Just Wicked Enough Page 2

  “Very good,” Farnsworth said. “To simplify matters, the marquess has approved all amounts to be bid as American dollars, since that is the currency with which you gentlemen, as Americans, are most familiar.”

  Hearing the gavel banging on the wooden block resting on the desk—Farnsworth did have a penchant for theatrics—Michael took a deep breath, closed his eyes, felt his fingers biting unmercifully into his hands, and waited. He wanted to cancel the auction, wanted to explain that its arrangement had been a farce. He didn’t want to part with—

  “The bidding may begin, gentlemen,” Farnsworth prompted, daring to reveal a bit of his irritation that amounts hadn’t been immediately forthcoming.

  A moment of hushed quiet ensued, as though all breaths were held—

  “One thousand.”

  “Two.”

  “Five.”

  “Ten.”

  “Gentlemen, please,” Farnsworth said, interrupting the bidding. “The marquess will settle for no less than a hundred thousand for so highly a prized commodity.”

  As the silence resumed and stretched, Michael considered facing them, daring them not to hold their purse strings quite so tightly, but in the end he stayed as he was, fearing they would see in his eyes the desperation that had brought him to this moment of auctioning off the only thing of value that remained to him. If they knew the truth, he’d lose his advantage.

  “A hundred thousand,” a voice finally uttered.

  “Two hundred—”

  “Five—”

  “Damnation,” a voice he recognized as belonging to James Rose growled, for the first time since the bidding began. “We could be here all day at this rate. One million.”

  Michael felt as though he’d taken a blow to the chest. Good God. He’d hoped for half that.

  “Two million,” someone else ground out.

  Michael’s knees actually weakened.

  “Three—”

  “One million,” Rose stated emphatically.

  “I’m afraid, Mr. Rose, we’ve surpassed that amount,” Farnsworth said, and Michael could hear the almost giddiness in his solicitor’s voice since they had agreed five percent of the final accepted amount would find its way into his pockets.

  “One million,” Rose repeated, “per annum as long as my daughter remains his wife, and as she has only just reached her twentieth year, I believe the marquess is looking at a rather substantial amount in the long-term.”

  Into the silence following that generous and unprecedented offer, Farnsworth finally spoke after clearing his throat twice, although his voice still warbled with excitement. “One million per annum is the current bid. Does anyone wish to better it?”

  “And if she dies in six months, one million is all he gets, while I’m willing to pay three million, up front, now.”

  “Dammit, Jeffers,” Rose began.

  “He does have a valid point,” Farnsworth interrupted. “A bird in hand and all that.”

  “All right, then. Five million up front with one million per annum to begin in five years.”

  It was all Michael could do to remain standing.

  Farnsworth cleared his throat. “Do I hear a better offer?”

  Michael heard quiet murmuring, an oath, a groan, and finally silence.

  “Very good,” Farnsworth said. “Mr. Rose, you have purchased your daughter a very nicely titled English lord.”

  And with that, Farnsworth pounded the gavel one last time, and to Michael it rang like a death knell.

  “Congratulations, sir,” Farnsworth boomed. “Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure to conduct business with you. I shall escort the rest of you out of the library as I’m certain Mr. Rose would like a few moments alone with the marquess.”

  Listening as the small gathering took their leave, Farnsworth at the helm, Michael stayed as he was, schooling his features not to reveal any of the emotions he was presently experiencing—relief, loss, mortification that his desperation had led him to this resolution. He waited until he heard the door click shut before finally turning around.

  Rose had moved from the chair to the edge of the desk, sitting on its corner, his eagle-eyed glare focused on Michael. His graying hair, which perfectly matched his mustache, was swept back from his forehead, and Michael doubted that it would dare become unruly and fall forward. It was strange to find himself facing a man who actually had the misfortune of appearing kind—but it was well known he had the ruthlessness of a lion.

