The Bridegroom

“And with all my worldly goods I thee endow,” Carlisle said. “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”

“Amen,” Reggie croaked. Sometime during the words, her throat had swollen closed. But she was given no respite. The reverend handed her the plain band and instructed her to put it on Carlisle’s finger. She had no recollection whatsoever of what she said, only of Carlisle’s fierce dark eyes and his mouth as he said “Amen.”

Carlisle was leaning down to kiss her, when the reverend added, “What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.”

She felt Carlisle’s hands tighten briefly on her shoulders before she felt his lips on her own. When he lifted his head, she searched his face, wondering if he had been as moved by the simple ceremony as she had been.

What she saw on his face alarmed her. Not joy. Not peace or pleasure. Only grim satisfaction.

“It is done,” he said. “You are mine.”

“Stay away from him, Reggie. He looks dangerous.”

Lady Regina Wharton eyed her twin sister, Rebecca, Lady Penrith, from behind her fan, then shifted her glance back to the tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed lord who had recently arrived at Viscount Raleigh’s ball. “I need something to relieve the boredom, Becky. Since no other gentleman here seems up to the task, I suppose I shall have to appeal to this newest addition to the
ton
. Whom do you know that might be willing to introduce us?”

“The Earl of Carlisle is not someone you should know,” her sister admonished. “ ’Tis said he was a pirate!”

Reggie laughed. “Yes, the Sea Dragon. I heard that ridiculous rumor. Though he does look rather like a fire-breathing dragon with those dark eyes of his burning holes in everyone he spies.”

“ ’Tis said he killed a man with his bare hands!” Becky hissed.

Reggie raised a finely arched brow. “I find that difficult to credit.” She eyed the broad shoulders that strained beneath an exquisitely cut jacket by Weston, then perused the narrow waist and muscular thighs revealed by skintight breeches. “Not that I doubt he has the strength to accomplish such a feat, but most gentlemen vanquish their foes with sword or shot.”

“ ’Tis said he dresses in black to mourn the death of his wife in childbirth, though his year of mourning ended some little while ago,” Becky said. “I doubt he is desirous of innocent female company.”

Reggie studied the hawkish features set off by snowy white linen and saw the ravages of grief reflected in the earl’s stern mouth and brooding eyes. She knew from her father’s grief over the past ten years for the babies her stepmother Kitt had miscarried how such a loss could hurt. She could not imagine the melancholy Carlisle must feel at having to bury his wife as well.

Suddenly, the dragon’s fiery eyes were focused on her.

Reggie was shocked at the heat she felt, until she realized it was her own blush flooding her cheeks. She knew she had been staring, but now, so was he. She refused to be the first to look away. She lifted her chin and boldly met his gaze.

His lips lifted at the corners before he turned away in what, if she had been a less confident female, might have seemed like the cut direct.

“I am determined to meet him,” Reggie said to her
sister. “If you will not name someone to introduce us, I will manage an encounter myself.”

Reggie had already snapped her ivory fan closed and was threading her way through the crush at the edge of the ballroom in the earl’s direction, when Becky caught up to her.

“I will introduce you,” Becky said breathlessly.

Reggie eyed her sister. “Why did you not tell me you had met the earl? It is not like you to keep secrets, Becky.”

“Penrith introduced me to him at Lady Harmley’s musicale,” Becky said. “You had the headache and did not attend, as I recall.”

“Lady Harmley’s musicale would have given me the headache,” Reggie said dismissively. “Which is the same thing. And what was Penrith thinking to introduce his own wife to such a havey-cavey character?”

Becky paled, and Reggie was immediately sorry. William Hastings, Viscount Penrith, whom Becky had met and married during her first Season, did not treat his wife nearly so well as Reggie would have liked. His insults extended further than the simple discourtesy of introducing Becky to the wrong sorts of people. He criticized her housekeeping and the tables she set for company. He denied her funds of her own and rarely permitted her to travel abroad without his escort, making her a veritable prisoner in her own home.

