Chapter Four
Hope swooped wildly in Grace’s chest. Did he really mean what she thought he meant?
Was he truly considering agreeing to her proposal?
It was true, he did not know her and she did not know him.
When she had seen him at first, she had thought he was yet another of the men her father bullied into doing as he wanted.
But she soon realized he wasn’t afraid of the earl, and there were not many people who weren’t afraid of her father.
But did that mean she could trust him?
There had been intelligence in his blue eyes as he spoke to her, a quiet confidence that made her think he was well able to hold his own in most situations.
He was handsome too, his auburn hair tied back with a black ribbon rather than cropped in the latest fashion, and despite his outlandish costume, he stood in the middle of the room as if he expected to be listened to.
Grace had heard about his brother Callum, the Marquess of Morvern—the gossip had been rife.
How he had married the woman hired to teach him the rules and manners of polite society despite her unsuitability.
But as for Rory MacKenzie . . . she wasn’t sure he would need lessons in manners.
And even if he did, she suspected he simply did not care a jot what other people thought of him.
Which made him perfect for her purposes.
When Grace had confessed her whole sorry tale to him, he had not seemed worried in the least. Although it had not been the whole story, she had left some of it out, but she had told him enough so that if he had felt a disgust for her then she would have seen it. He hadn’t.
Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined asking someone to marry her. The begging note in her voice had made her want to cringe. She had always been so proud. No matter how often her father’s words and actions wounded her, she had tried very hard not to show she cared.
If only she had not fallen under the spell of Bolton Buckingham, she might have been able to survive in a household that, even before her mother had died, had never felt like home.
Instead she had convinced herself that Bolton was her salvation and participated in her own ruination.
Bolton had lied to her and used her and then run away.
Perhaps if that had not happened, if she had not become a scandal, she might have found someone worthy to marry.
Someone who cared enough for her to stand between her and her father.
Too late now. Her options had narrowed considerably.
With Ramsgate out of the race, there were only two contenders for her hand left.
Lord Rory MacKenzie or Fitt the footman.
She looked up. While she had been lost in her thoughts, Rory had been watching her. She suspected he could easily tell she was desperate. It would be impossible for her to hide just how close she was to breaking.
Now he looked away, rubbing a hand over his clean-shaven jaw.
Every time he moved, the emerald pin fastened into his snowy white neckcloth caught the firelight from the hearth, as if to remind her that he was a gentleman and the son of a duke.
And that made her wonder again why on earth he had allowed himself to be trapped in the earl’s web.
“Have you come to London to find a wife?” she asked impetuously. “Like your brother, I mean?”
Rory laughed, he had a deep laugh with a husky catch to it. She found that she rather liked it. “Definitely not. I came to London because I was bored with Bonnyrigg and it was bored with me. My family were so enamored with Callum’s new wife that I decided to leave them to it.”
Grace was not sure if that was strictly true. Did he feel unappreciated? She could sympathize with that.
“Would marrying me bring your family’s attention back to you?” she asked him suddenly. Because if that was his prerequisite for marriage to her then she was happy to go along with it.
He grinned, his eyes sparkling. “It might.” Then, the smile dying from his face. “I don’t like the idea of you being married off by your father as if your wishes do not matter. And as for your prospective bridegroom . . .” He looked at Fitt and grimaced.
Rory was chivalrous! She was surprised to realize it. Grace’s trust in her fellow man had diminished to the point where she did not believe much of anything that was said to her, and certainly did not trust it. But now, suddenly, she threw caution to the winds.
“Will you marry me?” she asked, her voice trembling with hope.
Rory looked down at her, and she read sympathy in their blue depths and a sort of steely determination. He took a deep breath.
“Yes,” he said. “I will.”
Grace gasped as her emotions threatened to swamp her.
She told herself she would not cry, she would not.
Not in front of him anyway. Her throat had closed, and before she could force out the words to respond, she heard Fitt open the door.
Her father stood there. Only he wasn’t her father.
He had never behaved like a father to her, and she could not remember a time when she hadn’t felt afraid of him.
Not physically. He had never physically hurt Grace, but emotionally and mentally he was always thinking up new ways to make her life a misery. She went out of her way not to draw attention to herself in case he discovered some new way to torture her.
And all for something that had never been her fault.
And after Bolton it had gotten so much worse.
Now Ormsby strolled into the room, his stick thin legs and arms making her think of a praying mantis—before it bit your head off. “MacKenzie, have you finished listening to my lying daughter? I do hope you—”
“I will marry Grace.”
For once the earl seemed at a loss for words. Grace felt a shaky smile twitching at her lips but held it back as her father’s gaze slid from her to Rory and back again. “Good,” he said at last, as if he had expected nothing less. “I am glad I didn’t have to resort to other measures.”
