The Wedding Bargain

by Victoria Alexander

  “I suspect they may be with the horses. Or perhaps in the kitchens. Or possibly the village. Or in all likelihood at--”

  “Max.” She clenched her teeth. She didn't like the sound of this at all. “What have you done with them?”

  A dark brow arched upward. “You sound as though you suspect I have slit their throats, dismembered their bodies and tossed the pieces to--”

  “The geese?” she said sharply.

  He stared at her with an indignant expression. “I can't believe you would suggest such a thing. Even in fun.”

  “I didn't really mean to sug--”

  “Of course,” he said thoughtfully, “if there were extra points involved…”

  Shock held her for a moment, then she laughed and shook her head. “No extra points. You don't need any additional points. You're already up to seven.”

  “Eight.”

  “Seven, eight,” she waved a dismissive hand. “It will hardly matter when you lose.”

  “If I lose.”

  “When you lose,” she said without thinking, and glanced around once again. “Where are the stable hands and where are the horses? I would like to ride while it is still early enough to avoid being discovered dressed like a street urchin.”

  “I thought it would be best if they were elsewhere for the next few hours. They'll return before anyone is up and about.”

  “I'm not asking the right questions, am I?” She studied him closely. “The question isn't where they are, but why they've gone…isn't it?”

  “Excellent, Pandora.” Max grinned. “I knew you'd figure it out eventually.”

  “I'm so happy you're pleased.” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Now, answer the question. Any question.”

  “Very well.” He sauntered into a stall and called over his shoulder. “The horses are in a pasture somewhere on the estate. I'm not certain exactly where. The stable hands have scattered for the moment but will return by late morning.”

  “Why?” She was hard pressed not to scream the word.

  “I thought it would be easier without them.” He retraced his steps, emerging from the stall with a pitchfork in each hand.

  At once she understood. “Oh, no, Max.” She backed up and held her hands out to ward him off. “I absolutely refuse to participate in this.”

  He stepped toward her and offered a pitchfork. “You don't have a choice.”

  “I most certainly do.” She hid her hands behind her back and took another step away from him. “Don't think for a moment I'm going to take that. I never said I'd help you.”

  “That's true. However, you did agree to accompany me on the tests.”

  “Very well. I'll be happy to stand right here and watch.”

  “No.” He shook his head in mock regret. “I simply cannot allow that.”

  “I have no difficulty with it at all,” she snapped.

  “Your father would say precedent has been set.”

  “Precedent?” She glared at him suspiciously. “How?”

  “Well, you did help me at the Lion and Serpent.”

  “That was different.”

  “I doubt your grandmother would agree. I suspect she would consider your unwillingness to assist me a violation of the spirit--”

  “The spirit?” she practically sputtered. “--If not the actual terms of the game, and declare you to be disqualified and me to be the winner. I further suspect your aunts, the duchess and Ladies William and Edward, would procure a special license with remarkable speed and have us married before the week is out.”

  “They would never do that,” she said staunchly.

  “Would you care to find out?”

  Visions of Cynthia's rescue and Max flailing at geese flashed through her head. “This isn't at all fair.” She snatched a pitchfork from his hand. “And you couldn't get away with it if you hadn't charmed your way into the affections of my family.”

  “True. But once you have tamed man-eating mares, it appears all else falls into place.” He cast his gaze over their surroundings. “Including cleaning the Augean Stables.”

  “If we're going to do this, let's get to it.” She took a few steps, then stopped. “Exactly what are we supposed to do? I've never cleaned a stables before.”

  “That is a surprise,” he said wryly.

  “And I suppose the Earl of Trent is quite experienced at stable cleaning?”

  “Not exactly, but I did receive instructions. The bulk of the work involves replacing dirty straw with fresh straw.”

  “Dirty straw?” Pandora stared at the floor of the nearest stall. Plain inoffensive dirt was not the worst of what soiled the straw.

  “You could go ahead and simply award me the point,” he said hopefully. “If for no other reason than my willingness to tackle such a task.”

  “You've been given far too many points already. This one you'll have to earn.”

  “As you wish, but I do think I earned it with the geese,” he murmured.

  She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Pity I have to earn it with you.”

  He grinned and explained exactly how they were to proceed. It wasn't especially difficult to understand. It was, however, as hard as she'd suspected. Initially, Max would turn over and replace four forkfuls of straw to every one of hers. Within the first quarter hour, she had slowed to the point where he was doing nearly twice that for every one of hers. After a while she fell into a steady, if not overly productive, rhythm. Pandora certainly saw no reason to exhaust herself, and in spite of his argument, no good reason to assist him.

  She and Max each worked in separate areas, exchanging only a few words here and there, although she was acutely aware of his presence.

  It didn't appear to Pandora they'd made much progress. She'd always thought the stables here rather small, but today they looked the size of Windsor Castle. She straightened and stretched and exhaled a long, loud breath. “So, Max, are we finished yet?”

