The Wedding Trap

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Kit inclined his head toward her. “Eliza? What about you? There are some very delectable-looking red raspberries. I know you’ve a partiality for them. Why don’t I bring you a dish?”

  She made herself lift her chin. “My thanks, but no.”

  “Are you sure? I tasted one and they’re very sweet. Let me get you a few.”

  Her brows drew together.

  Why was he being so conciliatory? she wondered. Was he trying to smooth the way between them again? Did he imagine they could be friends? That they could put their intimate relationship aside and forget they had ever lain naked in each other’s arms?

  Well, she could not forget. Nor could she be his friend. Not anymore.

  Suddenly, desperately, she had to get away.

  Tossing down her napkin, she jumped to her feet. “If you will excuse me, I need to go to my room. I am driving out with Mr. Vickery today and need to change my attire.”

  Violet sent her a look of concern. “Oh, of course, do run on. It is quite all right.”

  Without glancing again at Kit, Eliza hurried from the room.

  As she departed, she heard Kit demand to know what was wrong. She didn’t wait to hear Violet’s reply.

  Kit cooled his heels for nearly two hours before Eliza finally emerged from her room and came down the stairs.

  She looked as lovely as a crisp autumn morning in a marigold-colored carriage dress, a small, delicate bonnet with a whimsical little feather perched coyly atop her brunette curls.

  For a moment, he had to remind himself to breathe, had to caution himself not to sweep her close inside his arms and give her the sort of thorough kissing a woman of her undeniable appeal deserved. Instead he folded his arms across his chest and finished watching her descend.

  Her gait slowed for a moment when she saw him, but she recovered nicely, barely pausing as she navigated the last few steps.

  He waited until she stood next to him at the base of the staircase. “Eliza, might I have a word?”

  She glanced across the immense entryway toward the front door. “Lord Vickery is due to arrive any moment, so I don’t believe—”

  Annoyance set lines across Kit’s forehead. “Vickery can wait.”

  Without asking further permission, he placed a hand on her elbow and turned her toward the study. He could have chosen the salon, Kit knew, instead of revisiting the scene of their recent wayward night together, but decided the smaller room would allow them easier privacy.

  She balked for an instant when she noticed where he was taking her, but quickly gave up any attempt at resistance and followed along.

  Once inside the room, he closed the door behind them.

  As soon as he did, she slipped free of his hold.

  He decided to make no comment about the distance she placed between them, gathering himself to ask the question uppermost in his mind.

  Eliza lifted a brow. “What is it you wish to say to me?”

  The pendulum of the room’s tall, corner clock swung in a placid rhythm, its pace at complete odds with the emotions warring inside him.

  “That I was worried, for one,” he began. “Considering how you rushed out of the breakfast room this morning, I wondered what was amiss. Violet tells me you are unwell, but she was very vague on the particulars.” He met her gaze. “I know it’s only been a few days, but do you know already? Are you carrying my child?”

  Before she could speak, he hurried on. “Because if you are, we must marry quickly. That way no one will even suspect you conceived prior to our marriage. A week one way or the other will make no difference at all. I shall apply for a special license this very afternoon.”

  The feather on her hat bobbed gently as she shook her head. “You have no need to procure a license, special or otherwise, since your assumptions are incorrect.”

  “What?”

  She averted her gaze and traced a fingertip over a golden ribbon decorating her sheer silk spencer. “My monthly arrived this morning, and that is why I am not feeling my best. You may rest easy in the certainty that I am most definitely not with child.”

  “Oh.”

  He stood unmoving, momentarily nonplussed by her statement. In the hours since Eliza had left the breakfast room in such haste, he’d convinced himself she was pregnant and that they must marry, after all. He’d had everything planned, down to taking her to a summer cottage in Middlesex, where they would spend their honeymoon, and share endless nights of passion before returning to set up their new household.

  But she said there was no child.

