"Thank you," she said, finding her tongue growing thick.
He bowed over her hand and kissed it. "Your obedient servant, madam." With one last look of amusement, he strode from the stables, leaving her with the rope lying at her feet.
"Help me pull my trunk beneath the window, Milli."
Elizabeth finished tying the rope around her jam-packed trunk and heaved it toward Milli. They were in Lord Harmstead's guest bedchamber, readying for Elizabeth's escape with the romantic Mr. Fennington.
But to Elizabeth's displeasure, instead of her thoughts dwelling on her intended as they rightly should, they veered toward a tall gentleman with buckskin breeches and dark, laughing eyes.
"I think this is a big mistake, Lizzie," Milli grunted, helping her sister move the trunk. "Papa is not going to be happy. Besides, I don't think Mr. Fennington is planning to take all this to Gretna Green. It might slow him down."
"Don't worry about Mr. Fennington. Your job is to stand below the window at midnight. No one will suspect you. I will come down the tree after my trunk. Understand? You are only there to coordinate."
Milli grunted again. "I know you are supposed to have the headache, but can you not come down the stairs like me?"
"No, I cannot. I will be stopped for sure. I am supposed to be ill and will not attend the ball. You are not out, and therefore, not expected to be at the ball. But if you are walking about for some fresh air, who is to stop you?"
After they had pushed the trunk to its desired destination, Milli sat on the ornate luggage, breathing hard and shaking her head. "I don't like it. I don't like Fennington being such a coward that he cannot face Papa. He's acting like one of those dastardly villains in the play I just read."
"He is not a coward. Now, are you with me or not?"
"Okay, okay. I'm with you."
Elizabeth heaved a relieved sigh and sank onto the trunk beside Milli. "Let's go over the plan one more time."
Stephen felt a cool numbness taking over his brain. Whether it was from the wine or the cards, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
He looked around the salon and realized that he and Shelby were the only two men still in the room. The rest of the gentlemen had left to attend to their required dances or other less costly adventures. Another salon in Harmstead Hall hosted lower stake games of faro and whist. But in this room, high stakes had been the order of the night, and those without the ready did not apply their skills.
Beyond the oak doors, the sound of violins lifted in the air like a melodic summer breeze, like the setting of a beautiful dream. But it was no dream at all. It was one devil of a nightmare—one that Stephen had stepped into with his eyes wide open.
And meeting an old friend of his father's earlier today had not helped his disposition. The elderly gentleman had been abroad for years, seeing to his plantation in the Caribbean, and though it was a bit late, he had expressed his sympathy concerning the duke's untimely death to Stephen personally.
Pushing back the unbidden memory, Stephen peered at the bottles of wine beside him and felt his head buzz. Across from him, Shelby leaned back on his chair, puffing on a cigar.
"Have you the blunt or not, my lord?" the man asked, his gray eyes narrowing.
"I can have it for you tomorrow, Shelby. Won't be a problem." Now he had only to contact Brule and tell him he wanted out of that little business deal.
Stephen would have enough money to pay off his debt, but he would not have Creighton Hall back. He would have to buy it back at a later date. His mind raced. But then again, if he waited a bit on the business venture, he could have more money than the Duke of Elbourne. Blast it to hell, he was in a fix!
"... Cash on the barrel, my lord. Those were the rules. As I said, my offer of marriage is the best you will get tonight."
Marriage? The man had used the word a few times in the last minute, but Stephen hadn't been registering much of what Shelby was saying. All he knew was that he did not have the funds at hand to pay the man. But the way Shelby was uttering the word daughter finally pierced through the numbness of Stephen's brain.
"You want me to what?" Stephen choked out.
Shelby rested his cigar on a silver tray beside him and heaved a perceptive sigh. "You heard me correctly. If you have no funds to pay your debt, then this is my final offer.
"You may marry my Elizabeth," the man went on as if he were entering into a business venture with a sheik, "and I will clear you of your debts. Of course, I will give you Creighton Hall back as a wedding present"—Shelby's lips parted with a grin—"or an engagement present, perhaps?"
