The Wedding Bargain

by Victoria Alexander

  Heads shook and gazes rolled toward the ceiling.

  “--You will understand.”

  “I believe I understand completely right now,” Max said slowly. “I cannot fault you for wishing to protect Pandora. Rather, I should applaud you.”

  A communal sigh of relief filled the room.

  The dowager studied him for a long moment. “You do have a way with you. What a charming scoundrel you are.” A satisfied smile spread across her face and she leaned toward him. “I would play a game with you myself if I were a year or two younger.”

  Max grinned, reached for her hand, and brushed his lips across it. “I can think of nothing more delightful.”

  The dowager laughed. “You have our wholehearted approval.”

  “Which does little good if you do not win,” Lady Edward said pointedly.

  “However,” the duchess said, “we don't know if you are aware of it, but there are untold opportunities here to pass the remainder of your tests.”

  At once the room erupted into a flurry of feminine chatter.

  “There are those nasty geese on the pond.”

  “The stables are always in need of cleaning.”

  “Don't we have cattle? Somewhere?”

  “And an occasional boar.”

  “Or Cousin Percival.”

  Laughter and talk filled the air and he was hard pressed to separate one comment from another. At last the room quieted.

  “As for the man-eating mares.” The dowager folded her hands primly in her lap. “You may consider us tamed.”

  “She does play wonderfully well,” Lord Bolton murmured in Pandora's ear.

  “Doesn't she, though?” Pandora said with a touch of pride. She had always enjoyed listening to Cynthia play the pianoforte. It was as if her heart and soul flowed through her fingers.

  But now, in spite of the beauty of the piece, Pandora's head was filled with far too many thoughts of Max to concentrate.

  He stood next to her grandmother doing his best to win her favor. The beast could well charm the birds in the trees. The sweet, frail aged lady didn't stand a chance against him. The absurdity of the thought struck her and she bit back a grin. No one had ever referred to the Dowager Duchess of Roxborough as a sweet, frail aged lady. Perhaps it was Max who didn't stand a chance.

  What on earth had transpired in the drawing room? Immediately after dinner, Max had flashed her that triumphant smile of his that made her long to throw something, then escorted her grandmother out of the room, followed by her aunts and her mother. Initially, she'd felt a bit apprehensive for him. But when they reappeared, Max was alive, whole, and rather pleased with himself. Cynthia's recital had started a few minutes later and Pandora had had no chance to speak to him.

  On one hand she was pleased he'd survived. Why, the Effington women were not biddable, fragile flowers. Pride surged through Pandora. She was an Effington, but more, she was an Effington woman. And weren't Effington women the most stubborn, most determined, most--

  She gasped softly and her spine stiffened.

  Lord Bolton glanced at her suspiciously, his voice for her ears alone. “Whatever is the matter?”

  “Man-eating mares,” she said under her breath. “He's tamed man-eating mares.”

  “How do you know?” he whispered.

  She nudged him with her elbow and nodded in the direction of Max and her grandmother. He bent down and the dowager duchess leaned toward him and said something in his ear. Max responded and straightened, an amused smile on his face.

  “She does look rather tamed.” Lord Bolton's low reply was thoughtful.

  “Indeed she does.” Pandora clenched her teeth. Max obviously had another point. It wasn't enough he had Cynthia and her parents on his side, now he apparently had the support of all the Effington women.

  Cynthia finished and the assembly broke into enthusiastic applause. Certainly this group well appreciated Cynthia's skills. The Effingtons, Pandora included, had no musical ability whatsoever, something no one was particularly proud of…although on occasion, one of their number had had the mistaken belief he could play or, God help them all, sing, and more than one family gathering had been forced to politely endure their efforts.

  Talk resumed with the end of the entertainment and the gathering broke into small groups. Pandora was not inclined toward idle chatter. She wanted to confront Max, still standing beside her grandmother's chair.

  Lord Bolton appeared trapped in a conversation with a lady every bit as deadly as Pandora's dinner companion. He caught her gaze and shot her a silent plea for rescue. She shrugged in a helpless manner as if there was nothing she could do, and ducked her head to hide the grin she couldn't quite stifle. As she headed in Max's direction she was halted twice by people wishing to exchange pleasantries, and in spite of her impatience, managed to leave each with the impression of a mutually satisfying chat.

  Max and Cynthia stood talking beside the pianoforte. He said something and she laughed. She started toward them, then stopped short, struck by the image they presented. Both were tall--one fair, the other dark, one complementing the other. A perfect picture. Her heart stilled.

  Lord Bolton joined them and Max's gaze traveled the room until it met hers. Warmth glowed in his eyes and he smiled. She forced an answering smile to her face, but a cold fear burned in the pit of her stomach.

  “Miss Effington?” Lord Wiltshire's voice sounded to her right and gratefully she turned toward him. Conversation with the man was as mindless now as it had been at dinner. She stayed long enough to be polite, then excused herself and slipped through the door leading into the conservatory and out onto the terrace.

  An urgent need to escape drove her on. She crossed the terrace and continued blindly down the walkway leading to the gardens and the mazes. She ignored the branching paths that would take her to either maze; in spite of the star-filled sky and her knowledge of their solutions, she had no desire to be trapped inside a boxwood cage in the night. All she wanted was to keep walking. All she wished was to escape.

