The Earl's Marriage Bargain Read online

  Chapter Ten

  Ivo took her right hand, his thumb tracing over the swelling at the base of her thumb. Shivers ran through her.

  ‘Shall we see?’

  ‘What...?’

  Stop dithering, you ninny!

  ‘If we can improve on our one kiss?’

  ‘Why not? Since there will not be another one,’ she said defiantly.

  ‘Oh, Jane. Either you are the most artless girl I have ever met or you are the most cunning.’ He took her other hand.

  ‘What do you mean? Cunning?’

  ‘If you hoped to provoke a man into giving a kiss his full attention and every ounce of skill in the matter that he can summon, you could not do better.’

  They were standing toe to toe now. She found she liked his teasing. She liked the sensation of being so close, of anticipation. She wanted him to kiss her.

  ‘Excellent. But could you do it now, please, because Mama will be rushing in any moment now, you realise?’

  Being kissed by a man who was smiling was really rather wonderful. It made her smile back against his lips, made it so easy for his tongue to slip in, teasing, stroking. That was such a surprise she almost jumped, almost bit him, then she found she could stroke back with hers and that when she did Ivo’s arms tightened around her and he made a sound, almost a purr, deep in his throat. That gave her a strange feeling—almost tenderness, almost power, certainly a longing for more.

  When he lifted his head and set her back a little, she blinked at him and found they were both still smiling. ‘That was very... Verity said it was very...but I did not believe her.’

  ‘Did she say anything more about the married state?’

  ‘I did ask her,’ Jane admitted. ‘Mama would never explain. I mean, what on earth have bees and flowers to do with anything? Or closing one’s eyes and fixing one’s mind on duty and children? So, Verity told me and, I have to say, it does sound highly improbable that it is an enjoyable thing to do, but she assures me that it is. With the right person.’

  Ivo was still smiling. She hoped he was not laughing at her. Or at her pink cheeks. It was surprising that they were not scarlet, because this was a very naughty conversation to be having.

  ‘Perhaps I am the right person for you after all,’ he said and there was a question in his eyes and something else, something unsettling.

  Something very like pain? Surely not. And had she imagined the very lightest emphasis on you—as though she might not be right for him. But if that was the case Ivo could be proposing purely out of gallantry.

  ‘I am not sure that nice kisses, or whatever happens in bed, are good enough reasons for risking marriage,’ she said.

  ‘I would encourage you to paint,’ Ivo said. ‘You could paint whoever you wanted—there would be no need to do it for money, so there would be no criticism of you.’

  Jane studied his face, the line between his brows as the smile faded and he watched her, studying her face in his turn as she thought it through.

  This was what I want, surely? But I would be painting at his whim, with his permission...

  ‘You wanted to be independent?’ he said, clearly reading her doubts. ‘I can see that would be a stumbling block. Would you accept my word that I will not stand in the way of your art? Would you be very kind and tolerate being a rich woman?’

  ‘Yes, I could tolerate being a rich woman,’ Jane agreed, not certain whether to laugh or cry. It all sounded so very tempting, so very easy. Approval from Mama and Papa, no need to fight to paint as she wished. No risk of finding herself starving in a garret, cast off by her family and failing to find any customers for her art.

  Accepting Ivo’s offer would mean life with this man who was having an unsettling, but very pleasant, effect on her equilibrium... She tried not to think about that or about the intimacies that marriage would bring. Those thoughts went far beyond unsettling if she let them. Her mind shied away and found something else to worry about. Marriage meant more than what happened beyond the bedchamber door. ‘But I would acquire a great many duties, would I not? I have not been raised to be an aristocratic wife.’

  ‘We have a very competent housekeeper, there is nothing for you to worry about.’

  The word yes was on the tip of her tongue, then, for some reason, one of her friend Melissa’s favourite sayings came to her. If it is too good to be true, then it probably is. Why she should choose that moment to recall it, she did not know, but it was certainly timely.

