Scandalously Wed to the Captain Read online

  Grace felt a flicker of relief as the first hint of recognition sparked in Spencer’s expression, although it did nothing to thaw the coolness that remained.

  ‘Miss Linwood. I didn’t recognise you.’ He gave a short nod, the closest thing to a greeting she might have expected from this strange new creature. ‘My mother asked I bring her here in search of a warmer winter. Her health has not been good of late.’

  Determinedly ignoring the mechanical tone of Spencer’s voice, Grace persevered in her quest for a convincing smile. ‘My mama will be so pleased to see her! And William? Will he be joining you later?’

  It hardly seemed possible, but Spencer’s face managed to draw into an even tighter mask that sent dismay skittering at the back of Grace’s neck. Evidently she’d made some grave error, although what she had said to make the firm jaw clench she only realised once it was far too late.

  ‘He would find that difficult. He’s been dead these past two years.’

  A cold trickle of dread crawled down Grace’s spine, drenching her with wordless horror that made her lips part in a silent gasp.

  William? Dead?

  It was unthinkable and for a sickening moment Grace wondered how Spencer could make such a tasteless joke. Surely the idea of him without his matching other half was impossible? Wherever one twin went the other had always been sure to follow, their identical mouths quirked into charismatic curves and long-legged strides so eye-catching it was hardly surprising Grace’s cheeks had warmed with heat she hadn’t understood. There was no way in the world one could exist without the other, yet the tension in Spencer’s broad shoulders was the proof he did not lie.

  Whatever could have happened?

  She couldn’t exactly recall the contents of Mrs Dauntsey’s final letter, but surely there had been no mention of the tragedy that now made Grace’s blood turn cold and dismay hold her tighter in its grip. All that life, all that animation and charm and potential snuffed out so mercilessly, leaving behind only its silent mirror image that brought intense pity roaring up from the very depths of Grace’s soul.

  ‘I’m so very sorry. I had no idea. We hadn’t heard—of late my mother’s letters were always returned and we had no way of knowing your new address...’

  Grace’s words tripped over themselves, disjointed and stumbling, although she might as well have been talking to herself for all the notice Spencer took. He waited for her to tail off into mortified nothingness beneath his hard gaze before changing the subject so abruptly there was no hope of return.

  ‘Why are you out on the Cobb in this mire?’ It was almost an accusation, delivered so tersely Grace nearly flinched. ‘You could have been killed if you’d fallen. I would have thought you’d know better, living here all your life.’

  The sudden veer into a completely different conversation caught Grace by surprise. Shock still echoed through her mind, the shattered image of the Dauntsey twins flickering as she peered up at the rain-flecked face of the only one left, and she answered with honesty she regretted at once when she felt pain crackle within her once again.

  ‘I came to meet with my fiancé. Or the man who was my fiancé, until a few hours ago.’

  Spencer raised an eyebrow, some shadow of enquiry in its dark line. ‘Was?’

  Grace nodded mutely, eyes downcast and fixed now on the expensive boots planted immovably before her. The agony that had run through her like a cruel river prior to Spencer’s appearance returned with a vengeance, freezing into a shard of ice that lodged itself in the pit of her stomach to merge with the ache of sympathy and awful surprise that already circled.

  ‘He requested I break our engagement, ostensibly on account of my father’s situation. You’ll have heard all about that, I’m sure.’

  Tears threatened to gather at the corners of Grace’s eyes again at the thought of poor Papa and she blinked them away, although she was unable to stop one from slipping down to mix with the cold rain spotting her cheeks. If Spencer saw he gave no sign, instead merely shrugging one huge shoulder in a movement Grace found oddly unsettling.

  Had he always been so...broad? The youth she remembered had been agile and lithe, his movements fluid like those of a dancer. The intervening years had increased the width of shoulder beneath a green coat darkened by rain, so different now but not unappealing, and Grace wondered distantly why she should have noticed such a trivial thing.