  Escape?

  It was as foreign a concept to her as jealousy, yet tonight she'd known both. Pandora Effington had never run from anything in her life. She knew her reactions were absurd. Cynthia had no interest in Max, other than her desire to see him wed Pandora.

  Her steps slowed. Of course, Cynthia had no idea Pandora loved Max. Certainly she was convinced Pandora never would have agreed to their bargain if she truly didn't want to marry him. Still, hadn't Pandora declared long and loud that she had no desire to be Max's wife? What if Cynthia had finally believed her?

  And what of Max? From the moment she'd first spoken to him until now, Pandora had done absolutely nothing to indicate she cared for him or ever could. She'd set him a series of tests designed for his failure. She'd gotten him involved in a game she had no doubt was the talk of London. She was directly responsible for his bruised and battered body. Could she blame him if he now turned his attention and his affection toward Cynthia? And if he had, was it too late?

  The thought stopped her in her tracks.

  No! She had no proof Max cared for Cynthia or she for him. She was leaping to farfetched assumptions based on nothing of true significance. Cynthia's assistance with the game. Max's obvious enjoyment of her musical skills. The striking couple the two of them made. If she hadn't been so caught up in the throes of her own turbulent emotions, she would never have entertained the idea in the first place.

  She swiveled on her heel and started back to the house. Pandora had always considered herself a fighter, but she'd never really had to fight for anything.

  If a fight was what it took, whether with Cynthia or Max or simply herself, by the gods, she was an Effington, and Effingtons did not know the meaning of the word “defeat.” Why, hadn't she already won a victory of sorts merely by admitting her love for Max?

  And that upped the stakes of their match. It was no longer enough to win the game, she had to win his love as well.

  Lo
ve. She snorted in disdain. It certainly was not at all the rapturous emotion portrayed by poets. So far it had brought her only jealously, doubt, fear, and pain. No, it was much more like a dire illness complete with unpleasant aches in the pit of her stomach and the hot flush of fever. Spots would probably break out on her face at any moment.

  No, love was not at all as it was represented. A falsehood no doubt perpetuated by others in love who knew the true nature of this plague and wanted the rest of the world to be as miserable as they were. Unfortunately, discovering the truth meant you were already beyond hope. Pity, it was such a simple truth.

  Love reeked.

  Chapter 16

  Momentum Shifts

  “She doesn't seem at all herself today.” Max steadied his horse, keeping the beast beside Miss Weatherly's far gentler gray mare. “Is something amiss?”

  “I don't know,” Miss Weatherly said thoughtfully. “She is uncommonly quiet. I must admit, I've never seen her so reserved. She loves the Ride and is usually quite animated.”

  Max studied Pandora across the milling crowd of riders and horses. She sat perched upon a sidesaddle, with an air of complete confidence. He suspected she'd much rather be riding astride, although she was far too aware of society's rules to flout them publicly. He chuckled to himself. How many of those restraints would she disregard once they were married?

  Her gaze met his through the crowd and he tipped his hat and grinned. She smiled in a manner cool, yet cordial, as if they were no more than polite acquaintances.

  What in the name of all that was holy had he done now? He reviewed the events of last night.

  He'd done nothing she could fault him for, unless it was for charming her grandmother. But that was not only in the spirit of the game, it was in the best interest of their future. Besides, he quite liked the Dowager and liked as well the knowledge that her spirit would flow in the veins of his children.

  Still, there must be something. He'd last seen Pandora right after Miss Weatherly's recital. He was talking to her, and Laurie joined them, and…

  “Miss Weatherly, do you think she could possibly be, well, jealous?”

  Miss Weatherly's brow furrowed. “Jealous of what?”

  “You and me.”

  Her eyes widened. “That's absurd. There's no reason for Pandora to…” She paused. “Oh, dear.”

  “Yes?” he said, trying not to sound eager.

  “Well, I did mention, once, that if she wasn't willing to marry you,” a blush spread up her face, “I would be.”

  He grinned. “I'm flattered.”

  She sighed. “You needn't be. It was one of those things one says in anger, without thinking, but certainly doesn't mean.”

  He raised a brow.

  “I am sorry. I do hope I haven't offended you.”

  “Only my pride,” he said wryly.

  “Whatever are we going to do to relieve Pandora's mind?”

  Max returned his attention to Pandora. She sat straight and tall in the sidesaddle, every inch the perfect daughter of nobility.

  “We can't allow her to think there is anything between us.”

  A perfect Effington.

  “We have to make certain she understands that.”

  A perfect Countess of Trent.

  “My lord,” impatience rang in Miss Weatherly's voice, “are you listening to me?”

  “Indeed I am.”

  “Well then, what are we going to do?”

  “Do, Miss Weatherly?” He couldn't prevent a wide grin that grew from an odd exhilaration deep inside him. Jealousy came from only one source. “Why, nothing at all.”

  “Excellent morning, don't you think?” Max sidled his horse up to Pandora's.

