A Debt Paid (Clean and Wholesome Regency Romance): Dorothy (The Stainton Sisters Book 2)

Chapter 8

Uncle Cyril’smood grew increasingly foul and short-tempered over the next week. Oddly enough, during that same period, Aunt Mary’s smiles grew so wide that at times, she seemed almost giddy, simmering with secret delight. In fact, it was becoming quite normal to see her chuckling to herself, her grin widening when she caught sight of Dorothy. All of which made Dorothy’s back go rigid whenever she looked up to see her aunt studying her with a smile of satisfaction dimpling her face.

Her aunt’s behavior seemed almost ominous when Dorothy paused to consider it.

Restless, she contemplated the irritating possibility that she may have completely misunderstood the conversation she’d overheard between Lord Arundell and her aunt. Maybe her aunt had found a way of separating Dorothy from her supposed inheritance. She might even have paid her debt to Arundell already, confident that Dorothy would never know the difference.

Throwing aside her mending, which currently looked more like something she’d practiced on when she was six, Dorothy went in search of Cecilia. Perhaps a walk would let her clear her mind, although she had no confidence that her cousin would agree to accompany her.

For the last three days, Cecilia had obstinately refused to go out. Chin held high, she declared she had no wish to meet Lord Arundell in Hyde Park again. Nonetheless, sufficient time had passed since their last accidental sighting of Lord Arundell to encourage Dorothy to think that Cecilia might be bored enough to risk a walk.

Dorothy sighed as she folded her sewing and placed it in her work basket. Anything to get out of the townhouse and stop worrying about the plotting and planning of Aunt Mary and Uncle Cyril.

After searching the ground floor and then the formal drawing room on the first floor, she finally discovered Cecilia huddled in an armchair in the small morning room at the back of the townhouse. The delicately furnished room, with pink, blue, and lavender patterned silk wall coverings and chairs upholstered with deep rose moiré, was clearly meant for the pleasure of the ladies of the house. Sadly, the room was rarely used by anyone and had a bleak, forgotten air. The lovely furnishings couldn’t make up for the lack of light from the sole window and as a result, a gray pall wrapped around everything. The furnishings seemed dusty and dingy, even though a close examination showed that they were relatively new and regularly dusted by the maid.

“Cousin Cecilia,” Dorothy said, weaving her way through an awkward grouping of chairs. She paused when she saw her cousin’s swollen eyes and red-tipped nose. “Is something the matter?”

“I told Papa I simply will not do it. Mama agrees with me, too!” The words burst from Cecilia in a rush.

“Then there is nothing to cry about, is there?”

Cecilia sniffed and stared at her. “Nothing to cry about? Nothing? You do not know Papa if you think that. He can be cruel when he wishes! He will get his way—you will see.”

Her lips twitched at her cousin’s exaggerated manner, but Dorothy managed not to laugh. “Your father is not cruel. I am sure he only wants what is best for you.”

“He is a cruel beast! He insists that I marry Lord Arundell, even though I have told him I do not wish to do so.” She crossed her arms and hugged herself, a petulant expression on her face. “I heard father say that no one would persecute their own father-in-law, but I don’t care if he is persecuted. I feel persecuted—so why shouldn’t he? Though why my father should fear that the earl would do such a thing is beyond my comprehension.”

Persecute? Uncle Cyril must have discovered that his wife had been gambling again and feared the earl would bother him until he paid what she owed to him. Perhaps the earl had mentioned it to him, believing that Aunt Mary would never repay her debt if her husband didn’t know about it.

Fortunately—at least for the Polkinghornes—gambling losses were only debts of honor, not legal debts. That meant that while Society might frown on or even ostracize the Polkinghornes if they failed to repay such a debt of honor, the earl could not take them to court over the matter. Arundell really had no legal recourse, at all. He had to trust the Polkinghornes to act honorably.

