Briana rested a cool hand against her godmother's forehead. At least the woman noticed the gown was not Briana's usual attire. Agatha's senses were still acute. "You'll be better soon. Don't hate me, dearest, but I must tell you that your drinks have been laced with laudanum."
Agatha's lids opened wider, though Briana could tell she was fighting sleep. "Thought it was my head wound," she mumbled.
"Now, now," Briana said in a defensive tone as the lady tried to sit up. "We did it for your own good. You mustn't try to stand. That ankle of yours is still quite swollen."
Briana knew that if they hadn't laced Agatha's drinks with laudanum, she would have tried to get out of bed and would have further injured her ankle. Still, Briana wondered if the laudanum should never have been given. She frowned.
She knew as much about head wounds as she did about cooking a pig. Tomorrow she would have the laudanum stopped.
She gently stroked her godmother's brow as the lady's lids drooped. "And you mustn't worry about our mission. I will keep looking. If there is something in the library, I will find it. Perhaps one of the guests—"
Agatha's hand reached for hers. "No..." She was struggling to stay awake. "Must... tell... his lordship ..."
Briana smiled and nodded, trying to comfort the lady. She could easily believe her godmother had put Lord Clayton in charge of her. "Yes, yes, we can talk later."
With a sigh, the lady drifted off to sleep before she could say another word. Briana didn't like the ashen color of Agatha's skin or the circles beneath her eyes. But it was the frightened look in her godmother's gaze that truly bothered her.
Briana departed from the room, leaving the maid to return to Agatha's side. There was no doubt in Briana's mind that Agatha had planned to keep her from the hunt. The lady would have devised some way to keep her busy while she herself did the real snooping. But now everything had changed. And it was not the first time Briana wondered if the carriage accident could have been planned.
Suddenly the sweet scent of bayberry drifted toward her, reminding her of summers at Elbourne Hall and Clayton.
"How is she?"
Briana glanced up to see him waiting in the hall. Something flickered in the back of his eyes. Worry? Or was he still angry over her stupid remark this afternoon? Or was it that kiss? Why had he done it? But the real question was why had she not stopped him? She should have. Whitehall's assignment was much more important than her ambivalent feelings toward some handsome gentleman who could charm her with nothing but a look.
"She's a bit drowsy, but I think she's on the mend."
His violet eyes softened. "She's tough. But I was afraid without that blasted parasol by her side, she might wither away."
Briana's lips quivered as she struggled to look at him. They had said nothing about the kiss earlier. Yet there was an awkwardness between them now, more so than when he had proposed marriage.
"What is it?" he asked.
She shook her head. He seemed to truly care for Agatha, and that touched her deeply. "Nothing. I'm just worried about her."
"I'll make certain she has the best of care."
"Well," she said, trying to end the conversation, "perhaps I will see you tonight."
"You should rest." His eyes darkened and slid over her in a critical manner, as if she looked like some rag doll left in the gutter. The air about them sizzled.
She was furious at the way he could play her emotions. Why was he doing this to her? "Perhaps you should see to your bride. Word has it that you are searching for one."
His lips curled into a charming smile. "Jealous?"
He infuriated her. "Why would I be jealous?"
He took one step forward, she took one step back. He chuckled, causing the skin to crinkle about his beautiful eyes.
"Not so sure of yourself?" he asked, capturing her gaze.
She stiffened. "You think this a game? Well, it isn't. That—that kiss this afternoon meant nothing. I have better things to do than humor you, my lord. Go find a wife who will live in the country and bow to your commands, for it surely won't be me." Lifting her chin a bit higher, she turned and started for the stairs.
"Best strike her off your list, cuz. Don't think she takes kindly to your wooing efforts."
Clayton swung around to look toward the end of the hall where Sir Gerald was lounging against the wall, his face half hidden behind a pair of potted palms.
"Oh," his cousin said, stepping out of his hiding place, "don't you know? I requested a chamber close to yours."
"No," Clayton said coolly, "I didn't know."
