The door clicked closed behind him.
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed in contempt. "This is most improper. How on earth did you step inside here without anyone seeing you for that matter?"
He smiled, drawing nearer, swinging that ugly quizzing glass in his hand. "My dear, a few coins dropped here and there, and even a shop girl will do anything I ask."
Elizabeth backed up against the wall, not liking the way he was staring at her. It was clear to her now. This man would do anything for her papa's money, even challenge the wrath of all the Clearbrook brothers to obtain his goal. But he was a coward, all the same.
"I have to go," she said, lifting her chin and reaching for the door. "The ladies will be looking for me."
With a low laugh, Fennington threw his arms on each side of her head, caging her in. "The ladies are too busy. That shop girl is showing them every silk and muslin in the place."
Elizabeth felt the heat of the room envelop her as his sour breath hit her. She should never have made this man's acquaintance. She had been stupid. All Milli's stories of knights in shining armor, begging for her love, were idiotic dreams. Nothing like that would ever happen to her.
Fennington seemed to detect her wary feelings and he pressed a rough cheek against hers. "My dear girl. Have you forgotten how we were to escape to Gretna Green to be wed?"
Elizabeth pushed her hands against his chest. "I really should go. They will be wondering where I am."
"They are all a bunch of fools, my dear."
Elizabeth gasped when he pressed a heavy hand to her cheek.
"I cannot marry you," she said coolly.
He cupped her chin in a firm hold, his eyes daring her to refuse him. "And pray, why not?"
"Papa has made an agreement with Lord Stephen Clearbrook. The announcement has been sent. You must have seen it."
"Clearbrook, bah!" He jerked out a flask and took a swig.
Elizabeth slipped from his hold, eyeing the quizzing glass clanking against the metal container. "Good gracious, Mr. Fennington, are you foxed?"
"I am not foxed. Just a man in love." He grabbed hold of her waist, pushing her firmly against the wall.
"Mr. Fennington, please!"
"Very well, Elizabeth, if you insist." Before Elizabeth had time to think, the man closed his slimy lips over her mouth.
Stephen wanted to wring the girl's neck. "So your sister has believed all this time that I wanted to poison Lady Odette?"
Milli shrugged. "Poison is not the exact word I would use."
"Giving a lady a concoction that could give her a rash and kill her is what I consider poison, young lady."
He took hold of Milli's elbow and escorted her to his carriage. "Get inside." Letting out a mumbled curse, he turned to his thickset footman. "Keep an eye on her for me, Henry. If she leaves this carriage, you no longer have a position."
The man crossed one beefy arm over the other. "Yes, m'lord."
Chapter Ten
Stephen stalked into the dressmaker's shop. The chime tinkled above the door as the shopgirl ushered him toward the back where his mother and Jane were conversing with the owner.
"No, I do believe a light blue silk with a delicate lace about the arm would be quite the thing for her."
"Mother."
The lady glanced over her shoulder. "What do you think, Stephen? Light blue or forest green for Elizabeth's ball gown?"
"Light blue," he snapped without needing to think twice. "Speaking of Elizabeth, where is she?" he asked impatiently.
His mother pursed her lips in concern. "Why, I have no idea. Jane, dear, did you see where she went?"
The young duchess frowned. "She left the fitting room, but I didn't see her after that. Maybe she is with Milli."
The thought that Elizabeth had left took hold of Stephen's heart and squeezed. "Millicent is in the carriage," he said, a rush of blood drumming to his head, "and as far as I can see, Elizabeth is nowhere in this blasted shop."
"Perhaps she returned to one of the fitting rooms," the dressmaker said, her smile faltering at the lord's dark face.
"Was she being fitted for another gown, then?" Stephen asked, almost blushing at the thought of barging in on his intended.
"I do not believe so. There's no need to worry. But since her sister ventured outside for a breath of air, perhaps—"
Before the lady could finish, the bell above the door jingled. Milli burst into the shop with Henry attached to her sleeve. "My lord!"
