"He's an idiot," Kingsdale said with a scowl.
"Indeed, but I don't think he knows it." Briana didn't like being in Kingsdale's arms, and she immediately wondered if she would have been safer with Sir Gerald. That knock to her head must have scrambled her brain. Nevertheless, she had to temper her anger or she would never rid herself of this man.
"What made you change your mind about dancing with me? Was it Lord Clayton? Or that peabrain we left behind?"
"I said I would dance with you and I am doing so."
"You were never a good liar, my dear. In fact, that is one thing I liked about you."
His eyes darkened as he tightened his hold on her. "Afraid?"
"This is just a dance between two people, my lord, nothing more."
Irritated, Briana avoided his gaze by looking over his shoulder, only to catch sight of Clayton staring directly at her. She faltered a step.
"Tired?" Kingsdale said, still holding on to her elbow when the music ended.
"Yes. Perhaps I should call it a night."
Kingsdale smiled as he escorted her off the dance floor. "So you are not afraid of me, then? I thought perhaps you wanted to rid yourself of my presence as soon as possible."
"No, but you must understand there is nothing between us, now or in the future."
He was directing her toward the terrace, and she went with him, knowing in the back of her mind that it was a bit reckless, but she really didn't have time to dawdle. She had a mission to accomplish. She had to set this man straight before things got out of hand. They would not go far. The terrace was within sight of the ballroom, after all.
"I think you are wrong, Miss Garland. We have always had a connection of some kind. You cannot deny it."
His arrogance was unbelievable. A warm breeze caressed her cheeks as she stepped outside. She stopped a little ways from the terrace and turned to him, her chin set.
"A connection for you is a stepping-stone to marriage, my lord. I don't love you and I never will."
"You did once." His tone had become chilly.
The man was living in another world. "No, you only thought I did. We had some things in common, but nothing significant."
"I disagree. You know more about Egypt than most lecturers on the subject. You have a great understanding, Miss Garland. We could do well together."
Briana realized they were close enough for other people to hear their conversation. She moved down the steps, beneath the trees, but still in sight of the ballroom. "I will make this perfectly clear, my lord. I don't want to marry you or anyone, ever."
His entire body seemed to change. "Why, because of your sister?"
His words stunned her. "How—how dare you speak of my sister. You know nothing about her."
"I know she was with child when she died."
Briana felt the color leave her face. "Do you know the man?"
"Perhaps I do."
He took hold of her arm and escorted her beyond the sight of the dancers. She let him because she wanted to know the truth. He would not dare lay a finger on her at Grimstoke's party.
"Would you marry me if I told you?" He stopped and glanced down at her, his lips twisting into a cynical smile.
She shook her head, realizing she had been a fool to let him draw her away from the party. "I want to return."
He grabbed her hand. "Think about it, my dear. I could take you to Egypt. We could travel to all those places you've seen in your books. I know people who enjoy what you can only dream of doing. We could explore pyramids and tombs. Delve into life and death. This English Society is such a bore. We could live like the pharaohs. I will have money soon. More money than you could ever imagine."
Briana slipped easily from his grip, glancing over her shoulder. She had to return to the ballroom. He was so engrossed in ancient Egyptian lore, he didn't know reality anymore.
"I wanted to know about my sister. But it seems you lured me here without intending to tell me anything, because you don't know any facts at all. And to set matters straight, I don't want your money."
"But I want you." The pain that flickered in his eyes touched her. "My baby brother was killed in that hateful war. The Regent should have stopped Boney long ago. I don't have anyone anymore. Don't you see? You could make my life complete."
His eyes pleaded with her, and for a moment she almost stupidly reached out to him.
"You would make me whole again, my dear. I have a few things in England I have to consider, but after that I will be free to travel."
The man was playing with her emotions as if they were toys to be discarded at a moment's notice. "I appreciate your offer, my lord, but I cannot accept."
His jaw hardened and he jerked her toward him, grabbing her pearls in his fist. "Cannot or will not?"
She gasped, aware of the dangerous glint in his eye. She tore herself away, slightly ripping the delicate outer bodice of her gown.
"Is it someone else, Miss Garland?” He sneered. “Or have I not been forgiven for leaving you those years ago?"
Gulping, she grasped the small tear in her gown. He was in his own demented world. Him leave her? She was the one who had rejected his offer. "I have no need to marry, my lord," she said as calmly as she could. "No need at all."
He took hold of her chin, tilting her face toward his. "You will. I hear our host is quite the champion of innocent maidens. If he finds us alone and you with that small tear in your gown, for which, my dear, I am heartily sorry, he may demand a wedding. The archbishop visits the neighboring village this time of year."
The blood drained from her face. Violet had said as much.
He laughed then, patted her cheek and dropped his hand. "Never fear, I won't force you. What are a few more weeks to change your mind?"
She glared at him, refusing to cower.
"Ah, still the prim and proper miss? But I like that. Indeed, I do. You have the royal blood of the pharaohs, my dear. I can see it in your eyes, green as the calmest sea yet glinting with a cool radiance that can bend a man to your will."
Realizing he was letting her go, she fled from his side, skirting the terrace and hurrying through another door into the hall. No excuse could ever cover the tear in her gown.
