A Gentleman's Honor (Bastion Club 2)

His gaze hardened. “So let us be clear, my dear. Mrs. Carrington cannot continue in the ton, but if you consent to become Mrs. William Ruskin, I see no reason the ton should ever learn that Mrs. Carrington did not exist. I’m renewing my offer for your hand. Should you accept, there’s no reason your plan to establish the lovely Adriana will suffer so much as a hiccup.” His smile faded; he held her gaze. “I trust I make myself plain?”

Triumph had turned to ashes; her mouth was dry. Moistening her lips, she fought to keep her tone even. “I believe I understand you perfectly, sir. However…I would ask for a little time to consider my reply.”

His brows rose; his untrustworthy smile returned. “Of course. You may have twenty-four hours—there isn’t much to consider, after all.”

She sucked in a breath, frantically gathered her wits to protest.

His gaze, hard, trapped hers. “Tomorrow evening you can formally accept me—tomorrow night, I’ll expect to share your bed.”

Shock held her immobile, staring at his face; she searched his eyes but found no hint of any emotion worth appealing to.

When she made no reply, he bowed punctiliously. “I’ll call on you tomorrow evening at nine.”

Turning, he left her, strolling into the crowd.

Alicia stood frozen, her wits careening, her skin icy, her stomach hollow.

A burst of raucous laughter from the dowagers, ineffectually smothered, jerked her back to earth. She glanced across the room at Adriana. Her sister was holding her own, but had noticed her distraction; their gazes met, but when Adriana arched a brow, Alicia shook her head.

She had to regain control—of their plan, of her life. Marry Ruskin, or… she could barely take it in.

Faintness still gripped her; she felt hot one minute, cold the next. Seeing a footman passing, she requested a glass of water. He brought it promptly, eyeing her warily as if she might swoon; she forced a weak smile and thanked him.

A chair stood against the wall two yards away. She walked to it and sat, sipping her water. After a few minutes, she flicked open her fan and waved it before her face.

She had to think. Adriana was safe for the moment…

Blocking out all thought of the threat Ruskin had made, she focused on him, on what he’d said—on what he knew and what he didn’t. Why he was acting as he was, what insights that gave her, how she might press him to change his mind.

They—she, Adriana and the three boys—desperately needed Adriana to make a good match. Not with just any gentleman, but one with reasonable wealth and a sufficiently good heart not only to forgive them the deception they were practicing but to provide for the boys’ schooling.

They were as near to penniless as made no difference. They were wellborn, but had no close connections; there were just the five of them—or more correctly Alicia and Adriana to look after them all. David was only twelve years old, Harry ten, and Matthew eight. Without an education, there would be no future for them.

Adriana had to be given the chance to make the match they felt certain she could. She was stunningly beautiful; the ton had already labeled her a “diamond of the first water” among other admiring epithets. She would be a hit, a wild success; once the Season proper commenced, she could take her pick from the wealthy eligibles, and she was wise enough, despite her years, to make the right choice, with Alicia’s help.

One gentleman would be the right one for her, for them all, and then the family—Adriana and the three boys— would be safe.

Alicia had no other goal before her; she hadn’t had for the past eighteen months, since their mother died. Their father had died years before, leaving the family with little money and few possessions.

They’d scrimped, saved, and survived. And now they’d risked all on this one throw that fate, in creating Adriana’s undoubted beauty, had given them. In order to do so, Alicia had behaved in ways she wouldn’t otherwise countenance; she’d taken risks she otherwise never would have—and thus far won.

She’d become Mrs. Carrington, a wealthy and fashionable widow, the perfect chaperone to introduce Adriana to the ton. Hiring a professional chaperone had been out of the question—not only did they not have the funds, but to the ton, especially the upper echelons, a wealthy widow presenting her ravishing younger sister was a significantly different prospect to two provincial spinsters with a hired chaperone, one whose relative standing would have illuminated theirs.

With her masquerade in place, they’d cleared every hurdle and succeeded in insinuating themselves into the ton. The ultimate success beckoned; all was going so well…

There had to be a way around Ruskin and his threat.

She could marry him, but the recoil the thought evoked made her cast that as a last resort; she’d return to it if and only if there was no other way.

One thing Ruskin had said clanged in her mind. He thought they had money. He’d discovered she’d never married, but he hadn’t learned she was first cousin to a pauper.

What if she told him?

Would that make him turn aside from his plan, or simply place another weapon in his hands? If he learned she came with no money but only costs and responsibilities, would he decide not to marry her after all, but instead force her to become his mistress?

The thought made her nauseous. She gulped the last of her water, then rose to set the glass down on a nearby sideboard. The movement had her facing down the side of the room just as Ruskin stepped out through a pair of glass doors.

Moving into the crowd, she looked more closely. The doors, left ajar, led outside, presumably to a terrace.