Free Preview: The Missed Match

Prologue

February 14, 1813

The tall dark-haired Duke of Ellesmere stepped into the anteroom, about to collect his cloak to depart. It had been a long evening, made even more tedious by the fact the only woman he longed to stand up with for the exquisite pleasure of even one single dance had been monopolized by every young buck in the region.

The Fates had most certainly conspired against him. But perhaps it was for the best, Thomas tried to tell himself. Perhaps the despondent ache in the region of his heart might somehow ease if he attempted to reason it away.

She might well be of age now, but that did not mean she was ready for marriage. Far better to let her spread her wings for a time, discover more of the world for herself, than lock her in a prison of his own choosing. A gilded cage was still a cage, after all.

He took up his black silk cloak and tossed it around his shoulders, before stepping out of the French doors into the orangery. It was a charming addition to the splendid old mansion, a man-made paradise in white painted wrought iron and crystal.

He could picture his lovely lady reclining on one of the low chaise longues with a book in her hand. It would no doubt be a Gothic novel. He watched her in his mind’s eye as she tittered over the truly terrifying bits in the safety of the broad daylight which poured through the glass panels.

But now all was cold and dark within. He wished to avoid any awkward goodbyes and expressions of gratitude for having come, or for his humble gift. He would slip out the side door into the garden and walk around the house to the front to meet his carriage. Enjoy the biting mid-February air for a few minutes before heading home. The bleak weather would be perfectly suited to his mood.

Just as St. Valentine’s Day was the perfect birth date for his lovely blue-eyed goddess, he thought with a sigh. As divine as any on Mount Olympus, and just as out of reach. He drew his cloak about him more tightly, longing for just one touch of her hand, some small gesture of affection and comfort. Then, telling himself to act his age, nearly thirty, not thirteen, he moved forward.

The Duke hadn’t gone more than three steps when he froze.

The orangery was already occupied. He heard the hurried whispers, and drew back at once. He had no wish to interrupt a romantic tete a tete. Especially since he was fairly certain the white-gowned figure partly obscured by a tall potted palm was the lady of the house herself.

To his surprise, he heard the swish of a second woman’s skirt.

Ah, discovery. And no doubt histrionics to follow.

But no. There was only more whispering, the third person’s low-timbred voice indicating this was no gaggle of silly schoolgirls gossiping about the ball.

He pressed his back to the wall and sidled closer, and strained his ears to hear.

“It’s all set. I urged her to press forward as subtly as possible. She’ll be at the bottom of the bridle path leading to Millcote at midnight.”

“Good work,” a man’s voice murmured.

“Are you sure you’ve done your part?”

“Never fear. All is ready. And mine will be easy enough. Tumble the wench, then see what we can squeeze out of her father. I’m counting on you to play your part to the letter.”

“Haven’t we done so already? The silly bitch doesn’t suspect a thing,” the second woman said with a gloating note of triumph which turned Thomas’ blood cold. Her voice was lighter, more soprano than mezzo.

“Good. See that she doesn’t,” came the growled reply.

“It hardly matters now. Once she’s in that coach, even if she has second thoughts, it will be too late,” the deeper-voiced woman pointed out. “Just write to us as soon as you’re at Gretna and the thing has been done safely. Then I shall come to you both to help manage her.”

The man snorted in derision. “I’m sure I’ll figure out a way to manage her once we’re wed. Never met any woman I couldn’t handle. It’s her pa I’m concerned about.”

“Never fear. Her friends will all see she wants for nothing. We just need to be patient for a short while, and then we can all have everything we’ve ever dreamed of.”

“Aye, and then some. But you’d better go now. There’s the cake to attend to, and after that she can slip away unnoticed.”

“Good luck. And enjoy your wedding day.”

The man let out a vulgar snigger. “It’s the night I care about.”

The first woman glided out of the orangery without noting the tall dark man’s presence. He heard her slippers slap along the tiles of the anteroom hurriedly, leaving the other two conspirators far behind.

There was no more conversation for the moment, just the sound of clothing being fumbled with, and the moist sounds of clinging lovers. Then he heard a sigh.

“I can’t wait until this is over,” the woman’s muffled soprano voice declared. “But I just hate the thought of you and her-“

“I’m doing it for us, love, you know that,” the man wheedled.

