The Wagered Bride (The Clearbrooks)

by McCarthy, Teresa

  Her snow white skin looked soft and delicate. But it was those eyes. Their innocence had reeled him in. They were quite the loveliest pair of eyes he had ever seen.

  The duke raised a black brow and leaned against the wall. "Don't you recognize your own brother Marcus?"

  Stephen stopped, barely able to see the couple across the ballroom, the lighting from the crystal chandeliers was so dim. "This is their second dance together and a waltz at that. What is the man thinking?"

  Roderick cleared his throat and smiled.

  "And what is so funny?" Stephen asked. "I seemed to recall you being a bit addlebrained when Jane had you running around in circles. If I recall correctly, you claimed you didn't love her."

  "That was long ago." The duke's voice was dangerously low. "If you dare remind her, I will hang you by your toes."

  Stephen felt a bit of satisfaction at his brother's reaction. At least Roderick wasn't smiling anymore. Stephen certainly wasn't. This was the first time a woman had turned his life completely upside down.

  Oh, it was more than the idiotic wager that made him feel stupid, it was Elizabeth Shelby herself.

  She was different from the usual ladies he favored. He found himself intrigued, and yes, maybe a little bit in love. The thought unnerved him since it was obvious the female loathed him. Besides, she still seemed to have a liking for that weasel Fennington.

  "I believe I will have a go at your beautiful fiancée."

  Stephen had no time to answer before the duke pushed himself off the wall and moved across the floor, claiming Elizabeth for the next dance. Following that set, Clayton took the blue-eyed siren in his arms. Stephen also noted, with a spurt of jealousy, that his brother looked to be acting all too familiar with her. It wasn't hard in the dim light to see that Elizabeth was laughing at something he said. Her face positively glowed.

  Stephen raised himself on his toes. Thunderation! What the deuce was going on here? Clayton seemed to be lowering his lips to her neck. He had best be whispering. The music stopped and Stephen started toward Elizabeth.

  He should have kept her shackled to his side all night. And why was Clayton introducing her to Lord Pool? The man was a first class rake!

  "Ah, there you are, Stephen. I was just saying to Lady Roberts how lucky you were to find such a level-headed beauty."

  Stephen halted. It was all he could do not to shake his mother off his arm. He watched in alarmed silence as Pool escorted Elizabeth to the refreshment table.

  Stephen's animosity toward the man rose to an extreme when he saw Pool's gaze sink from Elizabeth's face to other delectable portions of her anatomy. He would kill the man!

  "Do you not think it would be wonderful, my dear?"

  Stephen was pulled away from his thoughts at the sound of his mother's question. Obviously, he had missed something here.

  He could only smile at the ladies who surrounded him. "Delightful," he replied woodenly, peering across the dance floor to where Pool had led Elizabeth once again.

  "Splendid! I told Mr. Shelby you would have no problem with it, considering that he said you already had the special license. Next week is a perfect time for a wedding."

  Stephen's head spun back to the conversation. "Wedding?"

  The ladies laughed as if Stephen were teasing them. But his mother knew better. The lady pulled him aside.

  "You just agreed to be wed next week. I had no idea you were not listening, but there is no way to run from it now. The information will spread in minutes." She sighed, her gaze flipping across the floor to Elizabeth. "I daresay you two lovebirds cannot wait to be wed."

  Stephen stood dumbfounded. Married next week?

  His gaze was glued to Elizabeth as he marched across the room, determined to hold onto his fiancée until the night ended. He had only danced with her once.

  Something inside him turned warm at the thought of holding her, kissing her lips, pressing her soft body to his.

  Perhaps next week was not too soon after all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lord Stephen was incensed. Elizabeth could see it in those sable brown eyes as he drew nearer to her. His gait across the dance floor was determined, like that of a man in battle, skilled and powerful, yet intelligent and quick. At that moment she knew that indeed this was a man who could easily have saved Wellington's life.

  The daunting notion sent a slight shiver through her.

  Good gracious. She had unleashed a veritable tiger.