But then again, Dorothy could understand her uncle’s somewhat odd statement. If the earl married Cecilia, there would be no question of him annoying her uncle or persecuting him in order to be repaid. Cecilia would bring five thousand with her, and the debt could be crossed off. And for the Polkinghornes, well, no one would be ostracized for ignoring a debt of honor, and they would gain the advantages of a familial connection to an earl.

That actually made more sense than what Dorothy thought she’d heard Aunt Mary say. There was no reason for the Polkinghornes to want Dorothy to marry the earl. They would gain nothing except a distant connection to Arundell, when they could have all the advantages of a much closer one.

A small stabbing pain pierced Dorothy as the picture of Cecilia marrying the earl arose.

Why should she care? Nonetheless, she pressed her hand over her stomach with a sense of irritation.

Her chin rose. “I fail to see why you dislike him so, Cecilia. He is very handsome and seems extremely personable. And he is an earl. I should think you would look upon the match with favor.”

“Personable? To you, perhaps. I find him excessively sarcastic and cynical—not at all agreeable. A kinder man would be far less critical and easier to manage.”

Dorothy sighed. The idea of marrying a man so weak that he required daily management did not appeal to her in the least. She didn’t want to spend her life with someone who was afraid to express his own opinion or disagree with her.

“Have you met someone you prefer?”

Cecilia flushed and fixed her gaze upon her lap. Her fingers repeatedly crumpled and then smoothed her handkerchief over her knee. “No,” she finally admitted. “Not yet. I am not out yet, as you recall. I have not had time to find anyone.”

“Not being out didn’t prevent my sister from attracting the attention of a very fine young man,” Dorothy replied, thinking of Martha.

“Oh, your sister.” She waved a hand through the air and sniffed. “I am sure she has attracted any number of young men. Even my brother is infatuated with her.”

“Cecilia!” Dorothy bit her lip to keep from saying something in defense of her youngest sister that she might later regret. “I wasn’t speaking of Grace—I meant Martha.” Returning to their initial topic, Dorothy asked, “Have you received a formal proposal, then?”

Cecilia shook her head. “Not yet. But I expect one any day. Perhaps this afternoon. Mama mentioned that she was expecting Lord Arundell to call later today.” She hiccupped, swallowing back a sob.

“I see. Is that why you are so worried?”

“Yes. My fate will be sealed today! Even though Mama promised she would not sacrifice my happiness in such a way, I am sure his title will weigh more with her than my fears. It certainly does to Papa!” Tears dripped over her cheeks. She sniffed again and blew her nose on her handkerchief.

Despite her sternest self-control, Dorothy’s gaze flashed skyward. “Let us take a walk, then. It will take your mind off matters.” She smiled. “And if we go now, we may very well be gone when Lord Arundell arrives, so you won’t have to face him.”

Rubbing her red nose and blinking, Cecilia looked at her. Hope glowed in her red-rimmed eyes. “I shall get my shawl immediately.” She jumped to her feet. “Don’t leave without me. Please!”

“I will wait in the entryway, then,” Dorothy replied with a laugh.

Sadly, their timing was somewhat off. No sooner had Dorothy arrived in the hallway then a loud knock sounded from the front door. The maid, Elsa, hurried past her. She paused in front of the door to wipe her hands on her dingy apron and flick a glance at Dorothy.

Dorothy nodded.

Elsa swung the door open, curtseyed, and glanced over her shoulder at Dorothy again. “It’s Lord Arundell, Miss Stainton.”

Dorothy smiled encouragingly. Elsa continued to stare at her, her mouth hanging open.

“Please let him in, Elsa,” Dorothy said at last, when it appeared the maid wasn’t going to do anything without being explicitly told to do it.

Elsa didn’t move.

“Now would be an excellent time.”

“Very good, miss.” She bobbed another curtsey and pulled the door further open, standing to one side. “Please enter, Lord Arundell.”

“Thank you.” Lord Arundell walked inside. He removed his hat and handed it to the maid.

His hat clutched in her red hands, Elsa peered at Dorothy.

“Place it on the table, Elsa. That will do nicely,” Dorothy suggested, wincing as Elsa’s fingers crushed the brim.

