The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride (20 page)

“Nonsense,” she muttered but sank down into the sofa nonetheless.

He returned her glass to her, took his, and sat down beside her.

“Is this what betrayal feels like, Sam?” An awful look of pain shone in her eyes and
he resisted the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her. Now was not the time.
“This dreadful overwhelming sorrow? This feeling of complete and utter loss?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She drew a deep breath. “Might I confide something in you?” She smiled in a wry manner.
“Although at this point, given all I’ve already said, asking might seem silly.”

He smiled. “I am at your command.”

She met his gaze directly. “I should like nothing better at this moment than to fling
myself onto your very kind shoulder and weep.”

“You can if you wish,” he said gently.

“I’m afraid if I start I will never stop.”

He paused. “It gets better, you know. The way you’re feeling now. With time, the pain
of betrayal fades although admittedly, the anger might linger.”

“And you speak from experience?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Ah yes.” She took another sip and studied him curiously. “The former fiancée?”

He nodded.

“Tell me.” She slumped back in the sofa, an obvious indication that the emotion of
the day coupled with the whisky was taking its toll.

“It’s not all that interesting.”

“Nonetheless, you now know all the most devastating secrets of my life.” She wagged
her finger at him. “It seems only fair that I know yours.”

“All right.” His story might help take her mind off hers. He gathered his thoughts.
“Miss Lenore Stanley was, for all intents and purposes, well . . .” He slanted Delilah
a quick smile. “Perfect.”

She grimaced.

“Or I thought she was. She was beautiful and intelligent and exactly what I wanted
in the woman I intended to spend the rest of my life with. My mother and hers were
involved in the same social and cultural and charitable activities. Her family was
well off. It was an excellent match according to the way the world views such things.”
He paused. “And I fell hard for her.”

Delilah’s eyes widened. “You loved her?”

“I did.” He nodded.

“And therein lay your mistake,” she said in a sage manner.

“Apparently.” He thought for a moment. “As it turned out she was more interested in
becoming Mrs. Samuel Russell than being my wife.” He chuckled. “Which came to light
when I discovered her in the arms of another man.”

Delilah winced. “That is awkward.”

“This was a few weeks before the wedding.” He shrugged. “I allowed her to call it
off, to save her embarrassment.”

“How very gallant of you.”

He glanced at her. “Sarcasm?”

“No, I mean it. If there is one thing I have noticed about you is that you’re very
gallant, like a knight of old. I didn’t expect that.”

“In an American?”

“No, in any man.” Delilah raised her glass to him. “It’s most appealing.”

“Thank you,” he said wryly.

“So, she broke your heart?”

“She did at that.” He nodded. “Like you, I should have known. I should have seen the
signs. Gray knew what kind of woman she was. He tried to warn me but I ignored him.”

“I suppose we don’t often see what we aren’t looking for,” she said softly, more to
herself than to him. “Or perhaps what we don’t want to see.”

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t claimed that she loved me.” He sipped
his whisky. “So you see, I too have known betrayal. And, while it did take time, I
recovered and I have learned my lesson. No more fortune hunters for me although admittedly,
they aren’t always easy to recognize.”

“At least now you know what to look for.”

“Hopefully.” He nodded. “But I shall be smarter in the future.”

“You don’t just want a wife though, do you?” She studied him curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“You want love?” It was as much an accusation as a question.

He smiled. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

“You want to fall in love?” She sat up and stared at him as if he had just grown another
head. “Again?”

“It was quite wonderful while it lasted,” he said mildly.

“Until your heart was left crushed and mangled beneath her fashionably shod heel.”

“Admittedly, that was somewhat less than wonderful.”

“Good Lord.” She shook her head in disgust. “You’re one of those romantic types, aren’t
you?”

“I suppose I am.”

She rose unsteadily to her feet, accusation sounding in her voice. “Do you write poetry
as well?”

He laughed and stood up. “I haven’t yet. Nor have I ever felt the need to.”

“That’s something at any rate.” Her brow furrowed and she took another swallow. “This
is yet another area in which we differ.”

“Oh?” He bit back a smile. “You write poetry then?”

“No, of course not. But you wish for love and I intend to avoid it.” She straightened
her shoulders. “I will never make that mistake again.”

“That’s right, you never make the same mistake twice.”

“Never.” Resolve rang in her voice.

“I think you use the word
never
entirely too much. Never is an absolute and leaves no room for the unexpected.” Without
thinking, he grabbed her free hand, and pulled it palm-up to his lips. “And as you
said today—life is full of surprises.”

