The Bad Luck Bride

by Janna MacGregor

  “What are you saying?” After Somerton’s revelations and the hints of what had occurred between Lord Paul and Alex, her curiosity demanded she know more.

  Lord Paul threw back his head with a sharp bark of laughter. “Your husband is a madman. One night at Pemhill, I went to bed quite foxed. When I woke, Alice was by my side. She was carrying. She tried to palm the child off on me. It was Pembrooke’s unfortunate lot to believe her lies.”

  The words had the power to bring her to her knees, as if someone had kicked her. “Don’t say such things.”

  “I’m quite certain I didn’t sleep with her, if that’s what you’re thinking.” His expression stilled, and he let out a breath as if defeated. “He didn’t believe me when I said I wasn’t the father.”

  She stumbled at his words. He reached out and steadied her. God, this was a nightmare.

  “What you really should ask is how Pembrooke knew how much money I lost at the tables, and how he came to your rescue the same night.”

  Claire halted like a hare caught in a poacher’s trap. “What do you mean?”

  “He set me up to take you away from me for pure retribution of Alice’s misfortune. Before the ink was dry on our marriage settlements, Pembrooke instructed lenders to give me unlimited credit to finance my gambling endeavors. All Alex wanted in exchange was information of my upcoming marriage to you. Your husband backed me with the intent to crush me like a beetle under a boot.”

  Claire leaned against a tree to stay upright. She had discovered the revenge plan by none other than the victim, Lord Paul.

  “His first demand to save me? I immediately had to break our engagement. He came to you at Lady Anthony’s ball as a knight in shining armor.” His furtive gaze haunted her. “Do you want the truth?”

  The words were ugly, uglier than she could ever have imagined. She stared at him, not trusting to answer.

  “He believed his motivation was pure. He didn’t care whom he used, not even you. My dear, you’re a victim as much as I am.”

  “Stop. You and I know Pembrooke didn’t hold a gun to your head. You threw away everything, including me. I should thank him for my rescue after you told him I was your lover.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have never said those words.” Lord Paul closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “No one knows what I’ve lost, the least of which is money. I meant what I said at Langham Hall. I wanted to marry you. I saw what you were long before society acknowledged you.” His voice became wickedly soft, like a caress. “Claire, I would have been wonderful to you and our children.”

  Her fingers touched her wedding ring as if it would protect her from his accusations. “Please, don’t.”

  With a deep sigh, he continued, “I would have loved you like no other. Pembrooke can’t give you that. He doesn’t have room in that withered heart of his for you.”

  Claire stood frozen, uncertain she could answer without crumbling. “Neither you nor I can change the past. It’s done.” She drew away, but he grasped her arm, preventing her escape.

  “Claire, walk away from him. Declare to the world you’re finished with his lies. Let me give you the life you deserve.” His voice had turned low and husky.

  “Another revenge plan, my lord?” She moved out of his reach, hoping his ruinous words wouldn’t wound any more than they already had. “I don’t trust any of you. No, thank you.”

  “Think hard before saying ‘no.’ One more thing before bidding adieu—I was on my way to Leith for business the day that horrid bet was placed at White’s.”

  She chanced a glance at the guests milling around the garden. Their laughter and conversation cascaded into a buzz that mimicked the ringing in her ears.

  “Bring Lady Emma by someday. It would be lovely to see you.” He bowed. “My actions have had the unintended impact of hurting you. I’m truly sorry, Claire.”

  His words floated in the air, and she couldn’t force herself to watch his exit. No one at Lady Barrington’s party knew her broken heart shattered into a thousand pieces in that instant. She bit down on her lower lip until she tasted blood.

  She stared at the bright moon. Her whole life had turned upside down because of Alex’s need for revenge. A red-hot poker being plunged into her chest would have hurt less than the pain she suffered now.

