Lord Stephen Clearbrook! The hateful, arrogant man! She would never marry him. Not if he were the last man in England.
Granted, the man might have a title, not to mention the face and figure of a god, but that meant absolutely nothing. He was a penniless thief and would never have her heart. And if she had anything to say about it, he would never have her father's money either.
"He is a despicable man, Papa, and I will not have it. I will not marry him!"
William Shelby turned from the fire, his deep gray eyes filled with sympathy and something more—grim determination.
An icy finger of despair slid down Elizabeth's spine. She had seen that calculating look on his face many times before when he was involved in the most ruthless of business ventures. It meant no shortcuts, no leniency, no giving in, and cursed be the man or woman who dared to stop him from achieving his goal.
"Papa ... please ... I beg you, do not do this to me."
Her father glanced back into the crackling fire, dipping his hands toward the hearth for warmth. "I know how you are feeling, poppet. But believe me, this is for the best. We could always look for an earl or a marquess or, by Jove, even a duke. But this is enough. More than I had ever hoped for."
With a tired sigh, he turned back to her, stuffing his chubby hands into his pockets. "I ain't one to be greedy, Lizzie. But the man's the fourth son of a duke. Don't you see? Your children will be able to hold their heads up in Society and never have to prove themselves to the world."
Elizabeth's heart tripped. "But I do not love him, Papa. And the man does not love me." He loves another.
Her father shook his head. "I will not go back on my decision. It's as good as done. I've already sent the notice to the papers. Told my friends. In fact, many of Lord Harmstead's guests know all about it by now."
Elizabeth grabbed the back of a chair, her fingers digging into the cushion. And what about Mr. Fennington? To let him wallow in her wake seemed too heartless to contemplate. She should have made her plans sooner.
"But, Papa, to marry a man I do not love?"
"Not another word about it." Her father cut the air with his hand, giving her his back as he moved toward the bedside table to pour himself a glass of wine.
Elizabeth stood, shocked. The man she had loved all her life was dismissing her plea as though they were speaking of something as mundane as what entree was to be served at supper. She felt as if he had ripped her heart out of her chest and stamped on it.
"The deed is done, Lizzie. Lord Stephen is a fine fellow. Fine on the eyes, too. Can't deny that. Got you a prime gentleman, I have. Strong muscled, dresses with elegance, but not a bit of the fop in him.
"Ain't one of those stuffy fellows. He was at Waterloo and I have heard of some mighty fine things he did there. Fine officer. Saved Wellington's life. Caught a ball right through the leg for him. Threw himself in the line of fire."
Elizabeth's eyes riveted on her father's face and Lord Stephen instantly jumped a few notches in her estimation. "He saved Wellington's life?"
"Indeed, he did. I have my sources. But keep your lips shut on that, my girl. Covert information, don't you know."
He laughed. "I daresay, maybe this will make you feel better. Heard that Lady Odette had set her cap for him. Wasn't she the one who gave you all that trouble in Bath?"
Elizabeth's stomach rolled. Her father might think he was planning the union with her best interests at heart, but she should be able to choose her own husband.
"You have a prize there, my girl. Handsome as one of those Greek gods you and Milli read about." William Shelby puffed out his chest and took a swallow of his wine. "Yes, indeed. Should have handsome children, too. Imagine, they will be nieces and nephews to a real duke. By Jove, this is famous."
Elizabeth stood in mute horror as his glass clanked on the table beside him. He wasn't going to change his mind. It was useless talking to him.
"The thing is, Lizzie, you couldn't get much higher than that unless you married into the king's family itself."
A metallic taste seeped into Elizabeth's mouth and she realized she had bitten the inside of her cheek. Blood sat on the tip of her tongue, but she felt as if it had leaked from her heart. No, she would not marry this lord.
She backed up toward the door, not able to say another word. Her father was not going to listen to her. He had sold her to the highest bidder, Lord Stephen Clearbrook, the son of a duke.
With a pang she realized that there was no way to escape from this horrible nightmare, not unless Mr. Fennington came through for her. And he would. She would make certain he would.