The maid did as she was told, glanced once more at Lord Arundell, gazed at Dorothy, and then, as if fearful of being asked to perform any additional difficult tasks, she skittered away down the hallway.

Dorothy smiled as she caught Lord Arundell’s amused gaze. “I apologize, my lord. Elsa is very busy these days.”

The excuse was actually quite accurate. Her uncle still had not hired a butler, and the lack of either a butler or footman grew more noticeable each day. Mrs. Jolly simply refused to go anywhere near the front door any more in a subtle attempt to force her employers to hire the required servant. So far, her strategy had failed to gain the desired effect.

Stepping to one side, Dorothy gestured to the sweeping staircase. “Do you wish to visit my aunt? I believe she is in the drawing room on the first floor.”

A clattering footstep sounded from the staircase.

Cecilia stood on the first floor landing, looking like a pale ghost hovering in the grainy gray light. When she caught Dorothy’s gaze, she turned and fled into the shadows. Her footsteps grew fainter as she raced upstairs, presumably back to her bedchamber on the second floor.

Lord Arundell’s brows rose. He cleared his throat.

“I was just going to speak to Aunt Mary,” Dorothy said, draping her light shawl through the crook of her left arm and pretending Cecilia had never appeared. “Would you care to join us?”

“You appear to be about to go for a walk,” he commented as he followed her to the staircase.

She laughed. “I’m unforgivably fickle, I’m afraid. I changed my mind in the two minutes it took me to come down the stairs. I was just going to hand Elsa my shawl when you knocked.”

His lopsided smile indicated that he saw right through her flimsy lie, but in opposition to Cecilia’s unfair assessment, he was kind enough to make no acerbic comment.

When they reached the drawing room, Dorothy was disconcerted to find that her aunt was not alone. Aunt Mary was industriously working on her sewing near the window, but right next to her sat Uncle Cyril, reading a book.

Uncle Cyril glanced up when Dorothy ushered Lord Arundell through the doorway. He frowned and shut his book. His frown deepened as he turned to stare at his wife.

As if sensing his gaze, Aunt Mary looked at him and then at the door.

“Dorothy! Oh, is that Lord Arundell?” Aunt Mary stood, placing her sewing on the small oval table next to her chair. “Do come in and sit, my lord! It is such a pleasure to see you. Dorothy, ring for Elsa to bring us some tea—there’s a good girl.”

Dorothy did as requested. After Elsa went to fetch the tea, Dorothy hesitated near the door, unsure if she should stay or leave.

Her aunt settled the matter, however, with alarming firmness. She ordered Dorothy to drag yet another chair over to the group by the window and sit down. With the flash of his familiar lopsided grin, Lord Arundell rose and stepped between Dorothy and the chair. He picked it up and positioned it near his own before gesturing for Dorothy to sit.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She was just seating herself when she caught her uncle’s frown. She gripped the arms of the chair, nearly standing again.

Black brows lowered, Uncle Cyril’s mouth thinned. His hands squeezed his book more tightly. His mouth opened and then shut, his jaw muscles bulging. Clearly, he would have preferred for her to leave, but he remained silent—even if it was a silence simmering with irritation.

Dorothy glanced at her aunt, fearing she might change her mind in view of her husband’s disapproval.

Aunt Mary smiled back at her and nodded. “This is excellent! I am so pleased that we have both of you here.” Aunt Mary’s bright eyes flickered from Dorothy to Lord Arundell. “So exciting!” She leaned forward to touch the arm of Dorothy’s chair.

“Mary!” Uncle Cyril said in a low voice portentous with warning. He scowled at his wife.

Aunt Mary ignored him. “Lord Arundell is doing our family such a great honor, Dorothy, and he has such an important question to ask you.” She sat back abruptly and covered her mouth with her hand in a dramatic gesture. Her eyes widened. “Oh, dear.” Laughing, she shook her head. “I could never keep a secret—I am so sorry, dearest Dorothy—I meant for Lord Arundell to tell you, himself. Or rather, ask you.”

