The Convenient Bride (27 page)

Dressed
in a pink and white striped robe that flowed about her small form like an angel,
she gave him a kiss on the cheek. Her skin was as white as alabaster, and
smelled of fresh rose petals from her bath. Silky, ebony hair spilled down her
back in a cascade of rolling waves. Two chocolate brown eyes looked up at him
expectantly. "Are you going to be my horthy, Papa? Are you?"

"A
horsy?" Drake's smile widened as he swung his daughter into the air.
"I suppose I can squeeze in a horsy ride for my favorite girl, especially
since you will be returning to Grandmama's house today."

His
grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Glenshire, relished her time with
Margueretta as much as Drake did.

Drake
gave his daughter a ride on his back and let out enough neighs to make the
fiercest of stallions take a step back.

Margueretta
laughed, rolling on the floor beside him. "Grandmama promithed me a
cuthtard pie!"

"A
custard pie?" Drake stopped abruptly, raising his black brows in mocked
outrage. "She is giving you my favorite pie?"

Margueretta's
laugh became a hysterical giggle, her warm hands clapping against his face.
"Oh, Papa, you are tho thilly."

The
shadows across Drake's heart momentarily disappeared.

"My
lord?"

Drake
stood and pulled Margueretta onto his hip, turning his gaze toward Nanna,
Margueretta's nursemaid, who peeked into the room, a smile on her face. He
nodded, giving the older lady his permission to take his daughter.

"Here
now, Lady Margueretta," the lady continued, "we will travel to see
Her Grace today. You need to be dressed, child. You don't want to keep your
father waiting."

Drake frowned
as he let his child slip to the floor. "My plans have changed. I won't be
able to go with you right away."

Margueretta's
dark gaze met his with a pleading look. "But I want you to come with me,
Papa. Pleeeeeathe."

Drake's
stomach knotted with guilt. He brushed a hand through her silky waves.
"Wish I could, poppet. But I need to help a friend. I'll meet up with you
at Percy Hall later. You must listen to Nanna and hurry so as not to disappoint
Grandmama."

"Oh,"
his daughter said, looking down at her pink toes. "Your friend needth you
very bad then?"

The word
friend sounded more like
fwend
from Margueretta's lips, and Drake bit
back a smile. He knelt down in front of his daughter and tilted her face to
meet his. "Very bad, indeed. But the next time I see you, I shall bring
you a special gift. What say you to that?

The
smile she sent him pierced straight through his heart. "A thpecial
gift?" she asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

He
grinned. "Very special."

"Margueretta,"
Nanna called softly.

Margueretta
flew into her father's arms and gave him one last hug. "I'll be waiting,
Papa."

Drake
swallowed hard as black, wavy tresses disappeared up the stairs. Though his
late wife had scourged his heart, he had always kept a hidden place for his
daughter, a corner of his heart set aside only for her. For Margueretta's sake,
he vowed to marry a woman who would not have money matters on her mind.

If luck
were with him, in his marriage of convenience, he would have an heir as well.
To marry for love was for fools. But respect was a different thing altogether.
His new wife would not come to the marriage a pauper, and with money of no
consequence, there would be no question of her loyalty.

Drake
dropped his gaze to the crumpled
Times
resting beside his boots. Confound
it. He would stop that marriage between Nightham and that pauper. He would go
as far as to offer a good amount of coin to the woman if she would agree never
to see Nightham again. He would make her a generous offer, or he would make her
life miserable.

Biting
back a curse, Drake flipped open his pocket watch, snapped it closed, and
swallowed the raging emotions clogging his throat. Maybe he could still reach
Nightham in time.

Lady
Victoria descended Lord Nightham's carriage, not able to dismiss the dull ache
of foreboding that crept along her spine. The sky was overcast, and a cool
breeze swept through the village. Spirals of mahogany hair whipped against her
face, and she shakily pushed them away.

The
entire escapade had been a secret from the very start. Not even her family knew
what she was doing. But there was no time to feel sorry for herself. Nothing
would change the fact that she was about to enter into a marriage of convenience.

She
managed a tremulous smile as Charles Millington, the second Earl of Nightham,
took her gloved hand in a possessive grip and led her toward the Boxing Boar
Inn at the edge of the village.

"No
need to worry, Victoria. This marriage will suit us both."

Lord
Nightham was a handsome man with a hard-muscled frame, golden blond hair, and
devilish blue eyes that seemed to hold a host of secrets. If she didn't know
better, she would have thought he had known all about her dire circumstances
before she had told him the truth.

Though
he had acted the very epitome of the gentleman since she had met him at the
Dowager Duchess of Glenshire's ball last month, she still felt uneasy about her
decision. She knew he held the particulars about her family in strictest
confidence, and she should have been happy that he had chosen her for a wife.

But the
fact was, she did not love the man. She had been honest with him about that,
but it didn’t matter to him. He said love would grow in time.

However,
this marriage had to be done, for her family's sake, and done quickly, so her
family would not interfere. They would never approve of her marrying Nightham
for the sole purpose of providing for them a secure future.

But
Nightham wanted to be married without the pomp and circumstance of a large
wedding, and that suited her just fine. He explained that his mother was a
delicate woman and would not be able to bear the stress of the invitations and
parties. Victoria understood perfectly, feeling somewhat relieved. A swift,
private wedding seemed the logical step for both of them.

She had
been barely out in Society since Uncle Henry's death, and Nightham had been an
answer to her prayers. Yes, indeed. A swift marriage of convenience would give
her beloved family security. In return, Nightham would have a wife and mother
for his future heir.