Stephen had tossed and turned all night hoping the entire escapade at the gaming table a dream, but now, standing in Lord Harmstead's breakfast room, he felt his insides curl in disgust at the thought of what he had done. His entire future had been played out in a few turns of a hand.
He forced a cool smile as he greeted the guests roaming about the sideboard for their food. By the smug look on some, he could tell they had already heard the news. His gaze immediately shifted to that little minx Milli who seemed as innocent as a kitten, sitting off in the far corner of the room watching him. She gave him a sly wink. The impudent chit.
And where was her elder sister? Still sleeping?
He recalled the embarrassment on Miss Elizabeth Shelby's face when her father had announced the marriage, and at that moment, he had actually felt sorry for her.
Though the moonlight had played up the blue in her eyes, he had gathered his wits this morning, coming to the conclusion that she was a boring bluestocking with plain features and a tongue as sharp as a knife.
Just what he needed—a nagging, detestable female. And in those ugly spectacles, she looked like some fifty-year-old spinster. If the predicament had involved someone besides himself, he would have thought it all rather amusing.
Yet the plain fact of the matter was he was stuck with the chit. His family would no doubt disapprove and he couldn't blame them, especially since there was the small fact that Miss Shelby wanted nothing to do with him at all.
And the truth was, he didn't want her either. He wanted Lady Odette. But the thought that Miss Shelby would choose Fennington over him vexed him more than the thought of her being his wife. The little idiot. She had no idea of the depths of that man's depravity.
Hiding a scowl, Stephen threw some eggs and kippers onto his plate, keeping up a conversation with Lord Mavernly to his left.
"In for the hunt tomorrow?" the baron asked.
Stephen slapped a piece of bread onto his eggs. Hunt? He didn't need a hunt because he had already been the hunted. He had planned to stay at Harmstead to woo Lady Odette. He had danced with her last year at Almack's and although he hadn't known her long or well, he thought her charming and sensitive, someone he could love. He had been hoping that this Season he could ask her to be his wife. But those plans had changed.
"Won't be staying,” Stephen replied. “Leaving today as a matter of fact."
"Ah, yes. Heard you came up to scratch with Shelby. Lucky man. There was many a gentleman wanting to be in your shoes. Man is as rich as the king, they say."
The baron lowered his voice as he placed some butter onto his plate. "Daughter isn't much to look at. A bit on the tall side, but who cares about that? Marriage to her will give you plenty of blunt at the gaming tables now, eh?"
Stephen's mouth hardened as he turned toward the man. It was one thing talking about money, another talking about money and a lady at the same time. "Utter another word about my fiancée and I will see you at dawn."
Mavernly's plate clanked against the sideboard, and his cheeks turned ashen. "No harm meant. Smart as a whip, they say—er, pretty blue eyes, too. And being tall can be an attribute—"
Stephen's glare turned to ice, his voice to barely a whisper. "You have one minute to depart from my side, and if I catch sight of you any time during my short stay here, you will call your second. Am I making myself clear?"
T
he man swallowed. "P-perfectly." He set his plate off to the side. "Not hungry anyway. Digestion problem." And then he was gone.
Clenching his plate in his hand, Stephen turned and bumped into the loveliest lady he had ever laid eyes upon. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He stared into two celestial pools of emerald green, vowing that no matter what, he would never again enter into a card game with high stakes.
"Good morning, Lady Odette. Up early, I see." Hell's bells. He could have been waking up to this every morning instead of the sharp point of that female's tongue.
They stood alone at the buffet table. Her hands, white and elegant, fisted at her sides. Tension crackled between them.
The statuesque figure lifted her delicate chin and flicked a pair of long, dark lashes Stephen’s way, making him want to haul her against him and kiss her. She was beauty itself. He could have had all this if he had not been such a fool.
"Good morning?" she answered tartly, yet her smile was as sweet as honey. "I do not see what a good morning it is when one has been played the fool," she hissed between her berry lips.
