The Bad Luck Bride

by Janna MacGregor

  Alex thought about his wife as a little girl, all alone. An emotion seized his chest much like a punch in the stomach. No wonder she was adamant about home and family. She had witnessed her parents’ death and was alone for hours before she found shelter with her rescuers. The sorrow of those moments pummeled Alex. He felt something wet on his face and realized it was his own tears.

  “Finally, after five days, Sebastian found a way to cross the river. He raced into the house and picked Claire up in his arms.” Tears glistened on her smooth cheeks. “She never shed a tear.” She bowed her head.

  “Your Grace, she was a little girl in shock. I’ve seen her grieve. She cares—she cares deeply.” Alex faltered in his silence before he could continue. “It’s a scar, one that many of us carry when we lose a parent. It doesn’t define Claire.”

  The duchess dried her tears and gave him a slight smile.

  “My actions may indicate otherwise, but I truly care for your niece.”

  Her gaze held his captive. “You can’t let her go to Scotland.”

  “I won’t.” It wasn’t a promise he took lightly. He would bring Claire home.

  “Thank you, Pembrooke.” The duchess reached over and patted his arm. “Shall we have those refreshments we discussed earlier? By chance, might you have any of Claire’s mother’s whisky?”

  * * *

  Later in the afternoon, Sebastian escorted Claire into his study and closed the door. He took a deep breath and sat on the edge of his desk, facing her. “I know you’re in the middle of preparations for travel, but we need to have this conversation before the rumors get worse.” He wiped his hand over his face. Her situation had taken a toll on him, too.

  “Thank you. I want to know my options. Have you heard from your solicitors?” Claire controlled the quiver in her voice that threatened to expose her weakness. That she was actually contemplating annulment or a permanent separation from Alex caused her stomach to cramp.

  The curse was real.

  “It’s not easy, sweetheart. It never has been. There are few reasons to support a petition for annulment. If Pembrooke lacked the ability to consummate the marriage … I trust that’s not the case, since I found him in the family quarters early this morning.”

  Claire bowed her head to hide the heat from her cheeks. “No.”

  The duke cleared his throat. “Yes, well … He’s not a close relative, so that avenue is closed. He’s not legally insane, but in my mind it’s debatable.” His gaze was tender as he shook his head. “The solicitors have examined every corner of the marriage settlement. There are no grounds.”

  “Can’t they find something he lied about in those pages and pages of documents?”

  “Claire, you won’t win. The solicitors examined the document from every angle—dissected every fact. You’d be a laughingstock if you tried to proceed. The House of Lords, everyone, would side with Pembrooke if you challenged him.”

  Her uncle had employed the best legal minds in London. If anyone could produce a rational reason for annulment, her uncle’s solicitors could.

  “Most intelligent people would say Pembrooke kept you from becoming a victim of Lord Paul’s ruin. Others would say he saved you from the curse.” Her uncle rolled his eyes in disgust. “Can you imagine your life if you were married to that wastrel and his gambling? Pembrooke saved you from a certain type of hell I wouldn’t want for anyone.” His voice softened. “Especially you.”

  “What about divorce?” The words escaped before Claire could rein in her thoughts.

  “No! Not under any circumstance. Pembrooke would have to petition Parliament and stake a claim you are an adulteress for a divorce. I won’t allow it. What if you’re pregnant? He could declare your child a bastard. Even if you stayed in Edinburgh for the rest of your life, every person you’d meet would turn their back on you.”

  “There must be something.” One hot tear plunged to her dress. She refused to allow any others to follow.

  Her uncle pulled her into his arms. “I’d be doing a disservice to you and dishonoring my brother if I allowed you to get out of this marriage. My anger was raging when I told Pembrooke I’d keep you away from him. Sweetheart, you’re his wife.” He released her from his embrace and stared into her eyes. “Take my advice. Try to find a way to work this out with Pembrooke. I’m not saying live together in harmony, but find a way to exist with one another.”

