The Convenient Bride (The Clearbrooks)

by McCarthy, Teresa

  "I'll be leaving the message in that secret chamber. And why should he or she not have it? Received a missive to leave the information there at a specific time during the house party. With over fifty guests, I don't know who it is, and I don't care. It ain't every day the Prince Regent is kidnapped, and the less information I know the better."

  "Ah, there you are. Cousin. Thought you might be up for a ride. 'Depend upon it,' I said to myself, 'the old boy will be in the stables saddling his own horse.'"

  Clayton's nerves cringed at the sound of the haughty but familiar voice. He slanted his gaze toward the stable door and narrowed his eyes. What the deuce was his cousin doing here?

  "Never knew you were one for house parties, Gerald." His cousin was a good-looking man—a bit too broad in the face, but the ladies seemed to like him, even if he was a conceited oaf.

  "Come now, cuz, let's not play games. I know why you're here." The man dropped his gaze to brush a speck of dirt off his waistcoat.

  Contempt flashed in Clayton's eyes. Gerald was a selfish prig. The meticulous pains he took with his dress made Clayton dislike him all the more. "And may I guess why you are here?"

  "No need to guess, cuz. You want Cathaven's treasure. Nothing surprising about that."

  "And you are here for the very same reason, I presume?"

  "The devil, you don't think I aim to let you have it all, do you?" Gerald singled out a piece of straw on the door beside him and flicked it to the ground. "The thing is, cuz, as a gentleman, I aim to be fair about this. Let you know I'm here and all that nonsense."

  Clayton dropped the reins in his hands and stepped back from the stall. "You followed me here?"

  "Not exactly, but I ain't an idiot. Had it set a month ago to attend Grimstoke's. But after that deuced will, I made other plans, parties and whatnot. Leaned heavily on your character, cuz. Figured you would be looking for a bride at some gathering or other. Suitable wife. Biddable. From a good family. All that rubbish."

  Gerald laughed. "A case of mere chance you ended up here. Not that I didn't have the other major events covered. Unfortunately, I could do nothing about an intimate gathering you attended in Town or at one of Elbourne's stuffy balls. Lucky for me you found nothing there. And this is one of the last grand house parties of the Season."

  With a smug smile on his lips, Gerald leaned against the stable door. "Sent my regrets to all the other parties the minute I heard you were coming here. My valet is friend of your valet's sister, don't you know."

  Clayton barely stopped himself from strangling the man.

  "Well, cuz, don't look at me like that. Old Cathaven was a cantankerous old fellow, but Zeus, never thought he had all that money. To tell you the truth, almost popped a button on my brand new waistcoat when I found out."

  Clayton returned to his horse, pulling it from the stall. The man was a deuced nuisance. "I fail to see how you following me will affect my choice. And if by some chance you do meddle in my affairs, you will pay dearly."

  "Dueling is illegal, you know," the man sputtered. "Upon my word, cuz, you can't do anything about me being here."

  Clayton glanced over his shoulder. "I never liked you, cuz. You're a conceited, arrogant old fellow, and for the goodness of your health I would advise you to return to London."

  Sir Gerald stiffened. "Listen here. I ain't about to take orders from you. And just so we can be fair about this, I will tell you now that I will do anything within the law to keep you from marrying before the allotted time."

  He sneezed. "Dratted stables. Don't like them at all. Dirty. Look at that. Straw on my new boots. Won't do at all. Well, good day, cuz. See you tonight. Grimstoke hired a quartet. Dancing and all that. Think I'll take a turn at the red-haired chit you brought in last night."

  Clayton's hand froze on his saddle. "She won't be dancing."

  "Won't she? I don't think that carriage accident will stop her. Saw her stepping into the library only minutes ago." He rubbed his nose with his handkerchief. "Blasted stables."

  He sneezed again, then looked up. "Saw Kingsdale walking into the library, too. Chit gets around, don't she?" He shook his head. "Well, au revoir and all that." Flipping a hand in the air, the man disappeared around the door.