"Must say, was terribly convenient having my bedchamber beside these palms." His cousin tilted his head toward the stairs. "By Jove, have to give her credit, though. Somehow the chit found out about your plan and threw it back in your face."
He flicked a piece of lint off the sleeve of his jacket. "She the first female to tell you no?" He looked up, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. "The thing of it is, cuz, it gives me devilish satisfaction to think so."
"You were always a sneak, Gerald," Clayton said in a clipped voice. "But on my honor, I vow you will not have the castle."
"On your honor?" Gerald's gaze traveled over Clayton from his well-polished boots to his neat-fitting riding jacket. "I say, this is indeed a surprise. Honor for a man who would wed for the sake of money?" The man adjusted his neckcloth. "Don't flatter yourself. It's not honor, it's plain greed. I have no doubt about that."
He laughed, pulling out his watch. "Heard you have been paying mind to Miss Cherrie Black. Word has it she will arrive today. Her mama is determined to marry her off, cold or not. Perhaps I shall make it known that you want to wed her for the sake of that dingy old castle. What say you to that, old boy?"
Gerald narrowed his eyes on his breeches, brushing a hand across them. "Come to think of it, you might have another no from a woman. Won't that be a record? Perhaps we should take bets at White's. Upon my word, cuz, I may take it up to inform everyone here about your little bride hunt."
Clayton treated the man to one of his most condescending glares. "Even if the story comes out, I won't have far to look for a ready female. In fact, I have ones on my list who would marry me tomorrow. But you know my character so well, don't you? I do so like to look over my prospects before I make a choice."
His cousin scowled. "Depend upon it, cuz. I'm going to make it deuced hard for you to marry anyone."
Clayton wished to throw the man out the window. Instead he hit him where it hurt. "Do as you like, but... "
Gerald lifted a proud brow. "But what?"
"Pray, do not wear the maroon-colored waistcoat. Makes you look like a puffed-up bird who ate too many prunes."
Two spots of crimson dotted Gerald's cheeks as he snapped a hand to his perfectly fitted waistcoat. "Well, I never."
Clayton started down the stairs, laughing. "Oh, you can depend upon it, cuz. I never would either."
Chapter Fifteen
"I think Lord Clayton is in love with you," Violet said, twirling a finger about her curls as she sat on Briana's bed. "And I daresay all the gentlemen will adore that beautiful gown you are wearing, especially what's in it."
Inwardly Briana frowned. She was seated at the writing desk, finishing a letter to her mother. Darn Emily and her plans. The silver green gown she wore was the highest-cut dress she could find for this evening, but it set off her features perfectly, making it impossible for her to become invisible.
Briana had found a note from Emily tucked inside her fan. Her friend wished Briana a successful house party and hoped she wasn't angry for Emily's intervening in such a delicate matter. The dear lady had no idea she had wreaked havoc on Briana's cover.
Although Briana was flattered by Violet's comments, she knew that in a few minutes the soirée would begin downstairs and she would probably run into Lord Clayton. She didn't want to think about him or the way he made her feel. She had to set her sights on her mission, not on some spoiled lord who didn't care for reject
ion. But hiding from anybody in this gown, or any of the gowns in her wardrobe, was nearly impossible.
Folding her letter, Briana looked across the room. She was becoming increasingly uneasy about using her relationship with Violet to further the mission. If her friend were to gain any inkling of what Briana was doing, she would be hurt beyond repair.
"Lord Clayton is concerned about himself, like many of the lords I know." But as she said the words, she knew it wasn't totally true. He had cared for Agatha. He loved Gabrielle. He had invaded her heart, whether she wanted it or not.
"He didn't seem as if he was concerned about himself in the library." Violet squinted. "Is he a hateful rogue, then?"
Briana sealed the letter, her mouth quivering with mirth. "No."
Violet giggled and jumped off the bed. "I knew it. He is divine." She clapped her hands against her cheeks. "Oh, if Papa had caught you today, you would be married in no time."
Briana was certainly glad it had been Violet and not Lord Grimstoke who had walked in on her. She had heard the stories. Her host could be persistent when he wanted to be.
