Treacherous Temptations(45)

“Are you implying that I own your estates?”

“Precisely, my dear.” He gave her a tight smile. “According to the Chancery, my ancestral home was purchased by your father six years ago. No doubt out of the proceeds gained from the same company that ruined me. So you see now how a marital alliance between us answers both of our needs? Mine for my lost patrimony, and yours for your freedom, for I will surely allow you more liberty than any other husband would, let alone one of Sir Richard’s choosing.”

“My freedom or yours? With control of my fortune, it seems there would be nothing to stop you from squandering and philandering to your heart’s content.”

“Squandering and philandering? Is that what you believe would make me happy?” He clenched his jaw in an effort to control the ire that was quickly rising to the surface. “I will ignore the personal offense that I might answer you with logic. Do you not see how that would be to my detriment? Why would I return from seven miserable years abroad, seeking to reclaim my patrimony only to risk it all again? Besides, until you reach your majority, we must make due at my expense, and I hardly have the means to live the high life you describe.”

In truth, Hadley had lived three years as such a wastrel. It was a miracle he had survived without contracting the pox, or getting his throat slit. Yet he had finally risen out of the hellish pit of iniquity and vowed never to return to it.

“Nor do most noblemen,” Mary argued, “but that doesn’t seem to stop them from living on credit.”

True enough for Hadley was no stranger to living on credit. Hell, most of the nobility traded on credit. “I suppose you would just have to trust me,” he replied with a twinge of guilt. “Is that such a novel notion for a wife—to place her trust and care in her husband’s hands?”

She chewed her lower lip. “Should I consider this, how would we go on?”

“By going abroad,” he said. “At least for a time. I have business that calls me to Paris. I would take you there with me, for we could not stay in England.”

“Abroad? Paris? You already know I don’t speak a word of French and I don’t even like the French! Nanette cut off all my hair! And Monsieur Gaspar was a hateful little tyrant!”

“My dear girl, if you do not care for France, we will quickly move on to Italy. It’s a beautiful country with a populace as warm as the climate.”

“But I have no wish to travel. England is my home!”

“Do you not think you could make the sacrifice, Mary?” he asked. “Would you rather stay and wed whom your guardian selects, or go abroad with me? I have made my offer. Now you must choose.”

“But…there is one other thing,” she said.

“What is it, Mary?”

He cupped her chin but she refused to meet his gaze. “I never wanted to be forced into a marriage…do you…do you think you could grow to care for me?”

He lowered his head and murmured against her lips. “But my dear, sweet girl, don’t you see that I already do?”

…

“What do we do now?” Mary asked.

“I suppose we should go and be wed,” he replied.

“Now?”

“You would rather chance that Sir Richard will have his way? After your stunt last evening, he is more than likely to lock you up.”

“He could never do such a barbaric thing! Would he?” she asked with less certainty.

Hadley cocked a brow. “He is an unscrupulous man. I put nothing beneath him. I deem it best we do this thing now, and then you will return to Hanover Square with no one the wiser.”

“I don’t understand. You would wed me only to send me back?”

“Exactly. I propose that we do the deed and keep it secret for the time being. There are many details I must attend to before we can leave for France. I need some time, only a day or two. Haste makes for error and I can’t afford to err in this. My life could depend upon it, Mary.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “You think he would call you out?”

Hadley threw his head back with a guffaw. “He would never be so honorable as to actually face a man on a dueling field. No, I fear a knife in my back from a hired thug should he discover too soon that I have thwarted his schemes.”

“We’ll go now, Mary. All we need for the nonce is a certificate of marriage. I have heard of a Dr. Keith in Mayfair who will officiate without a license. I think you would prefer this over the Fleet prison chapel.”

They left Kensington Gardens with the first rays of light stretching in colorful fingers of pink and gold across the sky. The London streets had only begun to stir with the clip-clop of iron-shod hooves, echoed by the first cries of street vendors with their barrows. Hadley hailed the dozing driver of a hackney cab who rubbed his eyes and tugged his cap.

“Aye, guv? Where to?”

“Mayfair,” Hadley replied. “Do you know of St. George’s Chapel?”

“Rightly enou’. ‘Appy is the wooing that is not long a-doing,” the driver quoted with a knowing wink.

Less than an hour later, after rousing the reverend from his bed, Mary and Hadley scrawled their names in the register at St. George’s Chapel, witnessed by the hackney driver, and the reverend’s cook. Mary stared for a long moment at their names in the book and then regarded Hadley with a dazed look. “It is done then? We are legally bound to one another?”