Fighting back the fear that Lord Kingsdale was following her, she rushed up the stairs. She heard a voice and hurried into the library, closing the door behind her. The man was insane. If he hadn't mentioned Clarice, she would never have fallen into his trap.
She gazed about the room, her hands shaking. Fingers of moonlight fanned through the slight opening in the curtains, while a tiny glow of dying embers illuminated the hearth.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself.
If he were following her, she would stay here until she felt safe. Her bedchambers were another flight up. She swallowed lightly. Perhaps she could continue her search for the missive.
She crossed the room and picked up a candlestick, lighting it from the smoldering remains of the fire. She noticed the writing box had been moved since her encounter with Lord Clayton. Could that be a sign?
Hope spiraled within her. Could this hold what she was looking for? Heart hammering wildly, she sank into the chair and dragged the writing box toward her. She frantically searched about for the release mechanism Violet had mentioned. The lonely flame beside her wasn't enough. She couldn't see the details—
"Writing secret letters, Miss Garland?"
Briana inhaled sharply, letting the writing box fall to her lap. She slowly turned toward the tall shadow looming near the curtains. In the dim candlelight she had missed him, but she couldn't mistake the deep voice that she had known since childhood.
"You should have made yourself known, my lord."
Lord Clayton moved toward her, his eyes gleaming like sapphires in the glow of the candle. "Did your rendezvous with Kingsdale end early?"
She froze, her senses going numb.
He took another step and stopped, clasping his hands behind his back. "Come now,
Miss Garland, we both know the man is more than fond of you. Why have you run from him? I saw you on the terrace and then the two of you disappeared."
A deep silence blanketed the room, increasing the tension between them. She couldn't think of a response. Her tongue felt like the down of her pillow. Could he be part of the assassination plot? No, it was impossible.
She nervously fingered the writing box while swinging her gaze toward the door. The walls of the library seemed to be closing in on her. What could she do? What should she do?
"Why are you here, I ask myself," he said, breaking into her reverie. "I wonder, could it be the same reason as I?"
Merciful heavens! Could Clayton be part of the conspiracy? Or was he taking Agatha's chaperone suggestion to heart?
She peered up at him, noting the light shadows dancing along his jaw. The lines around his mouth were harsh and unforgiving.
He had taken her completely by surprise more than once, but this was the outside of enough. Why was he here? What was going through his head? "I had a headache, my lord, and needed some time alone. So, if you don't mind leaving—"
He let out a sardonic laugh that prickled her skin. "I needed some time alone, too, you see. I have been in this room only a few minutes. I left the soirée as soon as I saw you with Kingsdale." His voice seemed strained, but there was a hint of his usual arrogance in it that irked her.
The embers from the fireplace glowed eerily throughout the room. She stood, setting the box in front of her. He was watching her intently. He moved to sit on the corner of the desk.
Her throat tightened, and she felt a blush work its way up her neck.
"I like books just as much as you do, Miss Garland. In fact, the Elbourne library became my second home. I remember when you were staying there one summer and you confiscated all my books on planetary movement. I was livid to discover they were gone."
She remembered that, too. A small smile lifted the corner of her mouth. "If I recall correctly, I was studying Galileo's theory of gravity."
"You always had a fertile mind. I think that's what I liked most about you"—he paused and leaned toward her—"among other things."
Among other things. The aroma of bayberry broke her defenses and her heart leapt to her throat. He was too close. She moved away and accidentally bumped the candle, killing the flame and sending the wax spilling onto the floor.
The silence of the room engulfed them as their outlines danced against the tiny glow of the fireplace. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak.
"I was going to write a letter," she blurted, colliding with the chair. What a pitiful excuse!
"Really?" he said, rising, coming around the desk, blocking the fireplace. "How very unusual. In the middle of the night? While there is dancing going on downstairs?"
His voice lacked the usual charm, and again she wondered why he was walking the library at such a strange hour. What did he want from her?
"I said I had a headache, my lord." She tried to move, but the chair blocked her way. She needed to get away from him.
"I don't believe you. Tell me the truth. Was Kingsdale the reason you fled?"
She leaned into the chair. "I should be leaving. If you want to stand here all night—"
Before she knew it, he had wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pushing the chair away and pulling her toward him.
The red embers illuminated his face. His expression was hard, his eyes fixed. "Were you going to meet Kingsdale here?"
She shoved at him, hurt by his accusation. "I don't know what you're talking about. And I don't know why you are interested in my affairs at all, unless you are jealous."
"Jealous? Of Kingsdale? The man is not the marrying type, no matter what he says." He glared at her and fingered the rip in her gown. His jaw stiffened.
"Did he hurt you?" His hold on her slackened, and he seemed genuinely concerned.
Puzzled by his change in mood, she lowered her gaze. There was so much about this man that was kind and decent, she was afraid she might fall in love with him and be unhappy the rest of her life. But he wanted a convenient bride, someone who would look the other way, and Briana could never do that.
She looked up. "Lord Kingsdale wants to marry me."
