Never a Bride

by Megan Frampton

  He wondered if she would scratch him as well.

  “Will you need my help?” she continued. “With purchasing the proper clothing?”

  He didn’t, he supposed. Surely Frederick had some sort of valet tucked inside that grand house of his. Or he could enlist Clark to act as his valet, for that matter. If he could find him.

  But the best-case scenario for that would mean having to wait, and now that Griffith had made up his mind—had set his course, so to speak—he didn’t want to waste time. Besides which, it would be delightful to have her help rather than anybody else’s.

  “I do, my lady.” He spoke as though reluctant to ask.

  She narrowed her gaze at him. As though she knew what he was thinking.

  “I will have to ask my brothers-in-law where they go. I do not have a list of fine gentleman’s haberdasheries at hand.”

  “So perhaps you’re not that shocking after all?” He couldn’t resist asking, if only to see her reaction.

  “Honestly,” she said. “Are you going to vex me every time we speak?”

  “Surely not every time,” he replied. He grinned at her. “I imagine when I wish you a good morning I won’t annoy you too much.”

  “Perhaps not too much.” Her lips twisted as though she were trying to suppress a smile.

  “Excellent. I will try to limit myself to all the good hailings I can imagine. Good morning, good afternoon, good evening. Will that suit?”

  “Perfectly.” She did allow herself to smile then, and he felt momentarily flattened by the brilliance of it.

  And not only was she stunningly beautiful, she was also the barrier he would wield toward any ambitious debutante who thought a duke’s heir might be worth the bother of him. Not to mention someone he could be himself with as he navigated these new waters.

  She’d make an excellent captain herself, he could tell. She was obviously too stubborn and fierce to obey orders, as though he hadn’t had her own words to confirm that. But she could give them with a lift of her imperious nose. And everyone would scurry to follow.

  He would scurry to follow. He wondered if he could persuade her to issue some particularly intriguing orders after they’d gotten better acquainted.

  His cock reacted predictably, and he shifted on the sofa.

  “So how did we meet?” she asked. She is not talking to you, he reminded his cock. Focus, Griffith.

  “Uh—perhaps we met when you came aboard for a tour of my ship and were struck by my remarkable handsomeness?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Or you dropped your handkerchief, I returned it to you, and you were struck by my remarkable handsomeness?”

  She folded her arms over her chest.

  “Let’s just say we met at a park. We don’t need to discuss your appearance.”

  “Fine,” he replied. “What else?”

  “How we’ll break it off,” she continued. “I think you should be the one to do it, since Society will forgive a duke’s heir a lot quicker than they would a lady in my position.”

  “And what position would that be?” he couldn’t resist asking, waggling his eyebrows.

  She ignored him. “Not that I care about being forgiven, but it will help my sisters if I am somewhat respectable.” She paused as she thought. “You can say that your duties have made it impossible to focus on marriage at this point, and that you wish me every happiness, etcetera, etcetera.”

  “I would never put duties over love.” He held his hands up in response to her look of aggravation. “Fine, we’ll do as you say.”

  “And when will we work on finding where Mr. Wattings might be?”

  Of course. He’d nearly forgotten, he’d been so intent on teasing her. Not to mention his intense attraction to her.

  There was a reason, a very real reason, that she had agreed to this bargain. She was so desperate to find her friend’s husband that she was willing to subject herself to Society’s ridicule and disdain.

  That took strength of character, and he couldn’t help but admire her.

  “We’ll start tomorrow. On everything.”

  “In here.” Della gestured toward the door leading into Dunworthy and Sons, Gentlemen’s Furnishings. Lord Stanbury flung the door open, stepping in like a king entering his court.

  To be fair, he seemed to behave like that most of the time, treating his surroundings as though everything was just there for his pleasure. A feeling that should not make her react, but of course it did.

  He was just so—so. So big, so handsome, so irritating. Della had spent much of the night before lying awake thinking about their interactions. She was so keenly aware of his every word, every gesture. Although perhaps that would lessen the effect of returning to Society—she’d be too distracted by him to worry about people shunning her or whispering cruel words about her. So there was an upside?

  He held the door for her and Becky, smiling gently at the girl as he shut the door behind them. Apparently he could be polite. To everyone but her.

  “May I help you, my lord?” A clerk walked up, an apprehensive expression on his face. Because he didn’t have clothing big enough for Captain Enormous, perhaps?

  The clerk was of medium stature, with thinning hair and an impressive moustache. He wore a well-made suit that appeared to fit him perfectly. A good indication that this was, in fact, the correct place to shop. Despite what his own misgivings might indicate.

  “Yes, thank you,” Della said before Lord Stanbury could speak. “The gentleman needs a full wardrobe. Your shop came recommended by my brother-in-law Lord Raybourn.”

  The man’s face cleared. “Oh, splendid!” He held his hand out to indicate a chair at the far end. “If your maid would like to take a seat, we can review what will be required.”

  “Go ahead and sit, Becky,” Della said. Her maid nodded, but not before giving Lord Stanbury an admiring look. Her fear of the gentleman seemed to have been replaced by a budding interest, one that should not make Della annoyed.

