The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)(18)

What manifest nonsense to think badly of him for doing what all men did.

Charlotte must be made to understand that Cyprians were in a different class than the poor women at Miss Betsy’s or some of the other brothels. He agreed that some of those women were badly treated, even if they chose to be there. His mistress, however, and others saw the advantages in entertaining gentlemen, and enjoyed their work. There was nothing unsavory about it, and the women were well compensated.

Someone had to make Charlotte see sense. Although, it would not be him. She wouldn’t listen to him if he was fool enough to make the attempt. Hopefully, Lady Bellamny would have a talk with Charlotte and explain the ways of the world. Then again, she might come around when she understood her option was to wed him or be cast out of Polite Society and never marry.

If she did not wed him, no one would believe the story that they’d been traveling with Lady Bellamny. If anyone actually looked into the matter, that clanker wouldn’t hold water, and her reputation would not be the only one at risk: Her sisters would be harmed.

He groaned. Not to mention his sisters. He could hear them haranguing and condemning him for an unthinking here-and-therian without the intelligence to convince an innocent young lady to marry him.

Damn if he’d let Charlotte make him look like a veritable coxcomb. There was no choice. She must wed him.

Con rubbed his cheek as he remembered her soft curves. His earlier reaction to her—before she’d begun harping about him keeping a mistress—had been strong enough that he thought he might enjoy teaching her about the sensual arts.

She was beautiful, well dowered, passionate, and intelligent. Other than her unfortunate tendency to champion impures, she was exactly the type of woman he had planned to wed . . . one day.

He stared at himself in the small shaving mirror. Whether he wanted it or not, that day was here.

He would simply have to channel Charlotte’s passions away from what he had done with his mistress to what he would be doing with her. What could be easier than seducing one’s own betrothed? An innocent who had probably not even been properly kissed—or kissed at all, if he knew her brother—before him.

Con made his way to the stables, where his leader had been tended. “I’ll need to hire another pair. My stable master will make arrangements for these two to be taken to Hillstone Manor.”

“Aye, my lord,” an older groom responded. “We’ll take good care of them. I got that pair of grays. Good goers, if ye ask me.”

He looked over the horses’ points. Satisfied, Con replied, “Have them ready in a half hour. Lady Bellamny’s coach will be required as well.”

He’d be damned if he was going to wait all day for the ladies, and he had to arrive at his mother’s house with an attendant for Charlotte.

“I’ll call fer her ladyship’s coachman.”

“Good man.” Con strode back to the inn and went directly to Lady Bellamny’s parlor, where he found her and Charlotte drinking tea. Two plates with leftover food were on the table, but there was enough on the tray for him to break his fast.

An almost empty bowl of milk sat on a table next to Charlotte. Collette was on the sofa, curled next to her mistress, who was absently stroking the feline. The homely, domestic scene belied their current circumstances.

“I ordered our carriages to be ready in half an hour, if that suits you.”

“Excellent,” Lady Bellamny replied. “I took it upon myself to write Lady Charlotte’s cousin, asking for her maid to attend her. I also wrote to Lady Worthington. Worthington can be a bit of a hothead where his sisters are concerned. She will be able to exert a calming influence.”

That was probably the best idea anyone had had all day. “Very well.” Con lowered himself onto a chair next to Charlotte. “Is there any tea left?”

“I shall order a new pot.” Lady Bellamny tugged the bell pull.

“Please.” He glanced at Charlotte. She had not even looked up from gazing at the cat.

The blasted chit probably thought that if she ignored him he would go away.

Con opened his mouth to address her when Lady Bellamny caught his eye and shook her head. Very well. He’d leave well enough alone for the time being. She had not been at all ill-mannered or petulant before she had discovered his identity. Perhaps the events of the past day were catching up to her, and she would be better behaved when she was at his mother’s home and had an opportunity to recover.

He had rank, wealth, and had been told by more women than he could count that he was handsome. Con did not believe he was being immodest in thinking that she could really not do much better than him. Unless, that is, she was after a duke, and young dukes were thin on the ground. Sooner or later Charlotte would come around.

He filled his plate with slices of rare roast beef and bread.

If the Fates were with him, he’d have enough time before Worthington arrived to persuade her she wished to spend her life with him.





Chapter Seven


Elizabeth Bell, Miss Betsy to most people and Mrs. E. Bottoms to others, arrived at the Hare and Hound shortly after ten in the morning to find the place in an uproar. “Burt”—she grabbed the man’s arm as he rushed by—“what is going on?”

“My girl, my poor Annabelle, has gone missing,” Mrs. Wick, the landlord’s wife cried into a large handkerchief. “It was that man who was here, claiming he was lord, as took her.” She wrung her hands in her apron. “I know he made my poor girl go with him.”