“I have nothing more to say to you,” she said in as lofty a manner as she could manage.
“I doubt that,” he muttered, as they entered his landau.
In a few mercifully short minutes, it rolled to a stop before her door. Max stepped out and turned to assist her. She ignored his hand, scrambled out of the vehicle and marched to the front entry, Peters a scant step ahead of her. The door opened as if by magic; no doubt an unseen servant on the other side had watched for their return. “Shut the door, Peters. Do not allow that beast inside.”
“Indeed, Peters, close the door. The beast is already inside.”
Pandora whirled and leveled an angry glare at Max. “You have seen me safely home.” She waved at him in an imperious gesture of dismissal. “You may leave now.”
Even in the dim candlelight in the massive front foyer she could see the twinkle in his eye. “We are not yet finished.”
“I believe I have already--”
“Peters.” Max held out her pistol to the butler. “If you would take this out of the range of Miss Effington I believe we can all rest a little easier. She's likely to throw it at someone. Probably me.”
Peters studied him for a considering moment, then nodded, as if he'd taken the measure of the man and found him up to snuff.
“Miss?”
“Very well.” Pandora heaved a resigned sigh. “Leave us.”
Peters accepted the weapon and disappeared into the shadowed recesses of the house, although she knew he would not go far.
“Now, Max”--she said his name as though it left a bad taste in her mouth--” what could we possibly have left to say to each other?”
He grinned. “I love it when you call me Max.”
“A hound would love it as well. But at least a hound would know when the hunt was at an end.” She nodded toward the door. “As is our conversation.”
“Not at all.” Max seemed in no hurry. He meandered around the impressive receiving area, one of the few spots in the huge house that Pandora knew was quite comparable in furnishing and style to any other home. He paused by a cherrywood table and picked up a small marble fragment. It was a carved face of a young boy, a cupid, perhaps, the rest of the statue long lost to the ravages of man and time. He turned it over in his hand. “Interesting,” he murmured. “Classical period?”
“Probably,” she said cautiously,
“Very nice.” He studied the piece closely. “Part of your parents' collection, I assume.”
So he knew about her parents. Of course, who didn't? Still, few in the social world of the ton took her parents' work at all seriously. It was only among academics that her father, and surprisingly, her mother as well, received the recognition they deserved for their studies of Greek antiquities. For Max to appreciate the marble spoke well of the man. Her annoyance eased. “It was one of the first pieces they discovered together. My father had long been--”
“Pandora.” He glanced at her, his look and his voice surprisingly intense. “What do you want?”
“What,” her voice faltered, “what do you mean?”
“What do you want in a husband?” He replaced the sculpture with care, his demeanor once again unconcerned. “Come now, I explained what I wished in a wife. The least you can do is tell me what you wish in a husband.”
“I told you,” she said, at once relieved by his change of manner and somehow disappointed. “I don't want a husband.”
“But if perhaps you did?” He continued his survey of the room, nodding appreciatively at the broad, sweeping stairs leading to the gallery above and the soaring marble columns. His movement triggered a matching restlessness in her and she clasped her hands together in an effort to keep still.
“If I did, which I don't, but if I did,” she searched her mind, absently biting her bottom lip, “I should, like you, prefer a spouse who is not unpleasant to look upon.”
“Very practical. It would not do to tie oneself for life to a man whose visage would scare small children.” He paused before an ancestral painting, inspecting it with the knowing air of a collector or a critic.
“But that's not the most important quality.” For some obscure reason, she did not want this annoying man to think she was quite so flighty as to choose a mate for appearance alone. “I should want a husband who is intelligent.”
“That goes without saying.”
“A gentleman who has great moral fiber. Strength of purpose, if you will. Courage.”
He nodded his approval. “Courage is an excellent quality in a spouse.”
“I should look for honor.”
“Of course.” He moved to yet another table and examined a rather ugly porcelain shepherdess. A gift not to her mother's liking, but which had found a home nonetheless.
“Loyalty.”
“Naturally.” He slanted her a curious glance. “And what of wealth?”
She frowned and considered the question. “Wealth is much like appearance. Pleasant, but not a definitive requirement. I have a significant fortune myself. Still, I should prefer any potential husband to have his own resources. I'm not certain one can ever have too much money. I have never been without funds and shouldn't think I would like poverty at all.”
“No, it's definitely against your nature to be poor.” He set the shepherdess down and moved on. “So that's it, then? Your specifications for a spouse?”
“Yes. Except I should like it if he stood still!” She blew an exasperated breath. “If I were looking for a husband, and I remind you once again that I am not--”
“No question about that.” He leaned against a marble column and crossed his arms over his chest.
“--Those are the qualities I would insist on.”
“In short, my dear, you are looking for a hero.”
“A hero?” What an intriguing idea. “You mean like Achilles or Odysseus?”
“Or the Earl of Trent.” He smiled modestly.
“You.” Pandora snorted in a most unlady-like way. “You, my lord, are no hero.”
He shrugged in a matter-of-fact manner. “I do meet all the qualifications.”
