Undressed (Undone by Love)

by Kristina Cook

  “Not really,” she muttered.

  “I only hope you do not fancy yourself in love with him.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Nothing but trouble would follow such imprudence as losing your heart to a man like him. You must remember that. I fear I’m partly to blame for this fiasco, and the burden weighs heavily on me. I should have taken more seriously your objections to marrying Sinclair. Still, I had no idea you’d act so rashly, so irresponsibly, in order to extricate yourself. Jane Rosemoor is your friend, and I suppose you thought...Well, you shall have her as a sister now, won’t you? Let that thought comfort you.”

  Brenna could only wonder how Jane felt about the circumstances forcing the marriage. Would she think less of her now? Her cheeks grew warm at the thought of Jane’s disapproval.

  “The Rosemoors are highly esteemed,” he added, “despite young Rosemoor’s attempts to ruin them.”

  Och, if only Lord Danville knew the truth. ‘Twas his own son’s efforts that had ruined Colin’s reputation. I should tell him so, Brenna thought. She didn’t owe Hugh protection, especially after his violent little outburst in Lord Danville’s study. Lord Danville wouldn’t believe her, but she’d try, nonetheless. “There’s something I must tell ye, sir.”

  “Yes? Go on.”

  “About Hugh. Think what ye will of Colin Rosemoor, but he is no cheat. ‘Twas Lord Thomas Sinclair who arranged to have that card planted in Colin’s pocket. He did so at Hugh’s direction.”

  “Rubbish. Wherever would you get such a ridiculous notion as that? From Rosemoor himself, I suppose.”

  “Nay, Lord Danville. I heard them—Hugh and Lord Thomas— speaking of their plot to ruin him. Today. ‘Tis why I had to speak with Jane so urgently.”

  “Enough. I will not listen to such outlandish tales.”

  “But, Lord Danville, ‘tis true. Hugh hoped to gain the hand of Miss Lyttle-Brown and needed Colin discredited so that she might—”

  “I said enough, Margaret.” Lord Danville held up one hand. Just as she’d suspected, he would not entertain the truth, not when it spoke so unflatteringly about his only son and heir. “No more. Go on, up to bed now. You’ll need every ounce of your strength in the coming days. Dressmakers, milliners...” He shook his head. “Wherever else it is young ladies must go to see to their needs before marriage. Don’t fret yourself over Hugh. He’ll get over it soon enough.”

  Would he? She’d destroyed the terms of his bargain with Lord Thomas, after all. She only hoped Colin wouldn’t suffer for it. Hadn’t he suffered enough at the hands of the scheming pair? She did not care if Hugh ever forgave her, so long as he left her in peace.

  “Good night, Lord Danville,” she said quietly, rising and heading toward the stairs with only the slightest limp. Her father was right—she needed some rest. The day’s events had exhausted her, both physically and mentally. Her ankle still smarted, though it was the least of her worries. She could no longer hide from the decision she must make. She knew she must choose which course of action to take: flee to Glenbroch within the fortnight, or stay and accept the consequences of her actions.

  ‘Twould be a sleepless night, no doubt.

  ***

  “The yellow lawn is lovely, Margaret. Don’t you agree?”

  Brenna glanced up at the bolts of fabric draped across the long wooden table and nodded distractedly. “Aye, Lady—Mama,” she corrected. “The yellow lawn is lovely.”

  “Perhaps the lilac silk as well?” Her mother ran her fingers across a bolt of fabric the color of heather. “For an evening gown, I think. A turban to match might do nicely. I’ve some lovely feathers we could trim it with. Hmm, what else?”

  “S’il vous plait, madame, I highly recommend the blue crepe.” Madame Vioget held up a length of filmy fabric so sheer that the sunlight shone through it. “It will look positively charming with her coloring. For her wedding gown, non?”

  My wedding gown. Brenna gulped. Was she really here to purchase her trousseau? It hardly registered in her numb mind. She shook her head. No, the blue crepe wouldn’t do. It was far too...celebratory. This hasty marriage felt more like a duty than a celebration. Something simpler, more serviceable, felt right. A shade of gray silk, perhaps, or ecru satin.