Reggie had watched helplessly as Penrith slowly but surely crushed her sister’s spirit. Becky rarely painted or made up wonderful stories or played the pianoforte anymore. The sad thing was, Reggie had been as easily
fooled by Lord Penrith as her sister. She had actually liked the handsome young man, until greater acquaintance had revealed his true nature.

If it had not been for the birth of Lily within a year of the marriage, her sister might have become a wraith. But the mischievous sprite never gave Becky the opportunity to become blue-deviled. The result was, while Penrith’s behavior had Reggie surveying her suitors with a jaundiced eye and all but abjuring marriage, Lily’s cherubic smile and open arms made her wish for a child of her own. How to have the child without the irksome husband was a quandary she had not yet resolved.

“At least this once Penrith has done me a favor,” Reggie said, biting her tongue on further criticism of her sister’s husband. “What else can you tell me about Lord Carlisle?”

“Only that he is a rogue and a scoundrel and not at all the sort of person whose acquaintance you should seek.”

“Which means, of course, that he will be a fascinating man to know,” Reggie replied with a teasing smile.

“Please don’t make me do this,” Becky pleaded. “Why not discourse with Mr. Tumlinson?”

“He writes bad poetry and insists on reciting it.”

“Lord Larkin,” Becky offered.

“He cannot admire anyone so much as himself.”

“Viscount Scarborough?” she said desperately.

“Rotten teeth,” Reggie whispered. “We have arrived, my dear. Make the introduction, please. I will survive the encounter, I promise you.”

“Why, good evening, Lord Carlisle,” Becky said, a
hesitant smile on her face. “What a surprise to see you here.”

“Indeed,” the earl said, his eyes moving from Becky to Reggie and back again. “I heard you had a twin, Lady Penrith. I see you are very much alike in looks, but not at all the same.”

Reggie’s nostrils flared with indignation as, with a brief, all-inclusive glance, Carlisle undressed her with his eyes—and apparently found her wanting.

She resisted the urge to whirl in a flurry of skirts and stalk away. The earl was
not
a nice man, and his behavior proved it. But she was no missish miss, no craven coward, to go running at the first sign of trouble.

Reggie nudged Becky with her fan, and her sister made the introduction. “Lady Regina Wharton, may I present Clay Bannister, Earl of Carlisle.”

“Enchanté, mademoiselle,”
the earl said, bowing slightly.

He made no move to reach for her gloved hand, and Reggie barely stopped herself in time from offering it. How had he managed to be both charming and insulting in the same breath? She unclamped her teeth and smiled. Brilliantly. With all the seductiveness she had learned in four Seasons of enslaving prospective suitors.

The earl’s lip curled. In scorn.

“Oh, the music is starting,” Becky said. “Will you excuse us please, my lord? I am promised for this dance.”

“I am not,” Reggie said, focusing her gaze on Carlisle, daring him to ask.

It was well known that Lady Regina Wharton did not
dance. At least, not with anyone who might be considered a suitor. A gentleman might ask on his peril but was bound to be refused. She willed Carlisle to speak.
Ask me to dance, and see what answer you get
.

“It is a waltz,” Carlisle noted. “Do you know how to waltz, Lady Regina?”

“Yes,” Reggie said through tight, smiling lips.
But that is the only yes you will ever hear from me!

“Very well then,” he said. “We will dance.”

“I—”

Reggie felt herself being swept onto the dance floor by a strong arm around her waist. She stumbled, and the earl’s grasp tightened, pulling her even closer.

“You promised you could dance, my dear. Do try to keep up.”

So many sensations assaulted her at once—the feel of her breasts crushed against the strength of his chest, the heat of his thigh pressing against her own—that Reggie could not catch her breath. There was simply no air with which to utter the scathing setdown on the tip of her tongue. They were whirling in the center of the ballroom by the time she could speak.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she gasped.

“Dancing. Waltzing, to be more precise,” Carlisle said as he twirled her in another circle.

“Stop that! You’re making me dizzy.”

He responded by whirling her faster, making the room spin. Reggie was no match for Lord Carlisle physically, but over the past four years she had learned the use of other weapons to bring a man to his knees.

“Is it true, my lord, that my father had you stripped of
your title? That he had you bound in chains and transported to Australia?”