The Bride Says No

by Cathy Maxwell

  “I suppose to see Miss Sawyer, but Helen Dinwiddie told me she will have nothing to do with him. Everyone is worried about her. She is not eating. She refuses to come out of her room. Her heart is broken—and they hold Tara to blame.”

  Aileen sat very still, trying to comprehend this turn of events.

  “Jane Sawyer must be acting a bit like you,” Sabrina observed.

  That comment cut the confusion in Aileen’s mind. “What do you mean?” she challenged, even as a guilty flush warmed her cheeks.

  “I don’t pry,” Sabrina said, “but you are not yourself. Something happened to bring you to our door in the wee hours of the morning. I wouldn’t push you to discuss it, but with the gossip in town, well, perhaps you need a cousin to confide in?”

  Aileen started to refute any hint that something was wrong, but then realized protests were fruitless. The evidence was too damning. She had not stirred from her uncle’s. Her only concern at Annefield was for Folly’s care and keeping. Other than that, she’d not mentioned her home.

  Furthermore, she could use a confidante, and she trusted Sabrina. Her cousin had been a staunch ally throughout the Crim Con trial and divorce. She’d even traveled to London to be with Aileen, something the earl hadn’t been willing to do. He’d been absent from London during that time, and Tara had been too young to have been of much help. Nor would it have served her well if she had sided with Aileen.

  But Sabrina had come without a care of the social costs or her own father’s disapproval.

  “My mind is a knotted maze from trying to sort everything out,” Aileen confessed. “And I don’t know why. It should be so easy.”

  “What should be so easy?”

  “My feelings for Blake Stephens.”

  “Wait,” Sabrina said, tilting her head in confusion. “Mr. Stephens is betrothed to Tara.”

  “And they should have married in London, but she bolted. She jilted him.”

  “But he is here now.” Sabrina drew her brows together. She adored a mystery. Indeed, she enjoyed her role as the magistrate’s daughter because it gave her access to all of what she called the “very best details.”

  “Aye, he is here,” Aileen agreed, “and I believe I’ve fallen in love with him.” She put a hand up to her mouth, shocked by her admission. She looked to her cousin. “I couldn’t be in love with him. I didn’t mean what I said. We have only just met.”

  “And,” Sabrina said, equally surprised, “he is to marry your sister.”

  “That is why I had to leave. I couldn’t stay in the same house with him. He’s dangerous. Like a tiger.”

  “A tiger?”

  Aileen shook her head. “It is how I imagine him. He can behave like one of those beasts. There is power around him and he never seems ruffled by events, although he can be annoyed.” Oh, yes, she had seen that side of him many times.

  “Is there merit to the gossip in the village?” Sabrina asked.

  “About Tara and Mr. Jamerson? I’m afraid it is true.”

  Sabrina brought her hand down onto the chair seat as if afraid she would fall out of it in amazement. “Tara? With the help?”

  Aileen nodded.

  “He is a handsome man, I’ll grant you that,” Sabrina said. “But so is Mr. Stephens.”

  “The horse master is an uncommonly handsome man, but I actually prefer Mr. Stephens’s looks over Jamerson’s.”

  “Yes, I imagine you would,” Sabrina said with a small touch of irony.

  The insanity of her admission pierced Aileen’s sense of right and wrong. She let out a horrified groan. “What have I done? Why can’t I just be normal? Why couldn’t I have married a man who wasn’t a monster? Or had enough sense to not search for love from Peter who was so weak?”

  “Mr. Stephens is not weak,” Sabrina pointed out. “He’s a tiger.”

  “You will never let me live that down, will you?” Aileen said to her cousin.

  “I’m afraid I can’t. That description was too good to ever forget,” Sabrina assured her with just the merest hint of regret.

  “I didn’t mean to be attracted to Mr. Stephens. He belongs to Tara. They are going to marry.”

  “Which sister is he attracted to?” Sabrina asked.