  “It's lovely,” she said with a polite smile. Lord help her, she had no idea what to say. How to act. She hadn't had this feeling of complete awkwardness since she was very young and had discovered the rather intriguing differences between boys and girls. No. Now that she thought about it, she'd learned the equally intriguing power girls could wield over boys at approximately the same time and doubted she had ever experienced a single awkward moment. Until now.

  “I daresay, I didn't expect so large a crowd.” Max glanced from side to side, assessing the gathering. “About a hundred, I would think.”

  “At least. Effingtons, assorted guests, and neighbors.” Her perfect smile stayed on her face but she cringed to herself. Did she sound as insipid to his ears as she did to her own? Now that she understood her feelings, she wanted nothing more than to be with Max every minute--and nothing more than to keep him at arm's length. “It's become rather a significant event.”

  “Really?” His eyes gleamed with amusement. What was so humorous? He couldn't possibly know her feelings. The beast. “Tell me about the Ride.”

  “The Roxborough Ride started when a longago duchess decided foxhunts were rather barbarous. At least for the foxes. So she decreed foxes would no longer be a part of the hunt on Effington land.”

  “I see. And as she was one of those extraordinary Effington women, no one saw fit to challenge her decision.”

  “I wouldn't think so.”Extraordinary? Did he include her in that assessment? “Besides, she didn't forbid anyone not to take part in a hunt elsewhere, just here. Still, it seemed to those involved that the best part of the hunt wasn't really chasing the fox, but racing through the grounds, jumping hedges and walls, and splashing through streams.”

  Max smiled. “Rather tricky, though, a foxhunt with no fox.”

  “Rather. And somewhat confusing as well to go aimlessly about the countryside with no direction and no end in sight.” With each word, the newfound tension of being in his presence eased. “So a circuit was laid out, and through the years, obstacles added and a scoring system developed. And the Roxborough Hunt became the Roxborough Ride.”

  She nodded at a man directing riders. “The stablemaster is in charge of the event. He arranges the courses in advance and with a gathering this large, divides us all into teams, usually about twenty riders each.”

  “I do hope we're able to ride together,” he said. “We are both rather competitive, and as challenging as it is to play against each other, I suspect the two of us will make a formidable team.”

  “Oh, do you think so?” Pleasure washed through her at his words. Obviously, her concerns about Cynthia were groundless. “Perhaps too formidable a team.”

  “I can't wait to find out.” His tone was light but there was an undercurrent to his words that sent a delightful shiver up her spine. Was he still talking about the Ride?

  The stablemaster called for attention and the riders turned in his direction. Pandora leaned toward Max, her voice low. “In the past, I've asked him to put Cynthia on my team; however, I did not have the opportunity to speak to him this year.”I was far too busy imagining things that didn't exist. Regret stabbed at her. “She is not nearly as confident on a horse as she is at the pianoforte. Should she be named to your team instead of mine, would you keep an eye on her?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” he said in a polite manner.

  She glanced at Cynthia and noted Bolton on the horse next to hers. Pandora heaved a sigh of exasperation. “Your friend is constantly at Cynthia's side.”

  “So it seems.”

  “I don't trust him.”

  “Neither do I,” he said thoughtfully. She slanted him a sharp glance and received an expression of utmost innocence in return. Was he worried about Cynthia? He hadn't seemed to be concerned about her skill on horseback. Was it Bolton's attention that troubled him?

  She pushed the question out of her head. Once again, she was drawing a conclusion from nothing at all. She vowed silently not to waste another thought on this nonsense and turned her attention back to the stablemaster.

  To her relief, she and Cynthia were both assigned to the third of five teams. Max and Bolton were on the fourth team.

  Max wished her good luck and started toward his team, then paused and looked at her
over his shoulder. “By the way, you do realize I have earned another point, don't you?”

  “Man-eating mares?” she said with grim resignation.

  “What else?” He grinned and directed his horse toward the area where his team was to gather. She stared after him, not quite certain if she wished to scream in frustration or laugh at his arrogant charm.

  A few moments later she guided her horse to stand beside Cynthia's.

  “Good morning.” Cynthia greeted her with a hesitant smile. No doubt the poor dear was already anxious about the Ride.

  “It's a beautiful day, isn't it?” Pandora said cheerfully, noting to herself that it had indeed become a much better morning since her chat with Max. Extraordinary. She grinned and reached over to pat Cynthia's hands, tightly gripping the reins. “Do try to relax. Horses seem to know when riders are nervous.”

  Surprise widened Cynthia's eyes. “But I'm not nervous.”

  Pandora raised a brow.

  “Well, perhaps just a bit.” She frowned and shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. “I always feel as if I am about to slip off on one of these things, and it's such a very long way to the ground.”

  Memories of the times Cynthia had done just that flashed through Pandora's mind. “Just try to relax and move with the horse instead of against it.”

  “I do try,” Cynthia said, as if she wasn't entirely sure of the answer herself. What had happened to the self-assured creature she'd been last night?

  Pandora studied her for a moment, then leaned closer. “You play the pianoforte like an angel. It's a true gift. I can't even hum in tune, no matter how much I try--not that I would, given the reaction my singing has drawn in the past--”