The Convenient Bride (The Clearbrooks)

by McCarthy, Teresa

  With child! The man was insane!

  "And to let you know what kind husband I shall make, I will give you two homes, one in Bath and one of your choosing." He puffed out his chest, making her want to plant him a facer.

  She opened her mouth to object, but his strong hands drew her into a locking embrace and he kissed her, thoroughly, expertly, and with all the intimacy of a man wooing his intended. She couldn't gather her wits quickly enough to protest. Finally he let her go, and she stepped away from him, her body badly shaken.

  She blinked rapidly and curled her hands into fists. "You seem to have everything figured out, my lord."

  "Trust me."

  He sounded so arrogantly pleased she wished she were a man so she could call him out! And trust him! What did he think she was? Some dull-witted female? "I am overwhelmed, my lord."

  There was an edge of sarcasm to her voice that he obviously missed. A smile tipped the corners of his mouth, sealing his fate. "We should get along nicely ... Briana."

  He whispered her name with such gentleness and charm she had to pause to throw the shield back over her heart.

  He peered at her, waiting for her to speak.

  Planting her hands on her hips, she lifted her chin another inch to glare at him. "Do you know, I believe you are the most overbearing, egotistical, arrogant man of my acquaintance, sir. I would never marry you. Not if you came to me on hands and knees."

  She flung her hands toward the ballroom. "Go buy yourself another wife, my lord, for it will not be me."

  He stared at her as if she had rocks in her head.

  Humiliation welled up inside her, and she knew she was on the verge of tears. But she would finish this out if it killed her.

  He raised his hand to touch her, and she quickly fell back a step. His eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you misunderstood—"

  She didn't let him finish. "How dare you! How dare you assume I would fall over you like some ignorant female bent on marriage to anyone who would take her."

  She regarded his stiff profile as a subtle warning, but her anger had elevated to such a boiling fury, nothing would stop her now. "How dare you," she whispered with such venom it made her own toes curl. "You, sir, are no gentleman."

  Clayton watched in shock as the lady swept him a disgusting glance, spun on her heel, and returned down the trail toward the dance floor. With mixed emotions, he followed her, his gaze attached to the sway of her body. When she disappeared into the ballroom, a strange numbness enveloped him. What the devil had just happened?

  He was a few steps from the dance floor when Marcus walked into his path. "What did you do to Miss Garland?"

  That's exactly what he wanted to know. "Nothing."

  "Oh? The lady looked quite upset. She slipped behind the large urn."

  Guilt filled Clayton as his gaze searched the room.

  With a stern brow, Marcus crossed his hands over his chest. "I do believe there were tears in her eyes."

  Clayton rubbed his chin. By Jove, the little bluestocking had dressed him down like some holiday goose. "Yes, well, we all know females are fidgety creatures."

  "I don't like what you're doing, Clay. That lady has an innocence about her that makes a gentleman want to defend her. From what Em's said, Miss Garland has gone through hell the past few years. Go find one of those ladies on the amended list."

  Clayton's jaw stiffened, recalling the snapping green eyes sweeping over him as if he were some villain. "I intend to."

  What the devil had he been thinking? He didn't need a termagant for a wife. He needed a biddable bride, not some green- eyed spitfire who would lash out at his every word, making him feel like some boy reprimanded by his governess. He should have followed his first instincts. Oh, the lady might love children, and she might have adorable freckles, but by heaven, he needed a convenient wife, not some lady who made him feel vulnerable!

  For that very reason he was not ready to pursue this scholarly chit who could jerk his heart from his chest with just one kiss. Devil take it, not even Lady Serena could do that.

  He slipped his fingers to his inside pocket and drew out the list, slapping it into Marcus's hand. "Lead me to them."

  Marcus pushed the list back into Clayton’s palm. "Are you serious?"

  "You just told me to use it."

  "I've reconsidered the entire situation. Let Gerald have the deuced castle. It isn't worth your future."

  "It is my future," Clayton growled. "It's all I have."

