The Wagered Bride (The Clearbrooks)

by McCarthy, Teresa

  Milli backed up, her mouth tilted into a full grin. "How exciting. This is like a play at Drury Lane, is it not?"

  Startled, Stephen stared back at the girl. Drury Lane, indeed. There was no trace of tears on her smiling cheeks. And innocent, he thought, his senses coming to full alert. Her acting could put Drury Lane to shame! And where in the blazes was that dashed lavender bouquet coming from? It seemed as if she had poured an entire bottle of the scent on herself.

  "Milli," the husky voice whispered again. "Are you down there?"

  Milli looked up and squeezed Stephen's arm. "Yes."

  "Well, step away from the tree, dearest."

  At the sound of the voice once again, Stephen felt a pleasurable, yet familiar, tug at his brain. The lady's voice reminded him of the whisper of silk on a winter day. It was inviting, but oddly innocent and pure. Where had he heard it before?

  Milli stared at Stephen as if she wanted him to say something back to her sister. But he held back the urge to shout and decided to follow through with the scenario. It might be the only reckless thing he ever did again.

  "Oh," Milli said, her voice trembling with emotion as she raised her gaze, "I think she might kill herself."

  After gauging the distance to the ground, Stephen thought the very same thing. "Dash it all," he said to Milli. "Move aside, imp, I'll catch your sister if she falls."

  Milli nodded and moved away. "Thank you, dear knight."

  Stephen bit back a groan at the girl's lavish adoration. This was all he needed tonight. But he had no intention of catching the descending female. He intended to give her a piece of his mind instead.

  "What is your sister's name, Milli?"

  She opened her mouth to answer when the branches rattled above them, and there was a shout from above.

  "Watch out! Here it comes."

  Before Stephen knew it, something hard came crashing onto his chest. Uttering an oath, he fell to the ground with a thud. A blinding pain shot through his shoulders and he lay flat on his back with a sharp rock pushing against his spine.

  Muttering another curse, he shook his head and looked to his left. Beside him sat an ornate gold-leafed trunk, worthy of the king himself. Must have weighed a ton, too!

  "Hell's teeth! What kind of trunk is that?" Clothing of some kind came flying out of the window and landed on his head.

  "Catch my cloak, Milli," the husky voice added in a low hush. "It might prove a bit cumbersome when I climb down."

  "Cumbersome is too tame, madam," Stephen mumbled as he threw the cloak off his head, pain shooting down his arm.

  By heaven, this was the end!

  But just as Stephen was about to rise, he glanced up, his eyes widening at the sight of one creamy white calf shining in the moonlight. He blinked.

  "That was the new trunk she got from Papa on her last birthday," Milli whispered in his ears. "Are you all right? Did you break something?"

  Stephen gritted his teeth, wondering what star he had been born under to deserve all this tonight. "Break something? Ruined my future is more like it."

  "I see her leg," Milli said.

  "So do I," Stephen answered, his head throbbing, but not enough for him to stop staring.

  "Do something, you ninny."

  Stephen blinked again. Was this schoolgirl calling him names?

  "Goodness gracious! She's climbing down. Oh, fudge. She has never been a good climber."

  Brushing a hand over his bruised shoulder, Stephen immediately realized the danger. "Move aside, Milli. Plague take it! Looks as if I may have to catch your sister after all."

  "Oh, oh, I cannot hold on—"

  Stephen planted his feet apart, enough to brace himself for the fall. The impact of the trunk had been nothing compared to the bang of the woman against his chest. He was slammed to the ground as if he had been knocked down by three of his brothers.

  "Mr. Fennington ... you saved me."

  The breathless words were said with such insanity and love that Stephen wanted to box the girl's ears.

  "I am not Mr. Fennington, madam. And if you would kindly roll off my chest, I could begin to breathe again."

  Elizabeth jumped up and stood with her back against the tree, watching in shock as two glittering eyes glared back at her. She gathered her traveling dress, ripped at the shoulder, and stared back in dismay.

  She could not quite see the man's face because he was still sitting in the shadows, but the sheen of the moon illuminated that angry gaze as if it belonged to a sleek black panther she’d seen drawings of in her Papa’s library books. A sudden shiver swept through her as the man uttered an oath and stood.