Dorothy glanced from her aunt to Lord Arundell, her icy hands stiff in her lap.

Waves of frustration and anger rolled off of her uncle, though he remained silent. He glowered at his wife, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his book.

“May I tell her, Lord Arundell?” Aunt Mary clasped her hands in an exaggeratedly imploring gesture.

“I wish you would,” he replied in a dry voice.

Aunt Mary flashed a triumphant smile at her husband before leaning forward again. She grabbed the arm of Dorothy’s chair. “Lord Arundell has requested your hand in marriage, Dorothy! Say yes—oh, do, say yes!”

Numbness settled over Dorothy. Her thoughts scattered like elusive mice in a field. She didn’t know how she felt, despite knowing that this question might be coming. Or fearing that she might be asked.

“Dorothy, it is quite unnecessary to answer now, if you would rather not,” Uncle Cyril announced. Flicking a grim look at his wife, he added, “And we shall all quite understand if you wish to decline. No one would blame you—no one at all.”

She glanced at him, surprised and touched by his support. “No—yes,” she whispered at last, startled at her own response. At least Cecilia would be relieved. And there would be no question of Grace sacrificing herself, instead. Or Cecilia, for that matter. It was the right thing to do. Her heart pounded. In a firmer voice, she repeated, “Yes, I would be honored, my lord.”

Uncle Cyril stood up abruptly, surprising them all. He slammed his book down on top of Aunt Mary’s sewing. “I had not expected such a poor—that is, such an answer. Well, the matter is settled then. I trust it will be to everyone’s satisfaction.” He made the statement sound as if satisfaction was the last thing everyone would eventually feel. Clearly, his wife had outmaneuvered him in the selection of Lord Arundell’s bride. His compressed mouth and wrinkled brow revealed his bitterness over his defeat all too clearly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other matters to which I must attend.”

Glowing with a broad smile, Aunt Mary nodded. “Of course, my dear. I am sure we can do without you for an hour or so. Is that not so, my lord?” When her husband had gone, she settled back in her chair. “You will want a quick, private wedding, of course, my lord. Our dear Miss Stainton is in mourning—she so recently lost her father, after all. But despite her grief, I am sure that being settled will be a marvelous relief for her. Her future is assured, now, and there is nothing more to worry over.” She leaned over and patted Dorothy’s arm. “Is there, my dear?”

“Is there not?” One of Lord Arundell’s dark brows rose. He exchanged glances with Dorothy and gave her an imperceptible shrug.

“Of course not. Although she has been extraordinarily brave, I am sure she must admit that it is never the best of circumstances when one is dependent upon the goodwill of others—even if those others are family. Is that not so, Dorothy?” Aunt Mary asked with a complacent smile.

“I suppose so,” Dorothy replied, feeling ill. A quick wedding? How quick? I barely know him!

Her heart thudded against her ribs. Doubts swirled around her now that she’d given her answer. What had she done? What if Cecilia’s fears were not entirely groundless?

After all, what did she really know of him?

“Not that we wish to lose you so soon, Dorothy. However, I’m persuaded that you understand our situation quite well. Three girls on the threshold of coming out…” Aunt Mary heaved a sigh. “It would be excessively awkward to almost double that number to five. And you shall be of such great assistance to your cousins as Lady Arundell.”

Great assistance? Arundell would believe they were all dreadful social climbers if Aunt Mary didn’t stop! Dorothy’s gaze caught Lord Arundell’s cynical glance. She winced.

He looked away, his face unreadable as he stood.

Both ladies leapt to their feet.

“I noticed when I arrived that Miss Stainton was preparing to go for a walk. Perhaps she would allow me to escort her?” Lord Arundell asked, just as if he’d sensed her need to escape from her aunt’s triumphant glance.

Or perhaps he truly was cruel as Cecilia feared and after sensing Dorothy’s nervousness, decided to enjoy her discomfort.

“Of course—you are betrothed, after all,” Aunt Mary gushed. Then with a giggle she said, “Though we must still observe the proprieties, of course. Take Elsa with you. Or Cecilia. Or any of the girls, for that matter.” She waved a hand. “You have so much to discuss, after all.”

