with a careless wave of his hand. “Pooh! You will no doubt have preference to spare once you are wed. This is not a romantic association, but it will make you part of an alliance that will affect society. Perhaps history. Do you not want that?”
“All I ever wanted was to do my best. I have no desire to make history.” Even though her father wasn’t exaggerating.
He lost any semblance of geniality, his mouth tightening into a thin line. She was in deep trouble. He had made up his mind and there was no changing it. “Do you deny that your emotions get you into trouble?”
She said nothing.
“This is an association, an alliance. The marquess is a sensible man; he will listen to your advice. And I will leave certain matters in your hands. Your erstwhile inamorato has been spreading rumors about you and your so-called wanton behavior. You know how badly that will go down in some quarters of the City.”
By “City,” he didn’t mean the geographical area. He meant the men who ran the financial matters that spread worldwide. Yes, John’s malicious lies had some people doubting her morality, and thus her veracity. Consequently her father’s too, however unfair that judgment was in reality.
He wasn’t finished. “And children, do you not want them?”
She refused to answer any more. She knew what her father was doing; he would drag her into paths she couldn’t win, place arguments against her that would force her to agree with him. So she would make her statement and then leave with all the dignity she could muster. Perhaps he would consider her objections, perhaps not. It remained to be seen how much stake he’d put on this deal.
“Papa, I respect your views, and I owe you obedience as my parent. However, I also have a life that will continue for some time, and I have no wish to spend it with someone I hardly know. I would like at least the pretense of courtship. He is marrying a fortune, not me. I’m marrying a marquisate, not him.”
“You cannot deny you took a fancy to him. You must be married, my child. You are too much of a temptation to those who would take advantage of you. You will obey me in this,” he continued softly.
Her father rarely raised his voice; he didn’t have to. “You have three days to change your mind. I don’t expect to see you until you are ready to sign the contract.”
She left the room.
He called after her, “And that is on Saturday.”
He ordered her to stay in her room and had her fed on bread and water. That hadn’t happened since Sophia’s childhood.
He also had her maid remove her books and writing materials, except a copy of the Bible. “To give you a chance to reflect on your decision and pray for the correct outcome,” the note he sent told her.
Why was her father was so determined that she marry Lord Devereaux? She hadn’t considered her papa so intractable before, and unafraid of his temper, she could usually talk him around to her way of thinking. Not this time. He refused to consider anything but acceptance. A marchioness? Worse, his marchioness? She couldn’t do it.
Then her father sent his ultimatum. On Friday afternoon she stared at the note in horror. “The Marquess or the country. Your choice, my child.”
If she continued to refuse, he would send her to the country, leave her to molder away without the opportunity to return to the life she loved. He could destroy everything she had worked for and reduce her to utter tedium, and that would drive her mad. Her father had complete jurisdiction over her, and if she didn’t obey, he’d do it. The notes he’d sent over the past three days gave her no doubt.
She drifted over to the window and gazed out at the street she’d seen all her life.
Carriages went by below, the constant sound of trotting horses a background she hardly noticed. But no more, if her father had his way, and he would. She couldn’t stop him.
She had to do something. Obviously her life was about to change, and she’d prefer some say in how it did so. Time to take action.
Leaving her room, Sophia called for her maid. Her father was out of the house and she had a call to make. Bedamned his stricture to keep her in his room. She’d go anyway, and he’d be glad she did. Damn her reputation, too. If she destroyed it utterly, the aspirants to her hand might finally leave her alone. Including the marquess.
Chapter 3
“My lord, there’s a young lady to see you.”
He had wanted a few hours’ uninterrupted concentration. Sitting at his desk bent over a set of papers, Max gave his butler a fulminating glance. Rayne never showed an iota of emotion when on duty, but Max could have sworn the man’s eyebrows were a fraction higher than usual.
Was one of his lady loves creating a scene? Surely not. He hadn’t had one for some time, and Rayne could cope with a woman of that ilk with one hand tied behind his back. “Well, what’s the problem?”
“She’s alone, sir, and she appears respectable.”
“Do you by any chance have a name?”
Rayne’s lip gained a distinct curl. “Miss Russell.”
“Ah.” That came as a surprise, to say the least. “And does she have what is generally known as a respectable female with her?”
“She does, my lord. But in my opinion, the respectable female appears more in the nature of a maid.”
What the devil did she want? He was seeing her tomorrow at the lawyer’s office. Was that not soon enough?
“Show her into the parlor, if you please.”
The choice seemed to mollify Rayne, as he bowed, his usual demeanor of a frozen sheep restored. “Yes, my lord. Should I serve refreshments?”
“Tea, please. And some of those little sweet things ladies like.”
“I shall have it brought to you directly, sir.”
Max had hoped for a quiet hour or two sorting through his invoices before he had to leave for an evening affair. Already dressed in his eveningwear of satin breeches and heavily embroidered waistcoat—although, this being a mild day, he wouldn’t put on his coat until he had to—he got to his feet. He gave Rayne time to show her to the parlor before he got to his feet.
Perhaps he should have received her in the salon upstairs, but in truth, Max preferred the smaller, less grand room, the morning parlor at the front of the house where he received more informal guests and spent his evenings, when he had the chance. His voice didn’t echo so much, and he could keep an eye on the world outside. The furniture was less…spindly.
He went in prepared to send her away. But at the sight of her, something echoed inside him—something he couldn’t define—that defied description. Not pity. Sympathy was the nearest he could get to it.
A young, slender woman with dark hair sat staring into the empty fire grate. Since he was planning to go out, Max hadn’t ordered a fire set there today. Now he wished he had. Despite the warm weather she looked cold. Her body hunched over, her hands tightly clasped.
Her hair gleamed in the candlelight, and Max wanted to test it with his fingers to discover if it was as silky as it appeared. Odd, since he’d never felt that way toward her before. Inconvenient. He didn’t wish for anything but a business partnership from his upcoming marriage.
She should not be here. “Ma’am, I’m afraid you find my mother away from home. I will have you escorted back to your house.” Disturbed by her presence, he turned to leave the room. She was alone. She’d left the respectable female in the hall. Nothing about this situation was right.
“No, please. I have to talk to you.”
He’d considered his future bride a biddable female, quiet and unassuming. But a woman who came to visit him, risking wrecking her reputation all over