Bride for a Night

by Rosemary Rogers

  The mere thought only intensified his anger.

  The female might have played the timid wallflower to perfection, but the past hour had proved that she was as greedy and conniving as her boorish father.

  “Oh…” The unfamiliar female fluttered in the center of the room that was surprisingly decorated with the simple elegance that he preferred. Unlike the public rooms that had been a garish combination of lacquer furnishings covered in a crimson velvet. “My lord.”

  He waved a dismissive hand, not bothering to glance in her direction.

  “You may leave us.”

  “But…”

  “I am not in the habit of repeating myself.”

  “Yes, my lord.” He heard her faint gasp swiftly followed by the sound of the plump female hurrying to obey his command.

  His gaze never shifted from Miss Dobson regarding him with an expression of frozen shock. Rather like a mouse watching a hungry cat suddenly approach.

  Did the wench think he would accept being blackmailed?

  If so, she was in for a bitter disappointment.

  By the end of this meeting, Miss Talia Dobson would regret ever having dared to force him into this unbearable situation.

  As if sensing his dangerous fury, Talia leaned backward, unwittingly pressing open the window behind her.

  “If you are considering a tragic leap to bring an end to this farce, I would suggest that you wait until the guests have taken their leave,” he mocked, folding his arms over his blue jacket that he had matched with an ivory waistcoat and buff breeches. He had intended to spend the day at Tattersall’s in the hopes of acquiring a new pair of bays to pull his carriage. A convenient means to avoid his mother’s hysterical ranting at his refusal to prevent Harry’s imminent wedding. When Dobson had so rudely intruded into his townhouse, he had not considered the necessity of changing into more formal attire. “This travesty of a wedding has caused quite enough gossip.”

  She blinked, shaking her head. Almost as if hoping that he was an unwelcome vision she could make disappear.

  “Lord Ashcombe, why are you here?”

  “I believe you are well aware what has brought me here.”

  Her brows drew together. “Is there word of your brother? Has there been an accident?”

  He narrowed his gaze, not at all amused by her pretense of bewilderment.

  “Please don’t play coy with me, Miss Dobson. I have already spoken with your father.” His lip curled in disdain. “A shockingly unpleasant experience, I confess.”

  Talia jerked to her feet, her hand pressed to her enticing bosom.

  “My father?”

  Gabriel clenched his hands at his sides. Could a woman deliberately drain her face of all color?

  “I will admit you play the role of wounded martyr quite convincingly,” he said in biting tones. “My jaded heart might be touched if I was not aware that you and your father are shameless charlatans who will use any tactic, no matter how vile, to acquire a place among society.”

  “I am aware you disapprove of your brother taking me as his wife.”

  His sharp burst of laughter echoed through the room. “Not nearly so much as I disapprove taking you as my own wife.”

  “I…” She swayed, and for a moment Gabriel thought she might sink into a predictable swoon. Then, with a visible effort, she sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Your wife?” She shook her head in denial. “Is this a jest?”

  “I do not jest about the next Countess of Ashcombe.”

  “Dear God.”

  “Prayers will not help you now, my dear.”

  “Please,” she said softly. “I do not understand.”

  Gabriel fiercely told himself he would not be swayed by a pair of wounded emerald eyes.

  Damnation. The woman was as great a fraud as her bastard of a father.

  Was she not?

  “Determined to act the innocent?” he rasped. “Very well. After an hour spent enduring your father’s crass insults and his boorish bullying it has become obvious I have been neatly cornered. I might have admired his cunning if I weren’t the poor sod being coerced into marrying a female who could only hope to force a man down the aisle.”

  Long moments passed, the silence broken by the tick of the ormolu clock on the mantel and the distant twitter of lingering guests.

  “This makes no sense,” Talia said at last. “I am to wed Harry.”

  “In his typical fashion, my brother considered nothing beyond his selfish need to indulge his every desire. And, when it came time to pay the piper, he disappeared, leaving me to take responsibility yet again.”

  “But…” She licked her dry lips. “Surely you must have some notion of where he has gone?”

  “I have several notions, but it no longer matters where he is hiding, does it?” He didn’t bother to disguise his bitterness.

  She wrung her hands, her face tight with unexpected desperation.

  “I suppose there is no means to disguise the fact he did not arrive at the church this morning, but if he could be found and compelled to return to London…”

  “You would wed him after he abandoned you at the altar?” he snapped, oddly annoyed by her insistence to have Harry as her bridegroom.

  Did the female have feelings for his wastrel of a brother?

  Or was this just another clever ruse?

  Neither explanation gave him pleasure.

  “It is what my father desires,” she muttered.

  “Perhaps he did before he had the means to capture an earl. Now I can assure you he has no intention of settling on a mere younger son.”

  She appeared to struggle to follow his harsh words, a pulse fluttering at the base of her throat like a tiny bird caught in a cage.

  Heat pierced through him at the thought of pressing his lips to that tender spot. Would she taste as sweet as she promised? Or was that yet another deception?

