A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement) Read online

  "Have you any news about Marcus and Lydia?" Lady Russell appeared at his side in a soft swish of midnight-blue silk. "I am sick with worry, Needham."

  "My lady, the duke sent some men out to check the post roads, but if it would set your mind at ease, I will also ride out to look for them."

  "No, Needham. I would not have you risk yourself over the histrionics of a fretful mother. My son is a man grown, so I must suffice with saying a prayer for his and Lydia's safety and follow it with a sleeping tonic."

  "Perhaps that would be best, my lady," he agreed, once more distracted by the dancers.

  Rochford had made his interest known to all, but Nick was having a harder time gauging hers. Every look and smile she offered the earl twisted his insides. Had she set her cap for him, or was she merely being polite? Did it matter? Why should he care? He'd never reacted this way over a woman before. His rational mind told him he was being ridiculous, that she was out of reach, but logic did nothing to relieve his growing jealousy.

  "Why, my dear Needham," Lady Russell tapped his shoulder with her fan, "do you also aspire to the hand of our little heiress?"

  "Why would you suggest such a thing, my lady?" he asked, wondering if anyone else had noticed his unusual behavior.

  "Come now, Needham, don't play coy. You've watched her like a hawk since she arrived in this ballroom," the countess answered with her usual candor.

  "I assure you I don't entertain any such fantasies, but would it even matter if I did?"

  "She is of an age to wed, and Rochford is the ideal candidate for a lady of her rank—titled, handsome, cultured, witty, and influential." She ticked off his unquestionably superior attributes. "He is everything a woman of her station should desire."

  "Should?" Something about that particular word choice struck him as odd.

  "She is a hopeless romantic, Needham." Lady Russell shook her head with a sigh. "The poor child dreams of a love match."

  "You don't think Rochford would treat her well?" Nick asked, inclining his head to the couple, who had just finished the set with the requisite curtsy and bow.

  "I daresay he would treat her as a countess," she replied blandly.

  "And what precisely does that mean?"

  "The meaning is highly subjective," Lady Russell replied. "Suffice to say she wouldn't want for anything."

  "No. I am certain she wouldn't," he agreed. "But she won't be happy with him."

  "Oh?" She arched a brow. "And just how would you presume to ascertain such a thing on such short acquaintance with her?"

  "Simple, my lady. She has been raised in the country and has no experience of courts and courtiers. She is not accustomed to the kind of life he leads, and he is not a man who would make any great effort to accommodate her. Rochford will wed her, bed her, and then go on his merry way."

  "And you would have it differently?"

  He replied bitterly, "As nobody with nothing, it doesn't matter how I would have it."

  "Indeed?" She smiled. "Escort me to supper later, Needham."

  "Don't you already have a companion, my lady?"

  "Don't concern yourself about that, my dear. I'll deal with the duchess." She departed with a smile.

  After a time, Nick also sought a dance with Lady Mariah. Although she laughed and smiled the whole time, the lively gigue didn't allow him the intimacy of a private word with her. The earl swooped in again the moment the dance ended, clearly staking his claim for the benefit of any others who might presume to set their sights on her.

  ***

  Mariah's cheeks were aching with her continued effort to smile. When she'd agreed to come to this house party, it had been as Lydia's companion. She'd never imagined being left to fend for herself during the longest night of her entire life. Where were Lydia and Lord Marcus? She hoped the party would become more bearable with her cousin's company.

  Of all the assembled guests, which probably numbered close to fifty persons of consequence, she knew only Lady Russell and Mr. Needham, both of whom were too far away to offer her any moral support. To Mariah's dismay, they were seated at the opposite end of the table near the duke. While, as Lord Rochford's dinner partner, she was placed at the duchess's end of the table, leaving her feeling rather lost.

