The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride

by Victoria Alexander

  “Just the wind knocked out of me.”

  “Your eyes were closed.”

  “I needed a moment.”

  She sat back and studied him closely. “You’re fine, aren’t you?”

  “Fine might not be entirely accurate but I seem to be in one piece.” He struggled to sit up then rubbed his face and cringed. “Ouch.” He stared at her. “You hit me.”

  “I was patting your cheeks in an effort to revive you.”

  “With undue enthusiasm, I would say,” he said, still rubbing his cheeks. “My face is stinging.”

  “Come now, Sam. I was just trying to, well, bring you back to life as it were. Which does call for more than a half-hearted attempt. And I did a fine job of it as you are so clearly alive.”

  “I was never dead.” He scrambled to his feet and groaned at the movement. “Holy mother of . . .” He gently felt the back of his head and grimaced. “Did you smack me on the back of the head as well?”

  “Don’t be absurd. That would have been stupid.” His cheeks were fairly red. “Admittedly, your face does look a little pink but I didn’t know what else to do. And you are such a stubborn man it seemed necessary to . . . to attract your attention. To bring you back from the brink of death.” She stared up at him. “One might say I saved your life. It seems to me a little gratitude is called for.”

  “Had it actually needed saving I’d be extremely grateful.” He extended a hand to help her up.

  “I didn’t know that. You certainly looked dead.”

  “I wasn’t.” The moment she was on her feet he released her hand and headed toward the motorwagon.

  “You kissed me!”

  “You noticed that, did you?” He reached his vehicle and grimaced. “Damn it all. Look at that.”

  She hurried after him. “You let me think you were dead.” “I didn’t let you think I was dead. I had nothing to do with what you thought.” He circled the motorwagon, found whatever it was he was looking for, and turned off the still-chugging motor. “I certainly could have been dead, I suppose.”

  “But you kissed me.”

  “You said that.” His tone was absent, his gaze fixed on his vehicle. “Probably because I wasn’t dead.”

  “You took advantage of me!”

  “You’re not the one who was dead. One might say you took advantage of me. And I’m pretty sure you kissed me back. With a great deal of enthusiasm.”

  “I was simply glad you were alive.”

  “You kissed me back.” He squatted down and studied the front wheel. “And you hit me.”

  She glared. “I wish you would stop saying that. I did not hit you, I . . . I patted your cheeks. Briskly. In a manner designed to stimulate the flow of blood.”

  “You did not pat me, you hit me. Hard.” He tugged at a metal bracket. “And you kissed me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You kissed me. I was simply trying to determine if you were breathing.”

  “I was.” He blew a frustrated breath. “Look at that.”

  She eyed the vehicle. “Look at what?”

  “Right there.” He ran his hand over the front wheel. “Some of the spokes are broken or bent. And here.” He pointed to a part of the metal tubing underneath the floorboards. “That’s bent.” He straightened and continued to move around the vehicle. “The damn thing did roll over—”

  “More than once,” she murmured.

  “But you wouldn’t think it would do that much damage. And there’s probably more here that I’m not seeing.”

  “I knew that thing wasn’t safe.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you it could kill you.”

  “No, you said I was taking my life in my hands.” He bent forward and examined the motor.

  She huffed. “It’s the same thing.”

  “Not really.” He glanced at her. “It was the fall that would have killed me.” His attention returned to his wounded beast. “Jim is not going to be happy about this.”

  “It can’t be that bad. The motor still ran.”

  “It’s not enough.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Repairs are going to be significant.”

  “It doesn’t look bad.” She studied his vehicle. “A few scratches perhaps.”

  “It’s more than a few scratches.” He worked his way slowly around the motorwagon. “There are things that are bent that shouldn’t be. It’s an innovation, Dee. You don’t want something like this not to be in perfect condition. Not if you want people to commit to buy one in the future.” His jaw tightened. “Jim’s going to need a real workshop for this, not just the tools he has with him. And this is going to set everything back. Just the damage I can see is problematic enough. Who knows what Jim will find when he starts working on it. What did you mean by ‘don’t leave me’?”

  Her breath caught. “What?”

  He straightened and looked at her. “What did you mean when you said don’t leave me?”

  “I don’t recall saying anything of the sort,” she said quickly. Now that he wasn’t dying or dead there was no need to say anything. At least not until she decided what if anything she wanted to say. Or do. “You must have imagined it. When you hit your head. Head injuries will do that sort of thing, you know.”

  “I didn’t imagine anything.”

  “You could have. You were flying through the air, after all. That alone would probably be enough to make you hear things that weren’t said. I for one have never seen a man fly before.” She shuddered. “I don’t mind telling you, I found it most disturbing.”

  “You were devastated at the thought of my death.”

  “Well, of course I was devastated.” She scoffed. “You’re a guest at Millworth, and not being distraught at your death would be—”

  “Rude?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you are never rude.”

  “Never.”

  “And that’s all there is to it, then.”

