‘My conduct?’
‘Yes. It is obvious to all who know you that it can only be a matter of time before you get embroiled in some real scandal—’
‘I will do no such thing!’
‘It will be unavoidable, if you will go about kissing men on moonlit terraces.’
‘That’s a despicable thing to say! You were the one who grabbed a defenceless female and mauled her about—’
‘Hardly defenceless…’ he indicated his bruised lip with one gloved finger ‘…reckless, unscrupulous, wild to a fault…’ He ignored her outraged gasp. ‘In fact, it is past time somebody took you in hand.’
‘I do not need anyone to take me in hand as you put it…’
‘On the contrary. You need a very strong man to keep you in line. I know only too well what you are capable of, and I will make damn sure that Rick never has to so much as blush for your conduct in future.’
‘You vile worm!’ she gasped. ‘You are the very last man I would ever marry!’
‘Coming it a little too strong, Miss Hebden,’ he drawled cynically. ‘Considering how very much you enjoyed kissing me.’
‘A few fleeting kisses are one thing, marriage is quite another!’
‘You will not be going about kissing any more men, Miss Hebden. Consider the feelings of your aunt and uncle, if you will not embrace respectability for Rick’s sake. They must have spent a fortune on you, considering every time I have seen you, you have been dressed up to the nines. And I know you have not a penny to your name.’
‘You can talk! Every time I have seen you, the extravagance of your attire has taken my breath away! A more vain, shallow, selfish…peacock of a man I have never met.’
‘I am a catch, though. What do you think your uncle and aunt will say when they hear that after all they have done for you, you have turned your nose up at making such a brilliant match?’
‘Why should they hear anything of the sort?’
‘They will know. Because I have already arranged to call upon your uncle this evening. At which time, I intend to ask his permission for your hand.’ He turned and smiled at her grimly. ‘I give you fair warning, Miss Hebden. Do you think you will be able to come up with a reason for refusing my suit that will satisfy your guardians?’
She went very still.
‘Quite so. They know, as I know, that marrying me is the best solution all round. And I think that, upon reflection, you will have to agree.’
Chapter Five
Imogen was speechless.
Viscount Mildenhall sounded determined to make her his wife.
But she could not believe he wanted to marry her! Any more than she wanted to…wanted to…She bit down on her lower lip and averted her face.
She could not deny there would be all kinds of advantages for her, if she accepted his proposal.
She wanted to leave town before she embroiled her poor dear aunt in some scandal. And marrying would be preferable to seeking employment. Mainly because her uncle and aunt would be so hurt if she demonstrated she would rather work as a governess than live indefinitely under their care. But also because every time she had thought about approaching Lord Keddinton, she’d had the sinking feeling that if she accepted a job he arranged for her, it would place her more deeply in his debt than she would like. This feeling was usually accompanied by a vision of a large sleek cat with a live bird struggling under its claws.
No, she would not be sorry not to have to go cap in hand to Lord Keddinton.
But then, what would it be like to marry a man who held her in such contempt?
Viscount Mildenhall was mercifully silent all the way back from the park. Nor had she, in the end, voiced one more objection to his threat to make a formal offer for her hand.
‘Well?’ her aunt asked her the minute Imogen trudged in through the front door. ‘Is the matter resolved? What did he say?’
Imogen drooped into the drawing room and sank onto a chair. ‘He asked me to marry him,’ she admitted.
Her aunt shrieked, clapped her hands to her cheeks and collapsed into another chair.
‘I know,’ said Imogen, shaking her head. ‘It’s unbelievable.’
But her aunt had recovered from the initial shock, and had leapt to her feet, beaming with pleasure. ‘Oh, Imogen. Congratulations! Well done!’
It did not occur to her aunt, thought Imogen with resentment, that she might have turned down such a flattering offer. Nor her uncle, who breezed into the dining room that evening, positively gleeful over what he termed ‘Imogen’s conquest.’ The atmosphere at the table was more convivial than Imogen could ever remember it being since she had gone to live there. She had finally, she observed with a sinking heart, managed to do something they approved of.
Drat the viscount for being right about this! She did not have the heart to disappoint them. In the end, with what her aunt declared was a becoming show of modesty, Imogen had bowed her head and accepted her uncle’s congratulations in a muted voice.
‘His Lordship will be coming to dine tomorrow night, so that we may all discuss arrangements,’ her uncle informed them both as he sawed off a generous portion of game pie and tipped it onto his plate. ‘Captain Bredon will accompany him.’
‘Captain Bredon?’ Lady Callandar echoed in astonishment. ‘You have invited him to dine?’
Imogen felt as surprised as her aunt looked. But Lord Callandar quashed any further objections by stating, ‘His Lordship is bringing him, as his guest.’
‘Oh, well, in that case, of course…’ her aunt trailed off, bowing her head over her plate in dutiful submission.
Imogen was sure her aunt would never have raised any objections to having her stepbrother to dine, had she ever plucked up the courage to risk rousing her uncle’s displeasure by inviting him. It had only been surprise that had made her seem to question her husband’s choice of dinner guest. But apparently, the fact that Rick numbered a viscount among his closest friends now outweighed the ignominy of his humble birth.
Lady Callandar did look somewhat anxious when Rick breached all codes of etiquette the minute he entered the house—striding into the drawing room and enveloping Imogen in an enthusiastic hug. Fortunately, her uncle was too busy fussing around the viscount to even notice.
‘I am so pleased for you, Midge,’ Rick grinned. Then he leaned and whispered in her ear, ‘You will like being married to Monty. Always thought the pair of you would suit.’
Imogen guiltily disentangled herself from his embrace. It was hard to know which was making her more uncomfortable; deceiving her brother or exposing her aunt to one of her uncle’s tirades, by indulging in what he would term unacceptable behaviour in his drawing room.
Her aunt, seeing how uncomfortable she was, gamely tried to make light of the situation by swatting Rick playfully with her fan, and saying, ‘You are not in France now, Captain Bredon. We cannot have these continental habits creeping into our drawing rooms.’
Rick backed off, muttering apologies, a dull flush on his cheeks.
Imogen wished there was something she could say to smooth things over. It was not Rick’s behaviour she found difficult. It was the situation with the viscount.
She schooled her features into an expression of polite welcome as she made her curtsy to Viscount Mildenhall.
He bowed over her hand, the epitome of a courteous suitor, but there was a look of such cynical amusement