she were clever and careful she might be able to persuade him of her innocence. Plus Rothbury had little money and a keen need for some to repair his estates, and she was very, very rich. He might well be tempted enough by her fortune to marry her anyway.
Tess realised she was clenching her hands together so tightly that her nails were biting into her palms. There were, in truth, precious few other options open to her in the husband stakes.
With a quick, decisive gesture she picked up The Gazetteer and tucked it under her arm. If Rothbury had returned directly to Clarges Street, then he would be home by now. There was no time like the present. She had a call to make before her courage deserted her.
CHAPTER FOUR
I T WAS IN FACT THREE HOURS before Tess was ready to go out, since to her time was a relative concept normally measured by how long it took her to dress. Usually she did not have a great deal of difficulty in selecting an outfit for any occasion. Today was different, however. It was seven years since she had made her last marriage proposal, to the Marquis of Darent. On that occasion she had worn holly-green and had been well pleased with her appearance. She was not sure Darent had noticed it, though. She suspected he might have dozed off during her proposal, overcome by a laudanum-induced stupor.
The thorny question of what to wear to make Lord Rothbury an offer he could not refuse was not so easy, however. After trying on a few outfits, she finally settled on a jonquil-yellow gown and matching bonnet. She was disturbed to see that when she checked her appearance in the pier glass she looked young and apprehensive, her blue eyes wide and dark and the faintest hint of nervousness in the tense line of her cheek and jaw. She stood straighter and tried to smile. It came out more as a grimace. Anxious was how she felt, unusualfor her, but not how she wanted to look. With a sharp sigh of irritation she picked up her matching cloak and reticule and hurried out to the carriage.
Rothbury House was in Clarges Street, not far from Joanna’s home in Bedford Street and a most quiet and respectable address. The house itself looked dusty and shuttered although Rothbury had been living there for at least a year. It was interesting, Tess thought, that the viscount had not sought to make an impact on society when he came into his inheritance. It was the ton that had courted him rather than he seeking recognition from the ton.
The carriage halted. Tess clenched her fingers briefly inside her fur-lined gloves. There was a curious pattering of nervousness in her stomach. This, she reassured herself, was not in the least surprising. She had proposed to a man only three times before and none of those men had been anything like Lord Rothbury.
For a moment she sat frozen still on the carriage seat, wondering if she had made a terrible mistake in choosing the viscount. It was not too late. Except it was too late, for the carriage door had opened, allowing a swirl of cold autumnal air inside. It was no servant standing there, waiting to help her alight, but Rothbury himself. Evidently he had called elsewhere on his way back from Bedford Street for he was still in outdoor dress and looking impossibly broad shouldered and tall in the beautifully cut coat. He had taken off his hat and there were snowflakes settling in his tawny-brown hair.
“Lady Darent,” he said. “I had not expected to see you again so soon. What may I do for you?” His voice was smooth as honey, that deep drawl rubbing against her senses like silk. It would be very easy to be lulled into a false sense of security by such mellow tones. And that, Tess thought, would be another big mistake. She did not want to be lulled into anything by Lord Rothbury. She needed her wits about her.
He extended a hand to help her out of the coach and after a moment Tess reluctantly took it. She did not want to touch him. She rarely touched anyone. Brokeby’s cruelty had bred in her
Tess realised she was clenching her hands together so tightly that her nails were biting into her palms. There were, in truth, precious few other options open to her in the husband stakes.
With a quick, decisive gesture she picked up The Gazetteer and tucked it under her arm. If Rothbury had returned directly to Clarges Street, then he would be home by now. There was no time like the present. She had a call to make before her courage deserted her.
CHAPTER FOUR
I T WAS IN FACT THREE HOURS before Tess was ready to go out, since to her time was a relative concept normally measured by how long it took her to dress. Usually she did not have a great deal of difficulty in selecting an outfit for any occasion. Today was different, however. It was seven years since she had made her last marriage proposal, to the Marquis of Darent. On that occasion she had worn holly-green and had been well pleased with her appearance. She was not sure Darent had noticed it, though. She suspected he might have dozed off during her proposal, overcome by a laudanum-induced stupor.
The thorny question of what to wear to make Lord Rothbury an offer he could not refuse was not so easy, however. After trying on a few outfits, she finally settled on a jonquil-yellow gown and matching bonnet. She was disturbed to see that when she checked her appearance in the pier glass she looked young and apprehensive, her blue eyes wide and dark and the faintest hint of nervousness in the tense line of her cheek and jaw. She stood straighter and tried to smile. It came out more as a grimace. Anxious was how she felt, unusualfor her, but not how she wanted to look. With a sharp sigh of irritation she picked up her matching cloak and reticule and hurried out to the carriage.
Rothbury House was in Clarges Street, not far from Joanna’s home in Bedford Street and a most quiet and respectable address. The house itself looked dusty and shuttered although Rothbury had been living there for at least a year. It was interesting, Tess thought, that the viscount had not sought to make an impact on society when he came into his inheritance. It was the ton that had courted him rather than he seeking recognition from the ton.
The carriage halted. Tess clenched her fingers briefly inside her fur-lined gloves. There was a curious pattering of nervousness in her stomach. This, she reassured herself, was not in the least surprising. She had proposed to a man only three times before and none of those men had been anything like Lord Rothbury.
For a moment she sat frozen still on the carriage seat, wondering if she had made a terrible mistake in choosing the viscount. It was not too late. Except it was too late, for the carriage door had opened, allowing a swirl of cold autumnal air inside. It was no servant standing there, waiting to help her alight, but Rothbury himself. Evidently he had called elsewhere on his way back from Bedford Street for he was still in outdoor dress and looking impossibly broad shouldered and tall in the beautifully cut coat. He had taken off his hat and there were snowflakes settling in his tawny-brown hair.
“Lady Darent,” he said. “I had not expected to see you again so soon. What may I do for you?” His voice was smooth as honey, that deep drawl rubbing against her senses like silk. It would be very easy to be lulled into a false sense of security by such mellow tones. And that, Tess thought, would be another big mistake. She did not want to be lulled into anything by Lord Rothbury. She needed her wits about her.
He extended a hand to help her out of the coach and after a moment Tess reluctantly took it. She did not want to touch him. She rarely touched anyone. Brokeby’s cruelty had bred in her
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