  Evidently, the man's sister had known exactly what she had been doing, but now Elizabeth was not quite so sure she should have submitted to the lady's wishes. Guilt played havoc with her stomach. What on earth had she done?

  Swallowing, she turned to Lord Clayton standing beside her.

  "Not to worry, my dear. He is as gentle as a lamb."

  Elizabeth brought a shaky hand to her bosom. "But he seems, um... rather determined. Perhaps after our first dance, I should have paid more attention to him."

  She grabbed Clayton's arm. "Oh, my lord, do take me outside before he comes."

  Clayton took pity on her, ushering her aside.

  "Listen to me," he said as they walked beyond the French windows onto the terrace, "you cannot have a man's heart if you keep brushing him aside. I know my brother, and he will come around. But you must be strong."

  "I am strong. But he does not love me. I cannot change that fact." And it hurts too much to bear.

  Clayton laughed, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. "You are such an innocent."

  Elizabeth looked up into his eyes and smiled. He was like a brother to her, the brother she never had. "It is so embarrassing to love a man when he does not return that love."

  "What? He adores you. And against my better judgment, I would advise you to maneuver him into the gardens before the night is out."

  Her brows lifted and she cleared her throat. "Do you truly think that a viable option?"

  "Think what a viable option?"

  Stephen stepped through the doors, gently taking hold of Elizabeth's arm, shooting his brother an icy glare.

  Clayton's smiling eyes fell on Elizabeth's face. "I was speaking of the gardens, little brother."

  Elizabeth felt the grip on her arm tighten.

  Music drifted in the background, but all she heard was the thumping of her heart. Was Stephen jealous?

  "The gardens?" Stephen said, his voice holding a note of warning. "No one will be taking Elizabeth into the gardens unless it is me. Is that understood, brother?”

  Clayton gave them both a formal bow. "Understood all too clearly, brother." And with those final words, Clayton retreated into the ballroom, stopping to pull Milli from behind the curtains. "You little minx. Marcus told me about you."

  Elizabeth would have laughed as she watched Milli's face turn white the moment Clayton gave away her hiding place, but her own face paled as she turned to the man beside her. Her heart beat faster as she felt the tension grow between them.

  "Your lordship, perhaps a bit of punch—"

  Stephen tipped her chin, making her look at him. His eyes impaled hers. "I believe our Christian names are in order since we will be married within the week."

  Elizabeth blinked. "Within the week?"

  "We are to be wed next week. I have the special license."

  Her tongue grew thick, her mind spinning. "A special license?"

  His finger trailed a path along her neck, and she thought he would hear her heart pounding outside her chest. What was he doing to her? She was falling under his spell, and she knew if she let this continue, she was doomed.

  She glanced over his shoulder, hoping for a sign of one of his brothers.

  "Ah, searching for a knight in all his chain mail to rescue you, my dear?" He whispered the words along her neck as he tugged her deeper into the gardens.

  She dug her heels into the graveled path, knowing that if she moved any further beyond the ballroom, there was no turning back. "I, uh, have a bit of a chill. Perhaps we shou
ld turn back and you could fetch my shawl for me."

  The man had the audacity to laugh.

  "What?" she asked sharply. "Is there a problem with a woman being chilled?"

  "Chilled or scared?"

  Elizabeth took a step back. His intense gaze seemed to be peering into her soul, searching for her dreams, searching every nook and cranny where her most private thoughts were hidden. It was unnerving.

  She glanced around her. Rosebushes, trees, and the dark.

  No, she did not want to walk any further into the gardens with this man. Her heart could stand only so much pain.

  Before she had a chance to run, he took hold of her hands. "Elizabeth, don't be frightened."

  "I... don't fear you, my lord."

  "Stephen," he said, his tone a caressing command.

  "Stephen," she said softly. How many times had she repeated his name in her head? A hundred? A thousand?

  He pulled her closer, his breath soft and sweet against her face. "Tell me, how did a beautiful woman such as you slip away from rakes like me and never get caught... until now?"