“You do not.”
“I most certainly do.” He inclined his head toward the darkened end of the foyer. “Peters?”
“Yes, my lord.” Peters' voice drifted in from the shadows.
“Do you think I have the qualities of a hero?”
“I am in no position to ascertain that, my lord.”
“Max,” Pandora snapped. Max grinned. “I meant to say my lord. Leave Peters out of this.”
“I would, but I believe we need an objective opinion. Now then, my good man,” Max angled his head in the direction of the unseen butler and raised his voice, “not that this is at all significant, mind you, but would my appearance scare small children?”
“You are quite handsome, my lord.”
Pandora smothered a smile. This was absurd. Still, there was no denying the man was indeed handsome and quite dashing, with his dark hair and smoky eyes, broad shoulders, and impressive height. Peters had excellent taste. “As you said, that's not important.”
“Not important, but preferable. Peters?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Am I not perhaps even wealthier than Pandora's father?”
“So I have heard, my lord.”
“Again, not important.” She waved away his words and struggled not to laugh. What was it about this man? One moment she wanted to thrash him and the next she wanted to laugh aloud.
“Ah, but once again, preferable. What say you, Peters?”
“Yes, my lord, preferable.” The butler paused. “She would not take well to poverty.”
“Peters!”
“Have you ever heard my courage questioned, Peters? Did you know I served with Wellington?”
“No, my lord.”
She had no idea he'd been in the war. It certainly cast him in a somewhat different light.
“Should I show her my commendations?”
“An excel
lent idea, my lord.”
“No, no,” she said quickly. “That's not necessary.”
Pandora knew little about the workings of the military, but she was fairly certain commendations were not given merely for a nicely laundered uniform. She couldn't help but be the tiniest bit impressed.
“I see. If you accept my word without proof, then you trust that I am telling the truth. Therefore you obviously do not doubt my moral fiber. Wouldn't you agree, Peters?”
“Indeed, my lord.”
Pandora shrugged. “I suppose that--”
“As well as my sense of honor.”
“Hah! I have you there. What of your dealings with women? Vast numbers, if rumor serves.” She nodded with the satisfying sense of a point well scored. “Peters? Haven't you heard that?”
“His lordship has quite an extensive reputation, Miss.”
“He's already admitted he's a rake,” she said pointedly.
“Don't forget a rogue, a scoundrel, and a beast.” A note of pride sounded in Max's voice.
She scoffed. “I have not forgotten anything.”
“But perhaps your memory is not entirely accurate. Ours is a small society fraught with rumor and innuendo. In all the talk about me through the years, have you ever heard of me ill-treating a woman?”
“Well, no.”
“Peters?”
“Not that I have heard, my lord.”
“Have I ever exposed a lady to scandal?” Max moved toward her.
“I don't think--”
“No, my lord,” Peters called.
“Have I ever caused the ruin of an innocent?” He stepped closer.
“Probably not, but--” She resisted the urge to step back.
“No, my lord.”
“Therefore you cannot doubt my honor.” He grinned down at her triumphantly. Only a few bare inches separated them. “At least where the fairer sex is concerned. As for the rest of my behavior, my word is my bond and I have never broken it.”
“Regardless, all that does not make you a hero.” Was he to make it a habit of standing too close?
“Doesn't it?” He raised a brow. “Peters?”
“You do appear to meet all the qualifications, my lord.”
“Thank you, Peters.” His gaze drifted to her lips and back to her eyes. “You may leave us now.”
“As you wish.” The servant's voice seemed to fade.
“He hasn't left, you know.” She stared up at him. Why was it so difficult to breathe?
“I know,” Max said softly. Was he going to kiss her? “I could be your hero.”
“No, you could never be my hero.” Could he? Not that she cared. How could she possibly care about a man who had never once glanced her way? Or asked her to dance? Or risked his life to defend her honor?
“I could prove it.” He bent his head toward hers. “Test me, Pandora. Let me prove it to you.”
“What kind of test?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Whatever you wish.”
“And if you should pass my test?” She could feel the heat of his body close to hers.
“Then you shall be my wife and I shall spend the rest of my days being your hero.” His lips were a scant breath from hers.
“And if you fail?” she blurted.
He hesitated then shrugged. “I will not fail.”
“But if you do?” It wasn't as if she hadn't been kissed before.
“I have no idea,” he said impatiently.
“There should be a forfeiture, don't you think?” Why did her heart hammer at the thought of his kiss?
“Not particularly.”
“I do.” If he was going to kiss her, what was he waiting for? “And since you named the prize if you win, it's only fair that I named the penalty if you lose.”
“As you wish.” He straightened and a pang of regret shot through her. It was probably for the best. She certainly didn't want him to kiss her.
His tone was dry. “What do you suggest?”
“Let me think.” Pandora pulled a steadying breath and tapped her finger against her bottom lip. His gaze followed the movement. Heat burned her cheeks and she snatched her hand back to her side. At once she knew he suspected she would not have been at all averse to his kiss.