  Mariah had first counted it a blessing when Lord Rochford had asked her to dance. He wasn't quite the foppish, preening peacock she'd imagined he would be. He was actually rather handsome with fair hair, leanly chiseled aristocratic features, and clear gray eyes that smiled in a mocking way. He was elegant, attentive, charming, an excellent dancer and exceptional conversationalist, yet the more they spoke, the less they had in common.

  The earl was widely traveled and had a command of three languages. She had hardly ever left Derbyshire and spoke only one. He was mad for gaming and sporting events while she disapproved of extravagant wagers. He had several large estates but preferred to be in town. Except for short visits, Mariah preferred the country over the city. He was much enamored of Italian opera. She had never been to an opera house. Mariah once more wished that Lydia had been here. Her cousin would have made a perfect match for such a man.

  At first, the earl had been both amiable and attentive, but midway through the meal, his eye contact with her had lessened, and his gaze swept languidly over the other guests. Eventually, he addressed more of his remarks to the Countess of Cumberbatch seated across the table, who, by her stream of titters and flirtatious remarks, seemed to have a great appreciation of his charms. He made a pejorative remark about one of the king's ministers that set the entire head of the table chortling. While others around her seemed enchanted by his wit, most of his remarks seemed to go completely over Mariah's head.

  By the fifth cover of the seemingly endless courses that had begun with fish and ended with fruit, she realized that she could never marry such a man. They would live as total strangers. And that could never be enough for her. Once more, her thoughts strayed back to Mr. Needham.

  She found herself darting glances down the far end of the table in search of his friendly and familiar face. Mr. Needham had asked her for one dance, then all but disappeared. Had his business taken him away, or had she just deluded herself that he could be interested in her? He'd barely looked in her direction the rest of the evening.

  She could barely wait for the endless supper to be over so she could excuse herself, but there seemed no escape. Her throbbing head told her she'd drunk far too much wine. Her vision was beginning to blur, and the conversation had become a buzz in her ears. She desperately needed some fresh air. She hoped to God she wouldn't make a fool of herself when she rose from the table.

  A footman entered with a message on a silver salver that he presented to the duke. He appeared to examine the seal with a frown. Without breaking it, he stood and made an excuse to his guests. He then nodded to Mr. Needham, who also rose. The two men departed the dining room together. Was it some urgent matter of state, or was it perhaps a message from Lord Marcus? If the latter, Mr. Needham would surely return soon and notify Lady Russell.

  Once the last cover was removed, the ladies withdrew as a group to leave the men to their politics and drink. But rather than joining the duchess and her female guests in the drawing room, Mariah perceived the opportunity to slip away for some much-needed air. She'd felt smothered in the crowded dining room and so horribly out of place.

  The first doors she encountered led outside onto a small terrace. Closing the door quietly behind her, she leaned out over the white marble balustrade and drew in a deep lungful of crisp night air. She shivered lightly. She considered going back inside to retrieve a shawl but feared she'd be seen by Lady Russell and drawn back into the party. It was chilly enough to give her gooseflesh, but she didn't care. If she had to sacrifice some comfort for a moment of privacy, so be it.

  She was accustomed to seeking her moments of solitude in the night, after everyone had gone to their beds, often walking alone in her private garden on moonlit evenings. Tonight a full moon shon
e brightly, illuminating the gravel walks of the parterre gardens. She gazed up at the stars blinking in the vast blackness of the night. She hadn't had a particularly enjoyable time at the party, but the experience had surely been enlightening.

  ***

  Seated down the table on the opposite side of Lady Mariah, Nick had the advantage of being able to watch the interplay between her and Lord Rochford. She had seemed distracted, picking at her food and taking frequent sips of wine. He'd noticed with irritation how solicitous Rochford was about seeing her glass refilled. Was he purposely plying her with wine? Surely the earl didn't seek to soften her for a seduction. Would Rochford stoop so low to ensure he ensnared the heiress? Nick didn't know the man well enough to say, but his protective instincts were on high alert. She had little experience of men, of that he was certain. It would be child's play for a man like Rochford to tarnish her reputation and force her hand into marriage.