Stephen stared back, dumbfounded, as an uneven row of yellow teeth reflected back at him. "You're mad."
"Now, your lordship, I know what I'm about. I ain't mad at all. But I believe a special license may be the way of it. It isn't something I take lightly now. Elizabeth is a special girl, my eldest, and not without her merits. Schooled down in Bath with the best of the ton. Knows a few languages. Can watercolor decent enough. Plays the pianoforte with the fingers of an angel and has a heart of gold. Not many girls like her in all of England."
Stephen could bet a hundred pounds on that fact. By heaven, the chit was probably twenty stone and looked exactly like her father. Yet Stephen's honor was at stake here.
"Be doing you a favor, my lord. Why, think of it this way—you won't have to be part of the marriage mart anymore, eh? Stuffy mamas and all that."
Stephen's lips tightened. And he would no longer have Odette. For now it seemed there was no recourse but to agree to the man's insane demand. Shelby might be shrewd but he was not a cheat. The game had been played fair enough.
Stephen dropped a hardened gaze to the empty bottles of wine at the edge of the table and his stomach twisted with guilt. What had he become since his father died? A drunk? A wastrel? A man who thought he could have anything he wanted, including a beautiful woman, and now he had come to this? Would his marriage be like his parents'? No respect, no love? No life at all?
"She may not be a diamond of the first water," Shelby began to idly shuffle the cards, "but as I said before, Elizabeth is not without her merits."
Stephen shifted a wary gaze toward the man who seemed to be choking the life out his dreams. Hell and thunderation! Shelby was serious about this.
"You are demanding that I marry your daughter over a debt of cards? Seems a bit coldhearted, don't you think? Just for a few guineas?"
Shelby's eyes narrowed, cold and calculating. "A debt of more than a few guineas, my lord, lest we forget. As I see it, you have no choice in the matter; that is, unless you want me to go to the head of the family. That would be your brother, the Duke of Elbourne, would it not?"
Stalling for time, Stephen began to twirl the stem of his wineglass. This man had unequivocally made his way to the top of the list of England's richest men by the use of his brains. Not only had Shelby increased his monetary worth, he had also gained Prinny's full attention. The cit was heard to even be on the Regent's Christmas list. He had managed an invitation to the most noted of the ton's balls, soirees, and foxhunts. It was amazing Shelby was not in Brighton right now.
His flamboyant use of money, dropped into the right hands, had earned him everything he wanted—everything but a title. He was accepted in Society, but accepted was different from being born into the ton, or at least that was what Shelby seemed to think. And Zeus if Stephen had not just handed him a titled son-in-law on a silver platter.
"I need time to collect my sum," Stephen said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I can have the money for you by tomorrow." Devil take it. He would sell everything he had to buy back Creighton Hall, too.
Shelby took out his snuffbox and pinched a bit into his nose. "Time? You think I have no knowledge of your past gambling ... and drinking?"
The man glanced purposely at the empty wine bottles. "Knew you would come here tonight. You ain't the kind of fellow who would lose his mother's childhood home and leave it to a man like me.
"Begg
in' your pardon, but you do have a conscience, your lordship. Knew that from the start. I ain't wanting my Elizabeth to have a man without morals, you know. Said I knew all about your fight in the war—Wellington and all that. A good man, you are, if you ain't drinking or gaming. Wellington would vouch for you, I'm certain."
"I am certain he would," Stephen said in a clipped tone.
So the man had planned this, knowing Stephen would fold under the sins of the bottle. Shelby had known all about Creighton Hall, too. It was amazing how sane and sober Stephen felt at the moment. Heaven help him, he'd like to shoot Shelby between the eyes. He could see Creighton Hall, Lady Odette, and his life drifting away like a ship on the distant horizon.
"You may have my hunting lodge as collateral until I make good upon the debt," Stephen offered, trying to compromise with anything but marriage to the man's ugly daughter.
"No. Won't do. My daughter needs a husband."
"A husband?" Stephen said, a steel edge to his voice. "I do believe that what you really want is a lord for a son-in- law."
