The Wedding Bargain

by Victoria Alexander

  “Cynthia, I really don't--”

  “It's a lovely day, Pandora.” Cynthia shot her a quick smile and took the viscount's arm. “We shall be just fine.”

  “Indeed we shall,” Lord Bolton murmured, looking down at her, and the couple strolled out of the room.

  For a moment, Pandora could only stare after them. What had gotten into Cynthia? Usually, Pandora had to stand behind her and push to get her to so much as exchange polite pleasantries with a gentleman. And a man like the twit was a man to be avoided. Perhaps Pandora should go after them.

  Max chuckled. “That is an interesting combination.”

  “Hardly. His reputation is no better than yours.” Pandora glanced at him, abruptly aware of the weight of the cup in her hands. “However, he is right. This--” she held the pottery up, “--scarcely counts as a Cretan bull.”

  “Of course it counts.” He moved closer and ran his fingers over the black on red design. “You see, here is the bull battling with, I believe it's Thes--”

  “Theseus.”

  The ancient utensil was much larger than a modern cup, but even so, his hand nearly obscured the pattern. “When Hercules captured the Cretan bull he brought it back to Greece.”

  His fingers trailed over the figures in a slow caress and her stomach fluttered. Was the room warmer than a minute ago? “There, it was released to wreak havoc on the countryside.”

  “Was it?” She knew the myth of course. Knew well the tale depicted on the piece, yet she couldn't tear her gaze from the sight of his touch on the cup.

  “It was up to Theseus to recapture it.” The timbre of his voice held her spellbound, the movement of his hands mesmerized her, and she wanted…what?

  “Still,” her voice was uneven and she glanced up at him. He stared with an intensity in his gray eyes that stole her breath. “I'm not sure this is at all fair.”

  “Fair?” he said softly. “I told you all is fair.”

  “Is it?” She raised her head and her gaze drifted to his lips and back to his eyes, darker now, an approaching storm.

  “It is.” The odd yearning she'd noted before in his presence swept through her and she wondered how she could endure this sweet ache without his touch. She waited for the brush of his lips on hers fearing even the beat of her heart would break the moment between them. He bent closer.

  “I think it counts as a point.” Harry's voice sounded from across the room.

  Pandora and Max jerked apart, as if caught doing something they shouldn't, which perhaps they had been. She struggled to recover her senses. What was wrong with her? She'd completely forgotten her father was still present.

  “Lord Trent.” Harry strode toward them.

  Max leaned close to her, his voice low in her ear. “I had no idea your father was here. Not precisely the way I'd intended to meet him for the first time.”

  She shrugged in helpless apology.

  “Lord Harold.” Max stepped toward. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, sir. I had planned on speaking to you during my stay here.”

  “Excellent.” Harry's gaze traveled over him in an assessing manner, taking the measure of the man no doubt. “I had planned exactly the same thing.

  “Now then, Dora.” Harry turned his attention to her. “There's no way the poor man could actually capture a living breathing Cretan bull. I think the cup should suffice for your test.”

  Max flashed her a triumphant grin.

  “But Harry,” she said in annoyance. “It's not at all fair. Why, this was a gift.”

  “The chemise was a gift and you accepted that,” Max said under his breath.

  “This is scarcely different from purchasing a point.”

  “Ah, but you accepted the horn,” Max murmured.

  “Precedent, my dear,” Harry said with a chuckle. “It's been set.”

  “Even so, it's not in the--”

  “Spirit of the game?” Max shook his head. “I disagree. The difficulty inherent in this game dictates I take whatever advantage comes my way. The true spirit of our match requires me to be prepared to seize whatever opportunity might present itself. What do you say, sir?”

  “Quite right, my boy.” Harry cast her a quelling glance. “He gets the point, Dora, and I'll hear no more arguments about it. What does that make now, Trent?”

  “Five so far, sir.”

  “Nearly halfway. Damn fine job you're doing.” Harry chuckled and shook his head. “Never thought you'd make it this far, not alive anyway.”

