Marrying the American Heiress: A Victorian Historical Romance (Brides of Scandal Book 2)

by Diana Bold

  The truth was, she frightened the hell out of him. He didn’t want to want her. He was terrified of letting her see how much she was starting to mean to him.

  What would happen once the passion between them was spent? When she woke up one morning and realized there were far more interesting men in the world?

  He knew the answer all too well. She’d pack her bags, give him a fond kiss on the cheek, and strike out for bigger and better things.

  As his mother had done, many years ago.

  If she did, jealousy and anger would eat at him, and he’d become the mirror image of his father, a man consumed with bitterness and rage.

  Perhaps that was the greatest fear of all.

  Chapter Six

  The next week passed in a blur of activity. The wedding arrangements proceeded with blinding speed. Once Emma came to terms with the fact that she wasn’t getting married in New York, she readily agreed to all Michael’s plans.

  He’d suggested they have the wedding ceremony at his country estate, Sherbourne Hall. Only a few close friends and family would attend.

  There would be tremendous gossip over the speed and secrecy of their nuptials, but Michael had done what he could to spread the idea that their marriage was a love match. In Emma’s eyes, the rumors were far from the truth, but she knew Michael didn’t want people to know how desperate he’d been for her dowry.

  Since a wedding dress by Worth had been a prerequisite of Emma’s trip to London, there wasn’t a whole lot for her to do. Michael had things well in hand. He’d already arranged for flowers, sent out invitations, and hired a special chef to cook the wedding breakfast.

  As she had suspected, there hadn’t been a single opportunity for the two of them to be alone together. Michael had retreated behind a mask of maddening politeness.

  More than a week passed, and by the night of their formal engagement ball, she was desperate to crack his icy composure. As she donned her gown for the evening, she knew she’d once again found a way.

  “Emma, are you ready…?” Jane’s voice trailed off in alarm when she caught sight of what Emma was wearing. “Dear God. Not again.”

  “Don’t even try to change my mind,” Emma warned her friend. “I want to wear this.” The gown she’d chosen was quite shocking. The flame-red silk hugged her body in all the right places and plunged so low across her bosom nearly nothing was left to the imagination.

  “Well,” Jane muttered, shaking her head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I’m duly warned.” Emma gave her friend a flippant smile, then gazed once more at her mirrored reflection, well pleased. Michael would have a hard time maintaining his icy reserve tonight.

  * * *

  “Lady Jane Bennett. Miss Emma Marks.”

  Michael had been deep in conversation with Julian, his back toward the door, when Wadsworth announced his fiancée and her friend. The growing storm of gasps and whispers made him reluctant to turn around. He shared a quick resigned look with his friend. “Do I even want to know?”

  Julian shook his head. For once in his life, the reckless earl seemed beyond words.

  Michael turned anyway, knowing there was no point in prolonging the inevitable. He caught his breath at the sight that awaited him, catapulted back to the day Emma had received him in her dressing down.

  The color Emma wore held everyone speechless. Apparently, she’d chosen to ignore the societal mold dictating unwed girls wear either white or demure pastels.

  Instead, Emma had chosen a gown of flaming red silk, which showed off her gypsy beauty to perfection. Her pale skin glowed in the candlelight, and her dark hair tumbled around her face in an array of dusky curls.

  Michael had a sudden overwhelming urge to be alone with the vixen he’d agreed to marry. He wanted to slowly strip that outrageous dress from her exquisite young body and make love to her until she was too exhausted to vex him any further.

  “She truly is an amazing woman,” Julian said at last, for Michael’s ears only. “In fact, I’m starting to regret not pursuing her myself.”

  Michael sent his friend a scalding glare, stunned by an unaccustomed surge of jealousy. Mine. The fierceness of the thought made him feel silly and chagrined, but he couldn’t deny it.

  No matter how frustrating, Emma was his.

  Meanwhile, Emma’s steps faltered. All her courage had obviously deserted her in the face of such ponderous disapproval. The Earl of Warren looked ready to expire of apoplexy. The rest of the crowd waited with bated breath to see how Michael would react to his fiancée’s shocking attire.

  Realizing his continued silence fueled the fire, Michael strode forward, his gaze locked with Emma’s. Her dark eyes brimmed with challenge, and he was determined not to disappoint her again.

  “Miss Marks, you take my breath away.” He pitched his voice so everyone in the room would be certain to hear him. “Shall we dance?”

  Emma gave him a brilliant smile. “I’d be honored, Lord Sherbourne.”

  Michael signaled the small orchestra, which had fallen silent after Emma’s entrance. The initial clash of discordant notes made him wince. He avoided his father’s furious gaze, took his future bride’s gloved hand, and led her onto the polished dance floor.

  As he pulled her into his arms, the whispers and gossip started up again. Michael knew his behavior had shocked the ton even more than Emma’s. He had a well-deserved reputation for being a stickler for the rules, a cold fish, and a dreadful snob.

  “You certainly know how to make an entrance,” he told her as they began to dance.

  “You’re not angry?” She seemed surprised, unsure herself in a way he knew she seldom was.