Excusing himself from the ladies, Stephen gritted his teeth as he approached the red-faced footman. "Henry?"
"Said her sister was in trouble, my lord. Started screaming like a banshee, she did. Heads were turning and I ain't one to hold the ladies against their will."
Stephen nodded a smile in the direction of the two ladies who were thankfully far enough away, unable to hear the conversation. His slight gesture let them know the situation was nothing to concern themselves with.
A moment later he glared back at Milli as she dragged him across the shop.
"What is it?" he hissed.
"He was hiding over there," she said in a hoarse whisper.
"Who?" Stephen snapped, his patience all but gone.
Milli slapped his arm. "Mr. Fennington, of course! Who else?"
“Fennington?” Stephen snatched Milli’s wrist and tilted a steely gaze toward Henry. “Return her to the carriage, and this time, do not listen to a single word she has to say. If she screams, tell anybody that asks she is as mad as the king.
Henry nodded.
Milli stomped her foot. "I tell you, I saw him!"
A muscle twitched dangerously in Stephen's cheek as he crossed his arms over his chest. "And why did you not tell me this earlier?"
"Well," she chewed her lip, "I thought perhaps you could rescue Lizzie after a time, you see. Like one of those knights who comes to rescue the princess. If Mr. Fennington had his way with Lizzie, you could call the man out and be the hero."
Every muscle in Stephen's body went taut. If Mr. Fennington had his way? For some idiotic reason Stephen was beginning to believe Milli's story. It was that flash of worry in her gray eyes that did it. In one swift move, he picked her up and shoved her toward Henry. "If Fennington has hurt her, you will not be able to sit down for a year, young lady."
Milli's eyes filled with tears. "I am fourteen, don't you know? You cannot do that. And, well, the man is such a complete idiot, I daresay he won't do anything at all except wave that monstrous quizzing glass about his head and tell Lizzie how much he loves her and what not."
She leaned forward, her eyes flashing. "But I thought one good blow from you and Lizzie would swoon at your feet."
Stephen fought the urge to take the girl over his knee. "Where are they?"
Milli pointed toward the fitting room. "I think they are in there."
Stephen exchanged glances with his footman. "Forget what I said earlier. Bar the blasted door after I go in."
Milli's face lit with awe as she was dropped from the footman's hold. "Is it to be a mill then? It will be the first real fight I have ever seen. Of course, in the Tragedy of—"
"Millicent!" Stephen threw the girl his iciest glare. "If you have any sense at all, hold your tongue. You are to stay over there with my mother and the duchess or I'll have your hide. And do not tell them a thing about Fennington. They are searching the patterns as we speak, thinking your sister outside for a breath of air or perhaps trying on another gown."
Milli frowned. "You think he will hurt Lizzie?"
Stephen did not answer. He strode toward the small dressing room hidden behind the shelves of material. The memories of Fennington manhandling his sister in another shop invaded his mind. He felt his control slipping. The thought of that maniac's hands on Elizabeth sent his blood pumping.
But the sudden notion that Milli was hamming him about the entire scene like some Greek tragedy did cross his mind. Instead of flinging the dressing room door open like a madman, he knocke
d. "Elizabeth?"
When no one answered, formality gave way to instinct and he swung open the door. His gaze fell upon Elizabeth's white face. Fennington was directly behind her, that monstrous quizzing glass hanging between two white fingers.
Stephen had two disturbing questions bouncing about in his brain. One, was Elizabeth running away with this man? And two, was she afraid of him catching her with her lover? He tried to banish the incriminating thoughts from his mind as he glared at Fennington, whose face had turned the color of curdled milk.
Yet the man had the audacity to raise that stupid quizzing glass and stare through it as if he were at a dinner party. "Alas, my lord, we meet again."
Stephen strode forward, touching the lady's shocked features with the ends of his fingers. "Elizabeth?"
Wary blue eyes locked with his. "Do not hurt him," she whispered hesitantly. "I beg you."
She must have seen the danger flashing in his eyes for he dropped her chin, his hands growing stiff at his sides. So she cared for the man, did she? "Get in the carriage, Elizabeth."