So she had heard. What did he expect? That a miracle would occur? Stephen's mouth thinned as he looked into those hard emerald jewels, his throat tightening with regret.
"I beg your forgiveness, but my circumstances have changed. I would give anything not to have hurt you."
Honor demanded he not tell Odette of the exact circumstances surrounding his engagement. And though he did not particularly care for Miss Shelby, he did not feel the engagement her fault. It was that greedy unfeeling father of hers who wanted a title so badly he bartered away his daughter like chattel.
Odette dropped her gaze to the cherry tarts on the sideboard, hiding her scowl. "Cherries give me hives, you know."
He wanted to sweep her into his arms and soothe her ailing heart. She couldn't even look at him she was so hurt. He thought he heard her sniff. He had no idea it was the grinding of her teeth.
More people were quickly moving into the breakfast room, and he knew he needed to distance himself from the lady. He gave her a slight bow. "Your servant, madam."
He turned to leave, but stopped short when she rested an elegant hand upon his arm. "Lord Stephen." Her face softened, and his heart gave a. kick. She was lovely when she smiled.
She turned and grabbed a plate of eggs and bread. "I am always ravenous in the morning." Her eyes twinkled, and before she walked away, she slipped a note into his hand. "Good-bye, my lord. Or should I say, au revoir."
Heart thumping, Stephen took a seat, realizing she had written the note before she entered the breakfast room. With the eagerness of a little boy, he peeked at the small piece of paper in his hand. My lord, if you find you need to see me again after you are wed, you know where to find me.
He immediately lifted his gaze across the table to find Lady Odette smiling his way. An uncomfortable heat rippled through him. Why, the shameless strumpet. She was no lady at all. How could he have been so wrong about her? Would she have done the same thing if he had married her?
"Excuse me. May I pass, please?"
Stephen turned at the sound of the husky voice behind him. Miss Shelby was trying to squeeze past his chair on her way to the sideboard. He looked to her left and saw an assembly of murmuring dowagers peering her way. The pinkness of Miss Shelby's cheeks told him she was as embarrassed as he was.
A combination of pity and protectiveness surged through him.
Miss Shelby looked younger today. More vulnerable. Her blue eyes looked red and puffy. But her figure was given full advantage in the light, and by heaven, she was not at all plain, and not much taller than most women in the room.
He distinctly recalled holding her supple form when she had fallen on top of him, and he caught himself smiling at the memory of one creamy calf shimmering in the moonlight.
"And good morning to you. If it is not the lady of travels and adventure."
Her face colored a deep red as he stood and moved his chair in for her to scoot by.
"My father knows nothing of that... that arrangement," she hissed, "and I would advise you to say nothing as well."
His interest was piqued at her audacity in telling him what to do. He leaned over as if to help her through the crowd, whispering into her swanlike neck. "If we are to become man and wife, madam, I would advise you not to advise me."
"Truly, you are a beast," she said as she smiled sweetly, glancing over her shoulder at the exact moment her father strutted into the room.
"Ah, my lord," William Shelby greeted loudly, "Elizabeth, good morning to you both."
"Good morning, Papa."
Stephen watched Miss Shelby's mouth thin with displeasure as she hastened to the sideboard, gathering her food and ignoring her father's smile.
It was about a minute before Stephen spoke. "Shelby."
Stephen towered over the man by at least a head. But what the rich cit lost in height, he made up in cleverness. And sad to say, cards as well.
"My lord," Shelby went on, "I was wondering if I might have a word with you before you depart."
Stephen's gaze traveled over the room, settling on Elizabeth taking a seat one over from Lady Odette—a seat very far away from him. Those amazing blue eyes locked onto his face and he felt an instant heat in his belly.
Was he attracted to the girl? Plague take it. Every passing second, Miss Shelby reminded him more and more of his sister Emily and her spirit.
And then there was Lady Odette with the deceitful emerald eyes. He was glad he had discovered her true nature now. His life would have been a living hell. What kind of stupid dreams had he been spinning in his head?
"My Lord?"
