The Bride Says No (7 page)

Tara nodded.

Mr. Stephens studied the cold hearth. Aileen could not divine what he was thinking, but he did not act like a man anxious to marry.

And here it was—the hypocrisy. The same nonsense that had led to her disastrous marriage to Geoff and all the other foolish decisions she’d made after that event.

Someone had to speak the truth. Aileen appointed herself. “
This is rubbish
.”

The earl pivoted on his heel, scowling his first acknowledgement of her presence since she’d entered the room. “Your opinion is not necessary.”

“But Tara’s is,” Aileen coolly shot back, “and she does not want to marry Mr. Stephens. Look at what she has done to escape him, and then you
bring
him
to
her? Perhaps instead of plotting a way to save your face in society, you should be asking yourself why your daughter ran from her own wedding, especially at considerable danger to herself.”

Mr. Stephens snapped his head round to glare at Aileen.
Brown,
she registered. His eyes were brown, and they burned with outrage.

Well, she, too, was angry. “You don’t know what cruelties men are capable of,” she informed the earl. “You have no idea what hell it is to live in a
loveless
marriage.”

“Cruelties? Loveless?” the earl repeated. “A man can’t be cruel to his wife. She’s his. He owns her. And people of our class don’t give a care about love. We marry for alliances.” He took a sip of his whisky, saying, “It is the way things are done.”

Aileen was tempted to hoot like a dairymaid over that comment. “The way things are done? Perhaps in the days when we warred against the Campbells and other clans, but those times are past. And there was never a need for an alliance with the English. We detested them. Oh, I beg pardon. Since you spend
all
of your time in London, you have probably forgotten your Scottish pride.”

The whisky glass literally shook in the earl’s hand. Aileen doubted if anyone had ever spoken to him in such a high-handed manner before, and she was proud of herself even as she prepared for the bite of his tongue.

However, his response was to give her his back. He focused on Tara, his voice fatherly, cajoling. “What if Mr. Stephens had bolted? And left
you
to stand humiliated in London?”

Tara bowed her head.

“Not a pleasant thought, is it?” the earl said. “But Stephens is here because I have explained to him that sometimes young women are not aware of what is in their best interest.”

“Oh, you are clever,” Aileen said. “You know exactly how to play on a daughter’s guilt. For the first time I realize how neatly you manipulated me into marrying Geoff. How you said the right words to make me do your bidding.”

The earl practically roared his rage. He whirled to face Aileen. “This is not about you and Geoff. I’m telling the girl she must do what she promised—”

“What
you
promised—” Aileen charged, taking a step toward him. “You are selling her into marriage. She’ll not see a penny of the bride’s price Mr. Stephens is paying—”

“This is not your concern.”

“Of course it is. She is my sister.”

The earl moved forward. “And my daughter to do with as I please.”

Aileen doubled her fists. She wanted to punch him. “She has her own mind. Her own will. You do not own her—”

“
I gave her life—
”

“I will marry Mr. Stephens.” Tara’s quiet words had the power to slice through the argument, severing it.

Both Aileen and her father turned in surprise.

Mr. Stephens didn’t move. He didn’t so much as blink an eye.

Aileen found her voice first. “No, you mustn’t marry him.”
What of love?
Aileen wanted to ask.
What of all you have done for another man?

But before Aileen could give voice to her questions, Tara moved to stand before Mr. Stephens. “I have been dishonorable, sir.” Her voice was stronger than it had been before, and it was now filled with resolve. “It is as my father said. The idea of marriage and all that it entailed is . . .
was
”—she paused as if overcome with maidenly modesty—“overwhelming. I should have discussed my fears with my father. But now that I am with my sister, they are in the past. And I am deeply grateful that you, Mr. Stephens, are willing to marry me. The idea of a Highland wedding pleases me very much.” She released her breath and waited, as if she expected a response.

Mr. Stephens watched her with his dark eyes and said nothing. No hint of what he was thinking could be seen in even the tiniest detail of his expression.

Right then, Aileen understood why Tara should reject him. A man who kept such close counsel would drive her mad.