  Clayton stepped back from his horse and slammed his riding whip against the stall. "What the devil am I going to do with her, Belle?" The horse neighed.

  Clayton didn't know what he was more furious about, his cousin's presence, Kingsdale's interest in Miss Garland, Miss Garland's gallivanting about the mansion when she should be resting, or Kingsdale's meeting with the lady in the library.

  He had seen the lady staring out the window earlier. Even from the distance he had seen her green eyes glittering with anger at how he had treated her the night of the Elbourne ball. But he had seen the frank admiration in her eyes as well.

  He had never expected her to deny him anything. In fact, no woman had ever refused him even one kiss. But during the past twenty-four hours, he'd realized he was attracted to the red-haired Fairy Lady. And dash it all, he had decided it was Miss Garland or nobody.

  Miss Cherrie Black had not made it to Grimstoke's party. She was still in London, recovering from a cold. He had barely been interested in her anyway. No one seemed to fit into his plans like Miss Garland did. Devil take it, there was just something about her.

  She might not be the perfect wife, and she might want more than he was willing to give, but they could find a compromise. He was sure of it. And besides, he would lose his right arm before he'd let the lady marry Kingsdale.

  He strode from the stables toward Grimstoke Hall. Where was that blasted library?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Worrying her bottom lip, Briana glanced at the library door through which Violet had happily departed only minutes ago. She set aside the books her friend had pulled from her father’s Egyptian collection and rose from her chair. How long did she have? Five minutes? Ten? An hour at most?

  After a long pause she walked toward Lord Grimstoke's desk. A small fire crackled in the hearth, reminding her very much of the sparks that would fly if she were caught snooping.

  As quickly as she could, she rifled through the desk drawers. All of them were unlocked. Her heart sank. She knew that any important missives would not be neatly folded in an unlocked drawer for anyone to grab.

  Her eyes kept moving warily back to the door. She turned full circle, then glanced at the brick fireplace behind her. She let go a deep sigh, wondering if it was wise for her to continue her search without Agatha's direction.

  Where could the missive be? Had it been dispatched or was the courier waiting for a certain time to place the document?

  Did Agatha know about the timing or was she waiting for more information? Or was this all for nothing?

  Her brow wrinkled in thought and her eyes narrowed. The mantel? Was there a secret hiding place there? A movable panel from years ago?

  She walked forward and pressed her hand against the cool brick, feeling for any sign of movement. The orange flames of the fire flickered in the corner of her eye.

  The door clicked and with the quickness of a cat, she dropped her hands to her sides and spun around.

  "Ah, Miss Garland, what a pleasant surprise."

  Her heart thumped at the sight of Lord Kingsdale standing on the threshold. "Good afternoon, my lord."

  His gaze traveled from her face to the stack of books on the nearby table. A wicked smile tipped the corners of his mouth. "Reading again? You never were one to sit idle, were you, my dear? Hmmm, last time we met it was in the duchess's private sitting room, was it not? And here we are, alone again."

  His eyes moved over her. "How very fortunate. You look lovelier than ever."

  Briana's warning to Violet rang in her ears. It was as if Kingsdale were stalking her. Pushing him away would be harder than she'd thought. Ignoring his intense assessment of her person, she made her way to the chair, picking up the book she had been reading earlier.

&
nbsp; "I would rather forget about the last time we met, if you please, my lord. You see, I am fortunate Lord Grimstoke has such a wonderful library. His collection on Egyptian architecture is fascinating."

  She hated to give him the cut-direct, but he was beginning to grate on her nerves. She opened the book and pretended to read. "If you would excuse me."

  The man walked closer, his intimate chuckle sending a ripple of uneasiness down her back. "Come now, Miss Garland, don't play games with me. I know you adore the pyramids, but you are not reading about them now. You are waiting for someone in particular, are you not?"

  Her head snapped up. "What?"

  "Lord Clayton Clearbrook, perhaps? I hear he was your knight in shining armor on your little journey here. And of course, the man did seem a bit protective of you the last time we met."

  "I don't need protection from anybody," she said coolly. "And Lord Clayton has no say over what I do."

