Three Proposals And A Scandal Part 10

Tranter's clasp tightened, preventing her from sidling away. "I hope you're more than grateful before I've finished, my darling."

The endearment struck a false note. Before tonight he'd only ever addressed her formally. Now he claimed the right to use her Christian name and call her his darling.

"My lord-" she started in a repressive tone.

He dropped on one knee. "Marianne, I have loved you from the first. Your beauty and goodness have stolen my heart. Please do me the honor of saying you'll be my wife. No woman will adorn the t.i.tle of Countess Tranter more magnificently."

This time, she managed to s.n.a.t.c.h free. She'd known he pursued her. He'd made his interest blatant. But after last night, his words seemed like blasphemy. The oiliness in his manner contrasted unpleasantly with Elias's unconcealed emotion when he'd touched her.

She didn't trust Tranter. She never had.

"My lord, much as I appreciate your interest, I'm afraid my answer is no."

She didn't know what reaction she expected to her refusal. Anger? Hurt? Disbelief? The too handsome face conveyed the same confidence.

"My lord, did you hear me?" she asked when he didn't speak. "I cannot be your wife."

"Of course you can," he said with an arrogance that staggered her. "Your father may favor Desborough, but your wishes must count."

She frowned down at him, burying her shaking hands in her filmy yellow skirts. "I don't wish to marry you."

A frown expressed puzzlement rather than pique. "There's no need to play games, sweetheart. My t.i.tle is old and respected, even if one ignores my personal attractions. I'm quite the catch."

She stifled the hysterical laughter that rose in her throat, knowing that Tranter wouldn't react kindly to mockery. She straightened. It was time to bring this awkward scene to an end. "Nonetheless, I must decline your offer. We will not suit."

This time she saw that he believed she meant it. Smoothly he rose. "I'm sure we will."

He stepped closer and suddenly Marianne was conscious that she and Tranter were alone in an isolated corner of a huge house. If she called for help, the noise of the storm would cover her cries.

Ridiculous to be afraid, she told herself, even as she backed into the palm tree. Lord Tranter was a civilized man. They'd danced together a hundred times. He belonged to a n.o.ble family and he knew everyone she did. He wouldn't a.s.sault a woman of his own cla.s.s.

"My lord, you're frightening me," she whispered, raising a trembling hand to the pearl necklace at her throat.

He took her hand in a determined grip. "No need to be nervous, my dear."

Every endearment made her skin crawl. His blue eyes were clear and guileless, as they'd always been. But with each second, some instinct within Marianne screamed a louder warning.

"Then let me go." She fought to keep her voice steady.

"Oh, no, my bird. Not until you agree to be my wife."

"You're not acting the gentleman," she said, trying and failing to break away. The palm fronds scratched her bare arms, but she hardly noticed the sting.

"Needs must," he said, and went on before she could question the odd remark. "Will you marry me, Marianne?"

She glared at him, anger swamping fear, although she was vilely afraid. "No."

His smile was regretful. "That's a d.a.m.ned pity. I'd hoped to manage this without trouble."

"Manage what?" she asked sharply.

"Why, our engagement, of course. After all, you seemed happy enough for me to play the eager suitor in London."

"I didn't give you any reason to think you had my special favor."

That regretful smile persisted. And he didn't raise his voice. Yet she was convinced she was in danger. She edged free of the palm tree until there was s.p.a.ce behind her. But while he held her, escape was impossible.

"My mistake," he said unemotionally.

"Stop this nonsense." Her heart skittered against her ribs and she s.h.i.+vered, despite the room's heat.

"I'm afraid I can't." His eyes rested innocently on her face. "You see, I've run out of time."

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't. I've kept my ruin a secret for months, but my luck is running out."

"Your ruin?" she echoed and the fear that she'd been battling so hard to play down coalesced into a huge gelid lump in her stomach. She hardly needed to hear his explanation.

"Sadly, the family fortune couldn't support me as I wished and I need a nice rich heiress to rescue me from my embarra.s.sments."