  Madame Vioget pushed her spectacles up her thin nose. “And I was thinking this pearl-colored silk for a nightdress and matching dressing gown. For your wedding night, mademoiselle.” Brenna could only stare at the sumptuous fabric. Wedding night? Dear God, she hadn’t even allowed herself to think that far ahead.

  “Perhaps with Spanish lace trimming the bodice. Oui?” The modiste smiled wickedly. “I think your young monsieur will find it appealing. Très belle.”

  Brenna covered her mouth with one hand. Would he really expect...? She swallowed hard. Aye, of course he would. But so soon? ‘Twas not as if he had spoken of love or affection, and yet she’d already allowed him to bare her breasts to his gaze, to touch her in intimate ways she’d never imagined would bring her such pleasure. Her cheeks warmed uncomfortably at the memory. He would think her eager, willing to be bedded. Her legs began to tremble and she grasped the edge of the table for support.

  Her mother patted her hand reassuringly and turned toward the modiste with drawn brows. “You’re certain you can complete the order in less than a fortnight?”

  “Oui, of course, madame. I’ll have every seamstress available put right to work.”

  “This one,” Brenna blurted out, pointing to a bolt of dove-gray silk. “For my wedding gown.”

  Her mother shook her head. “No, dear, not for your wedding gown. It’s much too simple, too solemn. The blue crepe is better suited.”

  “Nay,” Brenna pressed. “I like the gray silk. I will make at least one decision myself, as far as my wedding is concerned.” A bleak gray, like her future.

  The bell in the shop’s door sounded. Brenna looked up as Lady Brandon, together with a silver-haired companion she remembered as Mrs. Appleton, headed their way.

  “Good day, Lady Danville, Lady Margaret,” Mrs. Appleton said. “Why, you must be here buying your trousseau. How positively delightful.” She clapped her plump hands together.

  “Good day, Mrs. Appleton, Lady Brandon.” Her mother nodded. Brenna tipped her head but said nothing.

  “What a happy coincidence,” Mrs. Appleton chirped. “Why, not a half hour past we ran into Lady Cowper, and she told us the news. Stunned I was, I tell you. Simply stunned. Not a match I would have predicted. I’m sure you’ve heard of his reputation, the rapscallion? Turned out of White’s, they say.”

  Lady Danville’s eyes narrowed, her mouth set in a hard line. “Nothing more than the impetuosities of youth, I assure you, Dolly.”

  “Hmph.” Lady Brandon eyed Brenna severely.

  It took every ounce of Brenna’s fortitude not to squirm under such scrutiny, yet she managed to stand erect, her head held high.

  “Cat got your tongue, gel?” Lady Brandon asked.

  “Nay, Lady Brandon. As ye can see, I’m still fully capable of speech.” Horrible woman. “‘Tis a pleasure to see ye, as always.”

  “Impertinent, as always,” Lady Brandon answered. “Say what you will, Harriet, but everyone knows Colin Rosemoor’s troubles are far more serious than boyish mischief. I can’t say I’m at all surprised by the match. Seems fitting, indeed.”

  Mrs. Appleton had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “Still,” she offered, “Lord and Lady Rosemoor are lovely people, and Jane Rosemoor has always been a darling of the ton, has she not?”

  “Indeed,” Brenna’s mother answered coldly.

  “Anyway,” Mrs. Appleton continued breathlessly, “Colin Rosemoor is a wicked one, isn’t he? Never without a beautiful woman on his arm, and I’ve always wondered about his relationship with Lady Mandeville, even though she and the marquess do seem very much in love. Why, it’s even rumored that Mr. Rosemoor was seen at the opera recently with Mrs. Trumball-Watts.”

  “That is no rumor,” Lady Brandon
said. “It’s the truth. I saw the pair with my very own eyes. Simply scandalous.”

  “Well, perhaps our girl here can set him to rights, hmm?” Mrs. Appleton chucked Brenna under the chin. “Wanted your dowry, I suppose. All those debts to pay, Mr. Appleton says. Well, who could blame the young buck? At least he had the brains to choose sensibility over beauty when selecting a bride. I hear you’re smart as a whip, Lady Margaret. There are worse things, I say. Well, we must be on our way. We’ve much to do today, haven’t we, Lady Brandon?”

  “Indeed,” her companion answered. “Best of luck, gel. You’ll need it.”