She wrenched her mind away from the thought of his lips on hers. What would the appropriate penalty be for a man like Max? “If you fail to pass my test, you shall still have to marry--”
“Excellent.” He grinned.
She grinned back. “But the bride will be someone of my choosing.”
Max's forehead furrowed with annoyance or worse. “Of your choosing?”
“Exactly. Oh, I would not pick a serving girl or an aged crone. I would select someone suitable, although perhaps not meeting of your standards.” She raised a questioning brow. “So, my lord, is it agreed?”
He considered for a moment, then nodded sharply. “Agreed. And you agree to marry me if I win.”
It was her turn to hesitate. What if he did indeed win? What if she was forced to marry him? And why wasn't she more upset by the prospect? “Very well.”
“It's settled, then.”
“Indeed it is.” She stepped to the door, pulled it open, and turned. “Good evening, Max.”
“Well?” He stood unmoving in the foyer. “The test. What is it?”
“You can't expect me to declare it right now, this minute. A test of this nature requires a great deal of thought and planning. And,” she waved at the street, “I cannot do that in the middle of the night with you by my side.”
“I quite like the idea of being by your side in the middle of the night.” He narrowed his eyes. “I warn you, Pandora, I am prone toward impatience.”
“You shall have to curb that tendency.”
“I think not.” He smiled, a satisfied expression that did not bode well. “I shall give you twenty-four hours.”
“I couldn't possibly--”
“Regardless. Twenty-four hours. No more. If you do not have your test for me devised by then…”
“Yes?” No, she did not care for the look on his face one bit.
“I shall consider you in default. I will pronounce myself the victor--”
Pandora gasped. “I don't think--”
“--And will at once declare myself to your father--” He started toward her.
“You would not!”
“--And will furthermore put a notice in the Times as to our impending nuptials.” He stepped past her to the open door and stopped.
“You could not!”
“I could, I would, and I shall. It has taken my a very long time to select a wife, and now that I have found one who meets my,” he cleared his throat, “specifications, I do not wish to let her go.” He smiled confidently. “I always get what I want, Pandora. I am quite used to winning, and I do not intend to lose this particular match.”
“It seems we are agreed on that as well, then.” She couldn't resist a smug smile of her own. “Neither do I.”
Chapter 3
The Players are Positioned
“Devil take you, Max, you are in-sane.” Laurie pulled himself to his feet. “As your closest friend I consider it my duty, no, my responsibility, no, my obligation to try to save you from yourself.” He raised his chin and squared his shoulders in a less than steady manner. “But I cannot do it alone.”
“Laurie.” A warning sounded in Max's voice.
Laurie ignored him and scrambled to stand on the seat of his chair, then stepped agilely onto the table by its side. He surveyed the room in the private men's club like a general taking measure of his troops. “Gentlemen, may I have your attention?”
The sparse, late night gathering of those still seeking yet another hand of cards or simply too deep in their cups to attempt to return home regarded him with idle curiosity. Laurie lifted his glass in a dramatic sweeping gesture. “I ask you. Does this man look sane to you?”
Max groaned. Even as a youth, Laurie had had the alarming
tendency to climb on furniture and address crowds, large or intimate, when he felt the occasion warranted. Apparently the state of Max's mind now called for just such a display.
“He is mad, I tell you. I taught him everything I know about women. I made him the envy of each of you here today. Why, his exploits are legion.”
Max rolled his eyes toward the heavens in a silent prayer of thanks that few of the men here tonight would remember Laurie's declaration.
“Now he is ready to cast all that aside. He is contemplating,” Laurie's voice lowered, “marriage.”
A low murmur circled the room. Most of the men here were no doubt married, and many no doubt unhappily. Max smiled to himself. He would not share their lot.
“Why?” Laurie shook his head in a mournful manner. “His head has been turned by a pretty face and a fine figure and--”
“An excellent dowry,” a gentleman called from the back of the room.
“It would take a damned sight better dowry than the one my wife brought me to get me to shackle myself to any woman again,” another grumbled.
An elderly lord snorted in disdain. “I haven't had a day of peace since the day I wed.”
At once the clubroom erupted in a chorus of complaints against the fairer sex.
Laurie grinned down at Max. “Behold, my friend. The happy state of wedded bliss.”
“I suspect any man still here at this late hour remains because bliss is precisely what he lacks. You would need to address those who long ago left for the comforts of home for a true assessment of marriage.”
“Still,” Laurie gestured at the gathering, “I would wager each and every one of them is married to a women far more biddable than the one you want.”
“Perhaps that is the problem.” Max's gaze skimmed the room. “There is no excitement, no passion in their lives.”
“If excitement and passion are what you wish, there are far less painful ways to achieve them than with marriage.” Laurie stepped off the table and slid back into the depths of his chair without spilling so much as a drop of the liquor from the glass he still held. Regardless of how many times Max had witnessed this particular feat, it never failed to amaze him. Laurie pulled a long swallow and shook his head. “Pandora Effington.”
The Wedding Bargain Page 3