  She had always held out a small hope that she and Alex would find their way together, but not now. She was insignificant to him. She heard the truth when he was talking with Somerton. He had actually considered a legal separation. A war of emotions raged through her as she walked back to the group. Ultimately, her pain grew into a huge knot that she pressed into a self-contained compartment deep within her soul. She’d not acknowledge this was part of the curse. To even consider the thought gave it and Alex too much power over her.

  All those years of being at the mercy of the ton’s awful rumors had some benefit. It taught her the necessary skill to hide her emotions. It was easy to pretend to have a lovely evening when it was the only way to survive.

  * * *

  Partially hidden by the sculptured greenery of boxwoods, Alex waited at the edge of the property. For an agonizing eternity, Lord Paul enthralled his wife with whatever poison he spewed.

  The evening grew into night, with a familiar London dampness chilling the air. It didn’t bother Alex, since Claire held his attention completely. She mingled with the other guests, never staying long in any conversation except Lord Paul’s rant. She moved through the crowd, always with an eye on Emma.

  Undoubtedly, Lord Paul had told her everything. Alex closed his eyes and held his breath, a feeble attempt to master his guilt. He should have been the one to tell her.

  He had received an invitation to Lady Barrington’s gathering even though he wasn’t particularly wanted. His rank and title within the aristocracy ensured he’d receive the request of his attendance. If he had made an appearance, Lord Paul would have kept his distance from Claire—another mistake on his part. The event was a perfect opportunity to mend the break between them.

  Over the past couple of days, he’d read the society pages, examining the gossips for any mention of Claire. She made the columns daily. London craved to know what events she attended, what she wore, even who her partners were for the waltz. He smiled ruefully. The Marchioness of Pembrooke was an unqualified success in her own right. It certainly wasn’t because of him or their current marital status. Even though society knew they weren’t living together, the reasons remained secret. Thankfully, no mention hit the scandal rags. Nor was there any mention of the curse.

  He had to thank Somerton for getting him back to a functional state after the two-day drunken soiree he’d thrown for himself. When he had come out of his stupor, it didn’t take long to decide on the necessary course to get his wife home. He planned to visit Langham Hall. He would meet Claire, apologize for the conversation she’d overheard, explain everything, and ask her to return home. He wouldn’t rest until he held her in his arms again.

  He should have seen her as soon as he had arrived in London. He’d wasted precious time feeling sorry for himself and trying to find a way to explain his actions. Now, he had the added burden of dealing with Lord Paul’s contamination. Plus, he had to figure out what to do with Mr. Mills.

  Thoughts of Claire caused his throat to tighten. She understood his grief for Alice. She had provided comfort when he’d realized Alice wasn’t the person he’d thought he knew. Claire valued what was important to him—his family, Pemhill, and its tenants. Her personality and work ethic fit perfectly with his. She had made love to him unconditionally, and he’d let her go without a fight.

  There was only one solution.

  He’d win her back or die trying.

  * * *

  “Mr. Mills, the Marquess of Pembrooke to see you.” A young maid had escorted Alex into the neat but modest study. She nearly collided with Alex in her haste to exit.

  He waited for the inevitable effect his title would have on Jason Mills, who sa
t at a large oak desk surrounded by invoices and bookkeeping records. The maid’s response was minuscule when compared with his reaction.

  “My lord?” The sudden movement to stand toppled the desk chair Mills had occupied. His wary glance shot to Alex’s hands.

  There was so much he wanted to hear from the young man standing before him. Alex lifted his arms in peace and to prove he hadn’t come with a weapon. Mills continued to stare at him, as if weighing whether he could be trusted. If only he did possess the truth, it would make the upcoming task easier. Jason Mills had been important to Alice, and by the end of their visit, Alex hoped to have a better understanding of Alice through Mills.

  “Won’t you sit down?” The young man swallowed hard and set his chair to rights. The tentative nod of his head at the chair across from him was confirmation Alex had a monumental task ahead of him.

