To Wed a Wild Lord (14 page)

As soon as they were seated with their glasses, Gran formally introduced the family. Everyone but Minerva’s husband was there, since he had to be in court.

Then his siblings began to behave with their usual nosiness, peppering Virginia with questions.

“So, Miss Waverly,” Jarret asked, “you and my brother made a wager. I assume you mean to go through with it?”

“Of course.” She sipped her wine, her expression enigmatic. “Women are no less honorable than men.” She glanced over at Annabel. “Don’t you agree, Lady Jarret? I understand that you and your husband met over a wager.”

Annabel smiled. “We did indeed. Although I actually won, so reneging wasn’t an issue.”

“You lost
one
wager with me.” Jarret’s smile insinuated that it had been more scandalous than the one Gabe had witnessed.

Gabe’s suspicion was confirmed when Annabel glared at her husband. “And I paid it—so I do agree with you, Miss Waverly.”

“I’m actually looking forward to honoring my wager,” Virginia said. “After attending my first ball the other night, I’ve been dying to attend more.”

That put Gabe on guard. “What do you mean?”

“That’s part of courting, isn’t it? I wouldn’t be invited to such affairs ordinarily, but as soon as word gets round that you’re my suitor, I’m sure to receive many invitations. And you’ll want to introduce me to all your friends. What better place than at a ball? The amiable people, the excellent conversation . . . Why, even the punch is delightful.”

The vixen was deliberately echoing his litany of everything he hated about balls. As his brothers and sisters laughed heartily, he stifled a groan. Leave it to them to find this amusing.

Her grandfather seemed to do so as well, as did her cousin. Both looked rather smug.

“The season is over in London,” Gabe pointed out. “I doubt there will be any balls in the coming months.”

“Not in London, perhaps.” Minerva’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “But country balls abound now that the hunting season has started. We’re invited to one in Ealing and two in Acton this month alone.”

“And Miss Langston invited us to her birthday ball in Richmond,” Celia added helpfully.

“Don’t forget Lady Kirkwood’s affair at the school to inaugurate the fall term for her girls,” Oliver offered. “I promised Kirkwood we would all be there.”

Gabe downed his glass of wine in one long swallow. Damn it to blazes. It looked like he had weeks of his worst nightmare ahead of him. “Well then, I’ll be happy to accompany you, Miss Waverly,” he lied through his teeth. “Assuming that your grandfather is willing to chaperone.” If Gabe had to suffer, he would make the general do so as well.

“Nonsense,” Gran said. “Any one of us is perfectly happy to provide you with a chaperone.”

Of course they were. “You don’t mind the hour drive to Waverly Farm and back?” Gabe pointed out. “In the wee hours of the morning?”

“Certainly not,” Celia said with a sparkling smile. “I love a good drive. We all do.”

Great. Now he had to go to balls with Virginia
and
his family. That was not what he’d had in mind. He’d envisioned picnics in the woods, chaperoned by a maid he could sweet talk into letting him have time alone with his prospective bride. Or long, rousing rides along deserted country lanes near Waverly Farm.

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your sisters,” Virginia said smoothly. “I’m sure Poppy would be happy to come along to any affairs we might attend. Not so much during the winter, when the weather plagues his injuries, but in the spring—”

“The spring?” Gabe cut in. “I hope we won’t still be courting in the spring.” Realizing how that sounded, he added hastily, “I mean, once we reach an understanding—”

“Oh, surely you don’t think it will happen so quick as all that.” Her innocent smile didn’t fool him for one minute. “You said I needed to get to know you, and I quite agree. That’s why long courtships are best.”

“Long courtships,” he echoed, his heart sinking into his stomach.

“My late son courted his wife for two years before they married,” General Waverly said, with a suspicious glint in his eye. “I’d hate to see my granddaughter be hasty. What do you think, Pierce?”

As alarm built in Gabe’s chest, Devonmont cast him a satisfied grin. “Oh, yes,” he said, lifting his glass to drink. “Two years is plenty of time.”

“Now, Pierce,” Virginia chided him, “you and Poppy are being ridiculous. Two years is far too long.”

Gabe let out a breath. “I should say so.”