She frowned and looked back at Mr. Fennington, regret shimmering her eyes. She blinked, drawing her chin upward. "I am not leaving you two alone."
Heaven help him! She was worse than Milli. "Get in the carriage." Stephen ground out the words, barely checking himself from throwing her over his shoulder and taking her there himself.
She opened her mouth to reply, but he roughly drew her toward him and kissed her instead. It was a kiss of danger and intrigue. A kiss that said she was his, and not Fennington's. A kiss that left her breathless, weakening her defenses. As she grew slack in his arms, he directed her toward the door.
Stephen gave her one last glance before turning back to Fennington. She was his, and he was not about to let her go. She would love him if it took an entire lifetime.
"How romantic," Fennington said, pushing himself off the wall as Elizabeth exited the room. "Too bad she prefers me instead."
That was the last thing the man said before Stephen drilled his fist into Fennington's face.
Two weeks later, Elizabeth sat in her room readying herself for her engagement ball. She frowned as she stared into the looking glass. Since the incident at the dressmaker's, she had avoided Lord Stephen at all costs. To him, his kiss had branded her like a prized horse.
That's all she was to him, a prize that had been won. A sack of money that sealed his future. Yet she had to admit, for a few maddening seconds she had felt wanted, cherished, even loved.
But she was a fool to think of love because Lord Stephen had avoided her too, giving her only a polite hello and good-bye at meal times and barely engaging in conversation even when prompted. He left for the club every evening and returned home after she retired.
The entire family felt the tension, but their futile attempts at bringing the couple together had made things far worse instead of better.
A few days earlier, William Shelby had been called out of town on business. He would not be at the ball to stand up with her.
Elizabeth felt alone and abandoned. What would her future hold here? How could she attend the engagement ball? How could she not? Mr. Fennington was obviously no longer part of her plan. And although her mind had been working furiously to find a way out of her predicament, it was to no avail.
"He will sweep you off your feet and into the gardens, Lizzie."
Milli had not stopped her tirade of romantic dreams since she entered five minutes ago. It was the last thing Elizabeth needed right now, because whether she wanted it or not, she was falling in love with Lord Stephen Clearbrook.
Fennington meant nothing to her now. He was a weasel, just as Lord Stephen had informed her. However, she would never tell the handsome lord that he had been correct in his assessment of her former suitor. Her pride was already at a low point. Besides, had she not already decided the kiss at the dressmaker's shop was one of ownership, not love?
"And then he will kiss you, Lizzie, and you will melt into his arms and run off together into the moonlight."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at her sister's swoon. Milli pulled a strand of hair from her forehead as she drew in an audible sigh.
There was a knock on the door and Milli jumped off the bed.
"Do you mind if I come in?" Lady Emily peeked into the room, looking radiant in a lavender gown.
"Not at all," Elizabeth said, guiding the woman to the chair near the hearth. "But if you wanted to see me, I could have come to you. You should rest as much as you can."
Lady Emily smiled. "It has been three weeks since I gave birth. Besides, I had to get away from my husband for a few minutes, at least. Can you believe he thinks I'm as fragile as a china teapot? But in truth, I believe he misses his little girl. Gabrielle, his daughter from his previous marriage, is staying with his aunt in the country. He was to fetch her last week, but the poor thing had the sniffles." The lady glanced into the fire and sighed. "I do miss her, too, but with the new babe being so small, we must take every precaution."
Elizabeth sensed the lady wanted to tell her more. She looked up at Milli, tilting a glance toward the door. "Millicent, do you have something to do?"
Milli frowned. "Oh, very well, I'll leave you two to talk about men, but I will return, never fear."
Both ladies laughed as Milli withdrew from the room.
Emily held out her hands toward Elizabeth. "I know I have said this a hundred times, but my dear Elizabeth, I can never thank you enough for what you did for me that night."
Elizabeth blushed, feeling the warmth of Emily's grip. "I was only doing what anyone would do in that situation. The doctor came and all was well."
