He barely looked up when Ambrose sat beside him.
“Saw your announcement in The Times, old chap. Can’t believe you’re marrying the chit. Thought she was your mistress.”
Harteley levelled his gaze on him. “You thought incorrectly.”
Ambrose sneered. “She’ll be cuckolding you before the ink is dry on the church registry.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Her mother was quick enough to spread her legs.”
He felt a sickening sensation in his gut, a foreboding. Why would any woman of means need a champion? Why had he not asked himself that? “What do you know of her mother? What do you know of Jane Vernon?”
“No more than you.”
“I don’t know her.”
Ambrose laughed and leaned forwards. “Of course you do, old boy. She’s the Jewel of London.”
“I need to see her now!”
Harteley didn’t bother to rein in his temper or to keep his voice down, which was probably the reason the butler said, “She’s abed.”
“With whom?”
The old man’s face hardened. “Watch your mouth, lad.”
Harteley made a move to go around him, and two footmen stepped in front of him and grabbed his arms.
“You’ll not stop me. Now step aside.”
“You’ve been drinking, lad. I can smell it on you,” Jones said. “Return in the morning when you’re sober.”
But he was beyond listening to reason. “Arianna!”
He shouted her name twice more, but she didn’t appear.
“I need to see her now!” he yelled, again.
“Over my dead body,” Jones said. “She’s retired for the evening—”
“Hardly,” she interrupted, and Harteley jerked his gaze up. She wore her nightdress and night wrapper. Her braided hair swung over her shoulder as she began her descent. “Unhand him.”
With a nod from Jones, the footmen stepped aside. With deliberate slowness, Harteley straightened his clothes, his gaze never leaving her. “I know who you are,” he finally said and, while he didn’t shout, the words still echoed up the stairs.
She staggered to a stop. “I told you who I was.”
“Your name, yes, but not who you are. Who your mother is — the Jewel of London. A whore. You expected me to marry the daughter of a whore.”
All blood drained from her face. She staggered forwards and sat on the stairs. “Don’t call her that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shook her head, but he heard the truth in her silence. She’d known he’d not accept her offer. He’d be the laughing stock of London. The shame he’d thought his impoverished state would bring him was nothing compared with the shame that marriage to her would bring.
“What is all the frightful commotion?” a faint voice asked from the top of the stairs.
He lifted his gaze and saw her — the Jewel of London. By the time he was ready to make sport with the ladies he’d considered her too old. But even now, with death hovering, he couldn’t deny her regal beauty.
And as his gaze shifted back down to Arianna, an image filled his mind of a young girl sitting on the stairs …
He remembered her now. Her innocence, so out of place in the bordello, as she’d waited there.
“Will you wait for me to grow up?” she’d asked as he’d headed up the stairs with some woman whose name he could no longer remember.
“Absolutely,” he’d called down, laughing.
She sat there on the steps now, looking diminished and broken. There was no one to stop him from going to her.
Instead, he spun on his heel and strode away.
Arianna wept while her mother held her. This was not how it was supposed to end. She’d known that, sooner or later, he would remember her but she had hoped it would be after they’d spent time together, after he’d come to care for her, when her origins were no longer a concern. Now her mother had learned of her deception.
“It was a lovely thought, Arianna,” her mother said quietly. “But you should know that I care not who you marry. I care only that you’re happy.”
“I thought he’d make me happy.”
“Instead he’s broken your heart. I could kill him for that.”
How could she have misjudged him so poorly? How could she have thought he was her destiny?
The house still echoed, for he’d not replaced much of what he’d sold. But it was clean. Servants ushered about quietly to see to all the tasks that needed their attention, while he brooded in his library and downed the whisky until his mouth was numb and he no longer tasted it.
Good God, he’d almost married an infamous madam’s daughter. Her mother was a trollop and she had no father to speak for her. If Arianna lived by example …
She would never be unfaithful. In spite of Ambrose’s words, Harteley knew she would never cuckold him. She was not adept at seduction. She could have seduced him without money. She could have swayed her hips and pouted her lips. Instead she’d provided him with an honourable way to alleviate his debts.
For the love of her mother.
He bolted from his chair and strode to the window. The moonlight was less than it had been two nights before, but he could see the beginnings of the gardener’s work. All would be restored. He would be restored. She’d given him back his pride. She’d given him reason to smile.
She’d asked nothing of him except that he pretend to love her. Pretend to love her smile, her laughter, her joy. He enjoyed her company more than he had any woman’s in a good long while. The depth of love she gave her mother … he’d seen the bond as mother and daughter stood on the stairs. A woman with the determination to do what she needed to survive and provide for her daughter. A young woman with the courage to reach for a dream of happiness.
She’d been a child sitting on those stairs at the brothel. “Who is she?” he’d asked the woman leading him into a bedchamber.
“Jewel’s daughter.”
“What’s she doing here?”
“Waitin’ for ’er mother to finish up with bus’ness so she can take ’er to the theatre.”
He’d known even then that she was remarkable. That hadn’t changed.
He couldn’t say that he loved her, but he couldn’t deny that she intrigued him. Raising his arm, he pressed it to the glass and peered intently into the night. To continue on the path she’d set for them would be scandalous.
All she asked of him was that he champion her.
Such a small request for a lady who deserved so much more.
Arianna strolled through her garden. She thought it far lovelier than Hyde Park, but then her mother had always paid the gardeners well to ensure that her daughter had the finest of everything. Paid the servants with money that men had paid her.
She told herself that it was better that Harteley had learned the truth before they were married because she might not have been able to survive his turning away from her after they’d shared an intimacy. His kiss had been so very wonderful, and to contemplate losing more than that—
“There you are.”
She swung around, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs. “Harteley.”
He appeared so handsome, more so than ever. His clothes were the finest in which she’d ever seen him. His burgundy jacket set off his swarthy looks. His white cravat was tied to perfection.
“I’ve been searching for you for some time,” he said quietly.
“Yes, it’s easy to lose people here in the gardens. They go on forever.”
“No.” He stepped towards her. “I didn’t mean here in the gardens. I meant … I’ve been searching for someone who makes me grateful to get up in the morning. I didn’t realize it was you until I found myself unable to think of anything else.”