At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

Drawing on all the strength she possessed, Lydia turned to face the three conspirators. “One does not need logic to determine your cunning plan. I’m to marry Lord Randall, so he has control over my inheritance.”

Arabella looked smug. Only a fool celebrated winning a race before reaching the last furlong. “I don’t know why you pose such an objection. Do you know how many ladies of fine birth want to marry Lord Randall?”

Lydia glared at the pompous lord. “There are many heiresses willing to purchase a title. You need money to bring your little plan to fruition. Can you not find a wallflower, my lord? One willing to overlook your odd toilet habits?”

Lord Randall snorted. “When it comes to grooming, you lack sophistication, Miss Lovell. Though that is hardly surprising considering the company you keep.” He fussed with the cuffs of the silk puce coat that failed to complement his complexion. “The French are leaders in matters of style and fashion.”

“Then perhaps you should search for a wife there.” That said, the fact he was willing to marry her under duress spoke of urgency and desperation. “Or is there a reason you must marry quickly? Are your creditors demanding payment? Is your valet suing for mental trauma or undue distress?”

“Oh, do be quiet,” Arabella snapped. “Lord Randall does not need your money.”

“No, his mistress—the adulteress wife of my brother—does.” Lydia relished the look of shock on the reverend’s face. And as for Lord Randall, for the first time since meeting the dandy, a pink tinge of embarrassment marred his cheeks.

“I beg your pardon?” The Reverend Wyatt raised both brows. “You are in an adulteress relationship? But, my lord, you told me you loved Miss Lovell. You told me your desire to marry her stemmed from the need to save her blemished reputation.”

“Love her?” Arabella’s mouth twisted in contempt. “Peers don’t marry for love.”

“Arabella,” Lord Randall warned. “I hold Miss Lovell in the highest regard. And I am in want of a wife capable of raising strong sons.”

All traces of arrogance slipped from the crow’s face. “Sons?” Like a gathering storm, Arabella’s odd twitches soon left her shaking. The atmosphere turned threatening, building in momentum until her anger surfaced in a vitriolic outburst. “Sons! You plan to bed her more than once? No! No. No. I won’t have it, I tell you.”

The woman was a candidate for Bedlam.

Lord Randall groaned. “For heaven’s sake, Arabella, can a man not beget an heir?”

“Then I shall give you a child if that’s what you want.”

It was Lord Randall’s turn to snipe back. “Besides the fact you are barren, you know a bastard cannot inherit.”

It was like watching an absurd play from a box in a Covent Garden theatre. The rakes and never-do’s in the pits would be rolling on the floor in fits of laughter or shouting lewd suggestions while groping their doxies.

This was a farce, not a tragedy.

“I think it is time to bring this ridiculous sham to an end,” Lydia said boldly. “Nothing would induce me to marry Lord Randall because I am in love with Lord Greystone.”

Deeply in love. So in love with him nothing else mattered. Just hearing his name sent her stomach somersaulting.

The reverend looked a little panicked. “Then I should leave you to discuss this matter amongst yourselves.” All pretensions of superiority abandoned him as he bowed his head and shuffled backwards towards the door. “Should you need me to perform the ceremony—”

“Stay where you are. You’re not leaving.” Arabella thrust her nose in the air. “Lord Randall has the licence and you will perform the ceremony.” Her expression turned coy, her voice sickly sweet. “It would be such a shame to tell the congregation about your little secret.” Arabella pressed her finger to her lips and chuckled. “Would people still be as free with their coin if they knew how you spent it?”

If medals were given for spite, Arabella would struggle to walk under the weight of her trophies.

The Reverend Wyatt blanched. He gulped, dragged a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed his brow. The man’s fingers shook as he fought to maintain his composure. “Then … then let us proceed quickly.”

Lord Randall turned to Arabella. “Perhaps you should wait outside. The situation calls for calm and understanding.”

“You want rid of me. Well, I’m staying, do you hear? I’m staying here until I know the deed is done.”

Lord Randall growled. “I’ll not marry Miss Lovell with you glaring at my back.”

“Why?” Arabella countered. “Why do you care?”

“Does the lady not deserve a proper wedding?”

A proper wedding?

They were about to force her to marry a man who made her sick to the pit of her stomach. They were bribing the reverend, had lied to her b