His hand slipped down to her wrist while eerie shadows played across his sharp features. He seemed to be smiling. "But you won't marry the man because you love me."
She blinked, thinking she had heard incorrectly. "I what?"
"You love me." He said the words with such utter conviction, she wanted to box his ears.
"I certainly do not." Or at least she wasn't about to tell him she did.
"You do. You don't want to admit it because I hurt you."
She spun away, giving him her back. "You want a wife to satisfy your family. I won't be a party to that kind of marriage."
"You're wrong." She could almost feel the tenderness of his consuming gaze. "I want you."
He came from behind her, circling her waist with his strong hands. His palm spread across her stomach and his breath was a warm puff against her neck. "I want you."
The words twisted her heart. "No," she said softly.
When he said nothing, she turned in his arms. A knot rose in her throat as she faced him. "I made a vow. I won't marry, my lord."
His hands moved to hers, holding them. The gentle strength of his touch stirred her. She wanted to fall into his arms, tell him her worries, trust him. But it wouldn't work. Her past had taught her not to put her life in any man's hands, mentally or physically.
"Emily told me about your house for women. I can help."
She stiffened. He would ruin everything. "She should never have told you. I don't want any help."
"I want to help."
She was imprisoned between him and the desk. "I don't need your help. I don't need anyone's help."
"I won't hurt you. I'm not like Kingsdale—or your father."
What did he know about her father? Yet his voice was soothing, breaking down the barriers around her heart.
"You must know I adore freckles." His finger trailed along her nose. "Especially Fairy Lady feckles."
There was a hint of humor in his voice that made her giggle. "You are very wicked, my lord."
"I know," he whispered. In one swift move, his hand pressed gently on her neck and he kissed her.
Without warning, the pearls—accidentally loosened from Lord Kingsdale's grip during their earlier encounter—fell off the string and clattered to the desk. At that exact moment the door swung open, letting the light from the hall sconces shine into the room. To her horror. Lord Grimstoke stood on the threshold, his expression cold and quite determined.
"What the devil is going on in here?"
Briana drew in a sharp breath, and Lord Clayton pushed her behind him. "Nothing," Lord Clayton replied coolly.
"I am not addlebrained," Grimstoke replied, stalking into the room and lighting a small lantern he pulled from the shelf.
Briana hadn't moved, but from this angle Grimstoke's dark eyes traveled over the small tear in her gown and the scattered pearls. He shot a disgusted glance toward Lord Clayton. "I will not be subject to any of that in my home!"
Lord Clayton stiffened beside her.
A burning embarrassment swept through Briana as she stepped forward. Clayton caught her elbow. "Don't say a thing," he commanded in a low tone.
"You have compromised a lady, my lord," Grimstoke declared.
"But, Papa—"
Briana's gaze shifted to the door, where Violet stood, wringing her hands.
"You should not have had to see this, Violet. But now that you have, I will demand satisfaction." Grimstoke placed the lantern on the desk, scattering the pearls even more. "And since Miss Appleby is ill and this is my home, I take full responsibility for Miss Garland."
Briana shrugged out of Clayton's grip. "But my lord—"
Grimstoke cut her off. "I thought better of you, child. You will marry this man before you leave
here. Do you understand?"
Briana opened and closed her mouth as she stared at Violet's white face. It was a compromising situation, but marriage?
"I'll see to the matters," Clayton replied stiffly. "The archbishop is staying in the nearby village. I can obtain the special license tomorrow."
"Then you will marry tomorrow," Grimstoke replied hotly. "There are some who were already mentioning your disappearance at the dance, my girl."
Briana's throat started to close. If only she had not worn this gown, she could have easily blended into the crowd. If only Emily had not interfered with her wardrobe. Oh, this was such a mess. "I can explain—"
"It matters not, Miss Garland. Some of my guests have noted Lord Clayton's departure as well. Explanations will do nothing."
He gave her a critical look. "Especially after this! It would do well for you to stay in your chambers until this situation is taken care of. I will act as your father on this. In fact, depend upon it, I am determined to keep this secret until you are wed."
A vile heat shot through Briana as she tried to explain. "But this is all a silly misunderstanding."
Clayton snatched her wrist "It must be done," he hissed, turning his back to Grimstoke, "or your reputation will be ruined."
Briana stood in stunned silence. The reality of what was happening finally dawned on her. "You planned this."
Clayton's face hardened.
Briana flushed. "Of course," she whispered. "Silence is always the best defense, is it not my lord?"
"Violet fetch a shawl for Miss Garland," Grimstoke interrupted. "Can't have the lady walking the halls with a torn gown. Looks like a ladybird from Vauxhall Gardens."
Clayton spun around. "You are speaking to my future wife. I will not fail to set you straight if you utter one more word in that direction, Grimstoke, your home or not."
Grimstoke's lips tightened. "I have plans for Violet. Guilt by association, don't you know?"
Briana thought her host absurd. This entire situation was absurd! "Violet wasn't compromised in the least, my lord—"
Lord Clayton grabbed her arm, stopping her. "You may explain to your guests that we had this planned from the very start," he commanded Grimstoke. "Do we have an understanding?"
The Convenient Bride (The Clearbrooks) Page 17