  His hand swept up to touch her cheek. The strain between them began to fall away like the leaves of autumn, making her vulnerable to his charms. She swayed against him, knowing he had already wormed his way into her heart.

  "Elizabeth." His lips brushed hers in a tender kiss.

  When he gently pulled away, she was unable to explain the feelings whirling through her mind. No man had ever kissed her so lovingly, including Mr. Fennington.

  She loved this man. It was more than the kiss. It was something he had touched in her soul. Oh, yes, his charms had doomed any resistance she had ever tried to exert, and being a war hero only enhanced his appeal. But it was when she had seen him holding that baby she knew her fate was sealed.

  Stephen stared down at the woman in his arms. What was she thinking? Did she love him? Or did she still love Fennington? Would he have a marriage like his parents'? He had no wish to play games with this innocent. He had to know if there was a chance of having some kind of happiness in their future. He had to know her feelings toward him.

  "Elizabeth, do you think you could ever find it in your heart to love me?"

  He was pleased when she smiled at him, her teeth glimmering against the glow of the moon. "Love you?"

  He noted a slight chip on one of her bottom teeth. So the lady was not so perfect after all. He lifted her hands to his lips, kissing them. "Am I so hard to love?"

  Her bottom lip trembled as she spoke, "I think I'm falling in love with you ... Stephen." Her whispered words were husky and low, like smoke twirling in the night.

  His chest tightened when his glance slid to the creamy skin of her neck. Who would have believed his night of gambling would come to this? This wonderful woman was kind, intelligent, and most of all, she loved him. What more could he ask?

  "You are beautiful, Elizabeth."

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and he took that moment to kiss her again. The taste of her, the smell of her, the touch of her was his undoing. They fit together so perfectly, he thought he was dreaming. Her lips were as soft as the rose petals in spring. Salty tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks. His heart leapt as he pulled her into his arms, drawing her further into the garden.

  Elizabeth felt alive for the first time in years. Stephen's tender concern for her was another point in his favor. And this was the man she was to marry.

  Marry. The word whirled through her mind, curling around her heart like a whisper of heaven.

  Resting her head against his shoulder, she closed her eyes, letting him slide her onto his lap as he took a seat on a bench in a far corner of the garden.

  "Elizabeth, sweetheart."

  She opened her eyes and lifted her head.

  The next moment, every muscle in her body stiffened. For there, behind a large oak, stood Mr. Fennington, his frown carved into his face like the knots of the ancient tree that shadowed him.

  Stephen's hands froze on Elizabeth's stiff form. Guilt flooded him. What had he done?

  "Forgive me."

  He placed her beside him, his breathing labored. "My instincts ran away with me, Elizabeth. I beg your pardon."

  From what he could see from the moonlight, her face was as white as his cravat. He felt like the worst rake in London.

  "Elizabeth, say something. Please."

  Her hand was clammy, and she seemed frightened out of her wits. He had pushed her too far. She was not a lady of the night or some lonely widow. She was an innocent, and dash it all, she was to be his wife. He had moved too quickly.

  Wide blue eyes stared up at him as she pulled her hands from his grip. "You have no need to ask my forgiveness, my lord," she said all too coolly.

  My lord, he thought with a grimace.

  "I... that is, we must return to the ball." She blinked rapidly, wringing her hands on her lap.

  "You are fine then? You do not hate me?"

  She gave a hesitant laugh and stood, stepping into the full light of the moon. "We must go back."

  He nodded, knowing he would have to control himself until the wedding. "I promise you, you will have no need to fear me."

  If she could have turned whiter than before, she did. Stephen felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach.

  Cursing himself for his hasty actions, he took her arm, sensing her uneasiness. "Let us return and see what fools my brothers have made of themselves."

  Her laugh was forced, and he wondered if he had ruined everything. He would keep his distance from her, giving her room to breathe. He realized, with an intensity he couldn't explain, that he wanted this woman for his wife, for his lover, for the mother of his children. He wanted her, and by heaven, nothing was going to stop him from having her. Not even himself.