“A year is long enough.” She cast Gabe a sly glance over the rim of her wineglass. “Though I suppose it could be shortened to six months.”

At Gabe’s groan, Celia burst into laughter. “How about that, Gabe? Miss Waverly wants a courtship that will last at least until February.”

He bit back an oath. His brat of a sister was certainly going to have fun with this.

“There’s no hurry, is there?” Virginia cast him another of those sweet smiles that gave him pause. “How can I make a judicious decision about my entire life in such a short time?”

Oh, God, could she have found out about Gran’s demand? No, how could she? “No hurry at all,” he muttered and got up to pour himself more wine.

“Besides,” she went on in a suddenly steely voice, “you’ll need that time to prepare for the move.”

Gabe almost dropped his glass. “The move?”

“I assume that if we marry, you’ll come to live at Waverly Farm with me and Poppy. You can’t possibly mean for me to live here.”

“Actually, I intend for us to have a house of our own,” he ground out as he paced in front of the fireplace.

“Then who will look after Poppy? He needs me to run his household.”

“Can’t do without her,” her grandfather said cheerily.

She cast Gabe a falsely pained look. “And forgive me for being indelicate, but given that you have no profession and I have a tiny dowry, well . . . I don’t see how we could afford a house.”

All eyes turned to him. Blast, blast,
blast
. He could tell they were enjoying this incredibly vulgar conversation. And what gently bred woman brought up her fiancé’s future income as polite dinner conversation, anyway?

Gran didn’t appear the least bit bothered by it. “I assure you, Miss Waverly, that my grandson will be able to support you.”

“Oh, I never thought otherwise.” Virginia’s eyes glittered suspiciously. “But a lady has to be practical. I know that men like Lord Gabriel require wives who can bring something to a marriage. Since I cannot, I must do my best to help our situation.”

Her manner deepened his alarm. She didn’t seem apologetic or regretful. Plus, she was talking about their prospective marriage as if she really did mean to go through with it—quite a turnabout from earlier in the day.

He would lay odds that this vulgar discussion wasn’t typical of her. What if she really
had
heard about Gran’s ultimatum? But when? Surely not before the ball, or she would have thrown that in his face. Besides, it wasn’t widely known beyond his family, except for some friends.

“I hate that marrying me will materially alter his lordship’s life,” she went on, rousing his suspicions even more. “He’ll have to give up his rooms in town, not to mention his membership in any clubs. And I daresay there will be little racing after we marry. But I do hope our union will make up for those inconveniences.”

“You must trust me in this, Miss Waverly,” Gran persisted. “The lad has prospects.”

“Oh? And what might those be?” Virginia’s gaze met his, ripe with challenge. “One should never count one’s chickens before they hatch, you know. I have to think practically.”

He stiffened. She knew. He didn’t know how, but she must have found out about Gran’s ultimatum. And she was clearly eager to lay into him. She’d just been toying with him until now.

He walked up to her. “Miss Waverly, it looks as if dinner may be a while longer. Perhaps you would like to go view our maze? You seemed very interested in it the last time you were here, and I’d love to show it to you.”

“I’d be delighted,” she said, looking as if she were spoiling for a fight. “We can discuss your ‘prospects’ some more.”

Oh, yes. She definitely knew.

“Perhaps I should come along—” her grandfather began.

“No need,” Gran interrupted. “The maze is close by—it won’t hurt to let the young people have a short walk before dinner. It helps the digestion.” She shot Gabe a long, stern glance. “And my grandson knows that if he doesn’t behave, he’ll have to answer to me.”

“I’ll be fine, Poppy,” Virginia added as she slid her hand in the crook of Gabe’s elbow. “This won’t take long.”

No, it wouldn’t. Gabe intended to remind her of all the reasons she needed to marry, and all the reasons he was the perfect candidate. Her pride might be pricked at the moment, but she kept saying she was a practical woman—and she couldn’t deny that his offer was as advantagous to her as to him.

But he wouldn’t let her bow out of this, by God. He’d won that wager fair and square, and she owed him a courtship. He had Celia to think of, after all. He
had
to marry.

They both kept quiet as they walked through the halls toward the side door. There were servants everywhere, and Gabe didn’t want anyone hearing this particular discussion.