  Thankfully unaware of his treacherous longings, Talia regarded him with a furrowed brow.

  “I am aware that my father has acquired influence among some members of society, but how could he possibly force you to marry me?”

  “Sordid blackmail.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “He has threatened to sue my brother for breach of promise, ensuring that my family name would be kept on the front pages of every scandal rag in England for months, if not years.”

  She flinched at his harsh explanation, her ashen face suddenly flooded scarlet.

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh,” he said, sneering. “Your father is well aware I will pay any price, no matter how obscene, to protect my mother from becoming a public spectacle.”

  “I…” She gave a helpless lift of her hands. “I am sorry.”

  Barely aware he was moving, Gabriel prowled to stand directly before her, breathing deeply of her warm scent. Lilac, he noted absently, combined with an earthy perfume that was uniquely her own.

  “Are you?” he growled.

  “Yes.” She shivered beneath his brooding gaze. “I know it is difficult to believe, but I am just as appalled as you by this farce of a marriage.”

  “I do not find it difficult, Miss Dobson, I find it impossible,” he countered, assuring himself that his stab of ire was at her continued charade and not at her horror at the thought of marrying him. “I am all too familiar with women like you.”

  “Women like me?”

  “Vulgar females who are willing to use whatever tactics necessary to acquire a husband.” He deliberately lowered his gaze to take in the soft curves modestly hidden beneath her silver gown. Had she been bold enough to display her charming wares she might have had more success on the marriage mart. “Of course, their tactics are usually more—”

  “Attractive?” she said, an unexpected hint of bitterness shimmering in the emerald eyes.

  “Polished,” he corrected.

  “Forgive me for being a disappointment. It seems to be my lot in life,” she said, her voice so low he co
uld barely catch the words. “But in my defense, I never desired a husband enough to polish my tactics.”

  He frowned. So, there was a hint of spirit beneath that mousey demeanor.

  “That would be a good deal more convincing if you had not offered my brother an embarrassing sum of money to take you as his bride, even knowing he had no desire to be tied to you.”

  “It was my father—” She bit off her words, giving a resigned shake of her head. “What does it matter?”

  “It does not.” He grasped her chin, peering deep into the eyes that held such remarkable innocence. “Even if I were idiotic enough to accept you are nothing more than a victim of your father’s machinations, it does not make the thought of having you as my bride any less unpalatable.”

  He felt her quiver, her thick tangle of lashes lowering to hide the pain that flared through her eyes. Gabriel gritted his teeth against the sensation that was perilously close to regret tugging at his heart.

  Dammit. He had nothing to regret.

  “You have made your point, my lord,” she said. “Why are you here?”

  “Obviously we must discuss our…” He struggled to force out the word. “Wedding.”

  “Why?” She hunched a shoulder. “It is obvious that you and my father are capable of planning my future without bothering to consult me.”

  His grasp tightened on her chin. “Do not press my temper, Miss Dobson. Not today.”

  Her lips thinned but with a resigned obedience. She pulled free of his grasp and waved a hand toward a nearby chair.

  “Will you have a seat?”

  “No, this will not take long.”

  She gave a slow nod, her face pale but composed. “Very well.”

  “On Monday I will request a Special License from the Archbishop of Canterbury. He is a personal friend, so there should be no difficulty.”

  Her lips twisted. “Of course not.”

  “The ceremony will be held in the private chapel at my townhouse,” he continued. “I will arrange for the rector as well as two servants to serve as witnesses.”

  It took her a moment to comprehend the meaning of his words. At last her eyes widened. “My father…”

  “Is not invited.” His expression warned he would not compromise. “Nor will you include any other guests.”

  “Do you intend to keep our marriage a secret?”

  “A futile wish, unfortunately, but I am determined that it will not become a ridiculous farce.” He glanced toward the window where he could view the guests still taking full pleasure in the current scandal. “For the next week you will remain silent and away from society. You may also warn your father that any boasting that he has captured an earl as his son-in-law will greatly displease me.”

  Her expression remained suitably chastened, but she couldn’t disguise the pulse that hammered at the base of her throat. Inwardly she was no doubt seething with the urge to slap him.

  “And after the ceremony?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Am I to remain hidden from society?”

  “Not hidden, but you will be enjoying an extended visit to my estate in Devonshire.”

  She blinked at his frigid explanation. “I am to be banished to the country?”

  “If my terms of marriage do not suit you, Miss Dobson, then perhaps you should devote the next few days to convincing your father to blackmail some other fool into becoming your husband.”

  With an abrupt movement she turned on her heel, staring down at her unwelcome guests with a haunted expression.

  “If I had the ability to sway my father I would never have been forced to wed your brother and we would not be in this mess.”

  Gabriel stiffened in anger as another twinge of pity threatened to undermine his resolve.

  Bloody hell. Was it not hideous enough to be coerced into marrying Silas Dobson’s daughter without offering her the opportunity to play him a fool?

  “Then it would seem that we must both resign ourselves to the inevitable,” he bit out, turning on his heel to head toward the door.