“Thank you.” Dorothy moved toward the door on numb limbs, her mind whirling like an autumn leaf on the wind. Why couldn’t she think? She simply couldn’t seem to bring order to her thoughts, especially when the knot tightening her stomach warned of approaching disaster.

Polite habit saved her from making a fool of herself, however. Murmuring her thanks, she accepted her bonnet, gloves, and a light shawl from Elsa. She moved without clear thought and didn’t resist when Lord Arundell took her arm and led her down the front steps.

His forearm felt like a bar of iron beneath her hand. Her stomach fluttered, and she had a moment of panic as she stumbled through a few of his polite questions. If she were asked what words she had uttered after she spoke, she couldn’t have answered.

She hoped he wouldn’t conclude that she was nothing short of an idiot.

She couldn’t stop worrying, however. Why the rush to marry? Why did he agree to Aunt Mary’s suggestion? Was he really so desperate for his five thousand pounds and the possibility of an heir? Was it true that part of his inheritance depended upon his begetting a son? Had what she’d overheard been true, after all?

Suddenly, Cecilia’s fears seemed real enough to make Dorothy’s double in a flood of heart-pounding horror. Her fingers felt icy despite her gloves. Perhaps Lord Arundell truly did murder his older brother to gain the title and now needed the money to go with it. If so, what could she reasonably expect from him?

Many wives simply disappeared into the depths of the country, never to be seen again. And if she vanished, who would protest? Grace and Martha might be concerned, but after all, what could they do but write a few letters? Eventually, they would assume that she was angry at them for some obscure reason and give up.

She flicked a sideways glance at him from under the brim of her bonnet. Her pace slowed. His free hand pressed her fingers more firmly into the crook of his arm, as if aware of her sudden impulse to run back to the Polkinghorne townhouse and amused by it. He might be undeniably handsome, but could she trust him? There were many handsome scoundrels. A square chin might be described as a hard, stubborn one under the right circumstances. A charming exterior could hide the devil’s own temper. Cecilia had commented more than once that he was a difficult man who seemed impatient with fools.

But everyone played the fool at one time or another, and Dorothy was no exception. Sooner or later, that steel core that even she had sensed in him would reveal itself. Perhaps that is what had happened to his brother. The previous Lord Arundell might have angered his brother and paid the price.

“You are very quiet, Miss Stainton,” Lord Arundell remarked as they waited at a corner for a curricle, driven by a weedy, weak-chinned young man, to rattle past them.

“I am sorry, my lord. I am distracted…”

His arm tightened momentarily before he stepped off the curb and guided her into the busy street. “No doubt. The offer of marriage must have seemed sudden.”

“Extremely sudden,” she agreed as she lifted her skirts to step up to the crowded walkway.

The passersby buffeted them. Speaking loudly to be heard, fashionable ladies and gentlemen negotiated the street, many of them appearing to be heading in the same direction as Dorothy and Lord Arundell. The hour for promenading in Hyde Park—to see and be seen by the bon ton—was fast approaching. Dorothy’s back ached with tension. Noise echoed from every corner. Snatches of conversation, laughter, hawkers selling their wares, and the clatter of horses and carriages bounced off the brick buildings and increased in volume until her ears rang.

She couldn’t think for the cacophony. She desperately wanted to be alone to consider—surely it was not too late to say no. If it were a simple matter of the five thousand pounds Aunt Mary owed to Lord Arundell, well, then he could have her portion and be done with it. She’d never expected to inherit anything, and in fact, didn’t know if she truly was going to inherit anything. Her uncle had not said a word about it.

This entire plan might be one of Aunt Mary’s schemes to get out of her debt of honor.

“Miss Stainton, are you quite well?” Lord Arundell asked as they strolled into the park. “Or did you find my comments too impertinent to deserve a reply?”

When she glanced up, amusement glittered in his brown eyes. “Comments?” she asked before she realized it revealed that she had not been listening to him.