Rory cocked an eyebrow. “Other measures? What would they be then?” he inquired with deceptive politeness, but his eyes were glittering dangerously.
“Oh, there are always other measures,” Ormsby said with a wave of his hand.
Grace was startled to hear Rory laugh. “If you say so.”
There was a moment when the earl seemed to consider whether or not to respond to that before he decided not to.
Perhaps now that he had gotten his way he wasn’t willing to risk a challenge.
Instead, he rubbed his hands together, reminding Grace even more of a mantis.
“We will hold the wedding here in a week’s time.
We can’t dilly dally.” His lip curled. “Buckingham’s seed might be growing as we speak.
I have the special license ready, I just need to remove Ramsgate’s name and insert yours.
It will not matter to Grace, will it, my dear?
She is not fussy when it comes to her suitors. ”
His words made Grace feel ill, but she remained silent. It was always best to ignore his jibes.
Rory spoke up in a calm, firm voice. As if he was the one in charge and not her father. “We will marry at my aunt’s house,” he said.
Ormsby considered this as if he was looking for loopholes and then shrugged. “As you wish. Frankly, I don’t care where you marry, as long as you do. Now Grace, come with me!”
He turned and headed for the door, which Fitt was holding open, and Grace hurried after him. She knew it did not do to keep the earl waiting. But as she moved to pass Rory, he caught her arm and stopped her.
“I wish to have a word in private with my wife-to-be,” he said.
The earl turned with a frown. “You have already had a word. Wasn’t that enough? I hope you are not thinking of reneging, MacKenzie.”
“Not at all. It is a simple enough request. I’m sure you can spare her for a few more minutes.”
A beat and then Ormsby shrugged. He set off again, calling back over his shoulder, “A very brief word. Grace, I will see you in my study in five minutes.”
The door closed and she was alone with him—the man who had agreed to marry her. Lord Rory MacKenzie, a Scottish duke’s son, who was unlike any gentleman she had ever met.
He was still holding her arm, and now his fingers slid down to her hand, his own large and exceptionally warm for such a cold room.
She reminded herself with trepidation that she was placing a great deal of trust in this stranger.
Once they were wed, he would own her. She would be his wife and his property.
He could do whatever he liked with her. The thought made her shiver.
He must have felt it because he let go of her hand and took a step back, giving them both some space.
“There is no need to be afraid of me,” he said.
“I want you to know that this will be a marriage in name only. You dinna need to fear me, Grace. I have no appetite for an unwilling bride. We will marry and you will take my name, and after that your father will no longer have any power over you. We can live separate lives. No arguments over the breakfast table about where either of us spent the night.”
Numbly, she listened to him. Did he really mean what he was saying?
Was he going to save her from Ormsby and then ignore her for the rest of their lives?
And would the marriage be legal if it was not consummated?
None of this seemed real but she was not about to quibble, so she gave a jerky nod of agreement.
“That is all I wanted to say,” he went on.
“Apart from assuring you that there is no need to fear me. I willna hurt you.” He smiled.
“I have a sister who I love very much, and I’m sure she would tell you I am a reckless fool, and perhaps she is right, but she would also tell you I am not a cruel man, and nor am I a violent one. ”
She nodded again. The shock was wearing off, and she was beginning to believe that what he was saying was the truth. She was going to marry him and he would set her free, like an animal in a trap, he would release her.
“I have a dowry,” she offered. “It was left to me by my mother and it is not much, but it would be enough for me to live on if I am frugal. If you will allow me to keep it?” she added, and hated the tentative sound of the question.
Some men would insist it be given to them no matter how small. She held her breath as she waited.
“I have no need of your dowry,” he said stiffly, as if she had insulted him.
“Thank you.” She almost smiled and dipped her head so he couldn’t see. That action was automatic now, hiding her true feelings from those around her, in case it brought down more punishment upon her.
“Do you have anything else you wish to say?” he asked her.
She shook her head, but he was watching her closely now, and when his gaze dropped to her waist she knew he had another question for her, and she knew what it was.
Rory cleared his throat. “Are you breeding? Not that it matters to me, but I would like not to be caught out when the congratulations start.”
Grace met his eyes. “I am not,” she said firmly.
He looked puzzled, but then he shrugged and nodded. “Aye, very well then. I will take your word for it, and I will see you on our wedding day.” He grimaced. “And now I must go and inform my aunt that she is hosting my marriage. I am sure she will have much to say to me on the subject.”
With that, he bowed and left her. She heard the door opening and closing, and then he was gone.
Grace supposed she should worry he was going to flee for the border, but she found she did not believe that.
It was ridiculous, but for someone she had only just met and barely knew, she trusted him to honor his word.
And after what she had suffered with her father, and the lying Bolton, that was very strange indeed.