At
first, Victoria had thought they were to be married in a church, but as soon as
they arrived in the village, the earl calmly explained the church pews were
being varnished, and the ceremony was to take place by special license at a
nearby inn. She was certain he knew the legalities, yet something still worried
the back of her brain.

As her
booted feet crunched over the gravel pathway toward their destination, she
lifted her head and caught sight of Mrs. Hinckleberry, the hired escort from
London, scurrying ahead of them, her plump feet stumbling precariously toward
the tap. Alarm sent Victoria's heart racing. It was obvious that would be the
last they would see of her. The lady had been paid for her journey and was to
immediately return to Town in a hack after taking some refreshments.

Realizing
she was alone with the earl, Victoria wondered for the hundredth time why he
had chosen her among all the beautiful ladies of the
ton.
She had no
dowry, nothing but herself. But he needed her for a wife, and she needed him
for the money. At this point, that was enough. She could not afford to linger
on her decision.

A few
minutes later, in a secluded dining room inside the inn, she braced herself
against a nearby chair. Swallowing hard, she took in the cracked yellow walls
and the mildewy odor leaking in from the drainage ditch outside. Sweat beaded
along her forehead, and she blinked to keep herself from fainting. Recovering
from a bad cold and worrying over her plans, she had barely slept a wink the
past few days.

As for
her gown, a plain blue muslin, it was nothing a bride would want to remember
for this momentous occasion. But Lord Nightham had told her there would be
plenty of time to shop in London for gowns after they were married.

When the
vicar, a slight man with rounded shoulders, suddenly appeared with the
witnesses - a plump servant lady and an older man with barely any teeth - Lord
Nightham pulled out the special license.

Victoria
didn't like the mischievous smile on the vicar's face, but she ignored it. She
focused her attention on her
fiancé.
He was dressed in a
cream-colored waistcoat and navy jacket. Tall and handsome, he was every
schoolgirl's dream. But he did not love her.

The
vicar cleared his throat, glancing at Victoria, then back to Lord Nightham.
"You are a lucky devil, my lord."

"A
devil maybe," Lord Nightham said, smiling, "yet I find myself in a
rather favorable position at the moment."

Nightham
gave Victoria a wink, appraising her with a possessive caress that sent a chill
along her spine. Had she somehow misjudged him? No, certainly not. He was
merely a man who was about to be wed, a man about to claim his husbandly
rights. But could she trust him? Her fingers gripped her gown. Could she trust
any man with her life ever again?

Minutes
later, the sentences, the vows, the one-word answers, all seemed to tumble
forth like a horrible dream, seeping past Victoria's senses in a giant blur.
When Lord Nightham placed his ruby ring on her finger, it was all she could do
not to run away. Sweat had soaked through her chemise onto her gown, dampening
her chest.

As the
earl's—no, her husband's—lips claimed hers, panic finally began to penetrate
the shield she had put up for so many days. Blood rushed from her head as he
whispered her name.

She had
made a mistake. A terrible mistake. The words rang over and over in her mind
until her knees wobbled, and she felt a strange roaring in her ears.  There was
something wrong here.  Something terribly wrong…

"Lord
Nightham," she said softly, feeling the room closing in on her.
"I—"

But
before she could finish, her knees finally gave way and the room went black.

"The
lady is ill," Nightham said with a frown, catching Victoria in his arms.
"Dash it all! Go fetch a doctor."

The
vicar's eyes went wide. "There's no doctor here, my lord. He was taking
his breakfast early this morning at the inn when he was called to a birthing in
the neighboring village. Ain't been back since."

Nightham
scowled. "You there." He looked to the servant. "Is there no
one who can help us?"

The
servant frowned. "There be a woman down the road, m'lord. Begging your
pardon, but she ain't be catering to the likes of you. Won't step outside her
cottage. Daughter ran off with a military man and ain't seen hide no hair of
her since."

"If
you ask me," the older man, serving as witness, interrupted, raising a
bushy white brow as he stared at Victoria, "lady swooned like one of those
fancy birds in Town. That's all gov'nor."

A muscle
ticked in Nightham's cheek. Uttering an oath, he shifted Victoria in his arms,
angling his head toward the plump servant, telling her to follow him as he
brought Victoria up the stairs of the inn and into one of the bedchambers.

He
pushed some coins into the woman's hands and frowned at Victoria's pallor.

"It's
more than just a swoon. The lady has not looked well the entire ride. Stay with
her and give me directions to that woman down the road. I won't be long."

After
receiving directions, Nightham hurried down the stairs the way he came, only to
find the vicar and the old man long gone. He spent a few agitated minutes
looking for them while a niggling suspicion began to gnaw at his brain.

He had
no marriage certificate and no vicar. He needed that piece of paper. Dash it
all. It was his future.

The
sound of clamoring feet snapped his gaze toward the stairs. The servant who was
to stay with Victoria had bolted through the private dining room and out the
back of the inn. An ugly thought suddenly occurred to him. Mayhap the vicar was
not a man of the cloth at all, but a swindler pocketing his money. Nightham
knew he was not the smartest of men, but by Jove, he thought he knew a vicar
when he saw one.

Clenching
his fists against his sides, he hastened outside to go after the woman.
"You there! Stop, I say!" But the earl never saw the man coming up
behind him. Pain seared Nightham's back, sending him falling against the inn
with a thud.

"Take
that, your lordship. It won't be a wedding night for you, but a funeral
march."

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