"I am not marrying him."
"Then what were you doing kissing him in the library?"
"He caught me in a weak moment. In fact, the man took me off guard when I accidentally knocked your father's writing box onto the floor."
Violet gasped. "Is it broken?"
"No, I put it back on the desk. There might be a scratch or two, though. I really didn't mean to damage it. Is it an heirloom of sorts?"
"Father received it two years ago from his aunt who traveled all over the world. He says it's made of Brazilian rosewood. It was her last gift to him before she died."
"Oh, Violet, I feel dreadful."
"We won't tell him what happened. I do it all the time."
Briana's stomach turned at the thought of Lord Grimstoke knowing she was hovering about his desk. Being in his library was one thing; handling his personal effects was quite another. "But what if he sees the scratch?"
Violet's brows knitted into a frown. "I can tell him I was looking for those secret drawers he told me about and I dropped it by accident."
Briana tried to keep her voice calm. "Secret drawers?"
"Yes. When one opens the box, there is a writing surface and another drawer for pens and whatnot. But below that are two secret drawers."
"Have you seen them?"
Violet shook her head. "I read my aunt's letter and Papa said something about them in passing. But I have tried everything to disengage whatever springs my aunt mentioned. One never knows what you could find in a secret drawer."
Briana put a hand to the pearl necklace at her throat and peered into the looking glass. "Yes, one never knows."
"Do you know, my lord, I adore Northern England. My mother's family is from there."
Clayton gazed down at Miss Cherrie Black as they paired up for the country dance. "I take it you have been speaking to my cousin, Sir Gerald?"
She gave him a sly glance and sniffed. Her nose was still pink from her cold. "I am not without a heart, my lord. But I would prefer a marriage of convenience, too, if you must know the truth. I was rather relieved when your cousin told me about your quest for a fitting bride. Love is such nonsense, you know. My parents go their separate ways and are quite content in their relationship."
Clayton knew her parents. Though a gentleman of High Society, Sir John Black was a red-nosed drunk who made visits to the opera quite frequently, and not for the singing entertainment. His wife was a flighty female who gossiped about everyone in the ton.
Clayton wondered about the lady in his arms. Though her parents were not perfect, they were from a decent family line and the lady seemed well adjusted. But now he wondered. Her thoughts on marriage were beginning to trouble him.
He might want a marriage of convenience, but her point that love was nonsense was just not true. It might not be for him, but his siblings had marriages based on love, and they were doing quite fine indeed.
"I knew the moment Sir Gerald spoke to me that he has other plans than to see you married," she said boldly. "Does he?"
Clayton's lips thinned as he parted from the lady, then returned to her side. Was this the kind of marriage he actually wanted? A marriage without love, without respect? And who was to say his wife wouldn't turn to another man? The thought of Miss Garland and Kingsdale made him grit his teeth.
"You are quite perceptive, Miss Black. My cousin will inherit the castle if I do not marry by the allotted time."
"And you need a wife before then," Miss Black said, smiling.
"You would not mind?"
Was that greed he saw in her eyes? Miss Garland's sparkling green gaze filled his thoughts, and he frowned at the difference between the two women.
"Is this a proposal, my lord?"
"No, but as long as we are being frank with each other, it seems the next logical question."
"I would not at all mind being a convenient bride. As I said before, my parents have a similar arrangement. Mama visits her friend in the country and Papa his friends in Town."
Clayton's brows arched as they parted again. She had just confirmed his very thoughts. "Your mother has friends?" he asked when they reunited. "Or should I say friend?"
The lady blushed as the music ended. "My lord, you know what I mean."
Clayton bowed and handed her to her next partner. "Indeed, I do, Miss Black. Indeed, I do."
Hoping Lord Kingsdale had forgotten her stupid remark earlier this afternoon, Briana shifted her gaze from the dance floor to the dandy making his way to her side.
Violet made the introductions. Ah, Sir Gerald. So this was Lord Clayton's cousin. They certainly didn't look alike.