  "Is that so? Heard he was in a rare fit when they brought you in with that wound to your head. You are well?"

  A trace of worry lit the man's eyes, and she wondered if she had misjudged him.

  "A bump behind the ear. A mere scratch. Nothing significant."

  "From what I hear, Miss Appleby is in worse shape."

  Briana started. Could he be hoping she would be without a chaperone for the next few days?

  She lifted her chin. "A blow to her head and a sprained ankle have left her in bed for the next few days."

  "I see. And does your injury preclude your attendance at tonight's little soirée?"

  "I don't believe I will be dancing, my lord. However, I may watch from the side."

  He strolled across the room, his eyes never leaving her face.

  She was determined not to flinch. What did this man want from her? She had refused his offer of marriage years ago, and friendship with him was out of the question.

  He came within a foot of her, his dark eyes studying her face. Without another word, he brought her hand to his lips. "Then I will watch the dancing with you beside me as well."

  She tried to pull free of his hold, but his grip on her hand was too strong. "My lord—"

  Her words were cut short when the door flew open. Heat flooded her at the sight of Lord Clayton walking into the room. His violet-blue eyes glittered with such contempt she wanted to fall through the floor. How was it that he always caught her with Kingsdale? Was someone feeding him information?

  Kingsdale glanced over his shoulder, his hand still holding hers. Briana gave a slight tug, but the man stood firm.

  "Ah, Lord Clayton. I was hoping the lady would give me a dance tonight. You don't mind, do you?"

  "Mind?" Clayton responded stiffly. "The lady is not my wife."

  Briana felt the slight of his words as if he had slapped her. Tears burned the back of her throat, but she refused to show him how much he had hurt her. Instead she gave him a brilliant smile. "Indeed, I am not your wife, my lord."

  "How very fortunate for you," he said, his words carrying a warning of disapproval as he glared at Kingsdale.

  Briana pressed her lips together in anger. It took her a moment to respond. "I have promised the first dance to Gregory."

  She was so furious, she blurted out Kingsdale's Christian name before she could think. Now she had done it! Agatha would skin her alive. How dim-witted could she be? Lord Clayton seemed to bring out the worst in her.

  The intimacy of the announcement brought a smile to Kingsdale's lips. He couldn't have planned it any better. He released her hand and gave her a curt bow. "Until tonight."

  Clayton stood perfectly still as Kingsdale strode from the room. He waited for the man's heels to click down the hall, then he shifted his gaze back to Miss Garland, who had turned her back on him. The lady seemed to be studying the fire as if some great secret were tucked inside its flames.

  And when the devil did she start wearing such expensive, low-cut gowns? Thunderation, she was sending him to Bedlam!

  With a decided turn, he snapped the door closed. He saw her jump and almost smiled. "Gregory?" he inquired harshly.

  Two green eyes peeped through thick lashes as she turned her head to look at him. "Did you say something, my lord?"

  He marched farther into the room, deliberately placing the desk between them. Jupiter and Zeus, he wanted to wring her neck. "I came to warn you about Lord Kingsdale."

  "Who?" she said innocently.

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. "I am speaking of Kingsdale, Miss Garland. The man who just left here."

  She made a full turn to stare at him. "Oh, Gregory?"

  He slapped his hand to the desk. "You should stay away from the man."

  "Why?"

  Heaven help him! Why? Did the chit want him to spell it out for her? "Because."

  "I see. Well, I appreciate the information, my lord, but I believe I can make my own choices, thank you."

  Without another word, she returned to her reading material, dismissing him as if he were some lowly servant.

  Shocked at her indifference, Clayton mentally counted to ten as she turned the pages of her book. Pacing around the desk, he struck a hand against the mantel and stood a few feet away from her. He stared at the auburn curls framing her face, remembering the time he had caught her sleeping in the duke's library. She had been enchanting ...

  "Miss Garland."

  She said nothing and turned another page.

  His gaze shifted to the graceful turn of her ankle where her gown had pulled up a few inches. Devil take it, he wanted to take her in his arms and—and what?

