No Man's Bride (4 page)

He had never found brunettes particularly alluring, and he usually disliked the dark look many of his country servants had after working out in the fields, but this girl, with her dark hair and bronze skin, was astonishingly alluring. She was not beautiful, not in the way Elizabeth was. But there was something earthy about her, something raw and exotic and sexual that attracted him.

Involuntarily, his eyes traveled down the length of her throat to the small expanse of flesh revealed at the bodice of her gown. He wondered, if he’d been able to see more of that flesh, if she would be honey gold all over—breasts, stomach, legs.

Immediately, he forced his eyes back to hers.
She was still holding the handkerchief to her lip. She pulled it away again, and he saw that the bleeding had slowed. Retaking his seat, he watched her push the hair from her forehead yet a third time.

The clock on the mantel ticked off the minutes, and that was the only sound in the room until Quint could no longer stand it. “Do you think your sister will be coming back down?”

She shrugged, lifted the handkerchief, and touched her lip. It was slightly swollen now, a splotch of red radiating out from her lower lip to tinge her cheek.

“Could you be persuaded to go up and fetch her?”

The girl gave him an incredulous look. “No, I could not.”

“You don’t like your sister very much, do you?”

She gave him a long look. “Whatever gave you that idea, Lord Valentine?”

“You have nothing to be jealous of, you know,” he said, sitting back and making himself comfortable. “You’re attractive—in your own way.”

“What a compliment,” she said, tone wry.

“And I am certain you could find a suitable husband if you only applied yourself more.”

She stared at him. “I shall remember that the next time my father brings home three apes who are bent on trying to lure me into their lairs.”

“Apes sleep in trees.”

“That’s not my point.”

“I am beginning to see that.” He remembered her parting words at the ball. “You do not wish to marry, do you, Miss Fullbright?”

“A young lady who does not want to marry? Ridiculous idea, Lord Valentine.” She slanted those hazel eyes at him, and he had to cover his smile.

“It is ridiculous, especially your method of avoiding the institution. Climbing about on verandas and throwing tirades, Miss Fullbright?”

“You have another suggestion?”

“No, merely a question: Why don’t you want to marry?”

“I have a better question,” she said, finally allowing the handkerchief to drop from her mouth. She sat forward as though intensely interested in her subject now. “Why do you
want
to marry?”

“A variety of reasons,” he answered, uncertain why his cravat felt as though it had shrunk. “Many reasons,” he finished weakly.

“Name three.” She pounced, and he was back on the defensive.

“I approve of the institution of marriage, for one,” he began. “It’s good for the moral code of the country, and—”

She waved a hand. “That’s meaningless rhetoric. Give me a good reason. A personal reason.”

He felt like telling her his personal reasons were none of her business, but he was trying to
make a point here. It was probably his duty as a man and a member of Parliament to convince her to marry. What would England come to with hordes of unmarried women running about, all with
ideas
and such about why they should not marry?

He had read
Lysistrata,
by God, and he wouldn’t have his country run by a gaggle of clucking, misguided women.

“I suppose I also want to marry because I need an heir. One day I will become a marquess, and I need a son to follow after me.”

She seemed to consider, then nodded. “Yes, I suppose children are a good reason to marry. I will miss children. What is your third reason?”

Quint thought for a moment. What the devil was his third reason? He’d never considered
why
he would marry; he only knew that he must. And then it came to him.

“For my career. The right wife can be an asset for a man like me.”

Immediately, he knew he’d given her the wrong answer. He’d forgotten she was the romantic sort. Her face clouded, and she shook her head. She began to speak, then shut her mouth and stood. “Men. You are all the same. It disgusts me.”

She made to leave the drawing room, but he called after her, “Then I have not caused you to reconsider?”

“Reconsider?” She rounded on him. “Reconsider what? Reconsider joining an institution
devised by men to benefit men at the detriment of women? An institution that has nothing whatsoever to do with love or esteem or even affection but relies wholly upon political stratagems formulated by men? Now you tell me, Lord Valentine, why should I marry?”

She stood and stared at him, waiting for an answer that he seemed unable to give. Surely he should be able to think of something. The
Times
had called him one of the greatest orators of his time, by God.