  Nick had promised himself he would stay close by and ensure that she got safely to her bed tonight, but then he'd been abruptly pulled away from supper, and by the time he'd returned to the dining room, the guests had dispersed.

  Most of the women had sought the drawing room while a number of men lingered at table over bottles of port. He noted that Rochford was not among them. He immediately sought out Lady Russell, hoping Mariah would be with her, but found Marcus's mother paired with the duchess at the card table.

  "Needham! Have you come to alleviate my anxiety at last?" Lady Russell asked with what could easily be interpreted as a careless smile, but it was all too clear to one who knew her well that she was beside herself with worry. "Is there word from Marcus?"

  "Yes," Nick replied. "The duke is in receipt of a dispatch."

  Lady Russell heaved a great sigh of relief. "Thanks to heaven above. What does Marcus say?"

  "He informed the duke that he had urgent business that necessitated a detour to Westminster. He assured His Grace that he would depart once more for Woburn Abbey the moment he has taken care of the matter. "

  Her brows furrowed as she proceeded to shuffle the cards. "What business would take Marcus to Westminster?"

  "He did not expound, my lady, but Marcus does not yet despair of arriving late this evening."

  "It is already late this evening," she replied. "What is that foolish boy about to risk traveling the roads late at night?"

  "I suspect I have an idea what he is about, but it is not for me to say. You will have to hear it from Marcus." He gazed about the room. "I don't see Lady Mariah. Do you know where she is?"

  "I have not seen her since we left the dining room." Lady Russell glanced up as she began to deal the hand. "Lord Rochford seems to have taken an interest in her. Mayhap they are taking some air together?" She accompanied the remark with a meaningful glance toward the terrace.

  Her suggestion confirmed his worst fears—that Rochford might try to seduce Mariah. "I will go and look for her," he said. "Surely she will wish to know the news of her cousin."

  "I am certain she would," Lady Russell replied. "Please promise you will bring word to me when Marcus arrives."

  "I promise." He departed with a slight bow. Nick then headed straight for the terrace, hoping this abominable night wasn't going to end with him being taken away in shackles for assaulting a peer of the realm.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Love is not in our choice but in our fate."- John Dryden

  NICK FOUND HER on one of the private terraces overlooking the gardens. Alone. Thank God. Dressed in her ivory gown and drenched in soft moonlight, she resembled nothing so much as an ethereal being leaning wistfully over the balustrade.

  "Lady Mariah?" he called out softly.

  She turned to face him with a look of surprise. "Mr. Needham?"

  "I thought to find you with Rochford."

  "Then you were mistaken."

  "Mistaken?" He frowned. "I don't believe I mistook his interest in you."

  She released a bitter laugh. "His interest is in my estate, perhaps. In my dowry, most certainly. But in me? I assure you not, Mr. Needham."

  "Then he is a fool."

  "No. We are simply from different worlds. That one is his," she inclined her head to the door, "and this one is mine."

  "Are you not enjoying yourself?"

  "To be honest, I feel completely out of my element without Lydia. All too much like a sheep in a cow pasture."

  "You don't look like a sheep," he said. "A sprite perhaps, but never a sheep."

  "A sprite?" She laughed. "You told me you weren't given to false flattery, Mr. Needham."

  His grin instantly faded. "There's nothing false in my words, Mariah." Her name slipped all too easily over his tongue. "You have no idea how lovely you are tonight."

  Unable to help himself, he reached out to stroke the curls that lay over her pale shoulder. His gaze followed the cascade of golden-brown locks to where the ends rested just above her milky-white breasts. "In the morning sunshine, I thought you resembled a wood nymph, but by moonlight, you are nothing short of angelic. You should always be out of doors, Mariah."

  "It's where I prefer to be," she said. "It's where I feel most alive—walking, riding, tending the garden. I've always despised being stuck inside, but now that's where I spend most of my waking hours. My only escape is at night when I sit on my own terrace or walk in the gardens."