Her gaze met his. “Do you realize we have missed the last train?”

“Have we?” He lowered her hand but kept it held in his.

“We shall have to spend the night here.” A challenge gleamed in her eyes. “Will you
be sharing my bed?”

“My dear Dee, I would like nothing better.” He took her glass and set it on the table.
Then took her other hand in his. “But you’re still distraught and more than a little
tipsy, aren’t you?”

She thought for a moment then nodded. “Possibly.”

“Well then we do have a problem.” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them.
“There is nothing I would like more than to spend the night with you by my side but
unfortunately . . .” He heaved a reluctant sigh. “What kind of gallant knight would
I be if I were to take advantage of you in this state?”

“Well, yes there is that. And we did agree not to. Still, I might be willing to ignore
that.” A wicked twinkle sparked in her eyes. “What if I were to take advantage of
you?”

He laughed. “As tempting as that is, and you have no idea how tempting, I think it
would be best if we retired separately tonight. And, as you said, we did agree that
there would be no more of that sort of thing.”

“Lord save me from men of honor,” she said in a lofty manner and started for the doorway.
She stopped and swiveled back to him. “The house is not closed up because I was off
on a holiday. All the furniture upstairs is covered but there are blankets and sheets
in chests.” She aimed a pointed finger at him. “You shall have to make up your own
bed, you know; there are no servants.”

“I shall do my best,” he said in a solemn manner. Now that she was standing, she was
obviously more tipsy than he had thought. The whisky probably hadn’t hit her until
she got to her feet. Still, this would help her sleep, and didn’t things always look
better in the morning?

“You might have to make mine too. I’m not sure I have ever made up a bed.” She made
her way through the doorway and paused at the foot of the stairs. “I had to economize”—she
shuddered at the word—“when my funds were cut off but I only closed the house right
before I went to Millworth, a few weeks ago.” She cast him a sly smile. “I had a secret
cache of money I always kept for emergencies. My mother says one should always keep
a hidden reserve because, as you know, men—”

“Are not to be trusted?”

“Exactly.” She nodded. “And as much as I hate to admit it, my mother was right. And
my secret fund allowed me to keep the house running as long as I could. When I couldn’t,
my bags were packed, and I let my servants go while assuring them I would take them
back as soon as I could. Before they left, they threw dustcovers over everything.”
She sighed. “Everything is almost exactly as it was on the day I left.”

“Then we should have no difficulty.” He gestured at the stairs. “Shall we?”

She considered the stairway and frowned. “Odd, I don’t remember it being quite this
steep.”

“Allow me to assist you.” He swept her into his arms.

“My, you are gallant,” she said with a grin.

“Not really.” He flipped her over his shoulder, anchored her with one hand, and grabbed
a lamp with the other. “But I do need to see where I’m going.”

She giggled. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her giggle before. It was shockingly delightful.
Damnation, this woman was going to be his undoing.

“Which room?” he asked when he reached the top of the stairs.

“The second on the right,” she murmured as if she could barely get out the words.
He’d seen this kind of exhaustion before. The upheaval of intense emotion sapped the
strength of even the strongest. That coupled with the whisky and he was surprised
she had lasted this long.

“Here we are.” He nudged open the door with his foot, set the lamp on a dresser, then
stood her on her feet. “Good night, Dee.”

“You can’t leave yet.” She huffed.

“Well, I’m not staying,” he said in a sharper tone than he had intended.

She frowned at him. “Of course not. That would be . . . exceptionally improper. But
a great deal of fun.”

He clenched his teeth. “You’re making this very difficult for me.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, Sam.” She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “I’m not going
to accost you. Rip your clothes off with my teeth or something of that sort.” She
paused. “Interesting idea though.”

“Dee!”

“Oh, don’t be so stuffy. I’m the stuffy one, mired in tradition, remember? You’re
a proponent of progress and the future and all that nonsense. Why you’re probably
a great supporter of free love and that sort of thing.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Lady Hargate!”

“I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?”

“Free love?” He could barely choke out the words. “Where did you—”

“I read a great deal. All sorts of things that I should and any number of things that
I probably shouldn’t.” She smirked. “I am exceptionally well informed.”

He stared. “Apparently.”

She smiled as if she knew a secret he did not. It was most unnerving. She turned her
back to him. “Now then, if you would be so good as to unbutton my bodice and loosen
my corset—”

“Delilah, I said I am not going to take advantage of you.”