  ‘We arrived only three days ago. My mother was intending to surprise yours with a visit, but has been too ill to leave the house and was in no fit state to receive guests. If her health had allowed, I imagine they would be gossiping together as we speak. As it is, we’ve heard no news and I’ve been in no hurry to chase any.’

  Grace flexed her cold fingers, her mind too full of a complex jumble of thoughts and emotions to know how to reply. Horror for William’s loss chased sympathy for Spencer that touched her heart, in turn surrounded by a dull pulse of unhappiness and shame.

  If Spencer doesn’t know the particulars of my family’s situation, it won’t be long until he does.

  No doubt Henry had told all their formerly mutual acquaintances of his clever dodge at once and lapped up their congratulations at his narrow escape. The whispers that already chased Grace down every street would surely only increase now with such fascinating fuel to stoke the flames of delicious scandal higher—how long until the stares turned to nudges and her name was dragged lower than ever before? Nobody would care that as the daughter of a bankrupt and supposed criminal all Grace now had to remind her of her broken dreams was a wedding gown that would never see the light of day and a heart battered by the person she had hoped would always cherish it. She was reduced to an object of ridicule, to be pitied at best and scorned at worst, and in her knowledge of just how far she had fallen her anguish was complete.

  I will never give my heart away again.

  Grace made the vow fiercely, almost oblivious to the handsome man who watched her sorrow in silent thought. To trust in the love of another person was to make a woman weak, to expose her to the pain, humiliation and agony of rejection that now swept over her like a flood.

  She had one thing to thank Henry for, at least: exposing the naivety within her that could not distinguish real regard from false and the sad lack of her own good judgement. His cruel lesson would enable her to guard against making the same mistake twice and never again allow a man to impose on her who had no interests in mind other than his own.

  I will never give my heart away again. Not as long as I live.

  * * *

  Spencer turned up the collar of his coat, feeling the wet material beneath cold fingertips. Ideally he would be inside now, warm before the fire in his favourite armchair and his black hair curling slightly as it dried, but the woman in front of him showed little sign of noticing the rain that was soaking them both to the skin or the howl of a bleak wind coming from over the sea, her grey eyes fixed now on the sodden ground and an expression of suffering obscuring her petite features.

  Little Grace Linwood. I would never have known her.

  She was almost pretty as a grown woman, Spencer noted reluctantly, or would have been if she wasn’t so frail-looking. Certainly her face was very pale, although ruddy spots of high colour showed she had recently been crying—for good reason, if her fiancé had so suddenly called off their engagement. A small part of him wondered why the man, whoever he was, might have acted so; something to do with her father, she’d said, although what she could have been alluding to he could only guess. Robert Linwood had been an amiable sort if he remembered correctly. Surely there was no reason to suspect he might have acted poorly?

  Spencer looked down at Grace, weighing up how to proceed. In honesty, consoling an emotional young woman was at the very bottom of a list of ways he would choose to spend an evening. Already the whisper of the new bottle of port awaiting his return to his rooms called to him, its voice swee
t in his ear, promising to blot out the memories Miss Linwood had unwittingly stirred with her innocent question about William. The glass and decanter had been his trusted companions these two years, ever since the day his life had fallen so spectacularly apart, and there was nothing more able to dim the echoes of the screams that haunted him.

  However...

  He clenched his jaw to fight back an irritable sigh. Something inside him, some relic of his moral Quaker upbringing, would not allow him to leave a lady in such obvious distress, especially the daughter of an old family friend. Most of his mother’s genteel teachings had fallen by the wayside in the past couple of years, beaten out of him by the grief and guilt never now more than a half thought away—but some dim gleam of propriety remained, to mutter that to abandon an unhappy woman in the growing darkness was not altogether acceptable.

  Plus I’d never hear the end of it if Mother learned I left one of her beloved Miss Linwoods to her fate.