  “You don’t understand.” Claire took a deep breath. “It hurts too much to love him and pretend I don’t. How can I escape this torment?” Her anguish had steadily increased as every option disappeared.

  “I agree. He’s made a mess of things. Try to find your way in this marriage. It’s work. All marriages are. It might not be too farfetched to consider living with him. If it’s too big a sacrifice, then live apart. I’ve seen it hundreds of times. You’re one of the lucky ones. At least you have the means to do what you want when you want.”

  “I’ll consider it.” Claire dried her eyes and turned to leave.

  “Have dinner with your aunt and me. We’ll make an appearance at Lady Dalton’s ball.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see what Emma’s plans are for the evening.”

  “Before you go … earlier when I said you are my daughter, I meant it. When I picked you up at Wrenwood that godforsaken day and held you in my arms, you became a part of Ginny and me.”

  Claire smiled through tears that threatened to fall again. “I’ll never forget. You and Aunt Ginny provided a home and a family when I had none. I love you both.”

  “I’m going to hang your parents’ portrait at Falmont if that’s agreeable with you.”

  “That would be lovely, Uncle Sebastian.”

  His cheeks turned a deep crimson, and he nodded his dismissal without looking at her. “Well then, that’s settled.”

  When Claire left the study, part of her burden had lifted. Every time she visited Falmont, she’d see her parents. No matter what her future held, she was fortunate. She belonged to two loving families.

  * * *

  “Claire, hurry, please. I’ve already promised the next dance to someone, and I don’t want to be late.” Emma had taken special care with her appearance tonight, an obvious attempt to capture someone’s attention. They were in the receiving line to greet their hosts, the Earl and Countess of Dalton.

  “Lady Pembrooke.” The earl took Claire’s hand and gave a slight bow. “Lord Pembrooke has already arrived. He asked that I tell you to save your first dance for him.” He leaned forward to whisper, as if sharing a grand conspiracy, “But not if I may have the honor.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Claire smiled, but her stomach dropped at the news that Alex waited for her. The last time she and Alex attended the same ball, the curse took center stage. What would happen tonight?

  The countess batted his arm with her fan. “You old rogue.” She clucked her tongue. “You better save it for me.” The countess turned to Claire and gave a wink. “We’re delighted you could attend.”

  “Thank you.” Claire left the couple and walked to Emma’s side. “Perhaps we should leave.”

  “Nonsense.” Emma didn’t appear the least concerned with the news. “You can’t hide. Take the opportunity to show him he has no effect on you. Besides, this is your last ball before you leave for Scotland.” Her cousin squeezed her hand. “Wish me luck. I’m trying to secure two books this evening. One is that first edition of Mr. Bentham’s essays. But my first dance partner has a new memoir he wants to discuss. It would be perfect for my collection. Angela Tarte’s diary.”

  “Who is Angela Tarte?”

  “An eighteenth-century capitalist.” Emma flashed a brilliant smile as if it were Christmas morning. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “As in business?” Claire might as well have been talking to one of the potted palms. Emma skated down the steps and found a group of friends. Claire followed but kept to the perimeter of the ballroom in an attempt to hide, weaving around the rows of flower arr
angements and liveried footmen with trays of champagne. If she watched Alex, she could keep out of his sight. It was difficult since she always tried to keep an eye on where Emma was and whether she was greeting friends or dancing. She’d allow Emma her dance with Lord LaTourell or whoever her mystery man was, then demand they return to Langham Hall. If she was lucky, they’d leave before Alex could find her.

  After a short break, the orchestra performed a new set, and Emma found a dance partner who was an old family friend. It was one less thing to worry about this evening. The ballroom had grown crowded and the heat insufferable. Claire took advantage of the opportunity and escaped outside. The urge to check the sky never left her. Earlier, a light easterly breeze had changed directions and now came from the west.

  She walked to a deserted part of the balcony and inhaled the fresh air. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone approaching.