  “Absolutely.” She nodded. It was obvious that he didn’t believe her. “Goodness, Sam, why wouldn’t I be upset? We are friends, after all.”

  He studied her for a moment then smiled in a knowing manner and turned back to the inspection of his machine. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

  “And that’s exactly what you should think.”

  “All right.” He turned back to his perusal. “Then that’s what I think.”

  “Because that’s all there is.”

  “If you say so.”

  “There’s nothing more to it than that.”

  “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” he murmured.

  She rolled her gaze toward the sky. “Not again.”

  “It’s the right quotation this time. I checked,” he said in a hard tone. “I do like to be prepared.”

  “I know it’s right.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  “I am usually right.”

  “Not that I’ve noticed.”

  “What don’t I know?” he said abruptly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said there was so much I didn’t know. So much you didn’t realize. What don’t I know?”

  “I have no idea. You certainly think you know everything.”

  “For God’s sake, Delilah.” Before she could protest, he moved closer and pulled her into his arms. “You didn’t want me to die because you’re in love with me.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Even to her own ears her protest sounded weak. “I would have been concerned about anyone’s death.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I am not!” She tried to push out of his arms but he held her fast. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to die at the hands of that mechanical beast of yours. Especially not a friend.”

  His gaze bored into hers. “Why won’t you admit there’s something remarkable between us?”

  “Of course there is,” she said, still pushing against him. “Why, we’re friends.”

  “We’re more than friends and you know it.�
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  “I know nothing of the sort. Obviously, you’re suffering from some sort of delusion brought on by a hit to your head.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “Yes, that must be it.”

  “Now, unhand me.” She wasn’t sure if he believed her or not. There were moments when the man was truly difficult to decipher. Regardless, she certainly couldn’t think with his arms around her and she did need her wits about her. “At once.”

  “My apologies, Lady Hargate.” He released her and stepped back. “I don’t know what came over me. My injuries must be more significant than I had thought.”

  “Well, you’re not dead,” she said helpfully.

  “There is that.”

  “And you realize your mistake.”

  “Oh, I’ve made no mistake.”

  “But you said—”

  “I know exactly what I said.” His unflinching gaze met hers.

  “But you are wrong.”

  He raised a brow.

  “You are.” She glared at him.

  He shrugged.

  She threw up her hands in frustration. “You are the most arrogant man I have ever met.”

  “And you are the most confusing woman I have ever met.” He paused. “And stubborn. My God you’re stubborn. Have I mentioned that?”

  “I can’t recall. Possibly.”

  “Well, it certainly bears repeating.” He studied her closely. “It’s also worth noting that in spite of your feigned indignation—”

  “It’s not the least bit feigned. I am indignant!”

  “In spite of that, you have not denied what I said.”

  “It doesn’t warrant a denial,” she said in a lofty manner.

  “Of course not.” He cast her an annoyingly smug smile.

  “It’s entirely too absurd to deny.”

  He shrugged. “If you say so.”

  She stared at him. “And you claim I am stubborn.”

  “If the fashionably shod shoe fits,” he said under his breath and turned back to his machine.

  “As there is no possibility of riding in that beast of yours today I am going back to the house.” She turned on her heel and started off. “I didn’t want to ride in it anyway. I was just trying to be polite.”

  “Because you’re never rude?” He called behind her.

  “Never!”

  “Hah!”

  “What an annoying, irritating, arrogant beast you are!”

  “One more thing before you go stalking off.”

  “You’re too late, I am already stalking off!” She stopped in midstep and swiveled to face him. “What is it?”

  “I would never leave you.” His eyes narrowed. “All you ever have to do is ask.”

  Her heart thudded. She deliberately misunderstood him. “What I have asked, what I’ve wanted, is for you to leave.”

  “That’s the problem then, isn’t it? I’ve never believed you.”

  “One of many problems!”

  He smiled in a slow, annoying manner. “And I find it interesting that when you thought I was dead, you begged me not to leave you when all you’ve been trying to do since I arrived is get me to leave.”

  She stared at him. “Ironic, isn’t it?” She turned and started off again.

  “I wouldn’t call it ironic. I’d call it just desserts.” He called after her. “Or fate.”

  If one believed in such things as previous lives, one might, at the moment, have decided one did something quite terrible in a previous incarnation. Delilah must have been very bad indeed to find herself now in this situation.

  Blast it all, she was indeed in love with the man. Of course she was. For an intelligent woman she’d been fairly stupid. She should have known it from the beginning. And perhaps she did. Perhaps she’d known somewhere, in the dim recesses of her heart, the moment she’d looked into his brown eyes. The moment he first made her laugh. The moment he first touched her hand. And perhaps that was why she’d told him she never—no—it would be best—if they never saw each other again.

  She’d fallen in love with the arrogant, annoying American. The man who was totally and completely wrong for her. Because falling in love with a man who was all wrong would be every bit as heartbreaking as falling in love with one who was supposed to be entirely right.