  A swift scan about them showed no carriage waiting for her and Spencer made up his mind with only a half-suppressed outbreath of impatience. ‘We are getting steadily wetter and wetter by the minute. The house I’ve taken is only a step away and a good deal closer than your own, if I recall. You’re welcome to return with me and have my carriage deliver you home. My mother would be delighted to see you, I’m sure.’

  He glanced down at her. She still avoided his gaze, blind eyes turned to the flooded ground beneath her feet, and Spencer’s brows twitched together in brief discomfort as a sudden glimmer of sympathy flared inside him, appearing from nowhere to surprise him before retreating just as quickly behind his usually impenetrable cynicism. Where the stray spark of weakness had crept from he hardly knew, but it was enough to unsettle him, more than a little taken aback by the uncharacteristic feeling. It was probably because she looked so small standing there, a curiously lonely figure swamped by her large blue cloak, unconsciously radiating such vulnerability that Spencer had to fight back another flicker of pity with more than a touch of alarm. He frowned again, the sense of unease beginning to rise within him that he sought to extinguish with a gruff cough.

  You’re walking a fine line, Spencer, a little voice at the back of his mind piped up, a shade too disapprovingly for comfort. You don’t want to invite her in and yet you’ve gone too far to back away now. Was that offer truly necessary?

  Perhaps not. Perhaps he could have escaped without extending a helpful hand, always a hazardous action, but surely there could be no threat to his defences from this pitiful drowned rat of a woman who peered at him through the gloom and whose answer was uttered so low he had to stoop to catch it.

  ‘I admit I’d rather not linger in this storm for very much longer, and to see your mother again would be a rare treat. But—’ She broke off, shame stealing into her expression it took him a moment to understand. ‘I’m already remarked on quite enough. I can only imagine how much more people would talk if they were to see me alone, on the arm of a strange man...’

  Spencer stared at her for a moment, taking in the flare of colour that gleamed on her pale cheeks.

  That’s her fear? That people might think badly of her? Evidently I’m not the only one behind on current events, although how she could have failed to have heard I don’t know.

  Grace was clearly ignorant of the mutters Spencer now drew whenever he stepped out of doors, tales of his behaviour the first night he had returned to Lyme Regis already spreading like wildfire throughout the town. A small flicker of guilt rose to nag at him at the memory of his mother’s face that evening: concern, distress and—worst of all—disappointment crossing it as he had stumbled up the front steps, still with a bottle in his hand and his knuckles bruised and swollen. He should never have allowed himself to lose control of his temper, answering some drunkard’s challenge in the tavern with his fists... If he’d only been able to douse the flames that leapt inside him he might have avoided ending his evening in a pointless brawl that now everybody—barring Grace, apparently—seemed to have heard of, sealing his reputation as uncouth, ungentlemanly and almost certainly dangerous. Society gossips hadn’t given a fig that he’d acted in self-defence, exaggerating and expanding the story until it had become a lurid tale Spencer barely recognised.

  ‘If anybody were to whisper, it wouldn’t necessarily be about you. You might consider pulling your bonnet a fraction to conceal your face, however, if you’d rather avoid my scandal as well as your own.’

  The complete lack of understanding in Grace’s eyes was almost touching, a welcome change from the judgement he saw in those that had looked up at him since his return. ‘Why would they be whispering about you?’

  That wasn’t a question he particularly wanted to answer. ‘I’m sure my mother will tell you soon enough. In the meantime, I suggest we leave at once. Watch your step on this wet ground.’

  He slipped his hand beneath her elbow, feeling at once how she stiffened and seemed to curb the instinct to flinch away. It was hardly a surprising reaction, he supposed, given her prim propriety in stark contrast to his own unconventional manners, but there was still something decidedly unpleasant about her recoil from his fingertips.