"There...there are other women who want to marry you. Everyone envied the attention you paid me." She felt trapped in a nightmare. To think, she'd accused Elias of wanting her fortune, when all the time, the real snake in her garden had been Tranter.

"It's too late to find another chit to court. I left London minutes ahead of the bailiffs. I'm afraid it's you or exile."

"Choose exile," she said through stiff lips. "I'll never make you happy."

"Oh, once we're shackled, you can go your own way. I won't care what you do as long as I've got my hands on all your lovely money."

"You can go to the devil, sir," she snapped.

He laughed derisively. "I intend to, my love. And you'll pay for the trip."

She felt as cold in this humid greenhouse as if she stood outside in the storm. "I won't marry you."

His smile had never wavered through his appalling confession. Now it widened and the choirboy turned intimidatingly wolfish. "Yes, you will. By the time I've finished, you'll be begging for me to restore your reputation."

Perhaps it was mad to defy him, but her spirit revolted at what he planned. She straightened and regarded him with all the loathing in her soul. "I'll never marry a cur like you."

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. He'd be less alarming if he betrayed some emotion beyond self-a.s.surance. "No need to be rude. This is your last chance, Marianne. The maid who delivered my message to you has instructions to create a scene. Any moment now, she'll bring your father, the Hillbrooks and Desborough, and anyone else expressing an interest, to this charming bower. We either greet them as a happy couple or your seduction becomes a public scandal."

The unspeakable wretch. "You're wasting your time, Lord Tranter," she said icily. "I won't marry you whatever you do."

"Easy to say now. We'll see what happens after your virtue is in tatters." He loomed closer. She'd never considered Tranter a particularly impressive physical specimen. Now he dwarfed her.

On a surge of movement, she lurched forward, going for his eyes.

"You d.a.m.ned cat," he gasped as her nails scored his cheeks.

Without stopping to see the damage she'd done, she twisted free, taking advantage of his shock. She dashed through the foliage, slippered feet skidding on the tiles.

She heard him behind her, blundering through the greenery. There was a loud crash as a pot smashed in his wake. Panting, she reached the gla.s.s doors and dived for the latch. Before she touched it, rough hands grabbed her shoulders and wrenched her around.

She cried out in terror and pain, then again when Tranter slapped her face. Fire exploded in her head. When alertness returned, Tranter clutched her to his chest and her hair fell around her face. She struggled, but he seemed to have a hundred hands. With a sharp rip, he tore her bodice.

"Let me go, you savage," she gasped, biting and scratching until he took her by the scruff of the neck like a cat and forced her head still.

"I'll happily hit you again if you don't stop this foolishness," he said breathlessly.

He no longer looked in control. Worse. His eyes blazed with excitement and blood trickled down his cheek. As he mashed her into his body, a hard weight poked her belly. Bile rushed into her throat.

She swallowed hard, opened her mouth and screamed her lungs out. The harsh sound bounced off the gla.s.s. So did the echo of Tranter's next slap.

"It doesn't have to be like this," he grated, placing a hand over her mouth. "Agree and you'll save yourself a deal of trouble."

She remained taut, faint with pain, wanting to kill him. His other hand imprisoned her wrists. She shrank away when his eyes dipped to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, bare under her tattered dress.

"You've always been a clever little b.i.t.c.h, Marianne." He licked his lips in a way that terrified her. "Give up the fight and admit you're beaten."

She made herself nod and he smiled with an approval that made her gag.

"Good girl." He s.h.i.+fted his hand from her mouth to squeeze her breast and she screamed again, kicking him. But her satin slippers did no damage and he easily subdued her by wrapping his arms around her.

"Bad show, my dear, bad show."

He jammed her face into his chest so she couldn't breathe. The sour stench of his sweat made her head swim. She battled his hold, but this man she'd always dismissed as a cream puff contained her wriggling without apparent difficulty. She told herself to keep fighting as blackness edged her vision.

Then she was free and staring into her father's appalled eyes.