  “Thank you.” How could he get the young man to accept his condolences? How could both of them find some peace in Alice’s passing after the way he had ordered Mills from his sight? “Please, I’ve come to talk, just talk.”

  Mills exhaled the breath he’d been holding.

  “I’d like to make amends for the horrid way I treated you at Pemhill.” He ran his hand through his hair, desperate to find a way to talk about Alice. “If it hadn’t been for my wife, I don’t know if either of us would be here today.”

  Mills’ brows set in a straight line.

  “I truly apologize for my behavior. Alice’s death is still…”

  “I’m certain you were as devastated as me over her death.” A flicker of sadness crossed Mills’ face. “Would you care for a brandy?”

  That was the last thing Alex wanted or needed after the last several days. “No, thank you.”

  Mills nodded again. The pain in his eyes and the tightness in his lips were evidence his grief was still fresh. Alex exhaled as the pain slashed through his chest. If he lost Claire and could never see her again, he’d be destroyed. If Mills suffered such an ache of the heart, Alex vowed to do anything he could to help the young man. He bowed his head and studied his clasped hands in a feeble effort to hide the rawness of the moment.

  “I’m here because of Alice,” Alex said.

  “I just can’t believe she’s gone.” Mills leaned back in his chair. “Will you share with me her last days?” He focused on Alex as if he could find some type of relief through conversation. “Did she suffer?”

  Alex blinked. Whether he should divulge the circumstances of Alice’s suicide wasn’t a question he’d considered. It would be akin to flaying the man alive, pure torture. “Not physically. She went to bed one evening and never woke.”

  “I should’ve never left her. Never gone abroad to make my fortune. At least I’d have been able to have more time with her.”

  “Tell me how you … came to know Alice?” Alex’s eyes clouded with visions of the past—his sister strolling into the barn without a care in the world. Hours later, she’d emerge with her face glowing.

  “I heard you paid double what the village blacksmith paid for a stable hand. After work, I’d come and do odd jobs for your stable master, hoping for an offer of employment. I met your sister my first week. She was determined to rescue a kitten from the upstairs hayloft.” Mills’ eyes misted. “I offered to help. I fell in love with her at first sight. She might still be alive if I hadn’t—”

  “Mills, I don’t think either of us can second-guess our actions.” God, he wished Claire had accompanied him. She would have known what to say to offer comfort. “Probably neither of us could have stopped Alice from making the same choice.”

  “What choice?” Mills’ gaze pierced the distance between them.

  He was at a loss as to how to proceed.

  “My lord?”

  Alex’s breath shuddered through his body. The man deserved the truth. “Alice … Alice was pregnant and killed herself. She left me a note.”

  The creak of Mills’ chair broke the silence, replaced with a low, soulful rumble. “A child?” He buried his face in his hands. “What have I done? I killed her.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Alex whispered.

  “You had every right to shoot me. God, I wish you had—”

  “Jason, listen to me. I’ve had the same thoughts and blamed myself every conceivable way. There are no answers or explanations. It was Alice’s choice.”

  The young man swallowed. “I wrote to her several times to share my travels. Each time I made a game of it and underlined the letters in the words ‘I love you.’ I couldn’t risk you reading my letters for fear you’d see her married before I arrived home to her.”

  “Very clever of you.” The corners of Alex’s mouth tugged upward. “You had nothing to worry about. I was in no rush to see her married.”

  “I’d gladly exchange places with the devil if it would bring her back. I’d give up everything to see her safe and out of harm’s way.” A fragile trail of moisture drifted into a slow descent down Mills’ face. “I loved her more than life itself.”

  Each word sliced another part of Alex’s heart. Jason’s heartfelt devotion to Alice was an epiphany. He’d do the same for Claire. He’d give up everything, too. However, would he have had the intelligence and grace to recognize such a truth without this conversation?