  Even though it did.

  “If you will come this way, we can discuss what types and colors of fabric you prefer.”

  “I don’t prefer any type or color,” Lord Stanbury said in a grumpy voice. “I just don’t want anything that is too itchy.”

  “Stop being such a curmudgeon,” Della said. She addressed the man who was waiting on them. “This is Lord Stanbury, and I am Lady Della Howlett.”

  “My betrothed,” Lord Stanbury added.

  “And you are?” Della continued, as though he hadn’t spoken. Although she felt her cheeks heat as the truth of their deception—oxymoronic thought though that was—hit her. The news of his arrival, his impending inheritance, and their betrothal was likely to be known throughout London by the evening, given how much people liked to gossip.

  She couldn’t back away from their bargain now. Even if the thought of it, of returning to Society, terrified her, she had to follow through, if only to give Sarah some peace of mind. No matter what he did to her own peace of mind.

  “I am Mr. Dunworthy. My father opened this shop, and I have continued his work, serving people such as your brother-in-law.” Mr. Dunworthy’s tone was proud and respectful.

  “A pleasure, Mr. Dunworthy.” Della shot a reproving glance at Lord Stanbury. “Ignore my betrothed, he is just peeved that he has to get rigged out in such fashion. He’s a generally peevish person,” she continued in a confiding tone, resisting the urge to giggle at Lord Stanbury’s expression.

  “If you care to assess these fabrics,” Mr. Dunworthy said as he led them toward the back of the shop. “I believe you will find these to be the highest quality, suitable for a gentleman of your position.”

  “I am not peevish,” he grumbled as they followed Mr. Dunworthy.

  She gave him a pointed look before going to stand beside him, so close his scent filled her nose. He smelled wonderful, like cloves and wood smoke. She wondered if it was a cologne he’d gotten while on his travels—she certainly had never
smelt anything like it before. Of course, she hadn’t come close enough to any gentleman in years to sniff them. So perhaps it was common, she just didn’t know about it.

  But his scent was distracting her. As was his nearness and his general presence.

  “Why are you doing this, if even this is burdensome to you?” she said in a low voice. “You try to hide it, but you must feel a strong sense of responsibility to be putting yourself through this. You do know that this is child’s play compared to having to make the rounds in Society.” She paused, then took a deep breath and exhaled. “Especially since you will be with me.” She turned to look at him, drawing her brows together. “I will make things much more difficult for you.”

  He leaned in, brushing her shoulder with his. “Or you will make it much more pleasurable.”

  Oh. The way he said the last word, drawing it out through his mouth as though savoring it. As though he wanted to savor her.

  She shuddered in reaction, trying not to imagine it. Unfortunately, the side effect of being a truly ruined woman is that one knew precisely what one was imagining. Mr. Baxter had been reasonable in that way, at least. If in nothing else.

  And it had been so very long.

  “Remind me to ask you again when you find yourself confronted by some disapproving lord.” She spoke in a prim tone of voice, as much for her own benefit as for his. She could not allow herself to get distracted by the thought of all that. Even though he was entirely distracting, especially in that way.

  “A disapproving lord who probably has some ninny of a daughter he’d much rather I end up with.” He spoke in a disgusted tone. “No thank you. I far prefer the ruined woman in this scenario.” He shrugged. “Besides which, it will give me an excuse to punch somebody in the nose if they impugn your honor.”

  Her stomach flipped at his words. Della hadn’t had anybody but her sisters and brothers-in-law stand up for her, and none of them had ever offered violence toward someone who’d insulted her. Although Ida might, if provoked enough. It felt comforting, even though she would loathe it if he did it in truth.

  Which reminded her to remind him. “You’re not allowed to do that, remember? I can take care of myself.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Surely you’ll allow me to do just a little bit of punching? If it was in response to a comment?”

  She shook her head, even though the thought was appealing. But she knew men—if they thought they had permission for one thing, invariably they believed the permission extended far beyond the original limit.

  “No, you cannot. But thank you.”

  They’d just met, and they had yet to get along, but he was offering, as though it was nothing, to support her. She would be safe with him, she knew that.

  Although she wasn’t certain she would be safe from herself.

  Chapter 6

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked as they stepped out of the shop into the street. Griffith glanced instinctively to either side, taking her arm and drawing her close to him. Her maid trailed behind, and Griffith looked back to ensure she was safe as well.

  “Stop manhandling me,” she said as she twisted her arm away. “I am perfectly capable of walking down the street on my own.”

  He took her arm again, glancing down at her with an amused expression on his face. “I believe that, my lady. Perhaps I want the comfort of you by my side since I am unfamiliar with London?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied, but she didn’t pull away.

  “Thank you for your help today,” he said as they walked. Toward where, he had no idea. He only hoped it wasn’t to buy more clothing. “Do you have the proper attire for our upcoming adventure?” he asked.

  “Sarah and I went shopping yesterday.”

  Damn. He wished he could have seen her trying gowns on, offering his opinion as to which was the most appealing on her. By which he meant the one that would show off her curves and creamy skin the best.

