Here Comes the Bride

by Alexandra Ivy

  Lady Stenhold’s gaze never wavered. “Certainly not. You go and enjoy yourself.”

  Bella rose to her feet. “I should arrange a basket with Cook.”

  With a grace that made her appear to float across the room, Bella moved to the door and into the hall. Left alone with Lady Stenhold, Philip was forced to meet that unnerving stare.

  Lady Stenhold launched directly into battle. “Such a lovely young lady.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Philip murmured, feeling decidedly uneasy.

  “I have grown very fond of her. In truth, I have begun to think of her as my own daughter.”

  The warning was delivered with all the subtlety of a cannon ball, and being a wise veteran of battle, Philip was swift to form a strategic retreat. He was in no humor to cross swords with his hostess. “Excuse me. I must speak with Richard.”

  With a brief bow, Philip left the room and made his way determinedly through the hall and up the stairs. He barely hesitated as he came to Pudding’s chamber and abruptly pushed open the door. He had to speak with someone about his deepening suspicions.

  Entering the room, he discovered his friend propped upon a massive bed, partaking of a hearty breakfast. A faint smile touched his lips as he realized that even Lord Blackmar’s dressing gown was a blinding canary hue.

  Slowly turning his head, Pudding regarded his unexpected guest with a sardonic expression. “Good lord, Bras, it is devilishly early to be bursting your way into a gentleman’s chambers.”

  “I need to speak with you,” Philip retorted without apology.

  Pudding heaved a sigh as he carefully wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and set aside the tray. “About Miss Lowe, no doubt.”

  Philip gave a startled frown. “How did you know?”

  “Because she is all you have spoken of since we arrived.”

  Philip was taken aback. “Nonsense.”

  Pudding’s lips twisted. “What has occurred?”

  For a moment Philip debated whether to confess his troubled thoughts or not. It was clear his friend was in a teasing mood, and he had no desire to have such a delicate subject become a source of amusement. Still, he had to discuss his difficulties with someone, and Pudding appeared to be his only option.

  Feeling ridiculously embarrassed, he shuffled his feet. “I believe Miss Lowe is beginning to . . .”

  “Yes,” Pudding prompted when Philip hesitated.

  Philip hardened his features. “Develop feelings for me.”

  “Oh?”

  “She acted very oddly yesterday and again this morning.”

  Pudding merely raised his brows. “What do you mean by oddly?”

  With a restless motion, Philip paced across the carpet. He felt like a damn fool confessing his concerns. “Until yesterday she regarded me as if I were a particularly nasty plague she wished to be rid of with all possible speed. But suddenly . . . She is flirting like a practiced courtesan.”

  Pudding’s brows rose even higher at Philip’s words. “You don’t say.”

  Reaching the white marble chimneypiece, Philip turned about to retrace his steps. “And now she has agreed to join me for a private picnic in the woods,” he muttered, coming to an abrupt halt as Pudding’s laughter suddenly echoed through the room. “Do you find that amusing?”

  His icy tone only seemed to add to Pudding’s humor. “Vastly amusing,” he assured Philip.

  “I fail to see why.”

  Lying back in his pillows, Pudding regarded Philip’s dark expression with rather smug satisfaction. “I did warn you, if you will recall.”

  “Warn me? About what, pray?”

  “For goodness’ sakes, you have done everything possible to seduce a young maiden who hasn’t the least experience with a gentleman. How could she possibly not tumble into love with you?”

  Love? Philip instantly stiffened at the absurd notion. Clearly Pudding knew nothing about the fairer sex if he believed they could be won by a few outrageous propositions from an out-and-out bounder.

  “You are spouting a lot of nonsense. I made it very clear that my intentions were grossly dishonorable.”

  Pudding waved aside his words. “But she is a fanciful chit. She only sees a handsome lord offering her the type of attention she has never before received.”