  He glanced around but continued to fork over straw. “I wouldn't think so, but I suppose, ultimately, it is up to you.” He flashed her a quick grin. “We can stop whenever you feel I have earned my point.”

  She sighed, leaned on the handle of her pitchfork, and watched him work. With each stroke, his shirt pulled tight across his back, outlining the hard lines of his body. His sleeves were rolled up over his elbow and the muscles of his arms strained against the fabric. She wondered when he'd wrap those arms around her again. They were indeed the arms of a hero. Her hero.

  “Why did you join the army?” she said abruptly, surprised she had actually voiced the query she'd had in her mind since their first meeting.

  “Curious question, but not an inappropriate place to ask it.” He continued to work and spoke without looking at her. “Life in the British army, notwithstanding its grand uniforms and glorious history, makes this job look like a soiree in paradise. One of the many reasons why firstborn sons of noble heritage are not expected to join.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “Misplaced notions of duty and honor, I suppose. Passed on to me by my father.”

  “He didn't try to dissuade you?”

  Max shook his head. “Oddly enough, he had the same opinions about what a man, any man, owes his king and his country. The least of which is a willingness to give his own life.”

  A knot settled in her stomach at the thought of Max risking his life.

  “My mother, however, did not share his view.” He chuckled. “My mother does not share many of my views, either.”

  “Oh?” The knot tightened. Pandora forced a light note to her voice. “I suppose I shall meet her at some point.”

  “I daresay you won't be able to avoid it.”

  He fell silent and she studied him for a few moments.

  “Was it truly awful?” she said, fearing the answer, yet curious all the same.

  He shrugged. “She got over it eventually.”

  “Not your mother.” She laughed. “The war.”

  He stopped and t
urned his gaze to hers. “Do you really want to know?”

  She nodded. She very much wanted to know what made this man who and what he was.

  “Very well.” He returned to his work but was obviously considering his words. “My regiment joined Wellington's troops just before Talavera.”

  “Wasn't that a great victory?”

  “As one views such things, I suppose, but it's not always easy to see the broader picture from the front lines.” He paused for a moment. “We lost more than five thousand men, including two generals. There is a world of difference between common recruits and officers, and often it was they who did not command who had the greater skill in battle. Still, it is hard for men to lose those who lead them, no matter how incompetent they may be.”

  “Incompetent?”

  “For the most part, officers purchase their commissions. It was not uncommon to see officers directing men in combat who had no concept of what they were about.” His jaw tightened. “To fail in battle, to fail the men who depend on you, is often fatal.”

  “Is that why winning is so important to you?” she said slowly.

  He frowned, his brows together thoughtfully. “Probably. It was a hard lesson to learn. Regardless of whether you're a brilliant battlefield tactician or an unqualified fool, the men you lead look to you for their survival. The end result of your failure may well be their deaths. For any man with a conscience, that alone makes failure unacceptable.”

  “Did you fail?” Her voice was quiet.

  He trapped her gaze with his, his gray eyes dark with memories. “No, and I thank God every day for that. I was smart enough to realize I was not infallible and to take advantage of the experience that was available to me. Regardless of where it came from.”

  “But you earned a commendation. You were a hero.”

  He smiled in an offhanded manner, as if it was of no real consequence, but she suspected it was. “Hero is a relative term. I did little more than what was expected of me. I managed to keep men alive, including more than a few officers. Generals tend to look kindly upon that.”

  She gathered she would get no specifics from him and wasn't certain she wished to hear them at any rate. Still, they had never spoken of anything so serious as life and death.

  “Does it bother you, talking about this?”

  He shook his head. “It was a very long time ago. It feels like another lifetime.” He hesitated, as if he debated whether or not to go on. “When my father died and I inherited his title, the attitude of the army, and Wellington, permitted men in my position to resign their commissions. So I did.

  “My responsibility to my family dictated the decision. There was no one else to tend to the estate and other holdings. Still, it was…” his brow furrowed, “difficult to leave my men and not feel I was abandoning them. Failing them, in a way. Knowing the dangers they faced, the wretched conditions. There was never enough food or medical supplies, pay was always in arrears, the heat was often unbearable, disease was widespread…”

  He blew a long breath. “At any rate, I returned home and tried to put it all out of my head. Laurie did what he could to help.” He chuckled. “No doubt you can imagine what form his assistance took.”

  “No doubt,” she murmured. That was her first season and she dimly remembered Max: a dark, handsome figure with a reckless, arrogant air.

  “It worked for a while, but eventually the memories of death and dying, shattered bodies and equally shattered souls, overcame me. I retreated to my house in the country and spent nearly a year secluded with only Laurie's occasional visits and a great deal of liquor for company. So much for tending to my responsibilities.

  “It took me a long while to accept and understand what I'd seen and experienced and played a role in. I suppose some might have thought me rather mad for a time.” His gaze bored into hers. “Does that concern you?”

  Her heart ached for him and she forced a teasing note to her voice. “I suppose that depends on whether you are mad now.”

  “Oh, there is no question about that.” He grinned. “I have taken on the Hellion of Grosvenor Square and her impossible tests. What man in his right mind would do such a thing?”