  Tension leeched out of his shoulders, muscles he hadn’t even known were knotted suddenly easing. Yet to his dismay, the overriding emotion he felt was not one of relief, but of disappointment.

  He scoffed at the idea, telling himself not to be a fool. Surely he hadn’t actually wanted her to be with child? And it was ludicrous to imagine he had been genuinely excited by the prospect of making her his bride.

  “That’s good, then, is it not?” he stated with forced cheer.

  “Yes,” she said in a low voice. “Quite the best possible outcome.”

  Tugging at her gloves, she refastened a tiny, pearl button at one wrist. “Lord Vickery must have arrived by now. I should not keep him waiting any longer.”

  “No, I suppose you should not.” He reached out and wrapped a palm around her arm. “Are you sure, Eliza?”

  Her gaze flew upward to meet his. “About what?”

  “About us? About your decision that we not wed. I realize there is no baby, but still…”

  A faint light softened her dove-colored eyes. “Yes?”

  “I don’t feel easy knowing I have compromised you. I was supposed to be your mentor, your protector. Instead I let desire get the best of me. I robbed you of your innocence.”

  The light winked out inside her eyes. “It was my innocence to give, and I gave it freely. You need not suffer any guilt.”

  “Yes, but—”

  She blew out a breath that sounded almost angry. “Pray do not act the martyr, Kit. It is a role that does not suit you well. Now, I have a carriage ride to take.”

  Pointedly, she gazed down at the hand that held her arm.

  Relaxing his grip, he let her move away and step toward the door.

  Following behind, he trailed her into the hallway, watching as she welcomed his friend with a warm smile and a very pretty greeting.

  A skillful trick, he realized. One of the many he had taught her.

  Vickery glanced up and saw him, and nodded his head. Kit strode forward out of obligatory politeness, and stood in the entryway while they exchanged a few pleasantries.

  Eliza looked as if she hadn’t a care in the world, as if the two of them hadn’t just been closeted inside the study discussing topics that would have scandalized most genteel young women.

  Is that what he had brought her to? The prime lesson she had learned at his hand? How to dissemble? How to lie and pretend with the rest of Society’s shallow brethren?

  He didn’t like it, didn’t like it at all.

  Nor did he enjoy the sight of her a minute later as she offered him a sunny farewell, then turned and strolled from the house on Vickery’s arm.

  Chapter Twenty

  The next two weeks flew by as if borne aloft on wings.

  Determined not to give in to her own inner agony, a secret despair that hovered just beneath the surface, Eliza threw herself into the social fray with unheralded enthusiasm. Accepting as many engagements as possible, she kept busy from morning to night. Sparing herself no extra moments, she would find herself so exhausted by the time she laid her head upon her pillow that her body and mind had no choice but to let her sleep.

  Violet commented on her relentless pace, but Eliza assured her she was simply having fun. Even Jeannette noticed Eliza’s uncharacteristic élan, remarking how zealously she seemed to be embracing the last few weeks of the Season, Jeannette’s words tinged with apparent admiration for Eliza’s seemingly boundless
energy.

  As for Kit, Eliza did her utmost to avoid him without being obvious. Surrounding herself with her small but faithful band of suitors, she let them act as a kind of shield. Careful to keep at least one of them always by her side, she managed to spend relatively little time in Kit’s company.

  If he objected, he did not say, although she found his gaze upon her more frequently than she wished, a brooding expression glittering in his jewel-toned eyes.

  At home, she took breakfast in her room before bustling downstairs to plunge into the myriad events comprising her day, careful to leave no opportunity for a chance meeting or private coze with Kit. Despite her earlier determination, she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him, fearing how easy it would be to fall prey to his magnetic charms yet again.

  This afternoon, however, she could not elude him completely, numerous members of the Winter family, Kit included, having gathered just outside of London for an outing at the estate of one of Adrian’s cousins.