  Philip couldn’t deny the truth in Pudding’s accusation. Good heavens, he had never considered the notion .that Bella had indeed been sheltered for most of her life. How many gentlemen could she possibly have encountered? Not more than a handful, he would wager, and precious few her own age. What a buffoon he had been not to have taken her innocence into account sooner.

  Without warning, the memory of her trembling form pressed to his own rose to his mind. Had he been the first to kiss those satin lips? The first to hear those soft moans from deep in her throat?

  The stirring warmth in his thighs abruptly recalled Philip to the present. Blast. Why had he ever kissed her in the first place? It had caused nothing but trouble ever since.

  “This is a bloody mess,” he muttered.

  “What will you do?”

  Philip clenched his hands in tight fists. There might have been a few unexpected difficulties in his battle to marry off Miss Lowe, but that did nothing more than strengthen his determination to haul her to the alter.

  “Clearly, I must prove that I am wholly and utterly unworthy of affection,” he retorted, heaving an exasperated sigh as Pudding once again burst out in merry laughter. “Would you please halt that?”

  Thoroughly unrepentant, Pudding lifted his hands. “It is so deliciously ironic, old boy. I am beginning to be quite pleased that I agreed to this delightful trip to Surrey. It is more entertaining than any farce on the stages of London.”

  Philip slapped his hands to his hips. So Pudding found his troubles entertaining? He enjoyed a good farce? Well, Philip would be only too happy to oblige.

  Moving toward the bed, he plucked the waiting pitcher of water off the side table and poured the entire contents over the head of his chuckling friend.

  Nine

  It was a perfect day for a picnic. The unpredictable spring weather had offered up a hint of summer with a clear blue sky and a warm breeze that carried the sweet scent of wildflowers. Not that Bella paid much heed to the lovely weather. She was far more intent on the large male that walked silently at her side.

  Since he had joined her in the foyer and taken charge of the large basket of food, he had appeared remarkably distracted. A good sign, she firmly told herself. He was clearly beginning to fear that his ploy was going terribly wrong.

  Of course, her satisfaction was somewhat tempered by her own inner unease. As difficult as it might be to accept, she could not completely deny that she possessed a most absurd awareness of Lord Brasleigh as a man. She might wish to blame her tremors and tingles on anger, or fear of discovery. But even with her undoubted innocence, she could not deny that Lord Brasleigh had only to brush her arm or touch her cheek and her entire body flared with a heady heat. Even her sleep was beginning to be haunted by the most unmaidenly dreams.

  And why not? she sternly chastised herself. Lord Brasleigh was without a doubt an extraordinarily handsome gentleman. With his elegant features, raven hair, and silver eyes, he quite put any other gentlemen in the shade. And as for his lean, muscular form . . .

  She abruptly drew her mind away from such dangerous thoughts. Granted, she was female enough to react to a handsome gentleman, but that in no way changed the fact that he had ruthlessly attempted to manipulate her into marriage, or that he considered her a meaningless burden that was to be dispensed with the least bother to himself.

  Unfortunately, her impetuous decision to punish him for his treachery meant that she would have to openly encourage his caresses. She would have to ensure that she did not allow her absurd reactions to distract her from the task at hand.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Bella steeled her courage to continue her charade. “Is it much further?”

  His dark hea
d suddenly turned so he could regard her with a searching gaze. “Are you nervous?”

  “Not at all,” she promptly lied with a sweet smile. “My feet are merely tired.”

  The dark eyes flickered at her breezy retort. “There is a small opening just ahead. It will allow us all the privacy we desire.”

  Perfect for her plans, she acknowledged as she squashed the renegade flare of unease. Perfect. “How nice.”

  Stepping ahead of Bella, Lord Brasleigh pushed aside the thick bushes to reveal a small glade complete with a tiny stream. “Here we are,” he announced, taking Bella’s hand and pulling her into the opening. She stood to one side as he competently spread out the blanket and then began unloading the basket of goodies. Pheasants, meat pies, potatoes in cream sauce, and tarts were spread across the blanket. Then, retrieving a bottle and two glasses from the bottom of the basket, he regarded her with a slow smile. “Champagne?”