  Minutes later, Elizabeth stood in the ballroom, speaking to Stephen's mother. But her fear Mr. Fennington would somehow make an unannounced appearance was like a noose about her neck. The very sight of the man in the gardens made her throat constrict until she felt faint.

  The crowd had pushed in around her, the gentlemen asking for a dance, the dowagers wanting to know where she had bought her gown. But to her surprise, none of Stephen's brothers had come to her rescue, not even Stephen.

  Her fiancé had left her like a cold fish after he had kissed her. He must have been having second thoughts about their marriage. She was not a good kisser, she knew that. She hadn't the experience. Yet if was there was any chance at all that he might love her, she had to rid herself of Mr. Fennington.

  She thought she had made it perfectly clear that she was not interested in the man. She had no idea what had happened between Stephen and him at the dressmaker's that day, but upon her exit, she had thought she heard a groan of pain.

  Yet, when Stephen had hopped into the carriage, he seemed not the least bit breathless, and his ensemble was in perfect condition. However, the hardness in his eyes alone had betrayed his emotions. He had been angry. And rightly so.

  Somehow she would have to make Mr. Fennington see that she meant what she said. Knowing the fool, he probably thought she would slip from the ball to see him, and drat the man, she would have to do just that to set him straight.

  Within minutes she had made her way past the French windows and returned to the gardens. The music slowly dropped to a low murmur while a cool breeze fingered through the trees. She knew Mr. Fennington would eventually find her. But as it was now, she could not have the odious man intruding into her life anymore.

  She was about to give up her search when a cold hand clamped over her mouth, and she was dragged behind the bushes. She fought against the body that held her.

  "Miss Shelby, Elizabeth, it's me."

  Her mouth thinned in anger when Mr. Fennington released her and she spun around. "Why did you do that? I am perfectly capable of speaking to you without being accosted."

  "I received your letter to come and fetch you."

  Elizabeth stilled. The letter? He had r
eceived the letter she had posted before the shopping excursion. How long ago was that? "Well, it does not signify. I've changed my mind. In fact, I already gave you a piece of my mind at the dressmaker's."

  He grabbed hold of her shoulders. "You cannot change your mind."

  "Let me go. You're hurting me."

  Reluctantly, he stepped back. "Beg your pardon. It's just that I love you so much, I can never think of letting you go."

  Maybe she had misjudged him. "Mr. Fennington, I don't want to hurt you, but you must see that what we had was a silly infatuation and nothing more. It is entirely my fault for leading you to believe I would marry you, and I pray you will forgive me, but I can see that we would no longer suit."

  "Forgive you," he hissed. "Why? Because you have fallen in love with a lord like your father wanted you to." A low rumble of laughter released from his chest. "Oh, this is too much."

  A wave of uneasiness coursed through her. "This is my engagement ball," she uttered, afraid now that people might hear them. "I cannot be away any longer. Someone will miss me.

  His sudden hold on her arm startled her. "You think that handsome lord loves you? What kind of innocent are you?"

  Elizabeth tried to wiggle out of his grip, but found herself being dragged further into the bushes.

  "Mr. Fennington. I have tried to be nice to you, but it seems clear to me that you do not understand the word 'no.' "

  "I heard and saw everything, Miss Shelby. The words of your undying love. The way he kissed you, as if you were the only woman he loved. But the fact of the matter is, he never told you he loved you. His latest flirt is that new opera singer. It's not as if his brothers don't know it. How can you be so naive? His kisses were nothing more than a ploy to marry you without a fight."

  "I—I don't believe you." But her heart began to slowly crack. Stephen had never declared his love for her. And she, fool that she was, had declared her love for him like some silly child.

  "Tell me, whose kiss did you like best, Lord Stephen Clearbrook's or mine?"

  Elizabeth stared back in alarm at Fennington's twisted smile. "I need to return to the ballroom. Now, if you will please unhand me, sir."