  She pressed a hand to her mouth when he stepped into the moonlight. "It's you!" It was the man from the stables, but he didn't seem to hear her.

  "That was the most dangerous, stupid, idiotic act I have ever seen in my life!"

  Elizabeth lifted her chin, but inwardly her heart was beating like that of a mouse cornered by a cat.

  She remembered all too well the athletic-looking man in the stables with his wavy chestnut hair and warm brown gaze. But it wasn't warm now. It was as cold as the icicles outside her window in the winter. He brushed a hand through his dark locks, and memories of his kiss lingered in her mind.

  She swallowed as his large form shadowed over her, blocking her view. "I will, er, reimburse you for your clothing, sir."

  Dark eyes flashed as he pulled the torn jacket from his shoulders. "You think your intended would allow you to pay for a gentleman's clothing? How half-witted do you think I am?"

  His words were said with such contempt she felt the insult all the way down to her toes. Why, he had no idea they had met before. Her mouth opened and closed as she pushed her back into the tree, feeling its bark scratching against her spine.

  Yet, to be quite honest, it was this man's casual elegance that unnerved her. He was a lord. She knew that from Odette's previous rendezvous with him. But there were no brass buttons, no waterfall cravats, no ornate jewelry. His clothes seemed simple and clean—before she had knocked him down, that is. Moreover, there was something about the way he wore them that set him apart from the other gentlemen. He emitted a certain masculine charm that turned her knees to jelly.

  Regarding him, she could see that he was much more muscular than Mr. Fennington. Humiliation welled up inside her. How could she have mistaken him for her fiancé?

  His eyes gleamed with humor and a sparkle of recognition as he continued to stare at her. "The girl from the stables, I see."

  He remembered her, did he? She might not be as pretty as Odette, but at least Mr. Fennington wanted her. She lifted a haughty brow. "My fiancé will not mind clothing a man in need, sir."

  The man's face became taut, and for the first time Elizabeth noticed Milli standing in front of her trunk, watching the exchange with wide innocent eyes.

  Elizabeth bit her lip, regretting her outburst instantly. Why, she had never treated anyone so outrageously. This man had saved her life, and he had every right to be riled after her idiotic descent from the window.

  "Sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I will not need your assistance in my choice of wardrobe. I regret I am to marry soon."

  Her cheeks burned. "That is not what I meant, and you know it." He laughed then, a deep resounding rumble from his chest, making him look even more handsome than he had in the stables.

  "You think this funny?" she asked, shaking her free fist at him while the other fist held her gown together.

  "Hilarious, madam."

  Milli let out a snort of amusement and Elizabeth's icy gaze shot to her. "Sorry," Milli said, lowering her eyes as she sat upon the trunk.

  Elizabeth's temper soared. This man was laughing at her as if she were some silly chit. Mr. Fennington was a true gentleman—not at all like this man. Her fiancé would never laugh at her like some uncaring beast. And where was Mr. Fennington, anyway?

  Anxiety at the break in her plans soon replaced her rising anger. She needed to
rid herself of this detestable lord if she still wanted to make her escape tonight. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the emotions surging through her.

  "I thank you for breaking my fall," she said, her tone softening. "However, I am no longer in need of your chivalry. If you would be so kind as to leave, I will be on my way."

  The smile in the man's eyes died. Before she could open her mouth, her sister did.

  "Lizzie, the man did save your life, and, well, he seems to know Mr. Fennington, too."

  A sinking sensation filled Elizabeth as she took in the lord's taut expression when Milli mentioned Mr. Fennington. "You may leave, sir. As you can see, I am not injured. I have no more need of you."

  "Too devilish bad," the lord drawled, his gaze locking on an approaching form. Then her dratted rescuer moved into the shadows, appearing even larger than he had only seconds ago.

  Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder as a familiar blond head came into view. Relief swept through her.

  "Oh, Mr. Fennington," she whispered. "Over here."