  “That is subject to change,” she muttered.

  “Now then, Trent, have you had a chance to look around?” Harry's eyes lit up. “You don't by any chance play billiards do you?”

  “I have on occasion, sir.” Max nodded. “I quite enjoy it.”

  Harry's brow raised. “Are you any good?”

  Pandora groaned to herself. If there was anything her father liked more than exploring ancient ruins, it was a good game of billiards.

  “Splendid. We have an exceptional billiard room here. Dora, we shall see you at dinner.” He started toward the door. “I find billiards an excellent way to get a good sense of a man. He paused and glanced back. “Are you coming, Trent?”

  “Yes, sir.” Max leaned toward Pandora. “I shall look forward to dinner,” he paused, “Dora.” Max joined her father before she could so much as utter a single protest and the two disappeared down the hall.

  “Now then, Trent, I rarely play for more than a few shillings a…” Her father's voice faded in the distance.

  Pandora stared after them, the urge to throw the cup at Max almost irresistible. Was the man truly put on this earth to annoy her, or was that just an unavoidable aspect of his nature and hers? When they were married…

  When they were married?

  She gasped. When had it changed from if to when? Was Cynthia right? Did she indeed wish to marry him? To spend her days and nights for the rest of her life with him and him alone? To bear his children and grow old with her hand in his?

  And if she did, did that mean as well that she loved him? Had love blossomed when she wasn't looking? Had it slipped into her life, into her heart, when she'd been distracted by her efforts to best him? Had it dawned unnoticed with a stormy-eyed gaze or the quirk of a grin or the passion of a kiss?

  Without warning the answer struck her and she clutched the cup tighter to her and acknowledged the truth.

  A life without Max would be no life at all.

  Chapter 15

  Advantage is Gained

  Pandora smiled and made the appropriate conversation, but her thoughts were far from the gentleman seated beside her at dinner. Lord Wiltshire was a distant relation, and the more he droned on endlessly about subjects of interest only to himself, the more distant she wished him. Lord and she thought Bolton was a twit.

  Even though there were nearly forty people present, in her grandmother's eyes, this was an informal family dinner. In the duke's absence, her grandmother, as the dowager duchess, sat at the head of the table with the duchess, Pandora's Aunt Katherine, to her right and Trent, surprisingly in a place reserved for an honored guest, to her left.

  It might not have been correct according to society's endless rules of precedence, but the Effingtons had always done exactly as they'd pleased in their own home. Her uncles, Lord Edward and Lord William, together with their wives, Abigail and Georgina, and her parents sat at the head of the table. Everyone else was arranged with an eye toward interesting conversation and the ever-present possibility of a marriage match.

  Pandora mentally noted the need to discuss this evening's seating with whichever aunt had seen fit to place her between Lord Wiltshire and a very young man with a rather bad complexion and the annoying habit of trying to peer down her bodice whenever the opportunity arose.

  “It was of course entirely the fault of the lady in question, although to my mind…”

  Pandora nodded with feigned interest, knowing full well her skill at this type of deception was such
that the gentleman would leave the table completely confident he had held her enthralled throughout the meal. Out of the corner of her eye she kept a close watch on Cynthia and Lord Bolton, who were seated directly across the table.

  She was hard pressed not to stop and stare openmouthed. Cynthia was positively charming the twit. From what she could see, he hung on every word. And why not? This was certainly not the Cynthia she knew. This Cynthia's eyes sparkled, and high color stained her cheeks. This Cynthia cast flirtatious glances, and her laugh sounded over the table like the ring of crystal bells. This Cynthia was the beautiful, confident creature Pandora had always suspected she could be.

  How fortunate she was sitting beside Lord Bolton and not Max.

  How could she think such a shocking thing? Cynthia was her dearest friend, and in spite of her comment about her willingness to marry Max, Pandora didn't have the slightest doubt Cynthia wanted him to win Pandora's hand. No indeed, she pushed the disturbing idea aside. It was jealousy, nothing more.

  Jealousy?

