by Rose Gordon
HIS JILTED BRIDE
ROSE GORDON
HIS JILTED BRIDE
Copyright © 2013 C. Rose Gordon
Cover image copyright Lily Smith
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition
This book is a work of fiction. All names, events and locales are a product of this author’s overactive imagination. If any name, event and/or locale did exist, it is purely by coincidence it appears in this book.
This book may not be reproduced by any means, including but not limited to, mechanical, Xerox, digital, auditorial and/or in print.
If you obtained this copy illegally, please respect the author and her time enough to purchase a copy.
It should also be noted, this book was not written as a history textbook. Please do not treat it as such. If you do, your education will be sorely lacking.
Other Titles Available
SCANDALOUS SISTERS SERIES
(Now Available)
Intentions of the Earl (Book 1)
Liberty for Paul (Book 2)
To Win His Wayward Wife (Book 3)
GROOM SERIES
(Now Available)
Her Sudden Groom (Book 1)
Her Reluctant Groom (Book 2)
Her Secondhand Groom (Book 3)
Her Imperfect Groom (Book 4)
BANKS BROTHERS BRIDES SERIES
His Contract Bride
His Yankee Bride
His Jilted Bride
And Coming Soon
His Brother's Bride
OFFICER SERIES (AMERICAN SET)
The Officer and the Bostoner
The Officer and the Southerner
The Officer and the Traveler
Prologue
1800
Watson Estate
“You're it!” five-year-old Lady Amelia Brice squealed as she pressed her dirty hands against Elijah's back.
Elijah remained seated in his shady spot on the grass and swatted at the neighbor girl who had an odd tendency to think of him as her playmate. “I'm not playing.”
“And why not?” She put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.
He shrugged. “I don't want to.”
A sound of annoyance erupted from her throat and she stomped her foot. “Elijah Banks, you are no fun!”
“He isn’t, is he?” Henry, his twin, chimed in, grinning.
Lady Amelia twisted her lips and enthusiastically nodded her agreement. “He sure isn't. But I know how to get him to play.”
“Oh?”
“Sure do. He just needs a little kiss!” She puckered her lips and leaned forward.
Eight-year-old Elijah was off his bottom and to his feet before she could come within a foot of him, let alone touch her puckered lips to his skin.
His standing position didn't deter her. Lips still puckered and ready, she stepped closer to him.
He took a step back.
She came closer to him again.
This time, he fled.
“You'd better run, Elijah, because when I catch you, you'll be getting this kiss whether you want it or not,” she called as she chased him around the field. Her unpinned, mud brown hair whipped wildly in the wind as she chased him around the maple tree and down the stone walkway leading to the shed, trampling over his mother's wildflowers before running up the large hill that led to the house.
“I'll get you,” she called to him with a wild giggle, making kissing noises as loudly as she could while she chased after him.
“No, you won't,” Elijah shouted back. He crested a hill and came to a halt when he saw his brother Alex, who was home on academic leave from Eton, sitting under a tree and reading some boring tome about plants.
Elijah pressed his finger against his lips then ran behind a large oak.
From behind the tree, he positioned one eye so he could watch Lady Amelia.
She reached the top of the hill, her dark hair plastered against her sweaty face.
“Alex,” she said, gasping for breath.
Alex nodded to her and Elijah moved his head back behind the tree, debating about just when he should start running again.
A twig snapped from somewhere in Alex's vicinity and he peeked around the tree just in time to meet Lady Amelia's grey eyes, then he was running again. Only this time he didn't have the same lead as before.
In front of God, Alex and everybody within hearing distance, Lady Amelia called for him to stop so she could grant him his kiss. But he didn't. He ran as fast as his bare feet could take him.
Just then, the door to his family's estate swung open, revealing Mother and Father.
Elijah came to a halt and Lady Amelia ran straight into his left side, knocking them both to the ground.
She must not have noticed his parents standing there, for right then, without a second's hesitation, she pressed her lips against his in a slobbery kiss.
Immediately, he pushed her away and ran the back of his hand over his now moist lips—that's what a boy was supposed to do when kissed, wasn't it?—then shoved to his feet.
“Mother, Father.”
Lady Amelia stood, her eyes as wide as tea saucers. If she'd been anybody else, it'd be terror that would make her look so scared. But Elijah knew better. Amelia Brice was the most stubborn, shameless girl he'd ever met. She wasn't terrified; she was merely surprised.
“Elijah, Lady Amelia,” Mother greeted, favoring them both with a warm smile.
“And what has the two of you running as if the Angel of Death is nearby?” Father surprised him by asking. Father had no real shame, either, and often asked blunt questions just to see the expression they elicited on someone's face. So the fact that he hadn't made mention of what Elijah would forever have to remember as his first kiss caught him unawares.