It seemed to annoy Tara as well. Her chin came up. “Well, Blake? Have you nothing to say? I’ve apologized. I was wrong. Foolish, even. But I wish to make amends.”

“Yes, she does,” the earl chimed, coming to his youngest’s side. “She’s a bit feather-brained, Stephens. You know how women are. But she is a tidy bit, no?”

Aileen felt her stomach lurch. “Why don’t you show him Tara’s teeth while you are auctioning her off?” she dared to say. “And don’t forget her bloodlines. They always help sell a mare.”

The earl raised his glass as if he would throw it at Aileen. “Do you
wish
her ruined? Are you so miserable that you relish company?”

His accusation stung. Was she meddling more than she should? And what were her honest motives?

Guilt, fear, and, yes, a touch of jealousy shot through Aileen. She did want what was best for Tara, but the fact that Aileen could see the many pitfalls ahead did not give her the right to interfere. The only person who could stop this farce at this point was the silent, brooding Mr. Stephens.

The earl, too, wished to know what his guest thought. “Come, Stephens. Speak up. My daughter is
the
catch of the season. You are already the envy of every man in London. Don’t make a muck of it.”

Those last words seemed to rouse Mr. Stephens from his sullen contemplation.

“I came here to marry.” His voice was deep, a touch raspy, distinctive. “Let us be done with the bloody business.”

“That’s charming,” Aileen couldn’t keep from saying, earning a growled warning from her parent.

But Tara was grateful. “Thank you, sir. We shall do well together. I promise we shall.” The color had returned to her cheeks, and her smile was blinding.

The earl set down his glass and clapped his hands together, his good humor restored. “Splendid, splendid. Come, Tara, my girl. We need to tell Ingold and Mrs. Watson to expect guests for the wedding breakfast. Prinny won’t be here. It will be a smaller affair than we would have had in London, but there are a hundred details you will need to see to for this to be right. Mind you, Penevey will attend. He assured me he would himself if I could make this marriage happen.”

“The duke knows what happened?” Tara asked, concerned, as the earl took her arm and steered her to the door.

“How do you believe I convinced Stephens to come with me?” the earl answered as he walked her out of the library . . . leaving Aileen alone in the room with the tiger.

B
lake Stephens, the oldest of the duke of Penevey’s four sons, albeit his only illegitimate one, seethed with fury.

His pride had made him a fool. A trapped one.

The moment Lady Tara had accepted his marriage offer, he’d known he’d made a mistake.

He didn’t want to be married. He liked being a bachelor. He wallowed in his freedom. He had his mates, a group of the finest sportsmen in London, he had more money than he could imagine spending, and he’d had what mattered to him most—his father’s respect, or so he had thought.

Penevey had wanted Blake to marry the Davidson chit. He’d advised Blake that it was time for him to be respectably settled and the marriage would be a good one for any children that might come of it.

Children had been the right argument for Blake. He planned to have them someday, and he didn’t want them to suffer from the shame of his dubious parentage or the vicious teasing he had received in school. It had not been easy being Penevey’s bastard. Blake had earned the respect of his peers, but he’d had to constantly prove himself. They had tested him hard. Meanwhile, his younger half brother Arthur, the duke’s
legitimate
heir, was accepted everywhere in spite of being a horse’s ass.

Too late did Blake learn that Penevey had pushed him to marry Lady Tara Davidson not for Blake’s well-being but to keep Arthur away from her. Arthur had tumbled head over heels in love with the lovely Tara, and, yes, Blake had received great satisfaction when Tara had chosen him over Arthur . . . but that was before he’d realized Penevey had paid the earl of Tay to accept Blake’s suit. Penevey had played upon Blake’s jealousy of his half brother to remove the threat of Tara from his heir. He had not wanted Arthur associated with a Scottish nobody, no matter how beautiful.

But his bastard was a different story. . . .

And then Tara had decamped.

If London knew she had jilted him, Blake would be a laughingstock. He did not like gossip, especially directed at him. He’d fought hard for everything he had, and on a whim, Lady Tara had been willing to humiliate him. He was already furious that Penevey knew she’d run and had given him strict orders to make it right. Penevey did not want to take the risk that Arthur would be the one to chase after her. No, she was only good enough for his bastard.

