“Would you please tell me what is going on, my lord?”
At least her voice was cool and steady, despite the feeling that she had wandered into a strange dream where nothing made the least sense.
“It seems we are betrothed, Miss Chandler,” he said. “And in love.”
“In love? What…what sort of ridiculous notion is that?”
Dev folded his arms across his chest. “It was the only thing I could think of to explain last night’s debacle, particularly after my aunt accused you of trying to seduce me.”
“She thought I tried to seduce you?”
“Yes. Ironic, isn’t it? Your family thinks I tried to seduce you and mine is equally convinced you tried to seduce me.”
The Marriage Truce
Ann Elizabeth Cree
ANN ELIZABETH CREE
is married and lives in Boise, Idaho, with her family. She has worked as a nutritionist and an accountant. Her favorite form of daydreaming has always been weaving romantic stories in her head. With the encouragement of a friend, she started putting those stories to paper. In addition to writing and caring for two lively boys, two cats and two dogs, she enjoys gardening, playing the piano and, of course, reading.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter One
D evin St Clair, the fifth Marquis of Huntington, stood at the window of his bedchamber in Henslowe Hall and watched the Earl of Monteville’s carriage come to a halt in the circular drive below. He let the curtain fall and turned, a scowl on his brow. The prospect of the forthcoming ball was about as appealing as a stay in Newgate. Particularly now he knew the party from Monteville House had arrived. He had no desire to spend an evening under the same roof as Sarah Chandler.
‘Dev?’ His younger sister Jessica stood in the doorway. She was dressed for the ball in a pale pink gown, her thick dark hair pulled back in a knot, a few tendrils framing her pretty, delicate face. He felt a little tug at his heart. She looked much too young to be going to her own betrothal ball.
She smiled at him. ‘Are you ready? I thought perhaps you would not mind escorting me down.’
‘Of course not. Although I am surprised Adam is not fighting me for the honour.’ A smile lit his usually cool face. ‘You look lovely, Jess.’
‘And you look extremely dashing.’ She eyed his black coat and black silk breeches. ‘Oh, Dev! I am so glad you are here. I know it cannot be at all easy for you.’
He raised a brow. ‘I will own it was a trifle inconvenient of you to fall in love with the man whose future estate runs with Monteville House, and a cousin of the Chandlers to boot.’
A chagrined expression crossed her face. ‘I tried very hard not to.’
He moved forward and looked into her face. ‘I am only teasing you a little.’ He took her gloved hand in his. ‘Don’t look so worried, Jess. I quite like your young man, and I never would have consented to the match if I didn’t think he would make you happy. And I promise to behave myself.’
She tried to smile. ‘I am hardly worried about that. You have never done anything wrong, no matter what anyone says. It is entirely Lord Thayne’s doing!’ Her hazel eyes clouded with a touch of anger, before filling with concern. ‘It is only—I don’t want you to be hurt again.’
He pressed her hands lightly before releasing them. ‘There is nothing to worry yourself about. It is in the past.’ Which was precisely where he intended to keep all of it, especially the Chandlers. ‘Come, we must go down or Adam will think you’ve changed your mind.’
She gave him another little smile as he held out his arm. She placed her hand lightly on the sleeve of his coat.
But as they descended the winding staircase of Lord Henslowe’s country seat, the sounds of laughter and chatter drifting up from the ballroom below, his mouth curved in a bitter smile. It was going to prove devilishly difficult to keep the Chandlers where he wanted them. He had found it impossible to completely avoid Sarah Chandler a month ago in London, and now she was going to be under his nose again for an entire evening. It should be no problem, he would just make certain to stay on the opposite side of the room.
Sarah Chandler stood in one corner of Lady Henslowe’s ballroom, partially hidden by a Grecian column entwined with ivy and silk flowers, and wished, not for the first time this evening, that she could go home. Pleading a headache and quitting the ball would, however, be all too obvious.
The only redeeming factor was no one had quarrelled, at least publicly. But the air was thick with unspoken tensions. It hardly helped that the ballroom had somehow become divided into two sides which resembled nothing as much as two armies preparing for battle. The Chandler relations stood on one side near the tall double doors leading into the hallway, and the St Clairs on the opposite side near the doors leading to the garden. The rest of the guests chose the other two walls with a few brave souls meandering between the two. The only thing that would make it worse was if her brother, Nicholas, was present. Thank goodness, he was safely in Scotland.
She looked over at the dancers and picked out Adam, her second cousin, gracefully executing the steps of a quadrille with his betrothed. From the way they gazed into each other’s eyes, it was apparent they were deeply in love. How unfortunate that Lady Jessica’s brother undoubtedly detested the Chandlers more than anyone on earth. At least Adam was only a cousin. It would be much worse if Lady Jessica was marrying into Sarah’s own family. But of course, Lord Huntington would probably send his sister to a convent before he would allow such a thing.
She glanced over at the St Clair wall. For once he wasn’t staring at her, thank goodness. He leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, regarding the company with a faintly amused look on his darkly handsome face as if he found the ball a source of sardonic amusement. Of course, he had had a similar expression on his face nearly every time she saw him in London last month, so that was nothing unusual. Certainly the tensions seemed to affect him not at all. But neither had the speculations and stares cast his way in London.
Sarah would have thought him completely indifferent except that once or twice she caught an expression on his face that was oddly vulnerable, despite his cool stance. And then had experienced the most insane desire to approach him. But of course, he would only have walked away from her.
As if sensing her interest, he turned his head and looked at her. His mouth curved in a slow, rather wicked smile that made her feel