  “Quite clever on your part to give the fathers of several heiresses the opportunity to bring a swift end to the husband hunting their daughters are doing this Season,” Rose said.

  “I merely faced reality, Mr. Rose. We can dress the whole affair up with fancy balls and dinners, but we, gentlemen, all understand we are engaged in a business venture. I merely recognized what is being sold and was quite confident exceptional fathers were wise enough to acknowledge the truth of what they were buying. You Americans are purchasing titles. We Brits are selling them.”

  “Money means nothing to me, Falconridge.”

  Easy enough for a man to claim when he had an abundance at his disposal.

  “My family means everything,” Rose continued. “I promised my wife our daughters would marry nobility.” He shook his head like one of the bison Michael had seen at the zoological gardens. “Don’t know why she got the bee in her bonnet that that’s what she wanted, but there you are. It’s the reason I paid an unreasonable amount to secure you as a husband for my Kate. Nothing is more important to me than seeing to my wife’s happiness.”

  Michael’s stomach, if at all possible, tightened more than it had before the auction began. He was surprised he didn’t double over.

  “If I may be so bold, sir, I believe Jenny and I would be better suited.” Passion he could deliver; love he could not.

  Rose seemed to consider that possibility, then shook his head again in a sorrowful gesture. “My wife has her heart set on Jenny, as the older, marrying a duke. There’s one who’s shown some interest. It’s Kate for you or nothing.”

  Michael bowed his head in acquiescence. “Kate will do very nicely.”

  “Don’t be too quick there, young fellow. This arrangement comes with the stipulation that my Kate is happy. If she’s not, then I don’t make payment.”

  “You are the highest bidder, sir. Dictate the terms and I shall abide by them.” Michael had given too much already to stand firm now. He was willing to do anything necessary to bring this situation to as quick a resolution as possible.

  Rose slid off the edge of the desk and stood, a man confident in his position and his place in the world and among other men. “I’ll be over with my lawyer in the morning to work out the finer details.”

  “Mr. Farnsworth and I shall make ourselves available.”

  He watched Rose stride from the room. Then he turned back to the garden, bowed his head, closed his eyes, and fought the need to call Rose back, to cancel the bargain struck.

  But instead he stayed as he was, his hands balled into fists, his chest tightening with the acceptance of what all of this was going to cost him.

  He’d not auctioned away his title. He’d auctioned away his pride…

  For a woman who had never loved him…and another woman who never would.

  Chapter 2

  Standing in front of the mirror while her maid fluttered around her like a nervous butterfly, Kate Rose had little doubt that her mother, if she set her mind to it, could convince the Queen of England that the devil himself would make a suitable addition to the royal family. After all, her mother had succeeded in convincing all of London that the Marquess of Falconridge was so besotted with her younger daughter that nothing would do except for their marriage to take place as hastily as possible.

  And her mother, who had never doubted both her daughters would marry an aristocrat in very short order after arriving on English shores, was fully prepared to arrange a most spectacular wedding in less than two weeks.

&n
bsp; No reading of banns, but with the securing of a special license. Expense was no object, and as Kate was well aware, a bottomless well of gold can ensure the acquisition of anything.

  Kate’s wedding gown, a Worth masterpiece, had been designed by the master himself in the spring when he’d worked so diligently to complete Kate’s twenty-thousand-dollar yearly wardrobe. Lavish invitations for the fashionable afternoon wedding, with a dinner to immediately follow at the home of the bride’s parents, had been sent. A church and archbishop had been secured. American Beauty roses filled the sanctuary. Small white baskets of dark red petals awaited the guests, so they could shower the bride and groom when they took their final leave.

  The entire affair had come together so quickly and so smoothly, because Kate’s mother had known, just known, that her daughter would catch some lord’s fancy, and here, the Marquess had been appropriately swept off his feet.

  All so romantic and incredibly thrilling. Kate and her soon-to-be husband were the talk of London, their romance having blossomed right beneath everyone’s nose with no one noticing.