“But what you just said about the wedding night-“

“The marriage needs to be consummated for me to get her family right where I need them. Otherwise the silly chit can go to blazes so far as I’m concerned.”

The Duke heard the sound of several ever more passionate kisses, and at last the rasp of their labored breaths as they broke away.

“We’ll be together again soon, I promise. A few days at most, once we’re sure of the money,” the all too familiar voice asserted. “Now off you go, lass. Fill the giddy Miss Castlemaine’s ears with endless paeans of praise for me, and hold forth at length about all the joys of marriage that await her as soon as she’s wed.”

“I’m certainly an expert on that, aren’t I,” the woman practically purred.

“You most certainly are. Once the mad dash to Gretna is over with, I’ll look forward to an even wilder ride with you, my pet. Now off you go. I need to get ready.”

He gave her a lusty thwack on the buttocks which echoed around the room, and she giggled happily.

Thomas pressed back into the ornamental alcove formed by two Doric columns, his mind racing.

The girl was gone before he could even try to interfere, scurrying away to perform her nefarious part in this dreadful plot against an innocent, unsuspecting girl.

He let her go. He had a few keen suspicions as to who it might be. In some senses she didn’t really matter. She was a mere pawn.

No, it was the king he needed to deal with here in this most deadly game. For he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Herbert Paxton betrayed women with all the skill of Judas. And that his latest intended victim was in the most deadly peril imaginable.

His head swam.

Not again.

No, not again.

He hadn’t been able to do a damn thing for the last sweet, tender girl Paxton had abducted and ruined irrevocably.

He had to save Charlotte Castlemaine no matter what.

Paxton had been bloody clever. Charlotte too, come to that. She had been surrounded by so many beaux he had never even suspected that things could have progressed so far. Certainly not with Paxton of all people.

Hare and hounds, what was he to do?

His fury was such that he would quite happily have throttled his worst enemy with his bare hands and left him for dead in the garden. But he wasn’t prepared to leave his family to suffer the consequences of that brutal act. However vile the beast was, Paxton wasn’t worth swinging at the end of a rope for. Not when Thomas had so many people depending upon him. Two pairs of green eyes in particular haunted him every night.

Think, Thomas, think…

He searched his pockets quickly. No, he would be damned if he would give Paxton the special sapphire jewelry he had hoped to work up the courage to give to his heart’s desire on this most special of nights, her eighteenth birthday.

It was just as well he hadn’t dared. His secondary gift of a matching fan and reticule had elicited enough of a shocked response as it was. Not least because she could not fail to have noticed how they matched her gown so perfectly. But then he had taken such pains that it should do so, locating her modiste in Bath to be sure her ensemble would be perfect in every respect.

Damn. What was he to do? He could certainly buy the bastard off, but it was no permanent solution, of that he was sure. There was nothing to stop Paxton from pocketing the cash and coming right back to sniff around after Charlotte once more.

On the other hand, if Paxton had no chance to marry her because Thomas held his past over his head–

But no, that wouldn’t work either. It would only expose many of the people he loved to certain ruin.

And a thwarted young miss was a force to be reckoned with. The Lord only knew how they could bear to cling to such scoundrels and reprobates. But many kind-hearted women did, even when it meant certain ruin, he recalled with a shudder.

And Charlotte Castlemaine would never believe him anyway. Not even if he marched into the ballroom straight away and confronted her with everything he had just heard. She wouldn’t give him the least credence if she fancied herself so in love that she was willing to risk everything in the world to elope with Paxton. And she would hate him forever for exposing her lover and herself.

Thomas continued to go through his pockets while his enemy lit a cheroot and sat down on one of the stone benches to enjoy his leisurely smoke. He could just imagine the smug, satisfied smile on the blond man’s florid face.

Well, he was going to wipe that look off it in a moment, he determined. That poor child…

He had to stop him. Now, and forever. Even leaving aside his own regard for Charlotte, it was the decent thing to do. And there seemed only one way to do it, though his mind rebelled at the dreadful underhandedness of the whole scheme. But needs must when the Devil drove.

The only way to ever be sure of stopping Paxton from eloping with Charlotte Castlemaine and marrying her would be to ensure she was already married.