  “His preferences don’t matter,” Aileen countered. “Not once he spoke for Tara.” She came to her feet and paced a few steps, thinking, before saying to her cousin, “In truth, Sabrina, I don’t know if he cares for me at all. It is possible he just wished to teach Tara a lesson.”

  “He knows about Jamerson?”

  “Yes, he found out. He was upset, and I was close at hand. Then Tara caught Mr. Stephens and me kissing, and I knew I had to leave.”

  Sabrina sat back in her chair with a sound of revelation. “And here I assumed you were living a quiet life.”

  “This is not a joking matter,” Aileen warned. “And discussing this with you, I realize I may have made too much of the situation. He could have been using me to strike back at Tara.”

  “Which I do not believe speaks well for him,” Sabrina returned stoutly.

  “Perhaps not, but it means that I have allowed feelings I should not have to influence my best judgment.”

  “Aileen, think on it, love is a strong word. Perhaps you just have a high regard for him. Or maybe, what with Tara and this disturbing liaison with Mr. Jamerson, you might empathize with Mr. Stephens and, well, be your caring self. You might not like him at all. Not truly.”

  “And imagined I’m in love?”

  “You have known Mr. Stephens—what? A week? One can’t fall in love that quickly.”

  Sabrina was right. “Geoff courted me a year before I had feelings for him. And I’d known Peter most of my life.”

  Sabrina held up a hand as if to stave her off. “Please do not compare Mr. Stephens to Geoff and Peter. He’d be better served if you compared him to my dog Rolf than those men.

  Hearing his name, there was the click of nails on the wood floor as Rolf jumped up from his cushion in the corner and came running. He was a small pup that weighed less than a stone.

  He leaped into Sabrina’s lap. Sabrina laughed and kissed Rolf’s front paws. Her cousin had rescued the pup from some boys who’d been teasing it.

  “Thank you,” Aileen said.

  “For what?” Sabrina asked in surprise, looking up from her pet.

  “For helping me sort out my troubles. I may have read too much into my own feelings, let alone those of others.” She started walking toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to Annefield. If rumors are going around and Mr. Jamerson is standing on the bridge pining for his betrothed, Tara needs me. My being here will only add to the tongue wagging.”

  “What of Mr. Stephens?”

  Aileen paused. “He doesn’t have feelings for me. You are right.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Sabrina said, holding Rolf back as he tried to lick her face.

  “But you gave me a chance to reconsider. If Mr. Stephens did have strong feelings for me, wouldn’t he have shown some sign, such as coming to me? Or at least writing a note?”

  “Or standing on the bridge, staring at your uncle’s house? That would be a sight, with both Mr. Jamerson and Mr. Stephens on General Wade’s Bridge.”

  “That it would, but tigers don’t wait, not for anyone. They either act, or they don’t. Thank you, Sabrina.” Aileen came back in the room to give her cousin a kiss on the cheek, needing to push aside the wiggly Rolf to do so.

  “Good luck to you,” Sabrina said. “And don’t worry about the rumors. I’ve already denounced them and will keep doing so.”

  “I shall see you at Tara’s wedding,” Aileen called as she left the room.

  It did not take long for her to pack. Emory, her uncle’s man, drove her back to Annefield in the pony cart.

  The sun was setting when she arrived, and the lamp over Annefield’s front step had been lit. Ingold opened the door in greeting. “It is good
to have you return,” he said.

  “Is all well?” she asked as Simon took her luggage from her and carried it up the stairs.

  Ingold leaned forward. “Lady Tara has taken a tray in her room. Mr. Stephens ate with his lordship but has returned to his room.”

  “And the earl?”

  “In the dining room.”

  Which meant he was drinking.

  Aileen did not want to see him. “I shall go upstairs,” she said. “Please send a tray to my—”

  “Daughter!” the earl’s voice rang through the hall. He came marching toward her. He had removed his coat, so he was only in waistcoat and shirtsleeves.

  Aileen drew a deep, fortifying breath and plastered a smile on her face. “Hello.”