Stephen shifted his attention back to the portly man beside him. "Perhaps later we can have a word in the library."
"Splendid." Shelby proposed a time to meet and slapped Stephen on the back, as if dismissing him, then piled three buttered scones on top his plate and moved toward the cherry tarts.
Elizabeth could barely control the spasmodic trembling inside her, she was so angry. She had seen the letter in his lordship's hand. She also knew what Lady Odette was like. It didn't take a goose to figure out what was going on. If Lady Odette dared put one finger on her intended she would—
Good heavens! What was she thinking? She almost giggled to herself, glancing at Lord Stephen taking the seat beside her.
Why was he moving near her? Her heart twisted. For appearances, of course. Well, after she was done with him, he would not wish to be within ten feet of her, let alone be her husband.
She would make him so fearful to be near her, not even half of her papa's money would entice him to marry her. Of course, when the engagement was broken, he could go back to that strumpet Odette, and she could go back to Mr. Fennington.
"Let us have a toast to the new couple," Lord Harmstead suddenly announced, standing beside William Shelby. "Champagne for everyone."
Five liveried footmen marched into the room with glasses of champagne set on silver trays. A rumble of voices filled the air, and all eyes were on Elizabeth and Lord Stephen.
It seemed barely anyone had slept in this morning, and Elizabeth had never felt so embarrassed in her life. They must all know by now that their union was not a love match, but a marriage of convenience.
Hot color crept up her neck, and her chest tightened. All she wanted to do was run from the room. She started to rise but a strong hand stopped her, gripping her wrist.
Elizabeth locked gazes with the man beside her as he raised his glass with his free hand.
"To my beautiful fiancée. A diamond of the first water."
Shocked at the insistent squeeze on her arm, Elizabeth lifted her other hand from her lap, gave a sweet smile, and lowered her eyes demurely.
A roar of approval rang throughout the room. Even Odette gave a clap of her hands, but to Elizabeth, the lady's burning glare did not go unnoticed. Tears of humiliation filled Elizabeth's eyes, though everyone seemed to thin
k they were tears of joy as another roar of approval sounded.
But to her amazement, Lord Stephen seemed to have deduced the reason for the tears. He was now frowning at her with those solemn brown eyes. His thumb played at the underside of her wrist before he let her go. "Elizabeth," he said in a pitying tone.
She ignored him and feeling reckless, downed her drink in less than a minute, and asked for another. Ha, see how he likes a wife who drinks, she thought, feeling a buzz in her head.
How dared he call her beautiful and make fun of her? She would not marry this brute. Mr. Fennington loved her. This man would never see what she was made of. All he wanted was Odette. Well, let him have her... after the engagement was broken!
The talk soon moved from the engaged couple to the day's festivities at the Harmstead mansion and all that was planned.
Elizabeth sank into her chair, wishing the floor would swallow her whole and spit her up on the other side of England.
Thank goodness she would be leaving this place shortly and traveling to London. As soon as her father found lodging they would be off to Town. Her father had promised her a night at the opera while showing her and Milli the sights.
Elizabeth held the empty champagne glass between her fingers, ignoring the handsome man beside her and the smell of his bayberry soap. She wondered if he ever looked ugly. Maybe she could prolong the engagement for at least a year. Yes, that would surely give her time to think. She was ready to rise when suddenly one of the servants slipped a note beside her plate.
She grabbed the piece of paper and tucked it between the folds of her morning gown. Hope sprang inside her. There could only be one person who would send her a note.
"More champagne, Miss?"
"Y-yes, please." As the servant poured her another glass, something made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Lord Stephen was scowling at her.
"I think you have had enough champagne, Elizabeth."
She blinked. "We are not married yet, my lord," she said through clenched teeth, "so do not try your heavy hand with me.
His eyes darkened as she stood to retrieve a piece of bread from the sideboard. She bit her lip and hurriedly opened the letter. She squinted to make out the signature. It was from him! Mr. J. T. Fennington.
The Wagered Bride (The Clearbrooks) Page 7