  Oh, what a secretive fellow the Marquess of Falconridge was!

  So secretive in fact Kate hadn’t encountered him since quite early in the Season. The last time their paths had crossed was during an afternoon tea with sporting activities that her sister, Jenny, had arranged. Kate had soundly beaten Falconridge at a game of lawn tennis. She’d not seen hide nor hair of him since. Not very sporting of him really.

  Perhaps he thought she was too busy preparing for her extravagant wedding to give him any time. Or perhaps, as she suspected, he was much more interested in the settlement agreement than the bride. Clever fellow had no doubt realized what other lords had yet to learn: he need only approach the mother in order to acquire the daughter.

  The Rose girls had understood at an early age that when it came to their marriages their mother would have her social ambitions realized. It might seem a strange thing to some that Kate had not even been asked her opinion on the matter of the selection of her husband, but the reality was that her overbearing mother was determined to have her way—and she was not the only American to insist her daughter settle for nothing less than a titled husband. And what Mother wanted, Mother acquired.

  What choice did Kate have really except to honor her mother’s wishes? She had no proven skills and without her mother’s benevolence, no funds. Rebelliousness would result in her being cut off without a penny to her name. Quite honestly, life on the street held no appeal. She was spoiled, she knew it. Now she was paying the price for that spoiling.

  As her maid set the veil in place with a circlet of tiny white roses, Kate couldn’t help but be impressed by her mother’s grand production. Kate had been informed of every detail, including the fact the marquess wanted to marry her. The man couldn’t even be bothered to ask her. Not in person, not even in writing, almost as though he considered her inconsequential to the entire arrangement.

  Her parents arranged the damned marriage. They spoke with the blasted marquess, he spoke with them, and now here she was, staring at her reflection in the mirror, her complexion almost as white as her bridal gown.

  “You don’t have to do this, Kate,” her sister said quietly from behind her.

  Jenny, who still fiercely held on to her independent streak, would think that. Kate almost pitied her, because she knew a day would come when her unconventional nature would be squashed beneath her mother’s aspirations. As for Kate, the squashing had happened quite painfully three years earlier.

  “It doesn’t matter, Jenny.”

  “But you wanted love.”

  “Love is forever lost to me.”

  “Dear Lord, Kate. Don’t be so melodramatic. You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do. Wesley got married.”

  Kate had never before voiced those words aloud, and the unexpected pain at hearing them, of giving them credence, bringing them into the world of reality, nearly brought her to her knees. Tears stung her eyes, and she wound her arms around her waist to try to hold herself together. She didn’t see Jenny move, but suddenly she was standing before her, hugging her tightly, dismissing her maid with a few quietly spoken words.

  “Oh, Kate,” Jenny said softly, once they were alone. “Is this the reason you’ve been so melancholy of late?”

  “Melancholy? Is that what you call it when all the joy has been stripped from your life? Oh, Jenny, I’ve been nothing short of devastated. His marrying was the final betrayal, the last nail pounded into the coffin of my happiness.”

  “Oh, Kate, it’s not as bad as all that.”

  “It’s a thousand times worse.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  Shaking her head, her chest tightening with grief, she allowed Jenny to lead her to a nearby chair, where she promptly collapsed. Jenny knelt in front of her, took her hands, and looked up at her with tears of sympathy swimming in her green eyes. “Oh, darling sister, I’m so frightfully sorry.”

  “From the moment Mother tore Wesley from my life, I thought if I showed absolutely no interest in anyone, if she saw how miserable I was, she’d relent, she’d consent to my being with him.” The tears warming her cheeks cooled as they rolled to her chin. “Jenny, he didn’t wait. I’ve been tormented, wondering if Mother was right. What if he didn’t love me? What if he never loved me?”

  “Of course, he loved you, silly girl,” Jenny said sternly. “You mustn’t think otherwise, but you can hardly blame him for moving on with his life when absolutely no hope was given to him. Mother would never approve you marrying the third son of a viscount.”