And yet the girl, this unkempt and uncivilized girl, had left him speechless. It was not to be borne. She stared at him a moment later, and then without the least trace of victory in her eyes, said, “That’s what I thought.”

And she strode from the room, her ugly brown skirts swirling as though she were the queen.

“Have you gone completely mad?” Ashley said when Catherine opened the door to the attic. She’d been banished there for a week.

Their maidservant slept there as well, but at present Catherine was alone in the attic and the house. Elizabeth and her mother had gone to stroll in Hyde Park, as it was the fashionable hour. It would have been more fashionable to ride, but the family had neither a horse nor carriage.

“Come in.” Catherine opened the door wider, but Ashley just stood in the doorway and stared at her.

Ashley had changed little in the eighteen years Catherine had known her. She’d grown up to be precisely the beauty everyone had said she would. Her hair was the shade of ripe wheat, her skin so white and flawless that it shamed milk and honey, and her eyes were the most startling shade of pale sea green. She was of medium height with a perfect figure, and she had an amazing flair for fashion.

Not that she concerned herself with matters of fashion very often. Ashley was neither vain nor conceited. She would have made a better man than woman, for she was courageous, willful, and never dissembled, even when one wanted her to.

“That’s what you have to say for yourself?” Ashley remarked. “‘Come in’?”

“Sit down?”

“Have you gone absolutely daft? You are sleeping in the servants’ quarters now?”

Catherine sighed. “As you see.”

“Oh, never mind that.” Ashley stomped inside and bent under the low ceiling. “More importantly, Devlin told me he heard that you took a shot at a gentleman caller this morning, tried to set the house on fire, and tackled Lizzy.”

Catherine smiled. If Ashley’s brother had heard of her actions, the plan was working. “The last part is true. Where on earth did Devlin hear the rest?”

“I think he was at the butcher’s. The man
claims the two of you were practically engaged.”

“What?”

“Yes, that’s just what I said.” Ashley flounced inside and flopped down on Lizzy’s new bed, careless of her riding dress or the intricate style of her blond hair. “I made Devlin take me right back over there, and then the butcher admitted you weren’t quite engaged. But what about the rest of it, and why are butchers courting you? I thought we promised to be adventurers, not wives.” She said the last as though it were a curse.

Hoping her cousin’s tirade was over, Catherine sat next to her. “I am going to be an adventurer. Josie and I are planning an exciting adventure right now. But until we’re ready to leave, I have to keep my father from marrying me off. I thought if I caused a bit of commotion, it would put off some of the suitors my father has been bringing home. Men like that butcher.”

Ashley sat forward. “Really? That’s actually a very good idea.”

“Thank you.”

“But don’t you think starting fires is taking the scheme a bit too far?”

“I didn’t start a fire or shoot at anyone. I did tackle Lizzy, but—”

“She deserved it,” they said in unison and then laughed.

“Good for you,” Ashley said. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“I was hoping you would ask that.” Catherine had been sitting in the attic for several hours contemplating her next plan of attack as well as praying her father would not break down the door and beat her senseless for her earlier behavior. He had gone out after the incidents of the afternoon and hadn’t yet returned. Thank God. As much as she’d like to run and hide at Maddie’s home, Catherine knew that would only make her father angrier and guarantee her own punishment was that much worse in the end.

“I’ve been thinking, and I feel that continuing my efforts to dissuade my father’s suitors are not wise. I can’t keep acting like this,” Catherine said. “You know how my father is.”

Ashley nodded, uncharacteristically silent. She was not the kind of girl to be afraid of anything, but she was cautious around her uncle Edmund.

“I have to work even harder to delay Lord Valentine’s wedding to Elizabeth. I made one attempt at the Beaufort ball, but I must do more. I need more time.”

Ashley nodded. “Yes, I see your point, but the announcement appeared in the
Times
. Valentine will be in a hurry to get Lizzy to the altar now. He’s a proud man.”

“Arrogant you mean. The only reason he wants to marry Elizabeth is because he needs an heir, and he thinks it will help his career. He doesn’t care one fig for her.”

“Nor she for him, I imagine,” Ashley said.