To marry Charlotte himself.

He wished now he had not been so aloof, had wooed her more overtly. But he had had just enough vanity to desire absolute certainty with regard to her being willing to marry him for himself, not his fortune or title. And for her to be sure that she was making a mature and considered choice.

But mature and considered be damned when there was love at stake. Love, and one’s very life.

He stepped out from behind the pillar before he even realized his feet had moved. “I heard you, you bastard. Heard every disgusting word.”

Paxton leapt up in alarm, flinging the cigar aside, poising for a fight.

“And what do you think you’re going to do about it, Eltham?” he demanded. “Kill me? You haven’t the guts.”

“You remember our days in the Army as well as I do. I think you’ll recall that I most certainly do. But I’ve never resorted to murder.”

“No, nor a duel neither?” he mocked.

“What purpose would be served? To expose my whole family to scandal and even further tragedy?”

“A real man–“

The raven-haired Duke flung his purse at him, almost striking him in the face with the well-stuffed leather drawstring bag.

“All guineas. And a banker’s draft you can draw five hundred upon. You’ll get the same amount every month for as long as you keep away from Miss Castlemaine and my family.”

“Ah yes, and how is the delightful Jane these days?”

Thomas gritted his teeth, determined not to be goaded. “Take it and get out, now.”

“Ah, but you see, the lady is waiting for me even as we speak-“

“And if you want to see the sun rise on the morrow you’ll leave now, and not look back.”

Paxton’s tone took on a plaintive note that made Thomas all the more furious. “Is this any way to treat an old friend?”

“It’s certainly the way to treat a bad one. Get the hell out.”

“All right,” he said, weighing the purse in his grasping hand. “I’ll take this now, but only because I’d rather have a bird in the hand than speculate on her father being talked around into granting his approval and her money.

“But mark my words, I’ll be back. And I’ll make you pay for poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong, Eltham. I’ll make all of you pay.”

“Threaten me all you like, but leave Miss Castlemaine out of it. She’s done nothing to you. And if it’s only money you’re after-“

“You know what I’m after.”

“You’re not getting them!” he barked.

“Oh, I will, Your Grace, believe me, I will,” Paxton threatened with a mocking laugh. “I’ll bide my time, watch and wait. I’ll have it all. You’ll see if I don’t.”

“You can never prove-“

“Oh, I think I can. I’ll be more than glad to give convincing testimony in front of the highest court in the land if you don’t pay up. What will you look like then? The brave noble, decent soul who would lock a woman he claims he loves in a madhouse rather than-“

Thomas’ fury began to claw its way upwards despite his Herculean efforts to keep it under control. “Get out, now.”

Paxton raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m going. But mark my words, you’ll pay. All of you. For as long as it suits me. Give Charlotte my best regards, and tell her I’ll see her soon.”

Thomas swung then, but Paxton had already vanished, fleeing through the garden doors and out into the black night.

Thomas pivoted around on his heel. He had bought him off cheaply, not even having to offer him the sapphires as a last resort to protect Charlotte’s virtue, but he also knew that Paxton was not to be trusted.

In fact, now that Herbert knew of his interest in the girl, things would be far worse for her than the poor girl could ever imagine. Worse for them all.

At that thought, Thomas knew he hadn’t a moment to lose. He dug out his pocket notebook and pencil, and scribbled a hasty missive, which he handed to the nearest footman as he charged through the anteroom and down the corridor.

“Give this to Mr. Castlemaine in ten minutes, do you understand?” he said urgently, pressing it into the young man’s hand along with a bright shiny guinea.

“Aye, sir, ten minutes. But, sir, you’re going the wrong way-“

Thomas knew he couldn’t risk being waylaid in the foyer of the mansion. Once more he returned to the orangery. He was out the garden door in a flash, and up into his waiting carriage moments later.

“Take us around to the foot of the bridle path that runs from here to Millcote.”

“Aye, sir, gladly. But-“

“Don’t ask. For God’s sake, just hurry. Before it’s too late.”

The Missed Match
A Rakehell Regency Series Novel
Sorcha MacMurrough
Setting: Regency England, 1813
Word Count=93,000
Rating: Sensual

The Rakehell Regency Series: What Jane Austen would have written about if only she’d dared….

 

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