  She had never been jealous of anyone. She was Pandora Effington, the granddaughter of a duke. Whether it was deserved or not, she was known as the Hellion of Grosvenor Square. She had never had reason to be jealous. Was this what love did to you?

  “Don't you agree, Miss Effington?”

  Pandora stared at Lord Wiltshire. What on earth had he said? She nodded with a noncommittal smile. “Indeed.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” He bobbed his head emphatically. “I said that very same thing the next…”

  Love.

  She might as well admit defeat right now. She did indeed love him. She loved the way his dark brow rose in disbelief and the way his laugh wrapped around her and warmed her soul. She loved his confidence and his arrogance, his strength and his intelligence. She loved his genuine interest in her parents' studies and his willingness to play their game. She even loved his calling her Dora, or, better yet, Hellion. On his lips it was a term of endearment.

  But did he love her?

  She cast a quick glance around the long table. He was doing exactly as he had promised: charming her family, especially its female members. They were obviously falling under his spell. And who could blame them? The man was indeed a rake, a rogue, a scoundrel, and a beast. No woman in her right mind could resist that combination. Why had it taken her so long to realize it?

  But Lord Bolton was correct. She may well love Max but it wasn't enough. She wouldn't be able to bear it if he didn't love her in return, and she could never marry him without his love. There was no question: she couldn't let him win.

  Lord Bolton was right on another count as well: there was a strong possibility of heartbreak in her bargain with Max.

  And she very much feared it would be hers.

  “Tell me, Lord Trent, has your apprehension eased somewhat?” The dowager duchess leaned toward him, a twinkle in her blue eyes. “We are extreme in number, but not nearly as daunting as you no doubt have been led to believe.”

  Max laughed. “Indeed, Your Grace, the anticipation was far worse than the fact. Still, no man wishes to hear his concerns are so easily noted.”

  “Not noted so much as expected. Only a fool would not have some trepidation upon meeting so extensive a family. Especially one with means, ability, and ambition. Add to that the odd fact that for the most part we care very much for one another, and…” A slight smile played on her lips. “Upon further consideration, I was mistaken. We are rather daunting.”

  “An attribute matched only by your charm.”

  “You are a scoundrel, Lord Trent. I have always quite enjoyed scoundrels. My husband was a scoundrel in his day, and I rather suspect all four of my sons, before their marriages of course, were scoundrels as well.” She studied him thoughtfully. “No man makes a better husband than a reformed rake. I have great expectations for you.”

  The dowager rose to her feet, Max barely a beat behind her, signaling the end of dinner. She stood about Pandora's height and was approaching eighty, but appeared a good ten years younger. She possessed a relaxed manner Max rarely encountered in anyone of her years and station.

  “Now then, the gentlemen shall retire to the billiard room, the ladies may go on to the music room.” She glanced down the table. “Miss Weatherly, I do hope you will play for us later? You do play so beautifully.”

  Miss Weatherly blushed. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

  “We shall all look forward to it.” She inclined her head toward Max, her voice for his ears alone. “She is a lovely young woman and quite accomplished on the pianoforte. It has long been my regret that none of my grand-daughters has even the tiniest bit of musical ability.”

  “Yet I'm certain they are proficient in other skills.”

  The dowager sighed. “They are Effington women, my lord. They are one and all stubborn and independent. I have no one to blame but myself, although one's attitudes on such things does tend to change with the years.”

  “I can well imagine,” he murmured.

  The dowager turned toward the door. “I should like a word with you. Would you accompany me to the drawing room?”

  “I should be delighted, ma'am.” He held out his arm and she rested her hand on it lightly. He glanced at Pandora. She stared back, eyes wide with astonishment. He cast her a satisfied smile, then escorted the dowager through the door and down a short distance to a large drawing room, stylish yet obviously designed with the comfort of a family in mind.

  Only then did he realize they were not alone. Pandora's aunts and her mother trailed behind them. In spite of his success with the Effington women at dinner, unease trickled through him.