  She turned to offer a greeting and found Alex by her side.

  A rakehell grin turned up the corners of his mouth. With a lazy look, he placed his hand on her lower back and gave it a slow caress. “You received my card.” With his eyes flashing like a summer storm, Alex glanced at the brooch, then directed his full attention to her.

  Claire placed her hand on the brooch. Her fickle heart melted a little at his smile.

  “Will you?” With a tilt of his head, he leaned forward.

  She took a step back to keep some distance between them. He was too close and far too tempting. “Will I what?”

  “Forgive me?” His gaze searched the depths of hers.

  She took a deep breath. “Alex—”

  He brought his finger to her lips to stop the words. “Don’t answer.” His face softened with his endearing lopsided grin. “Dance with me instead?” He took her hands in his and waited for her decision.

  Every muscle in her body relaxed. The beastly cad knew the effect it would have on her ability to say no. She nodded but regretted it immediately. The evening would end with her picking up the pieces of her broken heart again.

  Alex escorted her to the center of the floor, ensuring every guest could see their interaction. He placed his left hand on the small of her back and pulled her close. Her cheeks heated. The proximity of their bodies provided the kindling to start a firestorm of murmurs and titters. The fans of the matrons and chaperones snapped and flapped vigorously, hiding the comments about the couple’s behavior.

  Claire tried to keep her face calm as the guests watched the performance. His arm became a steel band clasped about her waist. “Alex—”

  “My darling wife, if this is the only way I have of getting your attention or spending time with you, then so be it. You’ve caused me to take such drastic action.” He smiled for the benefit of the crowd.

  “Please let me go,” she whispered. The orchestra launched into the waltz, and they began dancing.

  Alex brought his head close to her ear. He inhaled her scent and let it out. “Not while I have a breath in me.” He brushed his lips over her ear and then swept her around the floor, never taking his eyes off hers. When he spoke again, his voice was tender, almost a caress. “Never.”

  A strange sense of relief welled into a deep pool inside her chest. Claire chose to ignore everything except the dance. After the waltz, she would let her mind and heart battle for the claim on her spirit. For now, she concentrated on her steps.

  However, her disloyal body wouldn’t let her concentrate on anything but Alex. It was heaven in his arms. With little effort, she could stay here all night long. When she looked over her shoulder at the other dancers, she remembered Emma. A quick search of the dance floor revealed her cousin dancing with Mr. Jackson.

  Alex’s brows came together. “What is it?”

  “Emma’s not been herself lately, and I promised Aunt Ginny I’d watch her. Lord Paul sought her out the other evening at Lady Barrington’s party. I broke up their conversation, and she’s been acting strangely ever since.” Claire waited for Alex to tense his arms, but there was nothing.

  His held her gaze without anger. “Yes, I saw you with him that night.”

  Butterflies fluttered low in her stomach. “How did you know? You weren’t there.”

  “Darling, I was invited but attended from afar.”

  Claire waited three steps for control over the tumult created by his confirmation that he had followed her. “He had quite a bit to say, as you might imagine. I warned him off Emma, but he told me what you refused to admit.” This time his arms did tighten around her.

  “While painting himself the hero.” Alex looked away, as if something else more important had caught his attention, then turned to study her.

  He held her close until the dance came to an end. When they stopped, he fastened her to his side. “Come with me.” He led her into a small draped anteroom away from prying eyes.

  “My lord, I regret bringing the subject up in such an inappropriate place. I must find Emma.” Claire tried to escape from his grasp.

  “We’re not done.” Alex pulled her into the corner under the anteroom’s wide staircase leading to the third floor. It lent an immediate privacy, since no one would look for them there. He leaned his hand against the wall over her head and closed the distance between them.

  His familiar citrus scent surrounded her, and immediately her mind wandered to the sensual memories of Alex covering her when they’d made love in her bed. If she didn’t get her disloyal thoughts under control, her heart would never survive the night.