  "I fail to see what whispering will do," the man beside her interjected with a sarcastic snort. "If we have not awakened the entire ballroom by now, you may rest assured you are safe to speak." He shifted back a step and glared at her bare shoulder.

  With a quick hand, Elizabeth scooted the material higher, scowling back at him.

  "Ah, dearest, I knew you would not fail me. I have the carriage waiting." Fennington walked up to Elizabeth, his huge quizzing glass in hand as he surveyed her appearance. "But my dear, whatever happened?"

  "She fell," came the deep baritone voice from the shadows.

  Fennington's quizzing glass dropped to his side. "You!"

  "Me." The lord's face took on a threatening twist.

  Elizabeth's heart pounded wildly as the tension in the air thickened to the consistency of Cook's holiday pudding. She was surprised when Fennington took a step back. Her fiancé's reaction bruised her pride. Was he afraid of the man?

  "Mr. Fennington," she said with a little laugh, "the most peculiar thing happened. I was coming down that tree and thought you were there to catch me. But in fact this—uh— gentleman broke my fall. But as you see, I do have my things ready for—"

  "Fennington, how well you move around these days." The sharp words cut through the night like a well-honed ax.

  Fennington raised his quizzing glass. "Ah, Lord Stephen Clearbrook, I thought I saw you in a card game earlier."

  Elizabeth frowned at the flash of irritation on the intruder’s face. He seemed to stiffen at Mr. Fennington's words. It was obvious the lord was readying for a fight. Goodness knows this was the last thing she needed tonight.

  "I see you two have met before," she said, her thoughts racing. "Well, Mr. Fennington, as I said before, this man saved me from a terrible fall, but I have already thanked him. I believe I am ready to depart on our journey."

  Hoping she would not lose her nerve, she turned to her sister and gave her a hug. "Good-bye, Milli. I will write—"

  "You, madam, are not leaving."

  The commanding words burst forth from the intruder with such imposing clarity, Elizabeth froze. Seething with indignation, she turned around slowly, intending to set this man straight, but she hesitated when she noted the dark scowl that masked his face.

  "I do appreciate your help, Lord, um, Stephen Clearbrook, is it not? But Mr. Fennington and I are deeply in love—"

  Elizabeth watched his expression change from irritated to amused. The man was mad. He was laughing at her again. "I beg your pardon."

  "My dear." Fennington inched toward her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness he would take care of this hateful man. At least she could depend on someone.

  "Love is not part of this little escapade, Lizzie," the intruder stated in a commanding tone.

  A cold knot settled in Elizabeth's stomach. What was wrong with him? "I am Miss Elizabeth Shelby to you, sir. So if you would please excuse us, we will be taking our leave."

  For a moment the man stared back at her as if she had grown a beard. A second later his hand shot out and grabbed her elbow. "No doubt someone will be taking his leave, Miss Shelby, but it certainly will not be you."

  Chapter Four

  With a decisive jerk, Stephen separated Miss Elizabeth Shelby from Fennington's side.

  He wanted to beat his head against the disfigured elm. Lizzie, her sister had called her. He should have known.

  Dash it all, this was a hideous nightmare. But by heaven, as a gentleman of honor he could not let this little bird fly the coop into Fennington's greedy hands.

  Besides, Stephen thought bitterly, as his fiancée, the female belonged to him whether he liked it or not.

  He set his teeth. How utterly convenient.

  Watching the shocked expression playing across Miss Shelby's face, Stephen felt his maddening emotions gradually fade, only to be replaced by a stir of deranged amusement.

  Miss Shelby was, without a doubt, a feisty little creature, and she definitely did not come by her looks from her father's side of the family. She was not what one would call exquisite, but her haughty manner made up for what she lacked in conventional beauty.

  Nevertheless, the chit was rounded in all the right places. He knew that the minute she had dropped from the sky and literally fallen onto his chest. Gracefully curvaceous, he thought, and quite pretty when riled. Her cheeks reminded him of a cherub—plump and rosy. But her big blue eyes reflected an innocence and naïveté that brought his protective instincts to the surface.

  He felt her stiffen under his regard. It was obvious this girl had no idea of the depths of Fennington's deceit.