  “Was that your intent? To make me angry?” He kept his voice low, unwilling to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing him question her.

  “No, that wasn’t my intent.” She sighed and stared at a point behind his head, refusing to meet his gaze. “I suppose I wanted to shock you. To entice you, perhaps.”

  “Well, you succeeded magnificently.” His gaze dropped to the plunging neckline of her gown, where the creamy fullness of her breasts strained against the red silk. “I am enticed beyond words.”

  She finally met his gaze and, for a long moment, the world fell away. Nothing mattered except Emma, the music, and the way she felt in his arms.

  “Does this mean I might be able to coax you out to the terrace again tonight?” Her hand tightened around his. “I need to spend some time alone with you, Michael. You’ve been so distant this past week… I fear I’m having doubts again.”

  He glanced surreptitiously around, wrenched back to the present. His upbringing had made it impossible to live in the moment or to flaunt society’s expectations.

  Everyone would be watching them. They couldn’t sneak away from a party in their honor without creating another firestorm of gossip.

  But he wanted to take her out on the terrace. He wanted it with an intensity that took his breath away.

  “I’d like to be alone with you, but I’m afraid it simply isn’t possible.” He shook his head, wishing he was someone else, wishing he was the kind of man she wanted him to be. “Perhaps you’re right. I’m really not very good at courting, am I? I’m good arranging things and making lists, but I seem to be very bad at whispering sweet words.”

  She laughed. “You’re very good at kissing me, Michael. And that’s really all that matters.”

  Unbelievable, that she was willing to dismiss all his other faults, simply because of the passion they shared. He’d never known such a contrary, exasperating female.

  He’d never been so enchanted.

  “Tonight, we must make at least a show of propriety,” he told her with regret. “But soon there won’t be anything standing between us.” His blood pulsed hot and heavy at the very thought.

  She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in a gesture he found unbearably erotic. “All right,” she told him, her voice heavy with resignation. “But I expect you to ma
ke the wait worth my while.”

  * * *

  Once again, Emma found herself reevaluating everything she thought she’d known about her future husband.

  His reaction to her gown had been exactly what she’d hope for, but the very last thing she’d expected. There had been true admiration in his eyes when he’d seen her, even a bit of amusement at her attempts to flout convention.

  By stating his approval for everyone to hear, he’d made it impossible for anyone to snub her, and then, when they’d danced, he’d let down his guard and showed her that sweet tender side of him she desperately wanted to get to know.

  The rest of the evening passed in a wonderful blur. Michael remained at her side, deftly keeping Emma separated from the earl, who expression grew more irate with each passing moment. She ignored her future father-in-law, too pleased with Michael’s abrupt change in behavior to let Warren’s annoyance touch her.

  The last of her doubt vanished like smoke in the wind. Just two more weeks, she reminded herself. Two more weeks of distance and loneliness and then Michael would be hers.

  * * *

  Emma chafed with impatience as her father’s scheduled arrival from New York drew near. They hadn’t seen each other since her mother had passed away last winter, and she ached for his blustery solid presence.

  So, it was to her very great surprise and delight when her butler interrupted her during breakfast to tell her Blackjack Marks had arrived a full day ahead of schedule. She raced down the hall with unladylike haste and found her father in the foyer, directing his entourage of servants as they carried in his luggage.

  “You’re here!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms. “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

  Jack laughed and hugged her so tightly she could barely breathe. “Oh, sweetheart. I came over on one of my newest acquisitions—bought the whole damned shipping yard, don’t you know—and I couldn’t resist seeing what the old girl could do.”

  Emma took a deep breath of her father’s distinctive scent—tobacco, leather, and something woodsy. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you terribly.”

  Jack held her a moment longer, then let her go. “Let me have a look at you.” He spun her around in a dizzying rush. “Lovelier than ever,” he pronounced. “No wonder these English chaps couldn’t resist you.”

  Emma beamed at her father’s assessment, but she’d been surveying him as well and was dismayed to see how much he’d aged since they’d last parted. He was still big and hearty, his dark hair and beard untouched by gray, as unruly as ever. But lines of sadness etched his face, and his dark eyes no longer twinkled.

  “I only wish Mother could be here with us.” Emma forced herself to mention the ghost who stood between them, because she knew her father would never do so. “She would have liked Lord Sherbourne.”

  Her father nodded and looked away. “Yes, I’m sure she would have. She would be very proud of you, honey.”

  She blinked away threatening tears. “I wish you could have made it in time for the engagement party. It went brilliantly.”

  Jack frowned and leaned against the banister at the foot of the grand staircase. “You should have waited until I arrived. I’m not at all comfortable with the speed at which things are progressing. Surely, your young man can wait long enough to get his hands on your dowry to give you the kind of wedding you deserve.”

  She bit her lip, hating this reminder of Michael’s true motives. “I’ve come to understand the wedding itself doesn’t matter, as long as I’m happy about who I’m marrying.”

  “But what about all your plans?” Jack questioned. “I know how much it meant for you to marry at Saint James’ church.”

  “I only wanted everyone who had shunned me see what a glorious match I’d made,” she admitted. “But I’ve come to realize a frontpage announcement in the New York Times would suit me just as well.”