“You seem distracted.” He guided her to a bench, whisked his handkerchief over the wooden seat, and gestured for her to sit down. “If you wish to share your concerns, I am happy to listen.” His mouth twitched. “Though I cannot promise you that my replies will be helpful ones.”

She sat down gratefully, gripping the ends of her shawl between her hands. The soft fabric tightened over her shoulders like a warm embrace, returning a small measure of confidence to her.

“I—well, this was rather sudden, my lord,” she said, flicking a quick look at him as he sat down beside her.

“You must wonder why, when we hardly know one another.”

“It does seem… odd. Although one knows, of course, that an earl has a duty to marry, after all.”

“Yes. After all.” The words, although spoken mildly, sounded bitter.

“You must have been here for the Season. Surely, there were other women more appropriate…?” Her question dropped off into a vague mutter as she tried to find a delicate way to state her doubts.

“You do not believe we will suit?” he asked abruptly, slicing through her concerns to the heart of the matter.

“I—I do not know, my lord.”

“You seem sensible enough. I thought we should deal admirably together.”

Sensible?That was hardly flattering. Did he even find her attractive? A wistful longing for a compliment, no matter how small, that wasn’t also applicable to a pair of shoes stole over her before she could control it.

This was a business arrangement for him, after all. The repayment of a debt, not a love match. Still, a little affection would have been nice.

Her chin rose. “I had not previously considered marriage as a mere business contract, my lord. Time might allow me to accustom myself to the notion.” She eyed him, her hands tightening around the ends of her shawl. Then in a sudden burst of ingenuity, she said, “My aunt’s decision for us to wed quietly and quickly may expose the arrangement to gossip about the necessity for such rapid nuptials. Surely, that argues for at least a small delay. Such chatter may not concern you, but I am not as sanguine about the possible loss of my good reputation, and there is my younger sister to consider. I would not have her exposed to ridicule or disdain when she comes out.”

She glanced up at him. Her stomach twisted.

A lack of expression, except possibly a faint look of boredom, covered Lord Arundell’s face. His gaze rested on the path ahead of them. If her words concerned him, he gave no sign of it. She stood up abruptly, anticipating that he might wish to leave. The toe of her shoe caught in her hem, but he reached up and kept her from falling. Thankfully, there was no accompanying sound of fabric ripping, but her cheeks felt heated as she resumed her seat next to him.

“Given your reasoning, I am curious as to why you accepted my proposal at all,” he said at last in a tired drawl. He flicked a glance at her, one brow rising. “Unless you are fascinated by the notion of becoming Lady Arundell. You had not struck me as one of those debutantes set on obtaining a title at any cost.”

Flushing more deeply, she clenched her jaw and remained silent until the surge of anger inside her subsided. “If you will remember, Lord Arundell, I have not been presented to Society, yet. I am therefore no debutante, nor am I interested in your title.”

“Is it my title in particular that fails to excite you, or any title at all?”

She looked up at him sharply, but his gaze remained fixed on the path ahead. “Any title at all.”

“Well, that is too bad, then, since I cannot simply return the honor to our monarch without insulting him.”

“Cannot, or will not?”

His mouth twitched. “Whichever you prefer, Miss Stainton. The results are the same.”

“Is that intended to convey to me that you will allow no delay, either?”

“I do not see how a delay will help either of us.” The tired note returned to his voice.

“A delay may not help your reputation, but I am sure it will do much to sustain mine.”

“My reputation?” His silky tone did nothing to disguise the steely edge in his question.

She tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a strangled, breathless noise. “Yes, well, Cousin Cecilia—” She stopped speaking in horror, pressing a hand over her mouth.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t halted soon enough. An ominous silence settled around them, although the earl continued to gaze forward, his polite mask once more turning his features to stone.

“That is…” Her words stumbled over themselves. She pressed her lips together. Anything she said would only make matters worse. She took a deep breath.

“That is… What? What has your dear cousin Cecilia been saying?”

“Nothing.” She choked out a laugh. “What could she say?”