  He stared at her lips, recalling the kiss in the stables, realizing he had enjoyed their earlier confrontation immensely. Yet she was so gullible it amazed him.

  And here she was with Fennington.

  For the love of the king, he had not forgotten the prim little miss at all. But heaven help him, if the lady had wanted to box his ears in the stables, wait until she heard the news that they were to be married.

  Dappled moonlight played against her creamy white skin, and he caught Fennington eyeing her bare shoulder with the look of a wolf licking his chops.

  In one smooth move, Stephen lunged toward the cloak lying on the trunk, grabbed it, and threw it to her. "Here, put this on. Don't want you to catch a fever of the lungs, now, do we?"

  Those blue eyes snapped back at him as if he were the devil himself. "What would you care?"

  "I think, Miss Shelby, that you may find my answer rather enlightening."

  So this was the lady he was to marry. He would have laughed if the situation were not so horrid. And the joke of it was, she thought herself in love with Fennington.

  Well, he could let her follow through with this little fiasco and relieve himself of the burden of marrying her, but there was no honor in that. And though he was an absolute idiot to drink and gamble his life away, no matter what his excuse, it was no reason to let this girl marry the weasel before him.

  "See here," Fennington said, "we have had our differences, but I say, be a good chap and let us be on our way."

  Stuffing a hand into his pocket, Stephen turned toward the six-foot worm across from him and gave the maggot a twisted smile. "As a gentleman, I cannot do that. You do understand, do you not, old chap?"

  The peabrain had the gall to pull out that stupid quizzing glass and look him up and down. "And pray tell why not? Because your sister could not have me."

  Miss Shelby gasped. Milli scowled, slipping beside Stephen.

  Stephen's anger at Fennington was past the breaking point. However, it was Stephen's sense of impassioned duty to safeguard this Shelby woman that surprised him the most. Elizabeth Shelby was too trusting by far. Moreover, though the little sister was a veritable termagant, he discovered, much to his surprise, that in the past few minutes he had become quite fond of the little imp. Having Fennington in their lives would be a living hell.


  Stephen leaned against the elm and lazily crossed his arms over his chest. "Fennington, my dear sir, I will give you to the count of three. And if you do not leave these premises, grounds and all, I will call you out."

  Fennington's face turned white. "B-but you cannot do this. You have no say in Miss Shelby's life. We have plans ... Y-you cannot interfere." The monstrous quizzing glass shook in the man's white hands as he shoved it back into his pocket. "Upon my word, this is barbaric. I simply will not allow it."

  Stephen raised an irritated brow, pushing away from the tree. "Well, to tell you the truth, Fennington, I have been waiting for this time together ever since my sister's wedding. I promised my mother I would not follow you, but since you came across my path, what can a man say to that?"

  Fennington gulped.

  Miss Shelby threw herself between the two men, fixing an icy stare upon Stephen. "Do not come one step further, you beast!"

  Stephen blinked at the lady. She was not a dazzler like Odette, yet those eyes of hers could put a spell on any man if he looked long enough. He stared thoughtfully, then shook his mind free of his fanciful notions. Her wheat-colored hair was escaping its pins and combs, and fell about her face as if she were some ragamuffin with no manners at all, making him wonder about the long years ahead of him.

  "Ah, so you love this greedy rake, do you?" he asked her.

  The lady wrung her hands on her skirt. "That is none of your affair."

  So she was not as fearless as she seemed. He noticed that Milli had left. Good. The poor child did not need to see the blood spurting from Fennington's nose.

  Fennington added an agreeable grunt. "Not your affair at all. Not at all."

  "Oh, depend upon it. This is my affair," Stephen said calmly, glancing between Fennington and Miss Shelby.

  "You're mad," Miss Shelby hissed.

  Stephen's lips twisted. "Never said I wasn't, Miss Shelby."

  She bit her lips, her face seeming to drain of color as though she believed he was going to pull out a pair of pistols and kill them both. So she had an imagination. Intriguing.

  Stephen felt an instant stab of regret. The poor woman had no idea what was happening, but she would know soon enough. Fennington had been a thorn in his family's side for years now. It was time to do something about it.