Bitterness set heavy in Blake’s gut.

And it did not help that Tara Davidson had just left the room without so much as a backward glance at him. She really did believe that a few pretty tears and a pretense of contriteness was all that was necessary as an apology.

She was going to make his life hell.

And he was stuck.

At least her sister had enough sense to know he was angry. She eyed him warily.

He eyed
her
with interest.

Blake had not met the notorious Lady Aileen before. He’d heard about her. The Crim Con case investigating her adultery had been the talk of London during a slow and lazy summer. Her husband, Captain Geoffrey Hamilton, had not held back in painting his wife as some lascivious Jezebel. Peter Pollard, her lover and one of Hamilton’s fellow officers, had not made any appearance to defend either himself or her. Since Hamilton’s father had held a Ministry position and Geoff was considered a war hero, the divorce had been speedily approved. It had not helped her reputation that within six months of the divorce, both men had died in battle.

Now, face-to-face with the woman who had launched a thousand wagging tongues, Blake could see what Hamilton and Pollard had admired. Before, he’d been hard-pressed to understand why such a profligate womanizer as Hamilton would begrudge his lady
one
lover, but here was a woman any man would jealously guard.

To the conventional, she wouldn’t be deemed half as pretty as Tara. Although her hair was thick and shining, it was brown with just a touch of gold but not striking enough to raise comment. Her mouth was too wide, too generous for beauty. Her eyes were not as blue as her celebrated sister’s, and she would have been dismissed as too tall by the people who chronicle such things. Height didn’t bother Blake, provided the curves were there. He was a tall man, and he liked a woman willing to look him in the eye.

Of course that didn’t have anything to do with one’s height as much as it did one’s intellect, and Lady Aileen struck him as possessing a keen mind, a trait Blake valued. He also liked the energy that swirled around her.

Of course, she’d just energetically used her intelligence to argue for her sister to unceremoniously reject him. That was a strike against her.

Of course, she, too, had been left behind.

She stared at the empty doorway as if puzzled at how quickly the tables had turned on her. Her shoulders lowered, giving her the air of being graceful in defeat—until she swung her attention to him and the lines of her mouth tightened.

For a long second they took each other’s measure, then she said with a tartness her lilting accent could not sweeten, “Well, are you happy? You will have a wife. It’s not right, you know. One shouldn’t be ‘forced’ to marry.”

“I knew your husband.”

His intent was to surprise her, and he succeeded. Her manner changed. She reacted as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

“Relax,” he said. “If I’d been married to Geoff Hamilton, I would have done anything I could to free myself of him.” He rose from the chair, his empty glass still in his hand. For a second he had to stretch his muscles. “That was a punishing coach ride. I don’t like being tucked into small spaces.”

“Especially with a man like my father.”

Blake shot her a glance. The earl of Tay was known for his rambling monologues and prodigious drinking. What most people didn’t know, and Blake now did, was that the earl had a whole array of disgusting personal habits, from flatulence to picking at body parts. Blake never wanted to be that close to the man ever again.

“It was not a pleasant trip,” he commented.

“But you achieved what you wished. You have a bride.”

That was, unfortunately, true
. . . .

“How did you know my husband?” Lady Aileen asked, her manner defensive.

“I was in school with him. We did not like each other. He was a scoundrel, a liar and a cheat.”

“He was.” The words hung in the air between them.

Usually, women were eager to babble their business. He’d thought them all magpies. But Lady Aileen was tense, her lips pressed in such a way that he knew she was determined to say no more. She expected him to think the worst of her. After having been the target of gossips for most of his life, Blake understood.

He changed the subject. “So you believe in love,” he said, walking over to the liquor cabinet to place his empty glass upon it.

“Certainly,” she replied a touch too briskly. “Don’t you?”

“Oh, certainly,” he answered, echoing her breezy tone and letting her know he saw through her. “After all, I am here, aren’t I?”

“Very well . . . I
don’t
believe in love.” She raised her arms as if asking him what he wanted to do about it. “But my sister does, and I’m certain you have little feeling for her.”