  His eyes narrowed into two irritated slits as he stole a glance across the floor. "And what the devil is Kingsdale doing here?"

  Marcus followed his brother's gaze. "Think he returned from Egypt a while ago. Haven't seen much of him lately, though."

  Clayton didn't answer. His total concentration was on Lord Kingsdale hovering over Miss Garland like some lapdog. "Jupiter, I believe the man is infatuated with her brain."

  A light of comprehension came to Marcus's eye. "The lady in question has spent time studying ancient Egypt, has she not? But if you ask me, it's more than her brain he's infatuated with."

  A strong sense to shield the woman from harm swept through Clayton. His gaze took in the delicate nature of her body, and he instantly recalled holding her in his arms. A blow from Kingsdale could kill her.

  "She may not want me, but I will dangle from a rope before that man has her."

  Marcus held back his smile. "Now, this I want to see."

  Chapter Nine

  The music swelled in volume along with a disturbing feeling enveloping Briana as Lord Kingsdale bowed over her hand.

  "Miss Garland, it has been so long since we have been together. Would you do me the honor of the next dance?"

  Agatha stood two feet away, caught in deep conversation with Lady Hatton. Disappointed and a little uneasy, Briana realized she was not going to gain any help from her godmother.

  She looked up at Lord Kingsdale, who was awaiting her answer. He was a handsome man with jet-black hair and a distinguished gray lock above his temple. His jacket fit him to perfection, needing no padding to add to his athletic form. If she hadn't known his true nature, she might have been impressed.

  "It has been ages, my lord," she said, puzzled by the man's appearance at her side.

  Lord Kingsdale loved Egyptian artifacts almost as much as she did. Two years ago he had believed they could share a life together based on their love for Egyptology. His ideas were a bit frightening, and she had humored him, hoping he would not pursue their relationship any further than mere acquaintance. However, his interest had grown to obsessive proportions, and she finally had to sever their friendship.

  "Ages," he said with a twitch of amusement about his lips.

  It was the strange gleam in his dark eyes that told her he was still attracted to her. But in spite of his interest in her as a woman, it did nothing to heal Lord Clayton’s blow to her heart.

  She had seen Lord Kingsdale only once since he had asked her to marry him, and that had been at a distance.

  "You must forgive me, my lord. A headache prevents me from joining the dancing."

  "Why, Miss Garland, ever the more reason for me to take you for a walk about the room."

  Suddenly Agatha's keen gaze took in the scene. "Briana, my dear, why don't you take a walk, then fetch me some punch?"

  Did Agatha have any inkling to this man's character? Was she trying to make Lord Clayton jealous? One never knew about her godmother or her tactics.

  Briana's cool gaze met the man's smiling face. Lord Kingsdale never liked to lose at anything, even if it was a trivial matter of asking a lady for a turn about the room.

  She instantly recalled the scene when she had rejected his marriage proposal. He had grabbed hold of her shoulders, and at the time she had believed if Clarice had not walked into the room the man might have smacked her.

  Later, she speculated that his firm hold on her had been pure disappointment at her response. However, looking at him now, she had no idea what to beli
eve anymore.

  Trying to stall for time, she peered across the room and locked gazes with Lord Clayton. Even from where she stood, she could detect his violet-blue eyes narrowing on the man beside her.

  Good grief, was he jealous?

  She thought of the difference between Lord Kingsdale and Lord Clayton and inwardly frowned. Although both men were handsome and arrogant, the similarities stopped there.

  Where Kingsdale was quick to anger, Clayton possessed a stoic calmness, reaching a rage only when pushed beyond his limits. Where Kingsdale was impatient to get his way and did not tolerate limitations, Clayton possessed a certain charm that allowed him to maneuver around his obstacles in a polite and gentlemanly manner.

  Clayton. Oh, Clayton, why did you have to treat me so shabbily?

  "Miss Garland?" Kingsdale put out his arm, deliberately forcing her to either take it or cause a scene.