  “None that I would have.” She'd intended the comment to be of no significance, but it hung in the air between them with a meaning far deeper than mere words. Their gazes locked.

  “And would you have me?” His smile remained, but his voice was as intense as his eyes.

  She swallowed hard. “If you win, I have no choice.”

  “And if I lose?”

  Yes, if you love me.

  “But you do not intend to lose.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “I do not intend to lose.” He turned away and resumed his work.

  She stared at him for a long time and wondered what would have happened between them if they'd never made this ridiculous bargain. Would his courtship have progressed along a more typical road? Would she still have fallen in love with him?

  Possibly. But it would not have been nearly as exciting.

  Pandora returned her attention to the job at hand, pushing the straw around in a perfunctory and totally ineffective manner, her thoughts absorbed with the lone question that tortured her mind and her heart.

  Did he love her?

  Max lifted a forkful of straw and tossed it to one side; the physical demands of his labor engaged his body but left his mind free to ponder their conversation.

  He hadn't spoken of his military days to anyone. Ever. Distance and the intervention of the years no doubt leant perspective. He had come to terms with the devastation he'd witnessed long ago. Still, it was a surprise to realize he could discuss those days now without the agony that had once haunted him. He had healed himself and survived stronger for the torturous journey of heart and mind.

  And she seemed to understand. Her eyes had mirrored the horror of his words but not a horror of him. Even when he'd recounted his escape from the rest of the world, a period when in fact he might have been truly mad, he read only sympathy and concern in her eyes. She was far more extraordinary than he'd ever expected.

  Odd, that he would share the darkest moments of his life with this woman who had never known fear or want. Or perhaps not strange at all. He did intend to spend the rest of his days with her. The woman he loved.

  The woman he loved?

  He might as well admit it, if only to himself.

  The realization changed everything. Could he really force her to marry him simply as the price of defeat? Bargain or no bargain, did he want her to marry him without love? Was love on his side alone enough?

  No. A cold hand gripped his heart. Accepting his own feelings drove the stakes of their bargain to unforeseen heights. The inability to win her love would be the ultimate failure.

  Could she love him? Perhaps she already did. Certainly jealously was an excellent sign, but he could not be entirely certain it was triggered by love. He could simply declare himself to her in hopes she would respond in kind.

  But what if she didn't? Would he be able to bear the knowledge and continue on with the game? No, it was far better to try to determine her feelings before letting her know his.

  “I've had quite enough.” Pandora tossed her pitchfork aside and dropped on to a pile of clean straw, flinging herself backwards. She closed her eyes and folded her arms over her head. “Grandmother's ball is tonight and I'm already exhausted.”

  “You don't look exhausted.” He leaned his pitchfork in a corner and moved to drop down in the straw at her side. “You look quite appealing.”

  “I feel anything but appealing. This is your fault entirely, you know.” She smiled but didn't open her eyes. “I never should have allowed it.”

  “Ah, then it is in truth your fault.” A strand of pale straw lay across her neck at the opening of her shirt. He flicked it away, noting the pulse at the base of her throat, yielding to the impulse to bend forward and brush a light kiss on the tempting spot.

  She sucked in her br
eath. “What are you doing?”

  “I simply removed a piece of straw,” he said absently, allowing his lips to continue their exploration of the warm flesh of her throat and knowing full well it was a mistake but unable to resist.

  “Max,” she tensed beside him.

  “Yes?” He trailed a line of kisses along the side of her neck. Just one more moment and he would stop.

  “This is against the rules.”

  “Sorry.” He pulled a deep breath. “It slipped my mind for a moment.” He shifted to get to his feet.

  “Max.” She grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and her gaze caught his. “You've broken it before.”

  His stomach tightened. “At the moment, it seems--”

  “Max. Break it again.” She pulled him toward her, her blue eyes darkening. “Kiss me.”

  He gazed down at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair tangled in straw, her delectable body laid out before him like an offering to the gods. “One kiss could well lead to another.”

  “Could it?” she said lightly, drawing him closer. “Perhaps we should see.”

  He stretched out beside her, gathering her into his arms, and met her lips with his, her mouth warm and pliant. He kissed her gently, holding himself in check, resisting the urgent need swelling up inside him, brushing his lips across hers. She sighed and her mouth opened slightly. He ran his tongue across the inner edge of her lips and deeper into her mouth. Her tongue met his tentatively and shock coursed through him. He pulled her tighter to him, the heat of her body searing his.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and his hands caressed her back in lazy circles, then drifted lower, to her buttocks. She shuddered and pressed her mouth hard against his. He ran his hand along her side, slipping under the hem of her shirt and up to touch her bare skin and skim the bottom of her breast. She gasped then stilled beside him but didn't pull her mouth from his. He cupped her breast, its firm fullness in his hand increasing his arousal. The pad of his thumb brushed her already hard nipple, tightening even more under his touch. Vaguely he noticed her tugging at his shirt and felt the cool morning air on his back.