  From her perch inside a small rowboat, being expertly steered by Viscount Brevard, she had a clear view of the thirty-odd guests arranged in leisurely groupings on the grassy shore. Some were seated upon blankets beneath the shade of mature, leafy trees, while others strolled the verdant grounds and gardens.

  Counted among their number were several children, including the twins, Sebastian and Noah, and baby Georgianna, who, at eight months of age, had developed a lively crawling style that kept Violet and the children’s nursemaid scrambling to keep up. Jeannette and Darragh had brought little Caitlyn as well. A playmate for Georgianna, she charmed everyone with her infectious, infant laughter. Darragh’s siblings were having a merry time visiting with other young people near their own age, including Franny Brevard and her friend Jane Twitchell.

  Three of Adrian’s sisters and their families were also in attendance, including Sylvia and her husband, both of whom had recently come up to Town to spend a few weeks. Unwilling to leave their brood, they had brought their children as well, all six of them—five boys and Emma, the much-cherished only daughter.

  Screams and squeals resounded in the air as the children raced and played, the adults letting them do mostly as they pleased with only an occasional reprimand to quiet them down.

  Off to one side moved a small contingent of servants, busily working to set up the elegant alfresco buffet where the whole party would dine in a short while.

  Eliza caught sight of Kit as he strolled up to one of the tables and snatched a handful of what appeared, from a distance, to be fresh berries or nuts. He ate his pilfered bounty, laughing and teasing one of the serving girls as she halfheartedly tried to shoo him away.

  With an uncomfortable tightness squeezing her throat, Eliza forced her gaze aside and focused again on Viscount Brevard. He was telling her about his estate in the Cotswolds, his voice infused with an unmistakable pride for his ancestral home. From the description of the place, he had every right to feel boastful, the house and grounds appearing a veritable haven, with several thousand acres of prime land and two natural, deep-water lakes.

  Currently being rowed across a far less vast, yet nonetheless lovely artificial lake, Eliza dipped her fingers into the water, enjoying the sensation of cool wetness flowing against her skin as the little boat glided forward. She angled her parasol to catch a moment of warm June sunshine on her face before returning the silk covering to its proper position so her skin did not burn.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  She glanced toward Brevard where he sat at the opposite end of the boat, plying the oars in a smooth, easy motion.

  “Very comfortable,” she answered in complete truthfulness. A light breeze stirred, luffing against her cheeks, teasing her short curls. “I am glad you convinced me to come out. I have rarely been boating and never in such fine style.”

  “Then I must remember to take you out onto the water more often. In fact, it would be my very great pleasure if you and the duke and duchess would join me at my estate sometime during the coming weeks. Fall, in fact, is a perfect time to visit a pleasant stone pavilion I have that sits along the shore of my northernmost lake. Franny and I have been known to take a meal there on occasion, enjoying views of the waterfowl and other wildlife that are brave enough to venture close. I know you take delight in nature. I believe you would enjoy the experience.”

  Visit his home? she thought. Gentlemen asked ladies to visit their estate only when they were considering a more serious attachment. Was Viscount Brevard thinking about asking her to be his wife?

  She had her answer to that question a moment later when the viscount lifted the oars from the water and set them dripping in their side hooks.

  Allowing the boat to drift, he leaned toward her. “Miss Hammond, Eliza, I realize this is not the most conventional of locations in which to speak my heart, but it is one of the few that affords us utter solitude.”

  She held her breath for an instant, unsure whether or not she wanted him to proceed.

  Meeting her gaze, his eyes appeared a vivid blue, far bluer than the lake water surrounding them. “Surely you must not be unaware of my regard for you,” he continued. “From the moment of our first, albeit unconventional, meeting, where I spied you on that runaway horse, I have been captured by your beauty and grace and, yes, your amazing bravery. Since that time, I have come to discover how sweet and wise you are, how generous and kind, all qualities a man desires in the woman with whom he would choose to share his life.”