The minute they emerged into the gardens and headed for the maze, he said in a low voice, “I take it that you’ve heard about my grandmother’s ultimatum.”

“Ultimatum?” she said with that false look of innocence.

It stirred his temper even more. “Don’t play dumb, Virginia. It doesn’t flatter you.”

Leading her into the maze, he hurried her down the small lane between the close-cropped box hedges to find some privacy from any curious listeners.

“How would you know what flatters me?” she snapped. “You barely know me. Which is probably why you chose me for your mercenary plan.”

Blast, blast,
blast
. “How did you find out about Gran’s demands? How long have you known?”

She tipped up her chin. “Pierce told me just now in the carriage. Apparently he got it from an acquaintance who’d heard something of it at a card game you played in a tavern.”

He’d forgotten all about that discussion, which had taken place in a public arena. “You’re laboring under a false assumption. I chose you as my wife because I wronged your family,” he bit out, annoyed at being painted in so poor a light. “Trust me, there are plenty of women eager to marry a marquess’s son. I could have found one at any of your precious balls without having to go through the risk of racing you.”

As soon as he spoke the words he regretted them, for the mention of other women seemed to inflame her further. Snatching her hand from his arm, she spat, “Then go do so. I want none of your scheme.”

She turned to go back, but he blocked her path. He would make her listen, by God, if it was the last thing he did! “It isn’t a scheme—it’s a desperate situation. And yes, I was hoping you’d help me with it. Not for my sake, but for my sister’s.”

He could see curiosity warring with anger in her face. “Your sister’s?”

“I don’t know how much you’ve heard about Gran’s demand, but she says we all have to marry by the end of the year, or none of us inherit. So if one doesn’t marry, the others lose their fortunes as well. The three eldest of us are in good situations, so I’m not concerned about them. And I have enough income to support myself from racing. But Celia . . .”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “She deserves better than to be cut off without a penny just because she’s too stubborn to give in. If I don’t marry, she’ll use my refusal as an excuse to refuse as well. But if I marry, she won’t want to be the only one holding everyone else up. She’ll do what she has to do.”

She glared at him. “Sweet Lord, you’re even worse than I thought. You want to force me into marrying so you can force your sister into marrying, as well.”

“No, damn it!” He took a breath, expelled it, then took another, fighting for calm. “I don’t want to force anyone into anything. If I had my choice, I’d go on as I’d always planned—racing whomever I want, living on my winnings, and trying to establish a decent Thoroughbred stable.”

He stared her down. “But I
don’t
have my choice. And neither does Celia. For that matter, neither do you. You want to live forever with your grandfather at your cozy farm, but we both know that can’t happen. This courtship is the only way I could find to make all of us happy.”

She eyed him skeptically. “So you don’t care about the money.”

“Of course I care about the money; I’m not an idiot. I know that my inheritance could allow me to reach my dream much more quickly than if I struggle on my own. But if Celia were already married and settled, I would tell Gran to go to blazes.” God knows he wished he could.

“Instead,” she snapped, “you’ve decided that I should give up my freedom so you and your sister can enjoy the fruits of your grandmother’s labors.”

He’d had enough, damn it! “You seem to forget that you, too, would enjoy those fruits. If I gain my inheritance, you’ll have the money you need to help your grandfather in his old age, to restore Waverly Farm to its former glory, and to live like a queen if that’s what you want.”

She gaped at him. Clearly it hadn’t occurred to her that if she married him, his gain would be her gain.

Then her expression hardened. “That’s only if your sister also marries. What if she doesn’t behave as you expect? What if she digs in her heels and refuses? Then I’ll be saddled with a husband who’s lost his ‘prospects.’ ”

With a narrowing gaze, he bore down on her, forcing her to back up into a blind alley. “For a woman who’s outraged that I would marry her in order to gain my inheritance, you seem awfully interested in my ‘prospects.’ You made quite a fuss about them a few moments ago.”

“That was only because I was trying to provoke you! You know it was.”

He did know it. Because when it came to him, Virginia was not practical. Practical women didn’t challenge men to races in a fit of temper. Practical women didn’t cut off their noses to spite their faces when a perfectly good marriage proposal presented itself, and practical women didn’t turn down pots of money.