The slightly built man standing before her was clothed so neatly, so exactly, she wondered how long it took him to dress. His stiff collar points seemed to be touching his ears. Some would call him handsome, but to Briana he had an annoying habit of flicking imaginary pieces of lint off his clothes when he thought no one was watching.
"I heard you had quite a journey to Grimstoke Hall," Sir Gerald said, taking Violet's seat as she walked onto the dance floor with another gentleman.
Briana regarded the man with a thoughtful stare. Anyone here could be involved in the plot against the Regent, even this gentleman sitting beside her. For all she knew, he could have planned their accident. "Yes, it was quite a turn of events."
"Terrible. Terrible. You were quite fortunate Lord Clayton came along when he did." He picked a speck of fuzz off the chair. "Quite fortunate indeed."
Briana turned her eyes upon the dancers. Clayton was coupled with a pretty blonde who seemed rather attached to him. Her heart constricted. It was Miss Cherrie Black. A marriage of convenience was exactly what the woman was looking for.
"Heard you had a slight injury to the head, Miss Garland."
"Nothing significant."
"And did I hear Grimstoke's daughter correctly? You are not dancing?"
"No, I am not, sir."
He sat meticulously straight in his chair, careful not to wrinkle his jacket. "I see. And Miss Appleby's injuries?"
Briana clasped her fan tightly in her hand. She needed an excuse to venture to the library to take a look at that writing box one more time. And she didn't like this man asking questions. He was bold, obnoxious, and beginning to vex her.
"My godmother is mending slowly."
He leaned toward her, his breath smelling of mints and brandy. "How very dreadful for you. May I take this moment to express my deepest sympathies. If you need anything at all, please do not hesitate to ask. I happened to acquire the chamber a few doors down from yours."
Briana snapped her fan shut and glared at him. "Sir!"
He shrugged. "Upon my word, you have no reason to act the prude with me, my girl."
"And what do you mean by that?" she hissed through her teeth.
"You gave your kisses freely to Lord Clayton—why not me?"
The hung
ry gleam in his eye only enraged her more. "I think you should leave."
He bent over to rub a scuff off his shiny black shoes. "I heard you speaking to him in the hall, Miss Garland. Passing up marriage to a Clearbrook is not at all the thing, you know. A son of a duke. My word. What were you thinking?"
He shook his head regretfully. "Perhaps you find marriage offensive. Can't say I blame you. That family is a bit stuffy. I came to Elbourne Hall once and was never invited back. That's how it is with those people."
He flicked a piece of hair off his knee and rubbed his nose. "Of course, Lord Clayton's immediate situation may appall you. I, on the other hand, have no pressure to marry. Ever."
Briana gritted her teeth, her patience with this man quickly thinning.
Finally, he rose, took her hand and bowed over it. "Think about that, my dear girl." His eyes devoured her. "Perhaps we could get along nicely."
Briana yanked her hand from his. She had never been so insulted in her life. Perhaps having Agatha by her side had added a little to her reputation after all.
"Miss Garland, I believe you promised me a dance."
Briana looked up and decided Lord Kingsdale was the lesser of the two evils. She had stupidly agreed to a dance with the man, had she not? Besides, he could do nothing to her on the dance floor. He wasn't a fool.
"She ain't dancing, Kingsdale," Sir Gerald said in a pompous tone. "Had a head injury the other day, don't you know."
Briana rose swiftly, managing a brittle smile. "My lord," she said, putting out a stiff hand toward Kingsdale, "you're late."
Kingsdale took her hand. "Detained by business, my dear. Forgive me."
"But you said you did not dance, Miss Garland," Sir Gerald sputtered. "Y-your injury."
Briana gazed at him with a look of reproach. "I never said such a thing, my lord. You only assumed it to be so."
Sir Gerald rambled on about injuries and fatalities as Kingsdale swept Briana into his arms for a waltz. Her head still ached, but she was not about to sit out the evening with nincompoops like Sir Gerald hounding her. And what did he mean by fatalities?
The Convenient Bride (The Clearbrooks) Page 16