Chapter Twelve.

"What the devil is going on?"

Marianne still gasped for air, giving Tranter the chance to answer her father's outraged demand. "My lord, we got carried away."

Through the buzzing in her ears, Marianne could hardly believe that he sounded like her urbane dance partner and not the man who had hit her. Her agitated gaze settled on Elias who pushed through the crowded hallway. The shock on his features filled her vision. He looked ready to commit murder. His dark face was stern as she'd never seen it and a muscle jerked in his lean cheek. She hardly noticed the other people jammed into the corridor around him.

"Shut your foul mouth or I'll shut it for you." Tugging off his dark blue coat, Elias shoved past her father who stood fuming in the doorway. "Are you all right, Lady Marianne?" he asked roughly, wrapping his coat around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she muttered. Sick humiliation cramped her belly. She cringed away and her shaking hands fumbled uselessly with the shredded bodice. s.h.i.+vering as if she had a fever, she hunched into the coat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elias reach for her. She couldn't endure his kindness without breaking down completely. She backed off on shaky legs. "I can't-"

"I'll kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Elias hissed.

"No," she begged. "No, for pity's sake, that will make things worse."

"By G.o.d, I'll know the meaning of this," her father spluttered.

Casting Elias a nervous glance, Tranter grabbed her hand. "I'm overjoyed to tell you that Lady Marianne has consented to be my bride."

She jerked free and regarded Tranter with abhorrence. "I'll never marry you, you brute."

"You will d.a.m.n well marry him," her father bl.u.s.tered. "There's no hiding that he's compromised you."

"My love, I know you're upset that we've been found out." The spurious sympathy in Tranter's face turned her stomach. Raising her chin, she struggled to retain some dignity. Almost impossible when she'd been caught half naked and her face felt like a hive of bees had attacked it.

"Can't you see that there's been some plot?" Elias asked, whirling on her father. At least he didn't try to touch her again, or attack Tranter. The toad deserved a beating, but a brawl would only deepen the scandal. "We all heard her scream."

"Lord Tranter enticed me here under false pretenses, Papa," she forced out. "He's a stinking liar."

The avidly curious audience craned their necks to see more of the confrontation-and of Marianne. Burning color flooded her smarting cheeks and she huddled into the coat. Elias's distinctive scent enveloped her. Right now, that reminder of him seemed like a reprimand for her rank idiocy. Impulsiveness had lured her into this disaster. Perhaps it was better to be a compliant little coward.

"I wanted a private moment with Lady Marianne so I could propose." Tranter had the temerity to smile at her. How was it that she felt so dirty and wrong, and he looked like he was on the side of the angels? It wasn't fair. "A mere formality, of course. Our mutual affection is no secret."

"Stop lying," she snarled.

"My dear, all will be well when we marry. I'm sure these good people can overlook a lapse between a newly engaged couple."

"A torn dress and violence go beyond a lapse," she spat.

"Did this b.a.s.t.a.r.d hurt you?" Elias bit out, curling his hands into fists at his sides.

"Not your concern, Wilmott," Tranter snapped. "You've been sniffing around Marianne for months, but you've lost."

"Fascinating as this discussion is, perhaps it should continue in private," Lord Hillbrook said magisterially from the hallway.

"If you'll all move away." Richard pushed forward to stand beside her father and face the onlookers. "I'm sure you've heard more than enough."

Marianne could see that few people agreed with him. She'd loathed being the brunt of last year's tattle. The talk would be worse this time round. Especially when she didn't marry the author of her downfall.

"Sidonie, will you take Lady Marianne to her room and look after her?" Hillbrook suggested. It sounded more order than request. "Lord Tranter, Lord Baildon, shall we retire to my office?"

"Excellent idea," Richard said, and he and Genevieve started to herd the listeners away with a steely charm that Marianne was in no mood to admire. The excited buzz of conversation receding down the corridor confirmed her fears of scandal.

Tranter had been so clever. And she'd been so fatally stupid.