  “I thank ye for your kind felicitations,” Brenna ground out through gritted teeth, wishing the earth would open up beneath her slippers and swallow her whole.

  At last the women took their leave. Brenna watched them make their way back through the bolts of cloth, not releasing her breath until the bell jangled in the door, signaling their exit. Only then did she chance a glance at her scarlet-faced mother.

  “Why, I never!” Lady Danville huffed. “I would expect such treatment from Lady Brandon, but Mrs. Appleton? Her own daughter is married to a wastrel—the most lascivious rake for miles about. Forced to live in Cheapside now, from what I hear. We’ll strike her off our invitation list, won’t we, Margaret? Serve her right, the old tabby.” Her lips pursed, her mother returned her attention to the blue crepe.

  Brenna dropped her gaze to the dusty floor. Her dowry. Of course. That explained why Colin had come immediately to Danville House to face her father’s wrath instead of fleeing the district at once. He needed her dowry—not to mention her inheritance—to pay off his gambling debts. Why had she not thought of it before?

  A heated flush climbed up her neck as she silently cursed her loose tongue. She hadn’t thought twice about telling Jane the surprisingly large sum she’d seen listed as her dowry on the marriage contract. Had Jane repeated the sum to Colin? If so, Jane had no doubt meant well. Still...

  She reached up to rub her temples, still smarting at Mrs. Winterbourne’s unkind words. She was well aware she paled in comparison to the elegant young ladies who gathered in Lady Brandon’s drawing room; she needn’t the blunt reminders. Certainly her own appearance did not measure up to Lady Mandeville’s, she thought, calling to mind the woman’s golden hair, emerald-green eyes, and delicate features. Despite her small stature, Lady Mandeville appeared womanly, curved in all the right places. She glanced down at her own small bosom, fiddling with her pelisse as her mother finished her business with Madame Vioget.

  Brenna reached one hand up to stifle a yawn while she waited. She was tired, having lain awake last night till dawn, deciding whether or not to go through with the marriage. To do so would drastically alter the course she’d set for her life. To have such a decision thrust upon her in so short a time frightened her terribly. Still, only a coward would refuse to face the consequences of their behavior, no matter how unpleasant those consequences might be, and she was no coward. And perhaps the consequences wouldn’t be so unpleasant, after all. She enjoyed Colin’s company, she had reminded herself, and there was no denying that she desired him. The thought that she might have foolishly allowed herself to fall in love with him had even flitted uncomfortably across her mind. She’d dismissed the thought, refusing to acknowledge it. Instead, she’d tossed and turned in her bed for hours on end. As the first hazy light of dawn had cast an eerie glow on her bedchamber, she had at last made peace with her decision to remain. Only then had she been able to drift off into a restless sleep.

  Looking back now, she realized that perhaps she’d made the wrong decision after all.

  Chapter 16

  Colin paced before the Danvilles’ pianoforte, trailing his fingertips along the smooth rosewood case while he waited for Brenna to join him. He had no idea what he’d say to her but felt they should speak privately before their wedding, which was now only days away. Perhaps seeing her would set his mind at ease. Even if it did not, it didn’t seem right that he should next see her standing beside him as they became man and wife. Damnation, it still didn’t signify.

  Jane had claimed responsibility. She hadn’t imagined that Brenna would actually take her ill-conceived advice and attempt to entrap him, she said. Yet he detected a gleam of triumph in her eyes whenever she spoke of it. Which, of course, only made him feel all the more manipulated. Had he been nothing but a pawn in an elaborate game of chess? It certainly felt that way. Yet, at the same time, he felt a sense of relief. Despite his chafing at the female maneuverings, he was glad to save Brenna from marrying Sinclair. Now she would not be misused at Sinclair’s hands. She would be safe under his protection, of that he would make certain.

  He ceased his restless pacing, looking toward the empty doorway. What was keeping her? It seemed he’d been waiting an interminable time, though in truth it couldn’t have been more than a quarter hour. He was impatient. Distracted. Scanning the room, his gaze fell upon the long sideboard against the far wall. A cut-glass decanter of brandy, nearly full, sat there on a silver tray. A pair of snifters sat invitingly beside the decanter. Damn, but he needed a drink. How many days had it been? He’d lost count. Hadn’t he proved himself no longer dependent upon it? What harm could come from indulging in just a taste, no more?