  “There is a stack of invitations for us at Frederick’s house.” He spoke in a rueful tone. “News of my return traveled quickly. I believe there is a party tonight, should you be prepared for it. Unless you need more time?”

  “I do not,” she retorted, as he could have predicted. Lady Della was nothing if not predictably snappish, especially if it appeared one was questioning her being up to a task.

  “Excellent. I will pick you up this evening, say around eight o’clock?” He glanced around them. “Where are we going now anyway?”

  He saw her cheeks turn pink as she replied. “Since we are posing as an engaged couple, I thought it would be best if we have a ring. We’re going to a jeweler’s. Hopefully my mother won’t have decided to go shopping today as well,” she muttered, her tone as apprehensive as he’d heard from her thus far.

  “A ring! I’d forgotten about that.” He grinned at her. “Are you certain you haven’t done this sort of subterfuge before?”

  “You mean pretending I am betrothed to a duke’s heir? I am fairly certain I would have recalled,” she said in a dry tone.

  He leaned his head back in laughter. She glanced up at him, a wry smile on her mouth, and then she laughed also, shaking her head.

  This was already so much fun, and they hadn’t even gotten into the teeth of Society yet.

  “That one,” Lord Stanbury said, pointing to a ring in the jewelry case.

  Della frowned at seeing his selection. “That is far too large,” she said.

  “I am far too large, my lady, and yet you are stuck with me.” The clerk in the shop raised her eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. The clerk had introduced herself as Mrs. Harcourt, and judging by her placid demeanor, she was accustomed to seeing gentlemen purchasing jewels for ladies.

  “You are not ostentatious and blindingly sparkling,” she pointed out as the clerk withdrew the ring, laying it on the counter.

  It was an enormous ruby, square-cut, surrounded by a ring of multicolored stones in a thick gold setting. It was, in Della’s opinion, remarkably vulgar in its opulence, but she had to admit it drew the eye.

  “I strongly disagree, my lady. I plan on being both ostentatious and blindingly sparkling this evening, when we attend that party.”

  “You will not,” Della said firmly. “The point is for you to be accepted into Society, not to antagonize it. Even though you’re insisting you bring me along, which will already be an impediment.”

  “Ah, but that is the whole fun of it.” He winked at her. “Why should I compromise who I am? Who you are? Just so we can move through Society?”

  “Don’t be surprised when they turn their backs on you,” she muttered.

  He took her arm and turned her to face him. His gaze was intense, focused on her face. She inhaled at how fierce he looked. And how fierce he sounded when he spoke. “They will not. I understand these people. They pretend to be scandalized when someone in their world steps out of line, but they adore it when that someone does it with confidence. That is all you need, my lady. Confidence. We will succeed in our own storming of this castle, and we won’t have to pretend to be anyone but ourselves.”

  Listening to him, seeing the look in his eyes, Della could almost believe it would be as easy as he said. Even though she knew that her situation—being a ruined woman—was far different from his. Not only that, but she’d be returning on the arm of a gentleman who would otherwise be fair game for single young ladies, so she would be despised even more.

  It would not be enjoyable, not at all. But it was what he was demanding as the price to his helping her find Mr. Wattings, and she would face much worse than Society’s disapproval if there was a chance she could help Sarah achieve some level of peace.

  “Try it on,” he urged. She picked the ring up and slid it on her finger. She stared down at it, at how the stone glinted in the light. It looked less terrible on her hand than it had in the case, and she could almost admit he was right in choosing this one. It said that there was no embarrassment to this engagement, that both th
e giver and wearer were proud to be open about their relationship.

  “It looks lovely,” the clerk said, her tone surprised.

  Della looked up at the woman, her lips curling up into a smile as she met her gaze. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “See?” he said in satisfaction. He addressed the clerk. “If you will send the bill to the Duke of Northam’s house, we will settle the account immediately.” He leaned toward Della to look into the case again, gesturing to something within. “And those earrings on the right, also.”

  “No, there is no need. The ring is plenty.” Even though she couldn’t suppress a gasp of appreciation as the clerk laid the earrings he’d indicated on the counter. They were ruby also, but simple teardrops on a plain gold wire.

  “I say that there is.” His tone allowed for no more argument. And besides, they were exceptionally beautiful. She could only resist so much.

  “Shall I wrap these up?” the clerk asked.

  “I’ll wear them,” Della said, scooping up the earrings. “And the ring too.”

  He watched as she slid the earrings through her ears, then tossed her head to make them dance when they were in. His gaze was appreciative, making her warm all over.

  The clerk stepped over to the far side of the counter, writing up the order. Becky stood by the front door, her attention focused on the street outside.

  “They suit you,” he said in a low voice. “Richly beautiful, simple, elegant, in a color you cannot ignore. Like you,” he finished. His words sent a ripple of pleasure through her body.

  She bit her lip as she stared up at him, seeing the look of hunger in his gaze. Knowing that hungry look was likely duplicated in her own eyes.

  This was so much trouble. He was trouble personified, and she would have to be wary in dealing with him that she didn’t succumb as she had before. No pleasures of the flesh were worth the heartache that would inevitably come afterward. And she had no doubt that if she let him he would cause her plenty of heartache.