  “Good to have you home,” he said and then, in the next breath, “Ingold, my coat, my hat. Send someone to have a horse saddled.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The butler motioned for Simon, who was halfway down the stairs after having carried Aileen’s bag to her room, to fetch his lord’s clothing. Ingold himself then went down the hall to send someone out to the stables.

  “You are going out?” Aileen asked, puzzled. “At this hour?”

  “I am indeed. Thought I would go half mad stuck here in the country. Had to keep up appearances, but you are here now, and you can chaperone the lot.” He confided, “You won’t have to worry much. Stephens and Tara are a bit like oil and water. They don’t mingle.”

  Aileen did not like the way her heart gave a happy little start at the information. “Does that bode well for the marriage?” she couldn’t help but ask.

  “The marriage bed will stir them up fine,” the earl predicted. “And if it doesn’t? Well, not my worry.”

  “Where are you going?” Aileen asked.

  The earl did a little jig. “The widow Bossley needs me for a wee visit. She’s been lonely.”

  “Oh, I’m certain she has been,” Aileen murmured.

  Her sire’s response was to laugh. “She sends me letters with fulsome promises for breakfast, supper and dinner. I am most ready to take her up on her offers.” He tapped an impatient foot, a sign he was anxious to be off. “We had a good hunt the other day,” he said as if making conversation.

  Ah, the hunt. After all that had transpired Sunday evening, Aileen had forgotten about it. She was certain that Ingold and Mrs. Watson had seen to matters. They usually did. “That’s good,” she murmured, as anxious for him to leave as he was to go.

  Simon came down the stairs with the garments. The earl smiled and held out his arms for help with the wool jacket in a very stylish bottle green. He tugged on each sleeve, then stopped, as if struck by an idea. “I should tell you, Stephens is interested in the stables. He discussed building his own.”

  “Oh,” Aileen said, not trusting herself to say more on the subject of Blake Stephens.

  “He asked about one of my mares.” He reached for his hat and stepped in front of the small looking glass by the door to check his appearance as he put it on. “You know the mare. You used to ride her. Folly is her name.”

  Aileen stopped breathing, suddenly afraid.

  “Old thing,” her father was saying. “She was a good breeder, but her best days are behind her.”

  “What about Folly?” Aileen’s first thought was that Mr. Stephens had exacted the perfect revenge. If he was angry with her for the other night and for leaving the house, there was no more perfect way to hurt Aileen than to tell the earl that his order to put Folly down had been ignored.

  “He bought her,” the earl announced. “Told me he was interested in breeding stock and had heard of the mare.” He paused and frowned. “I’d thought I’d ordered the mare put down, but fortunately, I have her.” He turned to Aileen. “And let me tell you, I bargained hard with Stephens. He hardly countered for the price. I sold that mare to him for three times her worth. He’ll be keeping her here until he sets up his own place.”

  Aileen thought she would faint from relief. She reached for the stair bannister to steady herself.

  If Aileen had wanted a sign that Mr. Stephens cared for her, she could have asked no better.

  There was a knock on the door. Since he was standing right there, the earl opened it to the stable lad with his horse. The earl shot Aileen a parting grin. “Don’t expect me home, daughter.” He left.

  Had she told Sabrina she “believed” she had fallen in love with Mr. Stephens?

  She now knew.

  Love was not what she’d expected. It wasn’t gallant and noble. No, it was a heady rush of emotion based upon the realization that here, at last, was someone who cared about her as much as she did him.

  Here, at last, was a man she could trust.

  Aileen went charging up the stairs. She bypassed her room and went straight to Mr. Stephens’s door. She did not knock but walked right in.

  He’d best be ready, because she was going to do more than just unceremoniously reenter his life. Oh no, she had come to love him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blake had been feeling as if the world was a bleak place.

  Tara had been doing her best to be pleasing the past two days, and without the artifice of pretention. It was as if she truly wished to marry him.

  But he saw through her now. She was lovely, a fine specimen of the female species . . . but he found he wanted more. He wanted a woman who spoke her own mind and understood that passion for anything had to be genuinely felt for it to matter.