  The dowager seated herself on one end of a damask sofa and indicated he should join her. The other ladies settled elsewhere about the room. They were all unique in appearance and coloring, but shared a common beauty. He could well see why the dowager's sons had been attracted to any one of them. At once he realized he was encircled and wondered exactly what form his attractive inquisition would take. He didn't doubt for a moment an inquisition was precisely the purpose of this gathering.

  The dowager's gaze met his. “Lord Trent, we are all well aware of your bargain with Pandora.”

  “I hadn't realized news traveled that quickly,” he said wryly.

  “News of this nature has a life of its own.” She chuckled and nodded at the duchess. “Katherine.”

  “My mother maintains her primary residence here, but the rest of us spend most of our time in town.” The duchess smiled slightly and amusement lit her eyes. “This game you and my niece play is the talk of London. Abigail and Georgina have both heard about it.”

  “Indeed we have, my lord.” Lady William laughed. “It is fascinating and delightful.”

  “I, for one, am holding my breath to see which of you wins,” Lady Edward said.

  “And holding your purse as well.” The dowager waved her arm in a sweeping gesture to encompass the room. “My daughters enjoy nothing more than a good game. I believe Katherine has wagered a substantial amount on the outcome, as have Abigail and Georgina. Grace is the only one among us who does not have a financial stake in your match.”

  “I simply couldn't. Should Pandora hear of such a thing…” Lady Harold lifted a shoulder in an apologetic shrug.

  “Quite right, my dear.” The dowager nodded in approval. “I myself have risked a few pounds with a neighbor. While financial considerations are not the issue, I will confess most of the money is on you. However, my first concern is for Pandora's future. She should have been married long ago.”

  “We were married at her age,” Lady Edward added, Lady William bobbing her head in assent.

  “In spite of that, not one of us here would have forced her to wed.” A chorus of nods echoed the dowager's words. “We have never seen Pandora risk marriage before.”

  “Well, there was that incident--” Lady William started.

  Lady Edward interrupted her. “I cannot believe that dreadful man
has the nerve to come--”

  “Abigail,” Lady Harold snapped, and cast a sharp look at Max.

  “Oh, dear.” Lady Edward clapped her hand to her throat. “It's of no consequence.”

  “As I was saying,” the dowager continued. “She has never deliberately risked marriage before. It's an encouraging sign. We have discussed this and we are agreed.” She directed him a no-nonsense look. “Pandora has made an excellent choice.”

  He wasn't entirely sure exactly what he expected, but he knew this wasn't it. “I'm delighted you think so, ma'am.”

  “We do, but do not for a moment think our approval is based on nothing more than Pandora's attitude and your admittedly charming presence. We would never allow her to marry on that basis alone. We have made inquiries regarding your finances--”

  “Not that wealth is a great consideration,” Lady Edward said quickly. “We are not so shallow as that. It is simply something to keep in mind.”

  “--Your family--”

  “You bear an old and respected title.” Approval sounded in Lady William's voice. “Your mother is a bit of a snob and may not ultimately care for us but that's of no consequence.”

  “--Your reputation--”

  “You have a sizable reputation when it comes to women, my lord.” Lady Harold smiled with tolerant amusement. “However, your behavior has not been marked by scandal or more than the usual gossip.”

  “--Your history--”

  “The Dukes of Roxborough and the Effington family have a long tradition of service to King and country. My daughter's husband died fighting Napoleon.” The duchess sighed and shook her head. “We have only admiration for those who stake their lives in service to the crown.”

  “I'm not sure what to say.” His immediate reaction was irritation at this obviously thorough invasion of his life. Of his privacy. “I have never been dissected in quite so complete a manner.”

  “Please, don't be annoyed with us.” The dowager's brows pulled together. “Do understand, Pandora is her father's only heir, and also currently possesses a tidy fortune of her own.” The older woman cast a disapproving look at Lady Harold, who seemed rather intent on studying a fascinating aspect of the ceiling. “It is to be expected that she would attract men who might well wish to marry her for financial gain alone. We act only in her best interests. Someday, should you have daughters--”