  Reaching out, he folded one of her hands inside his own. “Eliza, I love you. Please say you will be my wife.”

  Staring at the hand to which he’d laid claim, she wrestled for an answer. What to say when joyous acceptance did not rise immediately to her lips? And yet how could she refuse him?

  She had already turned down Lord Maplewood, an admittedly good man with whom she could have made a fine life. To refuse Brevard as well would be sheer insanity.

  Heavens above, he was the undisputed catch of the Season. If she accepted him, shock would ripple through the Ton. Astonishment was rippling through her right now, since she had never seriously believed he would offer for her.

  And yet, inconceivably, he had. So what to do?

  In a thousand years, she knew she could not hope to find a better man. Why, he was practically perfect. Handsome and charming. Intelligent and well educated. Rich and titled. Without question, he would give her everything she desired. A beautiful home. Lovely children. Companionship and protection. He even said he loved her. If only she could feel the same.

  Thoughts of Kit flooded into her mind. Lips firming, she pushed them away, along with consideration of his own marriage proposal. Given under duress as it had been, his offer hardly counted. And yet…

  And yet what? she demanded to herself. She had refused him, twice. He was hardly likely to ask again. And even if he did, she still could not say yes, not when doing so would place her in a position of emotional subordination, leaving her to beg for cherished crumbs of his attention and affection.

  But would agreeing to wed Brevard be fair to him? And what of her? She had not given up her wish to have babies. She did not want to live her life unmarried, comfortable in her wealth but distressingly, wretchedly alone.

  No closer to an answer, she decided she would offer him the truth, and let him direct her path.

  Gently drawing away her hand, she curled it in her lap, then gazed upon his gorgeous, chiseled features. “Lance, before I give you my decision, there is something that I believe you have a right to know.”

  He smiled in inquiry, one blond brow arching upward. “Oh? What is that?”

  “I am not the young lady you may imagine me.”

  “Of course you are. You are utterly wonderful.”

  “I do not know if you will continue to think that after I tell you what I have to say. I am by no means infallible or without weaknesses. Lance, there was…well, it is over now…but there was someone else. A man.”

  “What
man?”

  “His name is not important. What is of relevance is the fact that if I marry you, I will not come to you with my…purity intact. I am no longer…” She broke off, her cheeks growing hot beneath the shade of her bonnet. “Well, I’m not.”

  For a long moment, he was silent. “I see. Did you love this man?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it is finished, you say? There is no hope for a reconciliation?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Another silence descended.

  At length, he spoke. “Well, I suppose you are of an age where I should not be wholly surprised. After all, you are not a young girl just out of the schoolroom. Still…”

  “I understand, and you need say no more, but I could not consent to a marriage between us knowing you believed something about me that is not true. You are far too honorable a man for that.”

  He reached again for her hand. “You are very courageous to tell me; many ladies would not.”

  “You must think me dreadful.”

  “No, I think you are a woman who lives by the governance of her own heart. So what does your heart say about me? Could you love me, Eliza?”

  Just as she had not lied before, she could not lie to him now. “I can try. I make no promises, but I should like to try, Lance, if you will have me.”

  From his vantage point on a slight rise near the buffet table, Kit observed Eliza and Brevard. The pair were rowing out on the lake, but from what he could see, their boat wasn’t moving. In fact, Eliza and the viscount appeared to be in deep conversation.

  On what subject?

  His jaw tightened, the sweet flavor of the black raspberries he’d eaten turning bitter in his mouth.

  For the past two weeks, he’d stood by, silent while Eliza took the Town by storm, sallying forth on the arm of one man after another in a way that was unprecedented, particularly for her.

  From all appearances, she was having the time of her life.

  And she was doing it—quite determinedly, it would appear—without him.

  Since their night together in the study, they had barely spent more than a handful of minutes in each other’s company. At first, he’d thought perhaps she was feeling shy and awkward in his presence after the intimacies they had shared.