Shelby flinched, and the ace of spades flew out of the deck and onto the table. "A warning, my lord?" the man uttered, retrieving the card.
"A threat, Shelby, or are you merely coaxing me with sweet words to wed your beautiful daughter?"
Shelby's face reddened. "Now see here. You have lost a considerable amount to me. You have told me that as of this precise moment you are without funds to meet your debt. Therefore, I believe I am being quite generous. Your notes at this time will not do. The stakes were very clear when you entered this room. If you go back on your word, all of London will know you for what you are. Disgrace will follow you like the plague."
Stephen leaned forward, his lips twisting into a cynical grin. "You had this all planned out very well, old man. I have to hand it to you. Very well indeed. Did you ever think that disgrace would follow you if people discovered your wager?"
The fat man smiled, sagged against the back of his chair, and patted his waistcoat. "I pride myself on my accomplishments, my lord. Just as you saved Wellington's life and kept quiet, honor will demand that you still your tongue on tonight's game. However, I have one more stipulation."
Stephen laughed. "Only one?"
"One more," Shelby said seriously, his gaze suddenly turning as cold and hard as the emerald sitting on his fleshy white finger. "You will take my daughter as your bride, but you will never tell her of this day. She will believe this is all of your making. Have I made myself clear?"
Stephen stiffened. "Perfectly."
"Oh, almost forgot. As my future son-in-law, I will pay all your debts. Clear the papers, so to speak." The man's eyes sparkled with self-satisfaction. "What say you to that?"
"I have no other debts, sir, but the debt I owe you." Stephen stood, stuck one hand in his waistcoat and bowed to the man. "Your obedient servant," he said with a cool expression. But he would never be this man's servant, obedient or otherwise.
With that, Stephen strode stiffly from the room, his head spinning with reckless thoughts of duels and endless tours of the continent and America. But he was a gentleman and would do what needed to be done.
As he stepped from the room, he thought he heard a muffled laugh from the man behind him, but the sound was lost in the mingle of voices down the hall. Uttering an oath, he hastened toward the gardens behind the mansion. His steps were hard and purposeful as a cool breeze lifted the lock of hair at his temple, and he tried to lose himself in the shadow of the trees.
"Pssst, you there."
Stephen stopped abruptly, glancing past the winding wisteria to his left. Footsteps padded lightly on the graveled path alongside the mansion. The wind lifted and he was slapped by the overwhelming scent of lavender.
He saw nothing until he took another step toward the giant elm brushing against the bricks of Harmstead Hall. To his amazement, a pair of elflike eyes stared back at him.
Stephen fought back a smile and raised a questioning brow. Why, it was not an elf at all, but a tiny chit dressed in some fluffy green concoction, and from all appearances, she seemed about ten, maybe twelve. Probably one of Lord Harmstead's children, he thought, recalling the games of hide-and-seek he had played as a child with his brothers when his parents had held extravagant parties at Elbourne Hall.
His eyes sought hers and he grimaced. The girl should not be out here alone. Although there was a full moon, and the lamps outside the mansion illuminated the garden quite prettily, dappled shadows concealed places for lovers and predators—places where a little thing like this should never be.
Having a sister himself, Stephen felt his anger rise. Anger at his stupid use of spirits. Anger at his stupid loss. Anger that he had let Lady Odette slip through his fingers. And anger that he had to marry some ugly chit that was probably the spitting image of William Shelby.
"What are you doing out here?" Stephen replied, more sharply than he had intended, giving the girl a hard stare.
He took a step toward her, hovering over her. "You wish a dance, sweetheart?" he said silkily, watching her eyes go wide.
Good! That should scare the tiny thing back to her room
The girl flushed. "Oh, no. I am not out, you know. Papa says I cannot come out until next year. It's a silly rule, I know, because I am almost fifteen. However, I am not out here for worldly pleasures. I am helping my sister. Of course, I would like to be an actress when I grow up, and this will only help me play the part of, well, a secret agent, I believe."
Stephen began to feel his head swim as he tried to put the girl's ramblings into some kind of sense. "A secret agent for a secret rendezvous?"
