Bound by Duty

Lorene had been so wrong about the reclusive earl. He was not reasonable. Nor benevolent. He went back on promises and wielded his power in the cruellest possible way. He had better not treat Lorene with cruelty or Tess would—

What could she do?

Nothing.

‘You were supposed to marry happily,’ Lorene went on. ‘Now what was the use of my—my—’ She could not say the words, but Tess knew—they all knew—what she meant.

They reached the hall. The arsenal of swords and pikes and other weapons hung on the wall surrounding the door seemed like a harbinger of pain and destruction.

She turned to Lorene. ‘I will do very well, Lorene. I will be a viscountess some day. How grand will that be?’

‘You will become like Mama,’ Lorene rasped through her tears. ‘You will be unhappy.’

She hugged Lorene. ‘Do not concern yourself about me.’

Lorene held on to her. ‘I meant something so different for you. A London Season. A chance to meet many fine young men, a chance to find your own true love.’

‘I will still be there for the Season, will I not?’ She pasted on a smile. ‘Genna will have more fine young men to fall in love with her this way.’

‘Do not look to me.’ Genna wiped her eyes. ‘I wanted nothing to do with this.’ She turned to Lorene. ‘This is your fault, you know. None of this would have happened if you had not married, Lorene.’

‘I did it for you.’ Lorene burst into tears. ‘For both of you.’

‘Stop. Stop.’ Tess could not bear this. ‘We must not fight and, for heaven’s sake, do not cry. I will be fine. Mr Glenville is not a bad man. He rescued me, did he not? His proposal of marriage was honourable, was it not? I will do very well, I am sure.’

She hoped she convinced them, because she was having a great deal of difficulty convincing herself that all would be well.

The huge front door opened and a footman stepped in. ‘The carriage is awaiting you, miss.’

Tess’s heart jumped into her throat. ‘I must leave.’

Her sisters followed her outside.

Tess looked past the carriage to the man on horseback—Mr Glenville astride his horse. Apollo.

‘Is that him?’ Genna asked.

His face was shaded by his hat and he sat stiffly in his saddle. What had Lord Tinmore threatened him with to make him offer to marry a woman he did not even know?

‘Yes, that is Mr Glenville,’ she responded.

Genna sniffed. ‘Well, at least he is not fat.’

Nor ugly, Tess thought. On the contrary, he was handsome and tall and strong, and when his blue eyes fixed on her, something stirred deep inside her.

But he did not love her. How could he?

He had already selected his intended bride, a woman who could be an advantage to him, a woman who had the one thing Tess could never give him—a family reputation free from scandal.

He nodded to her and her cheeks burned. She hugged her sisters one last time before allowing the footman to assist her into the coach.

* * *

Marc followed the carriage, his mood nothing but dark. Anger seethed inside him. Anger at Lord Tinmore. Anger at Miss Summerfield’s sister for marrying such a man.

Anger at himself for not waking before dawn and making certain he and Miss Summerfield were not discovered. Even more, he should have known better than to share her bed, even if he’d done nothing but warm her.

He’d waited as long as he could in the morning room where he’d been served his food, but she had not come. Eventually an elderly butler arrived and insisted he leave.

Not that it would have made any difference, although he might have reassured her in some way.

Damned Tinmore. If the man had stated that he believed them, the scandal would have faded quickly. Instead he’d been unnecessarily cruel. Miss Summerfield did not deserve cruelty. All she’d done was walk to the village to shop. Good God. Shopping was his mother’s primary entertainment. How could any woman be faulted for wanting to visit shops? Miss Summerfield had also misjudged the weather. Well, so had he.

They reached Yardney, the village Miss Summerfield had tried to reach in the storm, the village where she had purchased her ribbons. From his seat on Apollo’s back, he could see her face peeking out of the carriage window, looking desolate.

Fate was a cruel jokester.

If she had shopped an hour longer or an hour less, maybe even minutes more or minutes less, she would not have been on the road during the storm and she would be free.

Instead she was trapped into marrying him.

* * *

At least the coachman kept up a good speed, considering the roads were not yet dry. This trip would take them at least three days. Apollo was accustomed to hard rides.

The carriage changed horses when necessary and Marc made certain they did not resume the journey until Apollo had rested. When they reached a coaching inn in Bourne, it was past noon and time they stopped long enough to eat a meal.

It would be his first chance to speak to her.

He handed over care of Apollo to one of the stable boys and walked over to help her from the coach.

‘Thank you,’ she said. She looked tense and fatigued.

‘Miss Summerfield, will you dine with me?’ he asked.

She nodded.

A maid who’d seen the better part of her forties had accompanied her in the coach. The woman scowled and sniffed impatiently. ‘Will you be needing my services, miss?’ She spoke in an overly solicitous and distinctly unpleasant manner.

‘No, Ivers,’ Miss Summerfield replied in a tight voice. ‘Please have a pleasant repast. Do—do you need any money?’

Did Miss Summerfield have any money? Marc wondered. Had Lord Tinmore cut her off that completely?

The maid lifted her nose. ‘His lordship provided for me.’ The woman marched away.

Miss Summerfield blew out a breath.

‘Well, she is certainly unpleasant,’ Marc said.

Miss Summerfield sighed. ‘That is couching it in the mildest terms.’

Marc did not offer his arm, because he did not think she would wish to take it, but she walked next to him into the inn. The public room was not crowded.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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