  “Claire.” He brushed his lips across her temple before he continued. “Come home. I will make amends, I promise. Right now, I can’t think straight. There’s so much to say, but all I can think of is how much I’ve missed you.” He pressed his lips to the sensitive spot on her neck and trailed kisses to her earlobe. “I’ve never begged in my life as I am now.”

  She had to stay strong. “Why? Will it be another victory over Lord Paul?”

  Alex’s eyes widened. Then some undefined emotion broke through the depths of his gray eyes.

  She didn’t flinch, nor did she back down.

  With a sudden movement, Alex pressed her against the wall. His mouth possessed hers with a kiss of passion, a passion primed to explode. When he stopped, Claire felt a keen loss of balance. She leaned and placed her head against his chest. With the rapid pounding of her heart, she didn’t trust herself to stand on her own.

  He rested his head against the wall. His fingers twined around the loose tendrils of hair on the back of her neck. “I plan to take a walk. At this moment, I want you so much I think I’ll frighten you.” He took a deep breath and slowly released it, as if trying to calm the rage of emotions he held tight inside. “I know I frighten myself.”

  He stepped away from her, and she almost cried out at the loss of his touch.

  “Afterward, I’m going to find you, and we’ll finish this one way or another. Agreed?”

  If she spoke now, she’d beg him not to leave. All she could manage was a single nod.

  He returned to the ballroom without a glance back. She wanted him to look at her so she could see his brilliant eyes once more. She brought her hand to her mouth and felt the remnants of their kiss, bruised lips, and the heat of his touch. She should have listened to her head and not her renegade heart.

  When she had regained her composure, she entered the ballroom. Scanning the dancers for Emma’s pale yellow dress, she allowed her gaze to drift from one side of the floor to the other. There were few takers for the reel, a physically demanding dance and not a favorite for most of the attendees. Another waltz would follow.

  Claire found Lady Lena Eaton with Emma’s friends, enjoying a break from the dancing. “Have you seen Lady Emma?”

  “I believe she danced with Mr. Jackson until he twisted his ankle, then said she had to return home for an emergency.”

  “How long ago?”

  Lena furrowed her forehead and tapped a gloved finger against her cheek. “It was after the quadrille but before t
he reel. Perhaps a quarter of an hour? I’m not certain, Lady Pembrooke.”

  A fresh-faced young lady named Miss Jane Hosmer stood alongside Lady Lena. “Lady Pembrooke, Emma didn’t leave the dance floor with Mr. Jackson.”

  “Oh really? Did you see her?”

  The corners of the girl’s mouth dipped into a frown, and she nodded. “She returned to our group. I overheard her tell Lady Daphne that Lord Paul had located a book for her.”

  “Thank you.” It took supreme effort, but she maintained an appearance of calm with a smile pasted to her face as she hurried away.

  Emma was nowhere in sight. It wasn’t her cousin’s typical behavior to leave without informing someone of her plans. After Claire scoured the refreshment area, she entered the card room to find McCalpin or William. Neither was present. He aunt and uncle wouldn’t arrive until after midnight.

  Her search of the public areas including the outside balcony left her with a cinched throat, which was a blessing because it kept her from screaming. She needed Alex, but she regretted the way she had left his company and had no idea where to find him.

  Claire moved around the room and attempted to appear as if she were on a stroll. As she made her way to the front entrance, Lord Somerton stood as a sentry to the ballroom exit.

  “Lady Pembrooke, you aren’t leaving, are you?” Somerton dipped his head and sketched the customary bow.

  “Yes, I must go.” She would wait as good manners required and make small talk. Otherwise the man would know something was amiss. She silently tapped her slipper underneath her skirts.

  “Have you seen Pembrooke?” Somerton looked about the room as he asked the question.

  The blasted man wanted her to attend to Alex. “I believe he’s taking a stroll around the ballroom. You might want to check the card room. If you’ll excuse me, my lord.” Without waiting for his reply, she continued to the entry.