She nodded with a hesitant smile, then whispered, "I need a rescuer. A knight of old."
Stephen's lips twitched. This little imp reminded him of Emily when she was young. The girl was up to her elfin eyes in mischief and she was not fifteen.
After the hideous events that had occurred in the card room only minutes ago, Stephen felt a little diversion was in order. This girl's sister was probably sent to her room and needed a few desserts from the kitchen. Stephen knew all about that. There were many times Stephen and his brothers had foraged the kitchen before a big soiree at the Duke of Elbourne's home and eaten half the desserts before they were ever laid out.
"Very well, my lady, let me be your knight in shining armor. What is your sister about? Stealing cakes from the kitchen?"
"We are not stealing." The girl's chin stuck out. "We are eloping."
Now that grabbed Stephen's attention. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch. "Ah, eloping. And the age of your sister?"
"Nineteen." The girl pointed to the elm that brushed up against the mansion. "And in a minute or two she is to be coming down that tree."
Stephen raised his head, his eyes narrowing on the flimsy branches near the mansion. The thicker branches stuck far away from the wall.
"And I do not like the man at all, you see—"
The scene was becoming all too clear. "By Jove, nineteen, you say? Which window is it?"
"The one with the rope."
Stephen eyes widened as he took another step beneath the tree, his head still tilted upward. "The rope?" Something about the rope spiked his senses. "And when is this wondrous sister of yours going to climb down that tree?"
He heard a slight whimper and dropped his gaze. The girl looked ready to cry. Fat tears edged the corner of her eyes, and she gave a pitiful sniff.
"A-at the stroke of twelve she is to meet... Mr. Fennington right here ... and then they are off to Gretna Green. I told her that Papa would not like it, but she would not listen to me."
Stephen froze. "Did you say Mr. Fennington?"
When Mr. Fennington had tried to woo Stephen's sister, Lady Emily, all four of her brothers had trussed the man up like a pig ready for slaughter. It was fortunate for him that their mother had come to his aid.
The girl looked up, her gray eyes flashing, her dark hair bouncing about her face. "Yes, the one with t
hat odd quizzing glass. Goodness, you know him, then?" She stepped back, wary. "Are you friend or foe?"
"Foe. And know him? By heaven, I almost killed the man on many occasions."
The girl's eyes rounded with excitement—a fact that made Stephen look at her twice. "He is a fiend, is he not? Like a villain in a Minerva plot?"
Stephen's lips thinned as he watched the girl dance beneath the tree, fisting her hands in the air. "Yes, a veritable fiend." And since when did they let chits her age read the Minerva Press?
"Milli, are you down there?" The husky feminine voice snapped Stephen's gaze back toward the window.
"Your sister, I presume?" he said softly.
Milli gasped. "Yes, and she wants to many that despicable fellow." She grasped Stephen's sleeve, jerking him back and forth like a church bell. "You must help me. We cannot let her do this."
At that moment, Stephen wanted to leave. He had his own problems. Stealing cakes was one thing, stopping an elopement was quite another. But devil take it, Fennington was involved!
This bit of evening entertainment had only added to the tumultuous emotions flaring up inside him. Yet honor reared its ugly head again and he knew he would stay. The thought of his sister almost running off with the bastard made him intervene.
If he could not save himself from a horrid marriage at least he could save one wretched soul from a life of doom, even if she was a stupid female who had fallen for Fennington and that idiotic quizzing glass. Obviously the girl's family was from money because that was Fennington's only motive in marriage.
Stephen placed his hands against the tree, the rough bark riding against his hands. At least he knew the imp's name. "Very well, Milli. I will stop her... for now, at least."
Milli wrapped her arms around him and sobbed. "I knew it the minute I saw you turning the corner. You are a most noble knight, sir. My prayers were surely answered."
Stephen swallowed hard at the girl's innocence. Noble? He was a cad and a drunkard.
He lightly put his hands on her shoulders and lifted her away. "Yes. Well, let us solve this little problem."
The Wagered Bride (The Clearbrooks) Page 4