  ‘But you do not want to marry me,’ Jane said. ‘This is pure gallantry. You would not have thought of it if we had just happened to meet socially. You would not have decided, There’s the lady I will court and wed, now, would you?’

  ‘I had intended to marry when I returned to England,’ Ivo said, after a pause so short she might have imagined it. But she could not miss the fact that he had not answered her question. ‘And this is clearly my duty—’ He broke off, presumably realising that this was not a tactful approach. ‘We find ourselves in a position where it would be most sensible to wed. We have rubbed along very well except when the question of you earning your living by your art came up, have we not?’

  ‘Rub along? Is that really all you want from marriage?’

  ‘It seems a perfectly reasonable proposition,’ Ivo said. ‘You were prepared to go to any amount of trouble and deceit to get what you want—the opportunity to paint as you desire. You were willing to accept the risk of social ostracism, a rift from your parents, difficulties for your cousin Miss Lowry, poverty and loneliness.’

  She should tell him that she had changed her mind, that he had helped her see that it was not what she truly wanted after all. Pride stopped her.

  ‘I am offering you social acceptance, wealth, access to subjects to paint you could not have dreamt of. Your parents would be delighted—’

  ‘And what about love?’ she broke in. ‘What if I fall in love with someone else after we marry? What if you do?’

  ‘It does not last, romantic love.’ Ivo stepped back from her stabbing finger before she could make contact to emphasise her point. He turned away and it must have been that which made his voice seem less distinct, less assured.

  ‘Ivo?’

  He turned back to face her and she thought she saw that darkness shadowing those blue eyes again. ‘There might be a fleeting attraction, but mature, sensible people can ignore it, turn from it until it fades, believe me.’

  Was he speaking from experience? ‘But Verity and Will—I cannot imagine their love fading.’

  ‘The Duke and Duchess met when both were free to indulge their feelings, to build on that first attraction. If they had not been free, then it would all have been forgotten soon enough.’

  ‘So cynical!’ She could not believe it, not after seeing the look in Will’s eyes when he watched Verity, not when she saw the bloom of happiness that love had brought to her friend.

  ‘I am realistic,’ Ivo said, his voice harsh. He raised one hand to touch cold fingertips to her cheek and his tone gentled. ‘Jane, the situation we now find ourselves in makes your fantasy quite untenable.’

  She opened her mouth to protest that if he meant her career in art, she knew that, but if he meant her dreams of true love, then he must be wrong.

  The door creaked before she could speak. ‘Jane dear?’ Her mother peeped around the edge with a coyness that made her toes curl. ‘Now then, you two young people cannot be alone in here so long, you naughty things. You must come out and share your news.’

  ‘Not quite yet, Mrs Newnham,’ Ivo said with a smile that did not reach his eyes, Jane saw. ‘We will go out into the garden.’

  ‘The back garden,’ Jane added. ‘Then, Mama, you may watch us from this window if you fear for the proprieties. This way, Ivo.’

  Ivo held the door open with the hint of a bow. ‘Do come in, ma’am.’

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bsp; Jane stood aside as her mother, smiling a little uncertainly at Ivo, allowed herself to be seated at the window. They escaped into the hall, out of the back door into the grassed area to the rear of the house. It was scattered with old fruit trees, apples and pears and cherries, lichen-covered and bent with age.

  Ivo offered his arm and Jane took it. They could hardly stand in the middle of the grass glaring at each other.

  ‘That...my painting...is nothing to do with this,’ she said, picking up their argument as they began to pace away from the house.

  ‘I wish I could believe that,’ Ivo retorted. ‘It is inconceivable that you could establish a business in Bath relying on the patronage of the middle and upper classes without Mesdames Tredwick and Merrydew discovering it. They know your true identity. Can you imagine the gossip? I guarantee that you would be characterised as my discarded mistress, or the hussy who jilted me or the poor creature that I jilted within days. No one of any respectability would dream of commissioning you to paint their family.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said at last, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. If he sneered, if he said, I told you so, she would not forgive him. ‘I do not have enough money.’

