Rival Desires (Properly Spanked Legacy 1)

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Why won’t you speak aloud?” Townsend asked. “What have they said to silence you?”

“She’s lost her voice. Get off your knees. Lady Ophelia cannot marry you, because she’s betrothed to me. We’re to marry within the week, by special license.” He paused and stared very intently into Lord Townsend’s eyes. “She cannot marry you, Towns. It’s not possible.”

“What do you mean?”

“Damn it, Townsend, it’s not possible at this point.”

For the first time since he’d entered, Townsend was silent.

“It’s not possible,” Wescott repeated. “Do you understand?”

Townsend looked disbelieving, then so furiously angry that Ophelia took a step back. The next events happened so quickly, she could hardly separate them in her mind. Townsend lunged at Lord Wescott and next she knew, fists were flying. Her mother screamed and went to the door, calling for help. The men shouted curses and insults as they pushed back and forth.

In the midst of the fracas, Wescott’s sleeve ripped, along with Townsend’s collar. Her mother shrieked at them to stop fighting, but they only shed their coats and threw them aside, and tussled like common boys in an alley, throwing punches and shouting more profane oaths. Blackguard, devil, damnable whoremonger. Ophelia stood with her back to the window, her hand pressed to her mouth. The things they said shocked her, but the sound of their fists striking one another shocked her more.

“Please stop,” she whispered. “Please stop.”

Her mute pleas had no effect. The men didn’t stop brawling until Lord Halsey and the Duke of Arlington strode into the room, flanked by the house’s heftiest footmen. They pulled Wescott and Townsend apart as her mother led her away from the chaos. She realized then that she was crying, tears soaking her cheeks.

Her mother guided her to her bedroom and sat with her on the edge of the bed.

“Mama,” she whispered, “I don’t want to wed either of those men. I’m not ready to be married. I’ve barely begun my singing career.”

“Your singing career is over for now. There’ll be a scandal if you don’t wed the marquess. People saw you together, and they’ll talk because you’re the Earl of Halsey’s daughter. Didn’t I tell you for years how important it was to adhere to proprieties?” She gripped her arm to the point of pain. “You’ve done this to yourself.”

“I could go to Europe and sing there for a couple of years, until the scandal’s forgotten!” Desperation—and fear—made her rasping voice tremble. “I could go back to Vienna and study a bit longer, until all this is forgotten.”

“There’s no ‘forgetting’ what you’ve done.” Her voice was not kind, not gentle the way she needed at that moment. “You’ve got to marry Lord Wescott, Ophelia. You haven’t any other choice.”

“But Lord Townsend…” Her chin trembled. “Wouldn’t he be better? He seems kinder and more loving than Lord Wescott. He said he loves me and would marry me.”

“I don’t think he will anymore,” she said tightly. “You must marry Lord Wescott now, for better or worse. As for a career onstage, you must forget that dream. It’s ruined for you now, daughter. He will not allow you to perform publicly after this, if he permits you to sing at all.”

*

Wescott wed Lady Ophelia in a small, private ceremony in his parents’ garden, looking as dignified as anyone might with two somewhat-healed black eyes. Since his best coat had been ruined in the fight with Townsend, he wore his second best, a dark blue coat that clashed with Ophelia’s daffodil-yellow gown.

As for his bride, she cried through the entire service. He tried not to take it personally, but she appeared so miserable, so completely devastated that it was hard for him to stand beside her throughout the charade. She said her vows in a bitter, tremulous tone, her contempt for him perfectly clear to all in attendance, now that her voice was restored.

Well, nearly restored. He’d saved her from the fire, but apparently the smoke had weakened her sensitive, Vienna-trained vocal cords. He was sorry about that, sorry about so many things. He was sorry Townsend wasn’t at his wedding, that his old friend had left London in a fury after swearing he’d never speak to him again. Marlow and Augustine were here though, supporting him through one of the most appalling days of his life.

When the ceremony was finally over, there was the wedding luncheon to endure. His parents opened their town house to hundreds of guests so they could pretend there’d been a normal, happy wedding between two people in love. He and Ophelia circulated to greet everyone, but managed not to speak a word to each other. As the guests thinned out, it became harder to avoid his sulky bride.

“Darling.” His mother joined him, taking his hand. “Your sisters are leaving with Louisa and her husband soon, to visit the children. You ought to say goodbye.”