“So what do we do? How do we keep them from the church?”

“I don’t know, but I promise to think about it. I’ll talk to Madeleine and Josephine, too. Between the four of us, we’ll come up with a plan. Until then, don’t do anything rash.”

“Me? Rash?”

Ashley laughed. “Very well.
I
won’t do anything rash. Just sit tight, Catie. We’ll halt that engagement if it’s the last thing we do.”

Catherine sighed. Leave it to Ashley to put it in the most dramatic terms possible.

E
dmund Fullbright moved away from his daughter’s door before his niece could emerge and catch him snooping. Goddamn little hoyden. That was the influence of his wife’s family for you. Her brother’s brood was an absolute disgrace.

Did he not have enough problems with his stubborn, ungrateful daughter without Sir Gareth’s litter putting ideas into her head?

He swore and kicked at a loose rail on the banister as he made his way to his study. It was more of a closet, really. The house the family had occupied for the last twelve years was tiny. He had no privacy here.

After shutting the door, Edmund went to his
scratched desk and opened the bottom drawer. It was the only drawer that still opened and closed properly, and he kept a store of blue ruin and a glass inside. He removed both, poured himself a glass, and leaned back in his creaking chair to contemplate.

What was he going to do about his two broodmares? Not for the first time, he wished he had a son. A boy would accompany him to the gaming hells, play as his partner. With a boy, he would have won at the tables. A boy would have been useful in so many ways, while these daughters of his sat at home and wasted his money, bringing nothing in themselves.

The time for that was over. Until now he’d had no use for his daughters. He’d watched and waited and doted on Elizabeth, knowing she would be the one to repay his efforts. His younger was the prettier of the two, and now she had scored herself a future marquess. Valentine would pay nicely for the privilege of wedding and bedding little Elizabeth. But weren’t there men in England willing to pay even more? After all, Elizabeth had just come out. This was her first real Season, and Valentine was her first acceptable suitor. Not for the first time, Edmund feared he had been too quick in his acceptance of Valentine’s proposal. He should have waited for a duke or even a foreign prince.

And now with Lizzy engaged, what to do about Catherine? Edmund did not think he could have
sold the girl had he offered her for a pound and an eel pie.

He poured another glass of gin. Not only was it unprofitable, it wasn’t right to marry Elizabeth before Catherine. The elder should marry first, or the family looked desperate. Edmund had been the younger son of an earl, and though Edmund cared for little else the man he’d called father had taught him, some rules and social rituals stuck with him. He
needed
to marry Catherine before he could allow Elizabeth to wed. And he needed to marry the girl soon. Already Valentine was chomping at the bit, asking when he could call the banns, pressing for a wedding date.

Valentine would be a good son-in-law. Edmund smiled and took another swallow of gin. Then he frowned when he saw the glass was empty. He filled it a third time, taking note that the bottle was almost dry. Stupid cow. His wife had been stealing his liquor again. Later he’d show the strumpet what happened when she stole what was his.

But now for Valentine. Edmund had looked into Quint Childers. The man was wealthy—not a Croesus by any means—but he would do. Still, Edmund hated to waste his one good daughter on a marquess. He knew with Elizabeth’s pretty face and tight little figure he could score a duke at least. When she’d been a child, he’d promised her a prince, and he still thought the plan entirely feasible. But the little chit was happy with Valentine,
couldn’t stop cooing over how handsome he was and how well-mannered. Stupid cow. He had other plans for her.

But what to do with Valentine then? One did not just toss away a good future marquess. Edmund took another sip of gin and another, and then through the haze an idea came as clear as the song of an angel. The idea was so good, he sat up straight and rigid, and said, “Oh!” And then he dissolved into fits of laughter.

He laughed and laughed. He laughed so long and so hard that after a while his wife knocked on the door and asked if he was well. He cuffed her, sent her away, and then he laughed some more.

Yes, he would have his marquess and both daughters married too. Pulling on his coat, he stumbled through his house and then out the door. He’d tell his little Valentine to call the banns now—this Sunday. Edmund Fullbright was ready for his daughter to wed.

All he needed to do was make one little stop at the chemist, and everything would go as planned.