  She gave him a stiff smile. "Very well, my lord. A short walk and then some punch for my godmother."

  The man's gaze gleamed with approval, and a minute after circling the floor he turned to face her. They were standing near the doors to the garden and a warm breeze caressed her cheek. Behind them couples began to gather for a country dance.

  "Do you still hate me, my dear?"

  The question surprised her. "I don't hate you, my lord. But you were rather forceful when I turned down your marriage proposal." There it was, that swift shadow of anger in his eyes. It disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

  "I loved you." He said it so softly she almost missed it.

  Uncomfortable now, she concealed her frown. He had never mentioned love. Even Lord Clayton had never mentioned love.

  He glanced toward the sea of dancers, then shifted a regretful gaze back to her. "Can you forgive and forget?"

  She clasped her hands tightly. She had no wish to give this man any hope they would be together. "I can forgive, my lord. But I will never forget. I am only human."

  His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "At least that's a start. Now, I think it wise we fetch that punch for Miss Appleby."

  He took hold of Briana's elbow, escorting her into the hall. "I was hoping to see you here, wondering if I could make amends."

  She glanced at him. "I said I already forgave you."

  "Yes, but there is something else I wanted to say." He ushered her along the marbled floor, hastily pulling her into a room off the hall. It was the duchess's private sitting room.

  Briana was taken completely by surprise when the door shut behind him. "My lord—"

  "My dear, you must know I adore you."

  "Adore me?" Something about his expression frightened her.

  "Yes, adore you. There is something that draws me to you. It did years ago; it does now."

  Briana took a step back and stumbled against a chair.

  His brows dipped. "You are not running from me, are you?"

  He strode closer and the distinct scent of musk and cloves filled the air. It was making her ill. With a pang of regret she wished for the sweet fragrance of bayberry soap. Lord Clayton might have his weaknesses, but he would never frighten her like this.

  She blinked and skirted the chair, finding herself backed up against the wall, his tall body towering over her. She boldly met his gaze. His eyes glittered ominously, and a sudden chill bumped down her spine.

  "This is most inappropriate, my lord. Someone will be looking for me." The back of her throat had gone dry. "You had best open that door."

  He pressed a hand against the wall, leaning toward her. "You were always full of surprises. I remember the day I met you at the lending library and you were taking out a book on Egyptian death. Do you remember?"

  Egyptian death? Her apprehension grew.

  "Yes, I remember. You were interested in the same thing."

  His hand dropped and circled her waist. "I was interested. You had something most women of the ton did not."

  "Please, don't do this." She gripped his arm, but it was like a steel band about her gown.

  Ignoring her plea, he continued, "You had brains, my dear. You knew more about Egypt than I did." He gave a little chuckle. "In fact, when it comes right down to it, you know more about the world than anyone I know. You have captivated me for years. I tried to stay away, even looked for other women with your qualities, but it always came down to you."

  Her anxiety increased at the smoldering look in his eye. "I need someone like you, Miss Garland. Someone I can talk to. Someone who isn't going on about what gown to wear or what color she wishes to match with her wrap."

  "You need me?" she asked calmly, her mind struggling for a way out of his arms that would not make him angry.

  "Yes," he answered, the challenge in his voice undeniable. "And I think you need me. We would do well together. I see things in you, secret things, hidden things you are not about to share with any man, and that intrigues me."

  "I want to return to the ballroom."

  "Not yet." His hands moved to her shoulders. "I have watched you. Did you know that?"

  Her heart pounded wildly as she played for time. "What do you mean?"

  His eyes softened, and he slowly loosened his grip. "Oh, I have my ways. But I see in you unique qualities, like the secret places found in the pyramids of the great pharaohs."

  "Secret places?" she asked, slipping from his hold.

  He laughed, shaking his head. "Yes, like now. You are planning to make your escape."

  Her cheeks flamed, not with embarrassment, but with stupidity for allowing this man to maneuver her into a room alone. He was good at that. He always had a way of sneaking past her defenses.