  He started pacing again, staring at the back of her head. She was the most obstinate woman he had ever encountered.

  He stopped and spun on his heel. "He is a rake!"

  Surprised at the outburst, Miss Garland shot out of her chair and turned to glare at him. Her small hand fisted at her side. "He wants to marry me!"

  "Well, he cannot marry you!"

  "Oh? I fail to see why you have any say in the matter!"

  "I have a say because your chaperone put you in my care!"

  "I don't need a chaperone," she snapped back, her face coloring.

  His lips spread into a devilish grin, and he felt a certain calmness begin to overtake him. When the lady was angry, she seemed to lose all control. He should have noticed that little fact sooner. "In truth, I don't care what you want, Miss Garland," he said softly.

  She brought a hand to the back of her head and rubbed it. There was a flicker of pain in her expression that reminded him all too well of yesterday's accident.

  His calm demeanor instantly fled. "And why the devil are you not in your chambers? You should be resting."

  She grabbed the back of the chair, her face turning redder, from embarrassment or anger he wasn't certain. "This is silly. You? My chaperone?"

  "Nevertheless"—his voice was dangerously low—"you will do as I say."

  Every muscle in her body seemed to turn to stone. "I won't. You have no say over me."

  His hand sliced through the air as he strode closer. "Oh, yes, I do! Kingsdale has done things I cannot even begin to explain. But I vow, if I see you alone with the man again—"

  She poked her finger in the air and started walking toward him. "You'll what? Have tea with him and spill it all over your breeches? A fine laugh he will have then. Or will you tell him how you proposed to me in such a kind and decent way?"

  In one swift move he grabbed hold of her wrist. She pulled away, backing up against the desk, where her hand accidentally knocked Grimstoke's writing box to the floor. Her gaze jerked to his. "Now, see what you made me do!"

  He instantly released her as she bent down to pick up the box. A small container of wax fell beside it, along with Grimstoke's seal.

  Ashamed at his childish actions, Clayton knelt and picked up an ivory letter opener that had fallen out of the box.

  What the devil was wrong with him? She wasn't his sister, and yet the urge to protect this female had consumed h
im. Or was it something more because he wanted her for his bride? The idea of a marriage of convenience began to vex him.

  He shook his head and accidentally brushed her shoulder. Her hair shimmered like a sparkling stream running over red stone. She smelled of sweet vanilla. Her skin was smooth and white—

  Hell's bells! The sudden realization that love could be part of his problem sobered him instantly.

  "Let me help you," he said, more harshly than he intended.

  She cast him a look of disdain, then dropped her gaze. "I don't need any help from you."

  He tipped her chin, noting the tears glistening in her eyes, wondering if a kiss would shed his tumultuous feelings. "Forgive me. That was not gentlemanly."

  She sniffed and settled the box back onto the desk.

  He wiped a tear from her cheek. "The last time I did this ... I kissed you."

  Her expression was thunderous. "The last time—"

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, pressing his lips to hers. She was soft and pliable in his arms, an innocent flower crushed beneath his grip. To his surprise she returned his kiss.

  "Bree!"

  The kiss ended abruptly as they both stared at the intruder.

  "Violet! I, uh, didn't see you," Miss Garland replied shakily.

  Her friend giggled. "Evidently not. I came to see how you were doing with the books."

  Clayton watched in amusement as both ladies turned pink with embarrassment. He bid the ladies a good day, but as he retreated from the room, the taste of Miss Garland still lingered on his lips. Was he mad? He wanted the lady as a bride, but he certainly didn't need to form any deep emotional attachment to her, like love. Love would thoroughly destroy his plans.

  "I've searched the area around the desk and everywhere in between," Briana confided to Agatha later that evening. "I don't know where else to look."

  Briana held tight to her godmother's hand as the woman lay in bed. Agatha looked pale and worn, much older than her years.

  "Wish I could help," the lady murmured. "So tired . . . wasn't given any more orders ... could be nothing ... nothing at all." Her tired eyes regarded Briana in a new light. "New gown? Mustn't wear that... too much attention ... won't fade at all . . . "