“Nor are you going to allow me to take advantage of you. As disappointing as that
is, for both of us I might add, I don’t have a maid here and if I am going to get
any rest at all, I cannot do it in these clothes.” She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Yes, of course.” He fumbled with her buttons then loosened the laces on her corset.
“Done,” he said with relief and stepped back.

She shrugged out of her sleeves, let her dress fall to the floor, and stepped out
of it. Then she removed her corset and dropped it. He swallowed hard. How could any
man still breathing possibly have resisted this?

She turned, now wearing nothing but a lace trimmed, sheer chemise, and matching drawers
in a faint blush color. Or perhaps that was her. God, she was exquisite. A goddess
come to life. She stepped toward him.

Sam had always prided himself on his willpower but right this very moment he had no
idea where it might be. Nor did he care. He should leave. Right now. Before he lost
his head. Before he started something they might both regret. Before she wrapped her
arms around his and pressed her warm, supple body close to his. Before—

“Sam,” she said softly and placed her hand in the middle of his chest. She pushed
gently and he took a step back. “Good evening.” She smiled and closed the door firmly
in his face.

He drew a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. Well, that was close. He
wanted her but it was a mistake. At least tonight.

Without warning the door opened and she thrust the lamp at him. “You’ll need this
to find a room for yourself. Any one along this hallway should do.” She nodded. “Sleep
well.” And the door closed once again.

What was the woman doing to him? He crossed the hall and pushed open the door directly
across from hers. This would do well enough. Not that he imagined he’d manage to sleep.
And if he did, no doubt, his dreams would be filled with her.

Dee, a goddess concealed by the barest whisper of a blush-colored chemise.

Delilah, Sampson’s downfall.

It was going to be a long night.

Fourteen days before the wedding . . .

Tea. There would be tea in the kitchen. Surely she could figure out how to boil water
for tea. And she desperately needed tea.

Delilah made her way carefully down the stairs, clinging to the handrail. She was
not at all confident of her ability to descend the stairs without assistance. She
hadn’t had nearly enough whisky last night to make her feel this bad this morning
and yet she felt dreadful. Her head throbbed and her stomach churned. Of course, she’d
had a very large glass and nothing to eat either.

She’d certainly had enough whisky to loosen her tongue. Although admittedly most of
what she had confided had been said before she’d had so much as a drop of liquor.
Good Lord, the things she had said to Sam. She groaned. The personal, private, intimate
things she had revealed. That might be at least partially to blame for how she felt
this morning. That and all she had learned about Phillip. She rubbed her hand over
her forehead. How had she been such a fool? Phillip’s betrayal alone was certainly
enough to make her head pound and her stomach lurch.

The faintest aroma of coffee drifted up from the ground floor.
Coffee?
Coffee would be so much better than tea. Had one of the servants returned?

She reached the first floor and glanced into the parlor. Pieces of broken snuffboxes
littered the floor by the cabinet, more lay by the fireplace and by the far wall.
Her housekeeper was not going to be at all pleased to return to the house and discover
this mess. At least she would now have a job to return to thanks to Julian’s revelations.
It did seem a pity though. A good two-thirds of Phillip’s collection remained untouched.
Still, the day was young.

“You did do a good job in there,” Sam said behind her.

“Not good enough.” She turned around. He was dressed and obviously ready for the day.
Indeed, the man looked astonishingly well rested and composed. It was most annoying.
He held two steaming cups of coffee.

“I noticed you drank coffee.” He offered her a cup. “I thought you could use this.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the cup gratefully and took a sip. It was strong and hot
and bitter. She wrinkled her nose. “I prefer it with cream and sugar.”

“I beg your pardon, Lady Hargate, but one works with what one has,” he said in a passable
imitation of a proper English butler.

“Don’t let Clement hear you talk like that.”

He chuckled. “There might be sugar but there are no perishables in the kitchen.”

“Of course not.” She took another sip. It was more bracing than it was bad. “You made
this?”

“I told you, I was not born to great wealth. There have been times in my life when
I have had to do for myself.” He shrugged. “I lit a fire in the stove, found a pot,
and brewed coffee. It wasn’t hard.”

“Hmph.” She certainly couldn’t have done it. Indeed, she’d have no idea where to begin.

His brow furrowed. “Have you ever been in your kitchen?”

“Of course I have.” She scoffed. “Once or twice. It’s scarcely necessary. I do have
a cook, you know. Or at least I did.”

“Well, you’ll have her again, now that we have the information needed to resolve the
problem of your inheritance.” He studied her closely. “I think it would be a good
idea if I brought that to your investigator while you . . .” His gaze skimmed over
her. “Pulled yourself together. Then we can take the next train.”