  "I won't hurt you." He pulled her into his arms. "But you fascinate me. Always have. You hide away, fading into the background, hoping no one is looking. But I see you. I have always seen you."

  She wondered how often he had watched her from afar.

  His smile seemed genuine as he regarded her. "You remind me of my uncle's bureau. It had a secret compartment that held all his treasures. When I was a boy, I watched him open it one day. There was a small button in the back of one of the drawers and if pushed at the same time when you pulled open the bottom drawer, the secret compartment opened, too. It was a hard feat for a ten-year-old, but I did it."

  Briana felt his hands on her tighten. What in the world was he talking about? "My godmother will be wondering about the punch."

  Dark eyes ran over her. "I think it will take me some time to find all the hidden compartments in you, Briana, but I intend to keep searching."

  "I have no interest in your search, my lord. And I did not give you leave to call me by my Christian name."

  "Ah, ever the lady," he said softly.

  To her surprise, his hands dropped from her side.

  He bowed. "Soon, you will see. Soon, you will understand. I have faith in you, my dear. We are of the same blood, you and I. Passion runs deep in our veins. Egyptology is a fascinating subject, and side by side we can delve into the minds of the pharaohs and the slaves, determine how the pyramids were built and where the treasures are hidden. There is no end to what we can accomplish together."

  Her blood ran cold. The man wasn't just mad, he was dangerous. Knowing he was letting her go, she walked hurriedly across the room. Without a word, she wrenched open the door, her insides shaking. Closing her eyes in relief, she stepped out of the room and dashed around the corner, afraid Kingsdale would follow.

  He was obsessed with her and Egypt. Somehow she would have to make him understand she wanted nothing to do with him.

  She wasn't paying attention to where she was going when two strong hands took hold of her shoulders.

  "I can see why you turned me down, Miss Garland." Lord Clayton glared over her shoulder at Kingsdale, who had suddenly stepped behind her. "A better offer, I presume?"

  A deep, familiar pain lodged in her breast. He was the same as the rest of them. He was no different from Kingsdale, or her father, or the man who had seduced her sis
ter. They thought only of themselves.

  "I believe you owe the lady an apology." Kingsdale's voice was soft, but alarmingly angry.

  "Do I?" Clayton asked, his eyes locking on Miss Garland's white face as she jerked from his grasp.

  Anger sliced through Clayton. Anger that this woman had brushed his proposal aside as if it were nothing but a roll at breakfast. Anger that she was in the room with Kingsdale and not him. Anger that Kingsdale was looking at her as if he were a sailor on leave who had not seen a woman for months or even years.

  "I need no apology from you or anyone, my lord," the lady said, lifting her chin. "Now, if you will excuse me."

  Kingsdale reached out and grasped her wrist. "Briana."

  Briana? "I would suggest you keep your hands to yourself," Clayton said, jerking Kingsdale's hand off her person.

  Kingsdale's eyes darkened. "You have insulted my future wife and you owe her an apology."

  The lady gasped. "Y-your future wife?"

  Clayton's blood turned to stone. "My apologies, madam. I had no idea."

  Miss Garland's green eyes flashed with contempt as she glanced from Clayton to Kingsdale.

  "I never agreed to be your wife," she said to Kingsdale, her tone frosty. "In fact, I have no idea why you assumed otherwise. Good night, gentlemen." And with that, the lady turned on her kid slippers and headed toward the ballroom.

  Kingsdale let out a small chuckle. "The lady's temper is as fiery as her hair."

  Clayton's hands stiffened. "I don't think she cares for you any more than I do."

  "Old memories die hard, do they not?"

  "Old memories?" Clayton scoffed. "You know, Gregory, as childhood friends, we really never addressed our differences. You were a liar and a cheat. Something I forgave because of our youth. But I have seen you in action, and if you dare harm one hair on that lady's head, I will come after you. Do I make myself clear?'

  A twisted grin spread across Kingsdale's face. "So, you finally see her as a gem, do you? It took you long enough. The girl has been in love with you since we were schoolboys."