  ‘No, you do not,’ Ivo agreed. ‘I am sorry. If there was almost anything else that you wanted so badly, then I would give you the money and be happy to do so, but I am not going to pay for your ruin.’

  ‘I could not take money from you anyway.’ Jane saw the pale oval of her mother’s face at the window of the book room. She walked further under the shelter of the trees. ‘That would make me a kept woman, would it not?’ She tried for a laugh and failed. ‘You did warn me about that.’

  ‘It would if I asked for anything in return,’ Ivo said.

  ‘Thank you, but I shall return home to Dorset, having made it clear that I have refused your most flattering offer. No doubt I will be in disgrace with my parents for months, but I will be no worse off than I was before.’

  ‘You will be very much worse off when the gossip reaches the ladies of your neighbourhood—and it will—and they learn that you were declaring yourself betrothed to the Earl of Kendall in the street one day and jilting him the next, once your parents arrived. Goodness knows what the tale to explain that will be, but I have no doubt that it will be lurid enough to make you the talk of the county for months.’

  ‘Oh, those wretched chairmen! Why did they have to take a fit of gallantry just then?’ She glanced up and saw Ivo’s mouth twist into a wry smile. ‘And there is no need for you to look like that, I am quite well aware that it was all my fault. I thought that if I said I was your betrothed it would make the story of an argument more plausible.’

  ‘Because betrothed couples will surely argue?’ he asked with a flash of the old laughter back in his eyes. ‘Jane, will you accept the inevitable? It is not only for your sake, you know—your parents and your cousin will be saved much distress and anxiety. My grandfather is ready to accept it now he realises that I am not going to dance to his tune and marry to order.’

  ‘And it would be best for your reputation,’ she said, making the argument that he would not.

  Ivo made a dismissive gesture with his free hand.

  ‘Tell me one thing, then.’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Is there anyone who has hopes of you? Are you in love with anyone?’

  ‘I am not promised to anyone, you have my word on it.’ Ivo gestured towards a seat against the wall. ‘Shall we?’ He stopped as she tugged on his arm and came to look up into his face. ‘No, Jane, there is no one who has hopes of me, upon my honour.’

  ‘In that case...’ Jane swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. There would be no going back from this and the implications were life-changing, whichever choice she made. On the one hand, scandal and disgrace, not just within her family, but within a wide social circle. She would be the girl who jilted the Earl of Kendall after she had done something so awful that he had felt bound to offer for her. On the other, to marry out of her world, to take on responsibilities she could hardly guess at, to risk never being able to practise her art as she so passionately wished to. And to be married to a man she did not love, who certainly did not love her, the two of them tied for ever.

  But I like him. I think he finds me...interesting. I trust him. I will do my best to make sure he does not regret this and his grandfather seems disposed to approve of the match. I wonder why, when he had plans for another marriage altogether?

  She had not so much hesitated as come to a complete stop. She glanced at Ivo who had abandoned trying to get her to sit and was leaning one shoulder against the down-bent branch of a gnarled apple tree. He did not look impatient, or bored, either of which would have been understandable, Jane thought. Instead he appeared interested, as though he was following her mental processes and found that a worthwhile exercise.

  If he had merely been politely patient, that would have made her hesitate, but if Ivo was inclined to find her worthy of curiosity, then she would have some foundation to build a marriage with him. It would be like painting a portrait: they had a rough scribbled outline of a relationship and now she had to lay down a ground to support the picture as they built it up together—layers of colour, of light and shade or ambiguity and certainty.

  ‘You are smiling,’ Ivo said. ‘Does that mean that you have made up your mind?’ He straightened up from the tree, tall and strong in the dappled shade and her breath caught. Why had she not thought him handsome merely because his face had strength and character and power? She, an artist, should have known better: this was a masculine beauty all its own and she wanted it for herself.