  He crossed the room in several strides, pausing before the sideboard. He could almost taste the smoky, rich liquid sliding down his parched throat. Just a taste, he reminded himself. Reaching for the stopper, he froze. Horrified, he withdrew his hand with a silent curse. What the hell had happened to his self-control? He’d only now reached the point where he didn’t crave the blasted stuff on an hourly basis. No good would come from indulging now. He rammed his hands into his pockets, turning his back on the decanter before he changed his mind.

  A rustling sound in the doorway captured his attention, and he opened his eyes to find Brenna standing there, watching him. Devil take it, but his heart began to race. In the silence, he allowed himself a moment to study her. She wore a frothy gown of pale blue, generously trimmed with girlish ribbons. In stark contrast, her hair was pulled back into a severe knot, without even a single softening curl to frame her face—a face that appeared drawn, pale, her eyes hollow.

  “Mr. Rosemoor,” she murmured at last, offering him a slight curtsy. She did not meet his eyes, yet he could sense hers flashing angrily as she brushed past him and took a seat on the sofa.

  “Rather formal today, aren’t we?” he drawled, moving to stand opposite her, leaning indolently against the windowsill. “I rather think you might call me Colin. We are to be married soon, after all.”

  “A fact I’m well aware of. I’ve done naught but prepare for it for more than a sennight now.” Her voice was cold, clipped.

  What reasons could she have for her anger? Hadn’t he played right into her hands? “I’d expect you to sound more pleased about it.”

  “Would ye, now? I canna for the life of me imagine why.”

  “Your sharp tongue alone could wound a man, you know.” He rapped on his chest. “Straight through the heart.”

  “Have ye a quip for every occasion, Colin?”

  “I do try.”

  “Aye, ye make light of everything. Dinna ye realize how very serious this matter is? We’re to be joined in matrimony, in four days time. Till death do us part? Surely you’ve heard the phrase.”

  “I’m quite aware of the gravity of the situation,” he snapped. “You can rest assured that I won’t take our vows lightly.”

  “Every vow? Or simply the ones ye choose to honor?”

  “What are you implying, Brenna? That I’m not a man of my word? That I will abandon you, abuse you? Tell me, precisely which vow do you fear I might fail to keep?”

  “All of them...none of them,” she corrected, shaking her head. “I dinna ken what I mean.”

  He hadn’t thought it possible, but somehow her pale face became paler still. He studied her countenance again, more closely this time. Dark shadows rim
med her eyes, eyes that practically knocked the air from his lungs with their look of desperation. He could no longer bear to look into their turbulent depths.

  With a groan, Colin turned toward the window and leaned against the sill, his palms damp. It was hard to remain angry at someone who was clearly in such a state of despair—a state brought on, of course, because she was forced to marry him against her will. Was she really so horrified by the prospect? The thought sent his mind reeling.

  He closed his eyes and took several deep, calming breaths before opening them again to gaze out the window at the neat grounds of Danville House. The garden appeared orderly, well manicured. Nothing like the rambling, wild gardens his mother preferred at Rosemoor House, and, on a larger scale, at Glenfield. He shivered as a breeze heavy with the sweet scent of honeysuckle rippled the drapes. With a sigh, he dropped his chin to his chest. However had he gotten himself into this?

  His life was about to change—irrevocably—and he wasn’t in the least prepared for it. Now evicted from his bachelor lodgings, he hadn’t anywhere to live with his bride save Rosemoor House, together with his family. Until his father chose to give him one, he had no country estate of his own, and he could not afford to lease one. He had nothing to offer her; nothing besides his name. And, of course, the betrothal ring he carried with him now. One hand moved to his pocket, his fingers tracing the outline of the velvet pouch that held a precious Rosemoor family heirloom, one he’d chosen especially for Brenna.

  Would she accept the token with pleasure? Or would she slip it on her finger with reluctance? He was almost afraid to find out. With a silent curse, Colin pressed his forehead against the glass, cool against his burning skin. Bloody hell, what a mess. This was not the way in which he hoped to begin his married life. God help his foolish romanticism, but he’d imagined tender feelings, heartfelt declarations of love. Not this. Not tension, distrust. Anger.