A Breach of Promise (The Rules of Engagement #1)(5)

“But you never truly wooed the first time,” Nicholas corrected.

“Precisely.” Marcus smiled. “Thank God I was saved that indignity. Our families arranged the entire business. I just showed up for the celebratory toasts. Poor thing was barely out of the schoolroom at the time. Quite a colorless little creature she was, though she did hold some promise.” Marcus’ lips quirked at the hazy memory of a young girl, whose blushing innocence he had corrupted under the tree swing.

His smile then altered into an exasperated grimace. “Now, this letter? Damn it all! I can’t afford this kind of distraction right now, not with final peace negotiations with France imminent. If I ever wish to advance beyond the post of undersecretary, we must accompany Lord Sandwich to Aix-la-Chapelle. If I don’t, the consular position I’ve worked three years for will surely fall to some far less deserving sod. It’s an opportunity I can’t afford to miss.”

“Do you not think taking a wife would be expected at such a point in your career?”

“I had hoped to postpone the dreaded deed, but I suppose you are right.” Marcus heaved a martyr’s sigh. “Perhaps I am only kicking at the pricks and fighting the inevitable.”

“But now you have little choice in the matter. The lady herself is calling it off.”

Marcus laughed aloud. “No, Nicholas. I beg to differ on that front. She has asked to be released. ‘Tis quite another thing.”

“I hate to gainsay you, but she was only providing you an opportunity to save face and bow out with grace. But it hardly matters. She’s clearly breaking it off. The world at large knows it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. ‘Fickle thy name is woman,’ and all that rot.”

“Then I’ll just have to change it back,” Marcus said.

“How?”

“You will write… No, wait.” Letter in hand, he flung himself from the chair with the graceful energy of a pouncing cat. “On second thought, since this is a matter of considerable delicacy, I’d best handle it myself.”

Needham gave him a dubious look.

“What? I’m a damned statesman, aren’t I? What kind of diplomat would I be if I could not even make peace with my own betrothed?”

“I only question your ability to sound suitably contrite. Humility has never been your strong suit.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Marcus drawled. “Lydia is nothing if not malleable. She will be begging me to wed her when I am finished with her.”

“Indeed? And just how do you expect to achieve such an about-face?” Nick asked.

Marcus stood at the mantel mirror, fussing with his lace cuffs, adjusting his cravat and openly admiring his reflection. “I’ll beguile her with the full power of my persuasive charm.”

“And should that fail?”

Marcus turned to his secretary with a slow, devious grin. “Why, Nick, I’d have thought it obvious. I’ll just have to ruin her.”





Chapter Two


Derbyshire, England—1748



“Ha! What absolute taradiddle!” cried Miss Lydia Trent.

“What is it, Lyddie?” Her cousin Mariah looked up from her book.

“I have a letter from Lord Russell.”

“Then he’s deigned to answer you after all these months?”

“Yes,” Lydia said, “but only after I wrote a second time, requesting an end to our engagement. It’s probably only fear of his mother’s wrath that even prompts his response.”

“Wait!” cried Mariah. “Did I hear correctly? You actually wrote to break it off with him?”

“I did.” Lydia gave a firm nod of resolution. “He has left me in quite an untenable state.” Although no one had expected an early wedding, neither would any have believed over half a decade would pass with no move on Lord Russell’s part to enact the promised nuptials.

“But I thought you loved him madly,” Mariah said.

“Yes. Loved. Past tense. When I was a girl, I believed him the most handsome and dashing man in the universe, even after he showed up foxed to the gills for our betrothal party.”

“But no more?”

Lydia shook off any remaining wistfulness in her reply. “No, Mariah. His extended absence has been the cure for my madness. My mooncalf days are long expired.” Every night Lydia had replayed the memory of the moonlit garden in her dreams only to awaken breathless and aching with frustration. Marcus had initiated her to passion only to leave her to her own devices for six unfulfilled years. “I shall wait upon Marcus Russell no longer.”

“I still can’t believe you decided to break it off with him after waiting so very long.”

“Neither can Lord Russell fathom the notion, if this preposterous reply is any indication.” Lydia chuckled. “It must be more than his vanity can bear. The man is truly an incontestable cad. Do you know I never even received a word of condolence from Marcus upon Papa’s passing? Laughably, he now thinks to atone with some flimsy excuse about his duties abroad and the Continental mail service.”

“Well, what does he say?” Mariah implored.

“I may as well share it with you. I daresay you’ll find this highly diverting.” Lowering her voice an octave and assuming a tone of great self-importance, Lydia read.