomorrow. I can make it so the papers say we were already wed days ago,” he said hastily. Thanks to his father's and uncle’s influence and the power he himself had built as his father's right-hand man, he could make things happen. He knew people who could forge documents, even official ones, but these things took time—and time was one luxury they did not have.
“Lady Charity,” a man's voice boomed behind them, and they both turned at once.
“Ah, jolly good,” Eammon groaned as he recognized Lord Markham. He hated not being able to properly think through a plan before being confronted. Not that he could not; he was always what Uncle Harry called quick on his feet. He just preferred not to, especially when an elaborate tale was involved. Alas, it could not be changed.
Swiftly, he stepped to Charity's side, grabbing her by the arm. “If you do not wish to end up this man's bride, you will follow my lead now.”
He let go and stepped forward to where Lord Markham had just stopped under a streetlight. The soft hum of the light was the only sound for a little while before Eammon cleared his throat.
“You bellowed? How, pray, may we assist?” Eammon asked, using the tone Thomas always called “condescending.”
“I did not call you, Leith,” he hissed. In the lamplight, his spittle was visible, and he stepped back to avoid it, not wanting to get any on his jacket. “I called after Lady Charity.”
“I am afraid she is no longer Lady Charity, but Her Grace, the Duchess of Leith. If you have something to discuss with her, then I shall be present. I am her husband after all.”
Markham's right eye twitched.
“That is precisely why I followed you. I do not believe there is any such marriage. Lady Pembroke mentioned nothing of the sort when I discussed my proposal,” he said with an air of arrogance, as though he had caught them out. “She was very much in favor of my proposing to Lady Charity. I do not know what games you play, Leith, but I will not stand for it. Charity is to be my bride.”
Eammon inhaled sharply through his nose. Why had he acted so hastily? He should have planned this better, for now he found himself caught out.