  “Thank you,” she murmured as he handed her a glass of the bubbling liquid.

  Lifting his own glass, he allowed his gaze to drift over her with appreciation. “You look very beautiful.”

  She felt as if there was not a nook or cranny of her form that he had not inspected. Still, she managed what she hoped was a seductive smile. “Do you think so?”

  He deliberately scooted closer. “So beautiful that I wish to see more of you.”

  Bella caught her breath. Not yet. She was not prepared to play her winning card. “Should we not eat?”

  He leaned forward until his breath sweetly brushed her cheek. “I am not hungry for food.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Cook will be very disappointed if we do not at least sample her delicacies.”

  “If you insist.” He slowly pulled back.

  To cover the awkward moment, Bella reached for the plates and filled them with the tempting food. Then, handing the silent Lord Brasleigh his plate, she settled back and desperately searched for a means of prolonging the inevitable.

  She at last hit upon a topic. “Tell me of Italy.”

  A hint of satisfaction shimmered in his silver eyes, as if he were pleased by her obvious tactics. “What do you wish to know?”

  “Is it lovely?”

  “Very lovely,” he answered swiftly, his expression softening. “I walked the roads of Nero, stood in the shadows of the Coliseum, and gazed in wonder at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.”

  Bella found herself intrigued in spite of herself. She had always wished she could travel throughout the continent. And Italy would have been one of her favorite places to visit. The art, the music, the sweeping history that was as grand as time itself. “Did you see the Pietà?” she demanded, referring to Michealangelo’s famous statue.

  “Yes.” His voice took on a husky note of sincerity. “It was the most powerful, moving piece of art that I have ever had the fortune to gaze upon. It is impossible to believe it was ever a chunk of marble.”

  Bella briefly forgot her role, and even the fact she was furious with this gentleman. She had read so much of the fabulous treasures in Italy, she was anxious to hear them described firsthand. “How wonderful. I can think of nothing I should enjoy more than to wander among such famous works.”

  He gave a sudden grimace. “Of course, many of the treasures were stolen by Napoleon when he imposed his Treaty of Tolentino. It was said that he used more than five hundred wagons to carry his bounty from the Vatican to Paris. It is to be hoped they will be returned now that the Corsican monster has been exiled.”

  “It is an outrage.”

  “Of course, Napoleon could not steal the essence of Italy.” His smile returned.

  “The essence?”

  He reached out to refill her glass with champagne. “The smell, the food . . . the people. Never have I met such warm and open souls.”

  Bella felt a pang of envy. How she would love to be free to travel the world. “They sound fascinating.”

  “We even encountered a band of gypsies.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “My companions, Wickton, Challmond, and I were out riding one day when we saved an old woman from some local scoundrels. As a reward we were given a special blessing.”

  “What was that?”

  “A love that is true, a heart that is steady, a wounded soul healed, a spirit made ready. Three women will come, as the seasons will turn, and bring true love to each, before the summer again burns . . .” he softly quoted.

  Bella’s temporary sense of ease with this man was abruptly dispelled. She might be fascinated with his travels through Italy, but she had no interest in his true love. Indeed, the mere thought was enough to make her heart give an odd twinge. “Very pretty,” she forced herself to utter. “Do you believe it?”

  His lips twisted. “True love? I prefer my relationships less complicated.”

  She did not doubt that for a moment. A gentleman spoiled by wealth and adulation would have no need for the security of love and a family.

  Unlike herself...

  “Who are Wickton and Challmond?” she demanded.

  A genuine smile lit his features. “Two of my dearest friends. They helped me to keep my sanity during the war. Not an easy task when you are surrounded by chaos.”

  “Do they believe in the blessing?”