  Kate laughed bitterly. “She’d never even approve me marrying a viscount.” Her mother was impressed only with dukes and marquesses, much closer to royalty than any of the others, as far as she was concerned.

  “When did his marriage happen?”

  “A few weeks ago. I saw the announcement in the Times.”

  “That’s when you stopped attending balls.”

  Kate nodded. “How could I be jovial, flirtatious, when all I wanted was to curl into a ball and weep every minute of every hour?”

  “I wish you’d confided in me.”

  “What could you have done? Nothing would change the fact he is permanently denied to me.” She squeezed her sister’s hand. “It hurt so badly, Jenny. And it still does. I can’t believe how very much it hurts. It’s as though someone is slicing into my heart, repeatedly, without mercy. I loved him with every fiber of my being. I still do, and it only makes everything worse. I can’t sleep. When I try to read, I can’t concentrate on the story. I feel as though I’m drifting through a fog, with no purpose.”

  “I’ll confess I always envied your conviction that love was so grand.”

  “It was while it lasted, but when it dies, it’s the most painful experience on earth.”

  “I hate seeing you go through this with your beliefs shattered. Whom did the wretch marry?”

  “Melanie Jeffers.”

  “She has the face of a horse and the personality of a wilted rose!”

  Kate released a tiny giggle, wiping her tears. All the Jeffers sisters had the misfortune of inheriting their mother’s rather identifiable mouth. “I know. Isn’t that awful? That he would throw me over for someone like her?”

  “You do realize he married her expressly for her money.”

  “Mother believed he wanted me for only my money. That he was a fortune hunter. It’s the reason she insisted she would deny him any funds.” She laughed bitterly. “Ironic that she has ensured I marry a man who does want me for only my money. But he comes with a title so his reasons are acceptable.”

  “He chose you, Kate. There’s something to be said for that. He could have asked for the hand of any American heiress and he asked for yours.”

  “Has he even spent a total of twenty minutes in my company? He didn’t bother to court me or attempt to win me over.”

  “You weren’t around to be courted or w
ooed. You’ve stayed in your room, reading your books. I’ve been most worried about you, but you’ve barely given me the time of day. I can hardly fault Lord Falconridge for losing patience with your absence and going directly to Mother and Father. You’ve been a recluse, and now you’re finally leaving your room…only to be married.”

  “More irony. It seems to be the way of my life of late.”

  “As I suggested earlier, you could always refuse to marry him.”

  “I’m weary of fighting Mother, Jenny. This marriage today will make her deliriously happy. At least one person in this family should be happy. And what does it matter, really? I can never have the man whom I love now. If I must marry, I might as well marry Falconridge. At least I’ll have a reason to get up in the morning: to see after his household. I won’t have to attend balls anymore. I won’t have to go out at all. I won’t have Mother pestering me. I can simply sit in my room and do as I please. And if I please to do nothing at all, that is my choice. Mother won’t be about to scold me.”

  “Oh, Kate, I hate that all this has happened to you, but you shouldn’t marry Falconridge unless it’s what you want.”

  “I don’t know what I want anymore, but I must admit I’ll take some satisfaction in imagining what Wesley will feel when he sees the announcement of my marriage in the New York Times, and I know Mother will ensure it appears there.”

  “You don’t think he saw the announcement of your betrothal in the Times here?”

  “Wesley and Melanie are in America. On their honeymoon.”

  Dear God, she thought she would die from the pain of imagining Wesley kissing Melanie, of taking her in his arms, of taking her to his bed.

  “You’re marrying for all the wrong reasons,” Jenny said quietly.

  “How many women of our class marry for the right ones? We came here, Jenny, to find and marry an English lord. Why should I now fault Mother for accomplishing her goal?”

  “But you wanted love,” Jenny repeated.

  “Perhaps you had the right of it. Perhaps I should settle for passion.”

  “How do you know Falconridge can deliver passion?”