  “So it would seem,” she whispered behind him.

  Halting on the threshold, Gabriel glanced over his shoulder.

  “Oh, Miss Dobson.”

  “Yes?”

  “I would prefer you refrain from smothering yourself in such a gaudy display of jewels.” He flicked a disdainful glance toward the massive diamonds draped around her neck. “The Countess of Ashcombe does not need to make an exhibit of herself.”

  His parting shot delivered, Gabriel continued out of the room and down the hall, wondering why the devil he didn’t feel the least satisfied.

  TALIA WAS IN the laundry room sorting through the linens that needed to be mended when her father’s butler appeared in the doorway.

  As always, she was struck by the sight of the slender, gray-haired servant attired in an immaculate black uniform. He carried himself with a regal dignity that his employer could never hope to emulate.

  The irony of the situation was not lost on Silas Dobson, who found it a source of coarse amusement to taunt his prim and proper butler. Anderson, on the other hand, was careful to keep his own opinion hidden behind his facade of frigid efficiency.

  Hardly surprising. For all of her father’s faults, he was a shrewd businessman who was willing to pay his employees a generous salary that instilled far more loyalty than any amount of personal charm.

  Impatiently brushing a stray curl from her forehead, Talia regarded the servant with a faint frown. It was rare for Anderson to enter what he considered the female domain.

  “Yes?”

  “The Earl of Ashcombe has called,” Anderson informed her in formal tones. “Shall I say you are receiving?”

  The bed sheet slipped from her nerveless fingers as she surged to her feet. Lord Ashcombe? Here?

  Despite the fact the man had been her fiancé for nearly a week, Talia’s mind struggled to accept that he had actually come to call upon her. No doubt because she had spent the past days assuring herself that the Earl of Ashcombe had no more intention of making her his bride than his younger brother had.

  In truth, she had expected every morning to awaken to the announcement in the London Times that Lord Ashcombe had cancelled the absurd wedding, even if it did mean further scandal for his family.

  So why was he here?

  Had he come in person to cancel the wedding? And if so, why would he bother? It would surely have been easier for all of them if he had sent a message to avoid this unpleasant encounter.

  Acutely aware of the silence that had abruptly filled the laundry room, Talia nervously cleared her throat.

  “Did you inform him that my father is not at home?”

  Anderson dipped his head. “He specifically requested to speak with you, Miss Dobson.”

  “I see.” With no choice, Talia tugged off the apron that covered her sprigged muslin gown. “Please show him to the parlor.”

  The butler offered a stiff bow. “Very good.”

  The servant was stepping through the door when she realized that she had nearly forgotten her duties as a hostess. Odd, considering that they had been drilled into her by her numerous governesses over the years.

  Of course, she rarely had an opportunity to display them, had she?

  Who would desire to visit Silas Dobson or his awkward daughter? So far as London was concerned they were blights on civilized society.

  “Oh, Anderson.”

  “Yes?”

  “Could you request Mrs. Knight to prepare a tray of refreshments?”

  “Certainly.”

  Although the butler’s gaunt face remained impassive, there was a suggestion of approval in his faint nod before he disappeared down the short hall.

  Talia paused long enough to wash her hands and straighten the sapphire ribbon that was threaded beneath the empire style bodice. Then, she reluctantly followed in the butler’s path.

  Her heart was thundering and her palms sweating by the time she
reached the formal parlor, but she did not allow herself to pause as she stepped into the room heavily decorated with lacquer furnishings and crimson velvet. The slightest hesitation would allow her cowardice to take hold, and she would be fleeing to her room in terror.

  The idea of flight remained a distinct possibility as her gaze landed on the tall, golden-haired man who always managed to make her heart leap with a dreadful excitement.

  This morning he was attired in a pale blue jacket and silver waistcoat that was fitted to his body with flawless lines. Standing confidently near the ornately carved chimneypiece, his elegant style only emphasized the gaudy opulence of the gilded ceiling and massive Chinese vases that were arranged about the carpet.

  He stiffened at her entrance, his expression unreadable as his gaze ran an unnervingly intimate inspection over her disheveled appearance.

  Talia flushed, acutely aware that the lace of her gown was worn and her simple braid was better fitted for a servant than a lady of breeding. She had no notion that the steam from the laundry room had made the thin gown mold provocatively to her feminine curves. Or that the glossy curls that had strayed from her braid only emphasized her earthy beauty that would tempt any man, particularly one jaded by the frigid perfection of most society ladies.

  And she most certainly would never have considered that any man could be imagining her spread on a bed of wildflowers as he ripped away her worn dress to reveal the smooth purity of her ivory skin.

  She only knew that his unflinching survey made her feel hot and flustered in a manner she did not understand.

  Licking her dry lips, she offered a clumsy curtsy. “My lord, I fear I was not expecting you.”

  Almost as if her words had jerked him from an unwelcome spell, Lord Ashcombe stepped from the fireplace, a sardonic expression hardening his handsome features.

  “I surely do not need an appointment to call upon my fiancée?” he mocked.