“She was trying to kiss me,” Elijah blurted.
“It didn't look like she was trying to me, my boy,” Father said. “I just hope you've used your tooth powder recently or that might also be your last kiss.”
Elijah's cheeks burned. “Well, if not using tooth powder will keep her away from me; I'd better go throw all of mine into the fire right now.”
Mother's face fell and Father sent him a sharp look at his unkind words.
“Elijah, you know what you must do,” Mother said softly.
Elijah swallowed and turned to face Lady Amelia. He twisted his lips. “I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he muttered.
Mother shook her head and extended her hand down toward Lady Amelia. “Come. I was just about to take tea in the drawing room and I'd love for you to be my guest.”
A grin split Lady Amelia's red face. “Truly?”
“Truly. Come along now before it gets cold.”
Elijah watched in silence as Lady Amelia accompanied his mother into the red brick house.
Shaking his head, he turned to go find Henry.
“Elijah,” Father called.
“Yes, sir,” he said, turning back to face his father.
“Come sit, I want to talk to you about how you treated your friend.”
Elijah scrunched up his nose at the way his father had referred to her as his friend. “She's not my friend.”
“Is that so?” Father drawled, leaning against a tall white pillar in front of the house. “You seem to play with her quite a lot.”
“Only because she comes over here all the time.”
“She does that because she likes you, son.”
“Why can't she find anyone else to like?” Elijah asked through gritted teeth.
Father shrugged. “I have no idea. She might find a friend who'd treat her better if she did though.”
Sha
me washed over Elijah. “I apologized to her,” he said in a tone that matched the one he'd used when he'd issued said apology.
“Yes, you sure did mumble one, didn't you? And you even made sure to allow yourself a measure of pride by letting her know that your apology was only being made if you'd hurt her feelings.”
Elijah shrugged. “She's the one who chased me around the estate trying to kiss me. I doubt I hurt her feelings.”
“Perhaps not,” Father conceded. “But that doesn't matter. When an apology is made, it needs to be sincere or not made at all.” He pushed off the column and ran a hand through his dark blond hair. “Son, you might not like her now, but one day you might. Then what will you do when she wants nothing to do with you because of the way you treated her?”
Elijah burst out with laughter. “Do not worry, Father. The chances of Alex having a love match are far greater than my being attracted to Lady Amelia.”
Chapter One
Late April 1819
Dover
Blast it all to botheration and back!
Lady Amelia Brice would have bellowed every word of that sentence if she had not been trying to prowl around Lord Nigel's study undetected.
She eased the large drawer to his desk closed as calmly as she could, considering the frustration and irritation currently flowing through her. Had her brother, Philip, been even slightly more specific about what she was looking for, she might not be so frustrated.
All she knew was she was looking for a bundle of papers that may or may not be kept in a leather portfolio. Very helpful, indeed.
Scowling she gripped the handle of another drawer and pulled. Then again. She frowned. Drat, this drawer was locked.
Perhaps a locked drawer was a good thing, she thought as she slid a pin from her hair. She straightened it as best she could then stuck it between her teeth while she ran her fingertips along the smooth drawer in search of the keyhole.
Finding it, she jammed the end of her hairpin in and jiggled it around until the distinctive click that signaled a successfully picked lock echoed in the room. She stilled and held her breath, which was absolutely silly. There was so much noise coming from the rest of the house that nobody could have been able to have heard that lock turn unless they'd been in the room with her. And even that was doubtful.
She took a deep calming breath and slid open the drawer. Reaching her hand inside, she felt around. She scowled. Loose cigars and whisky flasks seemed to be what Lord Nigel considered so important that he had to lock them up? Ridiculous. For as long as she lived, she'd never understand the opposite sex and what they found to be of greatest importance.
Her fingers brushed something that felt unmistakably like paper and her heart pounded. This had to be it. Slowly she brought the bundle of papers out from the back of the drawer and unfolded it. She walked to the window and held the stack of papers up in the moonlight and blushed. This couldn't be what Philip was talking about. These were...were...sketches. Sketches of an unclothed lady, to be precise.
She shook her head and walked the papers back to his desk. She'd always thought Lord Nigel to be a lecher. Now she didn't just have to think it, she had confirmation.
Amelia shoved the naughty pictures back into the drawer then shut it with a soft thud. There was only one unexplored drawer left and after that... She didn't even want to think of what would come if she didn't find what she was looking for in the last drawer.
She pulled out the leather chair that was in front of the large oak desk to give her enough room to open the skinny drawer that was below the desk's writing surface.
Amelia ran her hand along the front of the drawer and frowned. There wasn't a handle. She curled her fingers under the edge of the wood and pulled. Nothing. Falling into the chair, she put her other hand under the edge of the drawer and pulled again. It didn't budge.