The lady shook her head. "Oh, you silly girl. That is not true. You were marvelously calm throughout everything. However, that is beside the point. I am here on a mission." She dropped Elizabeth's hands and bade her to pull up a chair beside her. "I am here to help you capture my brother's eye and his heart."
Elizabeth stared back, too shocked to speak.
"I know it is a marriage of convenience you are to enter into, but I can see my brother is bordering on, well, let's just say, something else?"
Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Something else?" Was there a slim possibility the lady was speaking of love?
"You are a smart woman, Elizabeth, but the Clearbrook men are as stubborn as old hens. Still, a woman in love might be able to bait one of them to come out of their nest of safety, if you know what I mean."
Elizabeth managed a smile. "You are too optimistic. Your brother does not love me. He only wants my father's money."
Emily's gaze did not waver. "You are wrong about the money. Not Stephen. He could have gone to my brothers for a loan. No. Marrying you involved something much more complicated. But that is neither here nor there. I have called the maid to fetch the scissors. You will have to let me get to work."
Elizabeth backed up. "Now, Emily, let's not be too hasty."
Emily laughed. "Hasty? Goodness, Elizabeth, it is not as if I wish to cut off your head. Only a snip here and there and you will look like an angel. Mama has a taste for clothes, but when it comes to hair, she doesn't know a thing. That French sweep on your head does not do you justice. We need to shape your locks about your face, accentuate your eyes."
She paused and smiled. "When I'm done, Stephen will fall all over you like a lion that hasn't eaten for a month."
A few minutes later Elizabeth reluctantly took a seat and let Lady Emily go to work. By the time the lady was finished, Elizabeth had a head of springy brown curls that framed her face, making her look quite the thing. Blond streaks added depth to her new locks, a natural highlighting that had been hidden.
After the maid left with the scissors and iron, Emily smiled, quite pleased with herself. "Well, what do you think?"
Elizabeth touched her hair, not able to believe the change in her appearance. Her hair had been too heavy to curl so easily before. But now the difference was unbelievable. She looked—well, pretty. "You
think your brother likes me a little?" she asked meekly, lifting her eyes in the mirror to lock with Emily's.
Emily leaned forward. "Of course he does. And after tonight, who knows what he will do."
The muscles in Elizabeth's throat tightened. Did she want Stephen to love her? Would she follow through with this sham of a marriage?
She looked back at her reflection. The haircut accentuated her eyes, along with the silver blue of her gown. A small part of her wanted Stephen to notice her tonight— truly notice her.
"There is one thing you must do tonight," Emily announced.
"What?" she asked, trying to hide her emotions.
"You must dance with all my brothers at least twice, and above all, avoid dancing with Stephen if you can, except, that is, for your opening dance. I have spoken to Marcus, Clayton, and Roderick. They are quite in agreement with me.
Emily's eyes twinkled. "Of course, Stephen has no idea we have this all planned to the letter. And besides my brothers, you must flirt with the most eligible rakes that my horrid siblings will provide for you."
Elizabeth could not hold back her laugh. "You are a wicked sister. Your brother will think me a terrible flirt."
"No, he will think you the most beautiful woman in the room, and he will eventually come to your aid, whisking you into the gardens for a kiss."
"But it seems so dishonest. I cannot do such a thing."
"Oh yes, you can. Do you want him to fall madly in love with you or not?"
Elizabeth's heart skipped. "Yes, yes, I do. I believe I'm starting to fall in love with the fiend myself."
Emily laughed. "Very well, then. Let's get to work."
"Who the devil is that dancing with her now?"
Stephen paced the back of the ballroom, keeping his fiancée in sight at all times. She had taken his breath away when he had seen her descending the stairs, looking like a princess with her soft golden-brown curls framing those deep blue eyes. He wanted to comb his hands through her locks and sweep her into his arms.
And when he had dropped his gaze to the low cut of her silver-blue gown, which displayed her feminine curves, he had gulped back an audible groan.
The Wagered Bride (The Clearbrooks) Page 14