  And even worse, he knew she loved him. Bloody hell. What was she going to do now? The man would surely break her heart.

  But only if she let him.

  It wasn’t at all difficult to avoid Sam for the rest of the day. Delilah had people still in bed to attend to after all. Not that there was much attending necessary given Lady Fairborough’s generous loan of servants.

  Sam and Mr. Moore were occupied with the damage to the motorwagon and had practically barricaded themselves at the carriage house. William did mention that Sam had conferred with Grayson who had then insisted he was feeling too good to remain abed. He too was now at the carriage house. William had also mentioned all three gentlemen wished to take their meals there for the foreseeable future.

  Camille insisted she was bored and tired of being by herself so she commandeered a large, comfortable, overstuffed chair in Teddy’s room and the three women spent much of the evening going over plans for the approaching wedding.

  Delilah had paid scant attention to the mundane details of her own wedding, leaving it in her mother’s capable hands. And while the details of Camille’s might well be fascinating any other time, at the moment Delilah had entirely too much on her mind to pay any attention at all. Fortunately, between Camille and Teddy, Delilah couldn’t have wedged a word of her own in even if she’d wanted to. Still, she did smile and nod when it seemed appropriate or in those rare moments when her sister or her friend looked at her for agreement.

  “Although the chapel really is rather small,” Teddy said thoughtfully. “I was wondering if perhaps . . .”

  It was to be an elegant affair, admittedly a bit grander than Grayson had preferred and not as extravagant as Camille had wished. Still, it was to be quite festive with an evening ceremony followed by dinner and a wedding ball.

  It did seem to Delilah that there was very little left to discuss although Camille and Teddy did go on and on about any number of things completely out of their control. The interesting thing about a grand wedding was that once everything was selected and arranged for, one could do nothing more until the event was very nearly at hand. That was when disaster would strike or all would be well. Either the flowers that had been ordered arrived as expected—which wouldn’t be until the day before the wedding itself—or they did not. Either the pastry chef, whose arrival was expected in the next few days, would prove worthy of his reputation and expense and create an unforgettable wedding cake as well as confections for the wedding dinner or he would not. Either the pale blue Worth gown Camille had ordered from Paris months ago, now in the hands of an expert London seamstress approved by Mr. Worth himself, would either be absolutely perfect or it would not.

  “Why the flowers alone will be enough . . .”

  As important as all this was to Camille, Delilah simply could not get her mind off the question of what to do about Sam. There was no getting away from the truth of the matter: Delilah had fallen in love with the man and he knew it. If she hadn’t been terrified that he was dead, she would have kept her mouth shut and that would have been that. She probably never would have acknowledged her own feelings and he never would have known. It struck her that there was some flaw in her reasoning that she couldn’t quite put her finger on but at the moment it scarcely mattered. All that mattered now was what was she going to do about it? Her choices seemed relatively slim. Indeed, only two came to mind.

  She could certainly accept how she felt, acknowledge her feelings to Sam, and hope they were mutual. And what then? He had never mentioned marriage and even if he had, marriage between them would be impossible. They were such completely different people and they wanted completely different things in life. Oh, certainly, she liked him and ye
s, she did enjoy his company but beyond that they had little in common. Why, they probably wouldn’t even be able to agree where they might live. She had no desire to live in America and she certainly couldn’t imagine he would be willing to live in England. He was so very American after all. And that was one of their minor differences. What if they did marry? Could they truly spend the rest of their lives together?

  “I think that’s an excellent idea. Beyond that, we could certainly . . .”

  Oh, they might well be quite blissful in the beginning but sooner or later the differences between them would prove their undoing. Each would grow to resent whatever compromises they had originally agreed to. Everything good they shared would wither and die. Bitterness would surely replace love. Hearts would break eventually. Hers or his or both.

  The second choice was the most obvious and made the most sense, all things considered. Certainly, there would be some pain involved but better now rather than when there was nothing left of her heart at all. It was a small enough price to pay to avoid sure and certain heartbreak. There was no choice really. It was best for both of them.

  Delilah had to do exactly what she had attempted when he first arrived at Millworth. She had to get rid of the man once and for all. She ignored the odd way her heart twisted in her chest at the thought.

  But this time she would be successful.

  This time she would have help.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Twelve days before the wedding . . .

  “You were remarkably quiet last night,” Camille said in an entirely too casual manner and tore off a piece of lightly buttered toast.

  “It’s really not at all like you.” Teddy sat across the table from Camille.

  “I’m glad to see the two of you are back to your usual selves.” Delilah moved to the sideboard and perused Mrs. Dooley’s breakfast offerings. Nothing looked particularly inviting today. Still, she heaped her plate with eggs and sausages and a bit of everything available. “I must say, I’m surprised to see the two of you at this hour.”

  “It is rather late,” Teddy admitted.

  “It’s nearly eleven and you are usually an early riser.” It was later than usual for Delilah as well but then she’d had no sleep to speak of. And no idea if doing the practical thing, the intelligent thing, was doing the right thing.