She moved her hand under the drawer and frowned when her fingers collided with the support beam that ran down the center of the desk. There was certainly a drawer here. She just didn't know how to get it open.
Biting her lip so not to groan in frustration, she blindly groped for some sort of release latch on the bottom of the drawer.
Nothing.
Sighing in frustration, Amelia finished off the glass of punch she'd brought with her then pulled the five-candle candelabra that sat at the far edge of the desk toward her. She'd been reluctant to light any candles, lest the hint of light was seen under the door and she was discovered. But she could no longer avoid it. The moon was falling behind a neighboring house, stealing her light, and this blasted drawer had to have some sort of trick release and she was helpless to find it in the dark.
She quickly lit a single candle, snuffed the match, and froze.
In the low glow the candle had given off, she could see the outline of a decidedly male form sitting on the settee not fifteen feet away.
Panic pounded in her chest, but she was too terrified to move, much less speak or think.
A moment stretched into two, the silence of the room growing louder than the din just outside the room.
Wordlessly, the man stood and began to walk in her direction while she sat still frozen behind the desk. Her eyes stayed focused on his face, which was ridiculous since, like her, he wore a mask that concealed everything except his eyes.
Unlike most men she knew, his boots made no noise as he made his way over to her, then just as quietly, he reached a single hand in front of her and pushed the section of wood directly in front of her that marked the front of the drawer that she knew had to be there. As soon as he moved his fingers, the drawer popped open.
“As you were,” he said in a deep voice that sent a shiver down her spine and woke her from her fog.
Amelia licked her lips, feeling somewhat naked and vulnerable in this stranger's presence. “How long?” she heard herself ask.
“How long have I been here?” the man asked. His voice so low and soft it was a miracle she'd heard him over the blood roaring in her ears.
She nodded. It was all she could do.
“Long enough.” He walked back over to the spot he'd vacated on the settee and took a seat. “Don't let me stop you.”
Amelia's blood turned to ice. When Philip brought her to their cousin's costume party tonight, he told her that everyone would be too interested in the activities going on in the drawing room to notice her exit and she'd have as much time as she needed to locate the papers as long as she did nothing to attract attention to her whereabouts.
But somehow she'd attracted attention. But whose and how, she didn't know.
“You do plan to continue, do you not?”
Amelia stiffened. “Just who are you to inquire about my intentions?” she asked, inwardly congratulating herself on her frosty tone that didn't falter once.
“And who are you to go through a man's desk?”
“How is that your concern?” she countered. “Did you attend tonight's party with the same intent?”
“I don't know,” he said slowly. “Why don't you tell me exactly what you're doing and I'll tell you if my intentions are the same?”
Amelia's mind raced. Whoever this man was, he was a master in turning the conversation around on her.
“Don't let my presence interrupt you,” he said again a few minutes later.
Who was this man? He wasn't her cousin, she was certain of that. She'd recognize his loud voice and even louder footsteps anywhere. Besides, he wouldn't be half this calm if he'd found someone digging around in his desk. And then there was the way her skin tingled and her stomach became uneasy each time he spoke...
Or perhaps those responses could be because she was nervous. That was actually a very logical explanation, and likely the right one.
“And what of my presence? Why are you letting it keep you from your task?” she asked with a sudden urge to giggle.
The man didn't respond, or if he did, Amelia couldn't hear his soft voice because just at that moment, she opened her mouth to ask him
yet another giggled question, but instead of words coming past her lips, she belched. Then she giggled. “Oh dear,” she said, covering her mouth. What was wrong with her? A minute ago she was able to form a coherent thought and now... Now she was giggling and making the most unladylike noises.
She'd have been embarrassed by her sudden outbursts, to be sure, if only she could stop giggling.
Just then, something appeared in front of her. It was like a circle made up of dozens of shades of every color she'd ever seen and it was swirling.
She grabbed for it, giggling. But she couldn't reach it.
She reached again, this time standing—or trying to, at least. But just as she half-stood to grab it, it moved out of her reach, and for some reason, this made her laugh all the more.
“Madam?”
Amelia turned to where the voice had come from right beside her. When had he gotten so close? And when had that wheel of vivid and vibrant colors joined him? She reached forward again in an attempt to grab it and her hand collided with something hard, his chest, perhaps. Or possibly even his shoulder. She really couldn't tell because her big ball of spinning colors was blocking her view of him.
Her subsequent endeavor was halted by two strong hands that clasped onto her wrists and didn't let her go. He pulled her to a standing position and before she knew what she was doing, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Hullo,” she trilled, tipping her face up to his.
“Did you have something to drink?” His voice reminded her of when she was younger and she and the Banks twins would go underwater in their creek and one of them would say something then when they came up, everyone would guess what it was.
“Perhaps,” she said, giggling as if it were the most humorous thing she'd ever heard. “You're tall.”