  Spencer felt once again that unwelcome sensation of something he couldn’t explain, a dangerous intruder into the usual indifference he so carefully cultivated. The opinions of young women—and the rest of society—as to his looks, conduct or any other part of him were worth less than nothing, so there was no obvious reason for her apprehension to disturb him. It should have been a relief that she didn’t giggle, or simper, or slide an appraising eye towards him when she thought he wasn’t looking as so many ladies of her type did, or had in York at any rate; but then there was something that set her apart, some flicker of suffering in her face that spoke to him like for like and forced him to pay attention. He wanted to disregard her and her quiet pain as he would anyone else, yet with another flare of discomfort he found he couldn’t turn away so easily.

  His mother was the single person he usually felt it necessary to in any way consider and for her sake alone he did his best to conceal the melancholy that dogged him day and night that her rapidly failing health only added to. The one other he had held in such high regard was cold in his tomb and with him in the silence of the grave lay Spencer’s ability to see the world with anything other than a weary disgust now so deep it was etched on to his soul.

  With a grim scowl of effort he pushed aside the icy creep of guilt and grief that attempted to rise up within him, driving the images that threatened to accompany it back with savage force.

  Now is not the time. Later, with a glass in your hand, is when you can do battle with the past.

  The wraithlike, damnably disturbing Miss Linwood was still standing close to him, his hand still cupping the delicate bend of her slight arm, and he nodded at her with a forthrightness he only half felt.

  ‘You needn’t worry about propriety, truly. Anyone with sense is indoors, so we shouldn’t be observed.’

  Grace flicked a sideways glance up at him, apparently on the verge of saying something at the edge he knew she would have heard in his tone. Instead she dropped her eyes at once from his darkly questioning look, wincing with the swift turn of her aching neck, and allowed him to guide her away from the sea that could so easily have claimed her.

  Chapter Two

  If anybody had told her the strange turns this day was going to take, Grace thought dazedly as she hurried to keep up with Spencer’s long strides, she wouldn’t have got out of bed that morning. How she found herself lurching from her solitary heartbreak to being marched along by a silent Captain Spencer Dauntsey she still couldn’t say, the firm—and distracting—pressure of his hand on her arm the only real proof she wasn’t trapped in some hideous dream.

  The idea that she could wake from this living nightmare was so tempting—to find herself in her own bed with Papa reading in his library and a note from He
nry on the post tray—but a sudden slip of her foot on the wet cobbles jolted her from her fantasy, grim reality flooding back in to replace it, and Spencer’s grip was the only thing that kept her from sprawling into the gutter. At least the storm meant the streets were deserted and nobody would see the highly inappropriate sight of her scurrying along after dark on the arm of a man who would apparently set tongues wagging about her even more than they were already.

  ‘As I said. Mind your step.’ Spencer didn’t slow his pace, his head bent slightly against the chill of the wind that flung icy rain into their faces. ‘We’re almost there.’

  Grace squinted through the gloom, attempting to ignore the altogether too-absorbing sensation of the hand on her elbow that sent strange prickles down her arm and made it oddly difficult to focus on anything else. They were drawing into a crescent of magnificent houses, tall against the dark menace of the stormy sky and set around a small park of landscaped trees that bent and shook with the wind through their branches. It was too dim to see clearly, but Grace thought she saw a curtain move slightly at the downstairs window of one of the largest houses—the next moment a grand front door was flung open and candlelight spilled down a set of iron-railed steps, illuminating a gravelled path that gleamed wetly in the orange glow. Spencer ushered her towards it and before she had a moment to consult her thoughts on the matter Grace found herself standing in a bright entrance hall, her head spinning and her soaking cloak dripping on to a polished parquet floor.

  She looked about her, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the warm light thrown out by numerous candles. There were candelabras set around the space, their flames dancing in the draught that accompanied Grace and Spencer into the house, and painted portraits smiled stiffly down from the walls to watch as she hesitated, unsure of what to do next. She’d been too distracted to give much thought to anything other than getting out of the rain and now she stood in the unfamiliar territory of Spencer’s luxurious house she felt a thrill of some strange anxiety flutter through her nerves.