  Determined to avenge Alice’s death, he hadn’t seen what was under his nose the entire time. Somerton’s lectures and repudiations turned into revelations he had failed to heed. He was a damned arrogant fool. Somehow, the universe had aligned in such a way that he’d received the greatest boon and found relief from the daily pain. He’d found redemption. He’d found Claire.

  He’d wasted so much time on his revenge. Time better spent on trying to find a way to heal from the impact of Alice’s death. Time better spent helping Daphne and his mother grieve. Time better spent on Claire and their marriage. Instead of destruction, he should have focused on nurturing and building their life together. He saw things clearer than he had for over a year.

  There was only one reason for his change of heart.

  He loved her. Every breath he tendered was dedicated to Claire. Without her in his life, everything surrounding him would be a barren wasteland. Losing her would make life meaningless.

  That was what Mills had lost with Alice’s death—a haunting devastation from which a man might never recover.

  Mills stared at the ceiling, but the redness and the agony reflected in his eyes were seared in Alex’s memory. “Alice made me become a better person by giving me her love. She had so much faith in me.”

  “You’re lucky to have experienced such a gift.” Alex’s chest tightened, as if a rope were squeezing the very life from his body. Claire provided the same comfort to him. If he ever won her love, he’d never again lose sight of what they had together.

  Mills exhaled as if defeated.

  Alex crossed the distance between them and held out his hand. “But Alice was fortunate to have had you in her life. I know that now.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Let me help you. My friend Lord Somerton is a financial and investment wizard. He can introduce you to his colleagues and business partners. It’ll make your path so much easier now that you’re home. Please. Alice would have wanted me to lend whatever assistance I can.”

  In answer, Mills stood and stared at Alex’s hand again, his weariness replaced by sorrow. “On one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “May I go to Pemhill and pay my respects to my beloved?” Mills asked.

  Alex’s breath hitched and his eyes grew moist at the tenderness in Mills’ voice. “I’ll send word of your visit. Stay at Pemhill as long as you like.”

  “That’s very kind.”

  “I have a condition also,” Alex added.

  Mills tilted his head and regarded him.

  “I hope you see past my mistakes and consider me your friend.”

  It wasn’t quite a smile, but Mills’ expression lightened a bit as he n
odded his head.

  “Somerton will be expecting to hear from you.” Alex shook Mills’ hand. “One more thing before I take my leave. Thank you. You’ve taught me a great deal today.”

  His sister had loved this man. She’d been too young to face the situation of a child out of wedlock, and she’d not come to Alex for help. He’d not make the same mistake with Daphne. He’d devote more time to his sister and her interests.

  The most important lesson was how much he loved Claire, his wife. She’d given him hope and the ability to love again. He would not waste another second on his pursuit of revenge. There were more important things to accomplish—namely, convincing her how much he cared for her and her happiness.

  * * *

  Later that day, Alex dressed with meticulous care before heading to Langham Hall. He would never circumvent Claire’s interests again. She was his wife, and he’d beg her to come home.

  Within minutes of his arrival, Pitts personally answered the door. The icy greeting should have foretold the reception he’d receive.

  After Alex entered the yellow drawing room, he paced, waiting for Claire’s entrance. He would not leave without convincing her how much he loved her.

  After a short wait, the Duke of Langham entered, followed by Lord McCalpin and Lord William. Their expressions were as dark as their hair, while their blue eyes flashed with fury. The proceedings looked somewhat like a military parade—or, more accurately, a walk to the gallows.

  He wasn’t surprised at the welcome. “Good morning, Your Grace. I’ve come for Claire.”

  The first volley didn’t take long. The Duke of Langham was a formidable man when riled. Alex had seen enough of his oratory skills within the House of Lords to expect anything from him—except a single right cut to the chin.

  The blow leveled him.

  Momentarily stunned, Alex got up on all fours and shook his head to clear his peripheral vision. When he found his legs, he acknowledged his due by not defending himself. Langham took another swing, a straight hit to his abdomen. The punch knocked the wind from his lungs.