  Jack gave a hearty laugh. “Consider it done.” Then he sobered and cleared his throat. “I’ve drawn up the marriage contract, honey. You’re getting a lump sum, plus a generous yearly income, but the terms of the contract will ensure that you retain some control over how it’s spent.” He shook his head. “I’ve heard stories of heiresses whose husbands ran through their dowries in a matter of months, then shipped them off to rot at some remote country estate while they returned to their mistresses.”

  A chill traveled down Emma’s spine at the picture her father portrayed. “Michael would never do such a terrible thing.”

  “I certainly hope not. But it doesn’t matter. We’re not going to give him the opportunity. By the time my lawyers are through with him, he’ll have to ask your permission to piss.”

  She shook her head, filled with foreboding. “He’s very proud, Father. I fear he’ll call the entire wedding off, rather than sign such a thing.”

  “He needs your dowry too badly.” That stubborn bullheaded look she knew all too well settled over Jack’s features. “He’ll sign, Emma. I’d bet my life on it.”

  It was futile to argue with her father once he had set his mind to something. But if Jack had his way, the troubles between her and Michael would be far from over.

  “Meet him first,” she coaxed. “See for yourself what sort of man he is. Then, if you still have misgivings, we’ll talk about a marriage contract.”

  Jack gave her a long measuring look, then nodded. “All right. Summon your young man. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  * * *

  Dearest Michael,

  Come quickly! My father has finally arrived, and I can’t wait for you to meet him.

  Love, Emma

  Love.

  Michael knew his exuberant, affectionate fiancée probably ended all her letters with such overblown sentiment. Still, he ran his fingertip over the word, unaccountably pleased.

  He cast an impatient glance out his coach window, relieved to see Emma’s house just ahead. He’d received her note less than half an hour ago and had rushed over as soon as possible, determined to make a good impression on his future father-in-law.

  Although he tried to tell himself he merely wanted to ensure the largest possible marriage settlement, deep down he knew it was far more than that. Emma obviously loved her father, and Michael wanted Mr. Marks to approve of his daughter’s choice.

  Finally, he arrived. This time, the taciturn butler graced him with a small smile. “Right this way, my lord. They’re waiting for you in the sitting room.”

  Michael followed the old man to a room near the back of the house, which was much cozier than the other room where Emma had received him. Decorated in soothing shades of blue with white molding, this was obviously the heart of the house.

  Emma sat in an overstuffed blue and white striped chair, laughing at something her father had just said. For a moment, Michael stood in the doorway and stared at his beautiful fiancée. He wished she was already his wife. He was tired of waiting, tired of hiding everything he felt for her.

  Laughter suited her very well. He hoped he’d somehow find it in himself to keep her laughing through all the long years that lay ahead of them.

  Sensing his gaze, Emma turned. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Michael,” she exclaimed. She bounded gracefully to her feet and crossed the room to his side. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  Jack Marks stood as well, turning to look at Michael with frank speculation. The American was huge. He topped Michael’s considerable height by several inches, and his chest and arms bulged with muscle. But his dark eyes burned with ambition and sharp intelligence.

  Around the eyes at least, the resemblance between father and daughter was quite astonishing.

  “Sherbourne,” Marks boomed, his voice as big as the rest of him. He gave Michael a broad smile and extended his large paw of a hand. “Good to meet you, son.”

  Son? Michael almost laughed. Despite the lengths to which his daughter had gone to get it, Jack Marks didn’t appear at all impressed wi
th Michael’s title.

  “The pleasure is mine,” Michael assured the older man. He returned the American’s strong handshake with an extra measure of pressure. Jack Marks was obviously the sort of man who would be far more impressed with Michael’s pugilism skills than his old and distinguished family name.

  Emma watched the exchange very carefully, and Michael realized how nervous she’d been about this meeting. “Sit down,” she instructed, her relief evident. “We were just about to have tea.”

  Michael sat beside Marks, while Emma poured the tea and passed them dainty little biscuits on porcelain plates. Marks settled his plate awkwardly on one knee, gazing upon his daughter with obvious delight. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Michael cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. She certainly is.”

  “If you hurt her, I’ll destroy you,” Marks continued, still in a pleasant undertone.

  “Of course.” Michael tried to duplicate the other man’s casual tone. “I understand completely.”

  “Do you?” Mark’s turned his burning gaze on Michael. “She seems quite taken with you, but you may as well know I have grave doubts about the entire arrangement.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Emma interrupted, new alarm entering her voice. “Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

  Marks gave an easy laugh. “I’m merely getting to know your young man, Emma.”

  Michael also managed a reassuring smile. “I was just telling your father how much I admire his accomplishments. His financial genius is legendary.”

  In truth, Michael did admire Marks. There were many things England could learn from America. He liked the thought of a society where a man’s worth wasn’t judged by the order and prominence of his birth.

  England’s class system had produced far too many men like the Earl of Warren.

  Marks chuckled. “I like your style, Sherbourne. But Emma obviously isn’t going to leave us alone long enough for us to discuss this matter thoroughly. Care to go for a ride?”