Deceived. Nicola Cornick
the way you spring these surprises.”
Marcus sighed. “In truth there is little to tell. We met, we married and now I am come to claim my bride.”
“As one does,” Alistair said dryly. He shifted, rubbing his brow. “I suppose you are aware that Fleet marriages were made illegal nigh on fifty years ago?”
“I am aware.” Marcus stood up and dusted the sleeves of his jacket in an attempt to make the ancient evening outfit look a little less shiny and a little more acceptable for wearing in polite society. If he was to make a show of claiming Isabella, then he wanted to look his best to do it. His efforts were unsuccessful, however. He mused that perhaps he should visit his tailor as well as his barber on the morrow.
“This marriage, however, is not illegal,” he continued. “It was celebrated by a proper priest and authorized by special license. It is signed and sealed. You may trust Princess Isabella to have made sure of that. She could not afford for the marriage to be overset.”
Alistair nodded. “Of course. The debts.”
“Precisely.”
Alistair’s mouth turned down at the corners with deep disapproval.
“I do believe that one of us is mad here, Marcus, and I am not sure that it is I. How could you even countenance such an arrangement, given the history between yourself and Princess Isabella?” He caught Marcus’s sleeve and compelled him to sit down. “Cease fussing over that jacket, Marcus. Nothing will make it look any better. Instead tell me what is going on.”
Marcus sat back with a sigh. “It is a marriage of convenience,” he said. “Princess Isabella needed a husband to keep her debtors at bay and on the strength of our brief, previous acquaintance she approached me for assistance. Which I was—” He hesitated. “Persuaded to give.”
Alistair narrowed his eyes. “Of all the rum starts, Marcus! Brief, previous acquaintance indeed!”
“I appreciate that it must appear strange,” Marcus said. He sat forward, feeling the constriction of the jacket across his shoulders. “Hmm. I require a new wardrobe—”
“To go with your new wife, I suppose,” Alistair said. “You are not making sense, Marcus. I thought that no one but I knew of your sojourn in the Fleet. How did Princess Isabella find you?”
“By happy chance,” Marcus said, a little grimly. “As I said, she needed a debtor and I was available.”
“The devil you were! Does she know that you were in the Fleet by your own choice?”
“Not yet,” Marcus said. “It is one of the many surprises that I have in store for her tonight. I cannot pretend that she will be pleased to see me, but that cannot be helped.”
Alistair peered at him. “I always thought that weddings were supposed to be happy affairs,” he said. “You do not seem very enamored of your bride, Marcus. Furthermore, this is not like you at all.”
Marcus fidgeted restlessly. He felt irritable and rather suspected it was with himself.
“On the contrary it is very like me. I become bored with the conventions of society—”
“So you arrange to be locked in the Fleet and then marry a shady princess into the bargain,” Alistair said.
“Exactly.” Marcus paused. “The marriage is a secret for the time being, however. I should be obliged if you would keep it so, Alistair.”
“Why?” his friend asked bluntly. “I mean, why is it a secret, not why should I help you keep it so, which goes without saying if you wish it of me.”
“There are various reasons,” Marcus said. “Firstly, my wife is unaware that I have achieved my release from prison and I wish to discuss the matter with her before our marriage becomes common knowledge. Secondly…” He hesitated. “Well, I have said that it is a match of convenience. It may be that the marriage will not endure long.”
Alistair was shaking his head. “Dashed irregular. The more I hear, the worse it becomes. Hope you know what you’re doing, Marcus.”
“I am not certain that I do,” Marcus conceded. “However, if I could ask you to keep the secret for now…?”
“Mute as an undertaker’s boy, I promise you,” Alistair said. He shook his head. “Lord, but I’d give a monkey to see the Dowagers’ faces when they realize another earl is off the marriage mart! And caught by a lady with such a scandalous reputation—” He stopped. There was a short and very pointed silence. The bleakness in Marcus’s heart was matched only by the pity in Alistair’s eyes.
“Just so,” Marcus said.
“My apologies,” Alistair said. “You will not wish to hear your wife’s name bandied about.”
Marcus shut his lips in a grim line. When Alistair had spoken he had felt the kick of rage through his body like a lightning strike. God help him, if a passing reference to Isabella could do this to him…he felt a white-hot possessive fury that beat anything he had ever experienced before. By rights Isabella Di Cassilis was his, now more than ever, and he would not rest until it was true in word and deed, and the memory of all that had gone before was wiped out.
He clenched his fists in his pockets and slowly released them.
“This is a marriage of convenience, Alistair,” he said, with a passable attempt at nonchalance.
“And so far the convenience appears to be all on the princess’s side,” Alistair pointed out. “I hesitate to appear meddlesome, Marcus, but what is the benefit to you?”
Marcus met his eyes very directly. “I want a reckoning. She owes me that.”
Alistair was shaking his head. “There is nothing so bitter and empty as revenge, Marcus. Let it go.”
“It is not for me,” Marcus argued, knowing that he was lying in part at least. “Princess Isabella drove a wedge between India and her mother that never healed.”
“And you feel guilty about India,” Alistair said heavily. “So you think to make Princess Isabella suffer for your guilt.”
The anger seethed within Marcus. “I would not allow many men to get away with such a remark,” he said through shut teeth.
“Not many men would have the guts to tell you the truth,” Alistair said with unimpaired calm.
The tension in the room simmered down a degree. Marcus gave a short laugh. “Damn you, Alistair.”
“By all means, old fellow,” Alistair agreed.
There was a silence.
“I do feel guilty,” Marcus admitted, after a moment. “India and I led such separate lives. I was never there for her.”
“She would still have died, Marcus. You were not responsible for that.”
Marcus moved restlessly. “If I had been here in Town instead of at Stockhaven…”
Alistair shook his head. “Marcus, she stepped in front of a carriage. It was an accident.”
Marcus did not reply. He wondered if there would ever come a time when he could think of his late wife without the mixture of paralyzing guilt and remorse that he felt now.
“I do not suppose,” he said after a moment, “that you know where Princess Isabella will be this evening?”
Alistair looked at him suspiciously. “What, am I your social secretary now? She is your wife. That is the sort of thing that a husband should know.”
Marcus sighed. “Touché, old chap. So?”
Alistair sighed, too. “You will find her at the Duchess of Fordyce’s ball. The old lady is very high in the instep, but not too high to welcome royalty.”
“Foreign royalty