  ‘Yes, I have.’ Jane took a step towards him, reached for him. ‘And I accept, if you are quite certain. I will not hold it against you if you have changed your mind.’

  ‘I was rather hoping to hold you against me,’ Ivo said and took her hand, drawing her in close, then leaning back into the bough so she tipped forward against his chest with a squeak of alarm. ‘I have you safe. And we have an audience. Shall we show them that they have something to celebrate?’

  ‘Them? Where? Who? I thought we were out of sight now.’ Jane tried to see but Ivo settled her more firmly in his embrace and bent his head.

  ‘An entire flock of chaperons has decided to take the air and admire the orchard and is tactfully pretending they cannot see us,’ he murmured against her hair. His breath was warm and it tickled a little, then his cheek was against hers, the faint grain of his beard, even after a close shave, a new sensation. His breath was teasing her ear now and he was murmuring soft words, too low for her to understand.

  It seemed her body did know this whispered language because Jane found herself pressing closer against the intriguing layers of male clothing, the softness of broadcloth and the crispness of linen, the buttons in places ladies had no buttons, the faint discomfort of his watch chain against her ribs.

  Her own mouth was moving, too, without her will. She kissed slowly across his cheek, tasting faint saltiness while her nostrils registered verbena and spice and shaving soap and an interesting muskiness. Then Ivo moved his head and their lips met.

  They had not learned each other yet, she realised, surprised to find that learning was needed, that exploration would be pleasurable. Their noses bumped, she found the corner of his mouth...and then they had it, lips moving together, parting to share heat and moisture, ready for new discoveries.

  ‘Hurrumph.’

  Jane jumped. Against her lips Ivo sighed, then he straightened, setting her on her feet and steadying her with one hand under her elbow as he turned to face his grandfather, two trees away, apparently studying the graft on a pear.

  ‘You startled me, sir. I had no idea anyone was in the garden.’

  Fibber, Jane thought, embarrassed, but also amused.

  ‘No time to be billing and cooing out here,’ the Marques
s said, still glowering at the lumpy bark. ‘Plenty of time for that. Business to be completed, agreements to be made, dates to be set.’ He looked at them then and Jane had the sudden thought that he had tears in his eyes, then she blinked and the fleeting impression was gone. What would he have to be sad about? If he disliked the idea of this match, then he would make his feelings very plain.

  ‘My grandfather is not of a romantic inclination, you note, Jane,’ Ivo said drily. ‘You will be glad to hear that Miss Newnham has accepted my offer, sir.’

  ‘I should hope so after that exhibition. Come along in, the pair of you, and speak to Mrs Newnham. The poor lady has no idea whether she is on her head or her heels with you two and your harum-scarum idea of courtship. Wouldn’t have done in my day, I can tell you.’ He turned then looked back. ‘I have got rid of their Ladyships, you’ll be glad to hear. Told them in confidence that the reason your mama is in such a taking is that her sensibilities are shattered by an engagement when we’re in mourning. They are in such awe of her putting such scruples before an advantageous match that they are quite prepared to overlook the disparity in rank that had been exercising them before and have rushed back to Bath to inform all their acquaintance of the fact.’

  ‘And you, my lord?’ Jane asked, finding herself suddenly bold enough to ask. ‘Can you accept such a disparity?’

  He looked at her from under thick grey brows. ‘Frankly, Miss Newnham, I would overlook my grandson marrying any young lady of good upbringing if she keeps him in the present and not in the past.’

  She felt Ivo stiffen, then he said, ‘I do not think I need a wife to remind me that I am not in the army any longer, Grandfather. I suspect that the work you are heaping on me will serve that purpose well enough.’

  Jane felt a pang of guilt. It had not occurred to her that Ivo might be mourning not only his father, but also the loss of his military career. She had been so tied up in her own hopes and dreams and frustrations that she had been selfish, she realised. She gave his arm a little squeeze. ‘I am afraid that I will be adding to your burdens, because there must be a great deal for me to learn.’