  Lord Brasleigh gave a short laugh. “Wickton is unfortunately in a position where he must wed for a dowry rather than love, and Challmond is far too wily to be caught in the tantalizing web of a woman.”

  They sounded as arrogant and unfeeling as Lord Brasleigh. “How cynical you are, my lord,” she said lightly.

  His gaze once again drifted over her slender form. “There is no one here, my dear. You have promised to call me Philip.”

  She hesitated and then realized that she could delay no longer. She had come on this picnic to make Lord Brasleigh rue his presence at Mayfield, and it was time she began. Praying that she did not lose her nerve, she smiled slowly.

  “Very well . . . Philip.”

  Setting aside his plate, he leaned closer. “I like the sound of my name upon your lips.”

  “It is a very good name.” She pretended to consider her words. “Strong and persuasive, just like you.”

  There was a moment’s pause before he reached for her untouched plate and empty glass.

  “I believe we can dispense with this,” he murmured.

  “Yes.” With the champagne going straight to her head, Bella felt a surge of bold confidence rush through her. Slowly lifting her arms, she began removing the pins from her hair. She heard Lord Brasleigh’s breath catch as the golden curls tumbled about her shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” Lord Brasleigh demanded.

  “You said that you liked my hair.”

  An indefinable expression rippled over his handsome features as his hand rose of its own accord to stroke the satin tresses. “It is like silk,” he breathed.

  She stoically ignored the warmth of his hand and the scent of his male skin. “I have never had a gentleman tell me such things. It has quite turned my head.”

  His eyes were the color of smoke. “I only speak the truth.”

  “But in such a charming manner.”

  As if abruptly coming to his senses, Lord Brasleigh dropped his hand. “Charming?”

  “Certainly you are charming,” she cooed. “And so handsome.”

  Pulling back, Lord Brasleigh regarded her with a faint frown. “Mrs. Smith . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I hope that you have not misunderstood my intentions.”

  She forced her eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

  “My stay in Surrey will be very brief,” he retorted bluntly.

  Ha. His stay is already far too long, she seethed. She cursed the day he had ever arrived at Mayfield. Somehow she kept her smile intact. “And then you will return to London?”

  His expression was guarded. “Yes.”

  Bella heaved a deep sigh. “I have always wished to see London.�
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  It was not at all what he had expected. “What?”

  “You did promise me an establishment, did you not?” she demanded.

  He could not disguise his shock at her words. Bella felt a flare of satisfaction.

  “You are willing to become my mistress?” he demanded, his tone sounding as if he would have more easily believed she was willing to join the French army.

  “You have not changed your mind, have you?”

  “It is not that, but . . . I do not believe that you have given this the proper thought.”

  Bella prepared to deliver her most potent weapon. “How can a woman think properly when she is in love?”

  He jerked backward as if he had been burned. It was difficult for Bella not to laugh at the comical expression of horror on his handsome countenance.

  “I have warned you that this has nothing to do with love,” he said harshly.

  Her lashes fluttered. “Perhaps not for you.”

  He shook his head as if he could still not believe she was in earnest. Bella’s satisfaction deepened. She knew precisely how he was feeling. Had she not been wracked with fear and disbelief for days? It seemed utterly fitting.

  “I do not want any complications.”

  She shrugged. “You have made that very clear.”

  His lips thinned. She could almost hear his thoughts churning with the fierce dilemma of whether to-confess the truth and end the charade or continue in the hopes of frightening her into obeying his commands.

  “My intentions do not include marriage.”

  At least not for him, she acknowledged. It was one thing to force his ward into wedlock and quite another to take the unwelcome step himself. “That suits me well enough,” she retorted in firm tones.

  Bella heard his breath hiss between his teeth.

  “Is that so?”

  “Oh, yes.” She offered what she hoped was a provocative smile. “I fear my . . . experience with gentlemen has convinced me never to place myself within their care. I prefer to control my own future.”

  His features hardened at her explanation. “And you believe you can do that as my mistress?”