“What, indeed?”

“Well, surely, you know…” She flicked a quick glance at him.

Oh, why had she come on this walk with him? She would have been much better off going directly to her room to think. She stood and took a step toward the Serpentine path, forcing him to stand, as well.

“Do I? Strangely enough, I find myself at a loss. Why don’t you enlighten me, Miss Stainton?” Sarcasm rippled through his words.

He knew—he had to know. He was being deliberately provocative and obtuse simply to put her at a disadvantage. Well, if he wanted to anger her, then who was she to deny him that pleasure?

“There appears to be some mystery about the death of your brother and his wife, my lord. And a little girl is presumed dead, as well. Your niece. As I am sure you are aware.” Her chin rose, and she fixed a smile on her face, even though it felt stiff and unnatural. Although the muscles in his arm turned to rock under her fingers, she didn’t remove her hand.

“Am I correct in assuming that there is a rumor that I murdered my own brother? And even had the cruelty to throw my niece into the Thames?”

“Yes. As you well know.”

Another deep silence greeted her words.

Had she gone too far? She looked at him. His jawline was hard, but he maintained their pace, even nodding and smiling politely to a few acquaintances who waved as they walked along the path branching away from their own, which ran nearer to the Serpentine. The air felt warm, and she fancied she could even smell moisture from the river on the faint breeze. A confusion of small details rushed through her mind as she tried to control her breathing and relax her tight shoulders.

“You believe I am a murderer, yet still wish to marry me?”

“Would you rather I let my cousin, or even my younger sister, sacrifice herself?” she retorted quickly.

“Sacrifice herself…” he murmured.

With a quick glance around, he pulled her into the shade of a nearby tree. Before she could protest, he pressed a hard kiss against her mouth. Startled, she grasped his lapel and leaned against him, surprised by a surge of longing that swept over her. She wanted to feel him wrap his arms around her and hold her closer. His lips were warm against hers and lingered softly before he pulled away. He stared down at her, a question in his brown eyes. Then he drew himself up stiffly and stepped back.

Flushing, she glanced around, relieved that no one was staring at them or even seemed to notice.

Looking bemused, Lord Arundell guided her back to the path and quickened their pace. “Sacrifice, indeed,” he said.

“Well, it would have been,” she replied, saying the first words that stumbled into her mouth. Her lips still felt his touch and the scent of his skin lingered, making her want to reach up and press another kiss against his neck, breathing his scent deeply while his strong arms cradled her against his chest.

His face hardened, however. Their moment of accord over. “I am obliged to you, then, for your willingness to sacrifice yourself in their stead. How kind of you. Unfortunately, under such awkward circumstances, I feel I must offer you the opportunity to back out of our agreement—”

“Back out?” Her voice rose. Back out? How could she possibly say no, now? Aunt Mary would be furious, and Dorothy refused to be one of those indecisive, undependable women. They hadn’t even bothered to find Elsa or Cecilia before they left the house. They were unchaperoned and had been seen in public.

No. Besides, she’d never been incapable of making a decision in her life and would not start now. Unless he were regretting his offer, already. The thought was so demoralizing that she stumbled again, even though the path was perfectly smooth beneath her feet.

“Do you wish me to back out?” she asked.

“I wish you to suit yourself.”

“That is not in the least bit helpful, my lord. Nonetheless, I already made my decision and gave you my word. My aunt and uncle are relying on me. It is not only men who believe in honoring their agreements, my lord. If it is you who wishes to rescind his offer, then do so and be done with it.”

“Since you do not object to marrying a murderer, then I do not see how I can be so ungentlemanly as to rescind the offer. Very well, Miss Stainton. You’ve had your chance to escape and shall not get another. Like you, once I make up my mind, I move forward. We shall be married in two weeks. I trust that will satisfy you?”

She could hardly refuse now. She nodded. “Yes. Two weeks. I shall be delighted.”

“I suspect you will be anything but delighted. Nonetheless, as long as you are ready at the appointed time, that shall suffice.”