  "Alone?" he asked, his gaze searching hers. Was he mistaken about her? Did she perhaps have a secret lover?

  "Yes," she whispered softly. "Very much . . . alone."

  She suddenly looked so forlorn, making him ache for what he couldn't have. It was all he could do not to pull her into his arms.

  "It would not be so if you were you to marry . . ." The words were out before he could take them back.

  "To whom? Someone like Lord Rochford?" she asked, searching his eyes.

  "A woman in your position may have her pick of nearly any eligible bachelor in the realm."

  She released a derisive laugh. "And I would still be very much alone. I don't seek that kind of marriage, Mr. Needham. 'Tis too beautiful a night to speak of such unpleasant things as marriage." She tilted her face up toward the heavens, exposing the full column of her beautiful neck. "Do you ever stargaze? Or is such an activity too frivolous for a man of your serious temperament?"

  "Yes. As a matter of fact, I have always loved astronomy."

  "I have never learned to identify the constellations, but the myths fascinate me. When you look up there tonight, what do you see?"

  "The moon is too bright to see much," he said. "The best time to view stars is during the new moon."

  "Can you find Cassiopeia for me?"

  "She doesn't emerge in the heavens until autumn, but Ursa Major is best viewed in spring. It's also the easiest to recognize. Do you know the myth?"

  "It is the story of Callisto, is it not?"

  "Yes. Zeus was smitten by her, and Hera, his jealous wife, transformed Callisto into a bear. While she was in animal form, her son Arcas was going to shoot her, but Zeus intervened and turned Arcas into a bear as well. He then placed mother and son permanently in the heavens."

  "It seems so unfair that Callisto was punished merely for attracting the attention of Zeus, but then again, maybe she's happier lighting up the nighttime sky than worrying about unwanted propositions from powerful men."

  "Unwanted propositions?" Her words rang a peal in his ears. "Did Rochford importune you?"

  "No. He did not, but he hinted at a proposal of marriage."

  "When?"

  "Earlier this evening."

  "How did you answer him?"

  "I didn't. Please, Mr. Needham. I don't wish to talk about it. Why were you looking for me? Did you receive any news from Lord Marcus?"

  "Yes. He anticipates he and Miss Trent will arrive late tonight."

  "What has detained him for so long?"

  "He didn't elaborate. He only said it was a matter of urgency." She shivered. "You are cold." He immediately stripp
ed off his coat and laid it over her shoulders.

  Her eyes met his. "Thank you, Mr. Needham."

  "Nicolas," he said. "Or Nick would be even better."

  "Nick," she repeated with a soft smile. "I like the sound of it. It suits you."

  "And why is that?"

  "It's a no-nonsense kind of name, isn't it? You don't seem to care for their disingenuous ways any more than I do. Indeed, you are the only one here with whom I am at ease. It's hard to believe we met only a few short days ago. I feel as if I have known you so very much longer."

  "Perhaps it's just the wine?" he suggested.

  "No," she murmured, leaning toward him, close enough for him to catch a teasing hint of lilacs. She licked her lips. The gesture drew his gaze to her luscious rose-colored mouth. He couldn't help wondering if her lips were as sweet and petal soft as they looked. "It has nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with the man."

  Her tone and demeanor were warm and inviting, and innocently seductive. He was surely courting danger to be alone with her any longer. "We should go back inside and join them at cards," he said.

  "Must we?" she asked, soft and pleading.

  "Yes, we must," he replied resolutely. He'd come looking for her to protect her from Rochford, but who would protect her from him? "If you don't wish to join them at cards, you could always make an excuse to retire early to your chamber."

  "But I won't be able to sleep. I'm far too restless. What about you? Do you intend to wait for Lord Marcus and Lydia?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I will wait with you," she said. "That is . . . if you would care for some company."