  But that wasn’t the woman he was going to marry.

  Word had been passed around London about his Highland wedding. His cronies and Penevey had sent word that they would be present. The worst moment was when Blake had read in Penevey’s letter that Arthur would be his traveling companion. The time to cry off was past.

  Blake should have let Tara run when she’d first bolted . . . and yet, if he had not given chase, he would not have met Aileen. He would not have learned that his heart was capable of being moved or that he, too, like every other mortal man, yearned for the connection only love for a woman could provide.

  Life had been a shallow experience before he’d met Aileen. Meeting her had been like discovering another half of himself.

  And when this was all over, he and Tara would return to London and the life that would have made sense to him two weeks ago.

  The prospect filled him with emptiness.

  And then the door to his room opened.

  Aileen marched into his room and back into his life.

  She shut the door. For a second, he feared he was conjuring her out of his imagination, and then she smiled. She rushed toward him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with the ferocity of a tigress.

  He had no choice but to kiss her back. It was as if his dreams had come to life.

  She felt good in his arms. She fit so well against him. She was soft and accommodating in the places he was hard—and he was hard.

  Even the scent of her drove him to madness.

  This kiss, the touch of her skin, and the taste of her tongue, tickling and teasing his, set his every nerve on edge. He’d never wanted anything in his life as much as he did Aileen.

  Still, when her hands tugged free the edge of his shirt from his breeches, when she began unbuttoning those breeches, Blake broke the kiss.

  His breathing was labored and deep. His desire for her was very real and obvious between them. “Do you know what you are doing?” he asked.

  A slow, knowledgeable smile curved her lips. She slid her hand between their two bodies. She placed her palm on the length of his erection pressing against his breeches.

  Her boldness stole his breath. With what little sanity he had left, he demanded, “Why?”

  She moved closer to him to press her lips against the line of his jaw. “Because there isn’t another man in the world like Mr. Stephens,” she whispered. “And I am in the mood to make you very happy.”

  There comes a point for a man when blood can be in only one of two places�
��the big head or the little one. He can think, or he can react. He can’t do both.

  Blake had hit that point. Did it matter what drove her? He wanted this woman, and he would have her.

  He backed her onto the bed, the covers thoughtfully turned down by Jones. He attempted to finish unbuttoning his breeches, but his fingers were clumsy.

  Thankfully, Aileen’s weren’t.

  She helped, and he could finally spring free. He pulled her skirts up, tore at the thin lawn of her undergarments.

  The heat of her against his fingers pushed him beyond reason. She had reached the same point. She did not shy away but offered herself to him.

  Sweet, merciful heaven.

  He could not wait another moment or he would disgrace himself. Blake lifted her legs with his forearms. She was completely at his mercy.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, meaning the words as he’d never meant them before.

  “If you don’t do something right now,” she answered, reaching her arms out for him, “I shall scream in frustration.”

  Blake heard himself laugh. She’d surprised him. And delighted him.

  Her desire matched his. She was not afraid to demand action, and he felt himself a very lucky man.

  With one strong thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.

  For a moment, he went still, reveling in her heat, feeling her body stretch, encase and embrace him. This was more than just the primal need of a man for a woman. There was magic in this joining and a sense that, at long last, he’d found where he belonged. With her.

  Beside her.

  In her.

  Her cry let him know he was exactly where she wanted him. And if he released, he knew she would be happy.

  But he wanted to make this a moment that would never be forgotten. So he held himself tight, an act of unbelievable restraint, then slowly began moving inside her.

  Aileen was a vocal lover. Her sighs and well-pleasured moues were the finest encouragement he’d ever received.

  The heat between them built. He found he needed more. He no longer held her legs. She had wrapped them around his waist, holding him to her. He took her by the hips. His thrusts became bolder, more demanding. Her arms gripped his forearms. She was beautiful, she was magnificent, she was glorious. Together they moved toward the moment of completeness, toward fulfillment.