How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal 3)

“Hello, Richard,” she said with a tentative smile. Maria glanced between them, then, with a sob, fled.

The countess strolled closer. “Lady Benchley seems distressed.” At his silence, Aurelia continued. “How lovely to see you again, Richard. It’s been a while.”

It had been two years since he had been foolish enough to tell her he loved her and asked her to marry him. She had been mercenary enough to reject his hand because he was a second son, despite the fact she had been carrying his child. After her refusal, he had approached her father, hoping to secure his approval. The courage it had taken to face the earl after Richard had seduced his daughter and gotten her with child had been no easy feat. It hardly mattered Aurelia had been a willing participant and that there were times Richard felt as if he had been the one to fall under her charms and wiles. He had still felt like a cad, a libertine, and undeserving of her.

Her father had been even more heartless in his refusal of Richard’s offer.

“Countess,” he said flatly with a short, mocking bow.

He chuckled roughly when her hands fluttered delicately to wrap around her middle, and her lips formed a moue of regret, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. There was nothing frail about her—she had been happily persuaded by her ambitions to terminate their child and marry a man twice her age…all for a wealth and prestige he’d had no hopes of accomplishing. Every secret smile across the dance floor of a ball, the sighs of happiness and completion, the promises… God, the promises, they had all been sweet lies he’d eagerly lapped up.

The mere memory of how his heart had pounded with anguished hope as he’d tried to hammer at her resistance filled him with disgust.

“You disappeared from society’s events with no words after…after…” She laughed nervously and wetted her lips. An action that once would have filled him with raging need for her. Richard was damned grateful the only thing stirring inside of him was impatience. After her betrayal, he joined the army as a reporting officer. His love for her had been in vain, and he’d been unable to stay in London. It would have been unbearable for him to pretend indifference and idly stand by as she became the Countess of Trenear, so he had fled.

The past two years had seen him living on the edge of danger, scouting out trouble for the army, even behind enemy lines. His devil-may-care attitude had left him intact apart from a couple of minor scratches. He did not mention his commission to his parents, the Duke and Duchess of Salop, who seemed unconcerned to see so little of him. When on furlough in London he did not wear his uniform or mention the war. His friends’ questions as to his whereabouts were ignored or answered enigmatically with “Here and there.”

From the tone of his father’s letters, which Richard’s valet sent on to Portugal and reached him erratically, they assumed he was living a life of wild debauchery

abroad. His man, Timmons, continued to live in Richard’s lodgings and answer social invitations on his behalf, declining those he would not be able to attend. Timmons was the only person he bothered to communicate with back in England.

Somehow the polite world thought he was a disreputable rake.

Rubbish, of course. He’d only removed the desire in his heart to marry, and he did not believe in the idiocy of love. He would never again place his trust in the sweet lies that spilled from a woman’s lips. When ladies made their choice of husband, their criteria were based on wealth and societal power, not tender sentiments.

When he was in England, he gambled, raced rather recklessly at times, and he tupped women of all classes. He’d come to realize the women of high society were just as free with their favors as those who walked the dirtiest streets of London. The ladies of the ton were simply more cunning and diabolically discreet. Did any of them truly believe in honor and fidelity? He had yet to meet a lady who was constant. Even his mother had a discreet lover to which his father turned a blind eye for reasons beyond Richard’s understanding.

“Where have you been, Richard?”

“I’m not interested in this…whatever the bloody hell this is,” he said, spreading his hands to encompass them.

“Please, you have no idea how much I’ve regretted—”

She gasped as he stepped in so close she was almost flush to his chest. “The only thing I regret, Aurelia, is that I did not see your true character before I made a fool of myself.”

She paled. “I—” Her throat worked on a swallow. “Please, listen to me.”

“What could we possibly have to say to each other?”

“I thought we could be friends. I’ve missed you. What we had was—”

His harsh bark of laughter had a flush covering her face.

“We had nothing. I offered you marriage and my love, and you refused because the earl had more wealth and influence to help your family. I am not interested in your overtures of friendship, Lady Trenear. Do not approach me again, my cordiality and forgiveness will extend only so far.”

He stepped away from her and walked deeper into the beautiful gardens, away from the revelry of the well-attended house party. Why in God’s name had he even accepted the invitation? He should have traveled down to Derbyshire with his older brother, Francis, or to the seaside. Anything would have been better than this intolerable gathering.

Richard rounded a corner and passed a maze, moving to the hidden alcove. As he drew closer, the sound of awful retching reached his ears. A few seconds later the scene came into view and the explanation for the offensive sounds made itself evident. A young lady was bent over, casting up her accounts and groaning. He considered leaving, he’d had enough interactions with females to last him the month, but a sob hiccupped from her and then more of that blasted retching.

“May I offer you any assistance?”

She muffled a squeak and lurched upright from her bent-over position so fast she stumbled. She lifted a handkerchief that was crushed in her hands to dab at her lips. Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “I am terribly mortified!”

Her eyes were red and a bit swollen from crying, her nose, too, if he was not mistaken. Her cheeks were splotched and even the curls caressing her cheeks were limp. Beneath the dishevelment, the young lady was ravishing with her golden hair and eyes so green they were like the grass they stood upon. Holy God, she is beautiful. Her frame was petite but elegant, with lushly sensual curves. His cock twitched and flexed, and the boredom that had been coursing through his veins dissipated.

“Who are you?” The question slipped from him before he’d even formed the thought.

A severe frown lowered her brows. “I should wait to be introduced, otherwise it will be highly improper.”