“Thank you, that would be . . .” She frowned. “What do you mean pull myself together?”
She had managed to dress unassisted after all and thought she had done a fine job
of it.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Not a thing really but . . .”

“What?”

“Have you looked in a mirror?”

“Yes,” she snapped. Actually the mirror in her room had been covered and she hadn’t
had the strength to pull off the sheeting but she had glanced in its general direction.

“You might wish to look again.”

She patted her hair with her free hand. She hadn’t taken it down before going to bed
and it felt more than a little disheveled. Still, it was most annoying, even rude,
for him to mention it. Although perhaps it was better for him to say something now
than allow her to leave the house looking unkempt.

She clenched her teeth. “Thank you.” She took another sip of the coffee. It really
did improve her spirits and settle her stomach. Even so, she did need something to
eat. “On your way back, should you run across a tea shop or even a baker’s where you
could perhaps procure a few biscuits or buns or anything at all, it would be most
appreciated.”

“Hungry, are we?”

“Very much so. Aren’t you?”

“It was a long night.”

She set her cup on a cloth-covered table and started down the stairs. “Did you have
trouble sleeping?”

Behind her he paused. “I had a great deal on my mind.”

Much better. He probably did not feel as good as he looked. It was vile of her, she
knew, but that idea lifted her spirits a bit. And he did look delicious although she
was probably just hungry. He no doubt regretted what he had told her about his past
every bit as much as she regretted what she had said to him. And then there was the
matter of her overly flirtatious manner toward him. She winced. If she had thought
putting New York out of her mind had been next to impossible, forgetting about last
night would be worse.

She found her bag, retrieved the note Camille had given her, and handed it to him.
“This is the name and address of the investigator my sister recommended.”

“Good.” He nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He smiled. “With food.”

“One always does feel better without the ravages of hunger to contend with.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

She met his gaze and, without warning, the fear was back. Her heart skipped a beat.
She had let him get entirely too close. She had revealed too much. She had opened
herself up to him and that was a first step.

She would not go down that path.

Delilah drew a deep breath. “Before you go, you should know I was not inebriated last
night and you shouldn’t think I was.”

“Oh, I would never think such a thing.” His tone was solemn but laughter danced in
his eyes.

She ignored it. “Admittedly, the whisky might have loosened my reserve and my tongue,
but I clearly remember every word that was said. And everything that happened.”

“And everything that didn’t?”

“Yes,” she said sharply.
Especially everything that didn’t!
“And I think it would be best, for both of us I might add, if we, well, pretend it
never happened.”

“Nothing did happen,” he said slowly.

“Yes, yes, I know.” She waved off his comment. “I mean we should pretend that nothing
was said.”

“Because pretending has worked so well for us thus far?”

She glared at him. “You do insist on being stubborn, don’t you?”

“I’m not being stubborn.” His brows drew together. “I am being realistic. Practical,
if you will.”

“The practical thing is to forget everything you heard about my life last night. And
I shall forget everything I learned about yours.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “No.”

“What do you mean—no?”

“I mean no. I will not forget anything about last night.”

“Why on earth not?”

“I’m being honest with you, Dee.” He met her gaze. “Oh, I can promise to pretend or
forget or however you wish to phrase it but there is absolutely nothing on heaven
or earth that will make me forget what you said or how devastated you were or how
helpless that made me feel. Or how you trusted me enough to confide in me.” He leaned
closer and his gaze bored into hers. “Do you understand?”

She resisted the urge to step back. “Not really, no.”

His eyes narrowed. “I won’t make that promise to you because it would be a lie. It
seems to me you have been lied to enough. The only promise I am willing to make is
that I won’t lie to you. If we are to be friends, that is the condition of my friendship.”

“Oh.” She stared at him. “Well . . .”

“At a loss for words?”

“So it would appear,” she said under her breath. The man was an enigma. How could
a man so gallant and charming one minute be so bloody annoying the next?

“Good.” He nodded. “Then do something to yourself and I will be back shortly.”

“Do you talk to your sisters that way?”

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised one of them hasn’t smothered you in your sleep by now,” she said under
her breath.

“
They
like me.” He glanced at the note in his hand. “You do realize this means you can
marry whomever you want.”

“I’ve always intended to marry whomever I wanted.”

“But you’ll have your fortune back and you’ll have no need to marry for money and
a title or whatever.”

She stared at him. Did he understand nothing? “One has nothing to do with the other.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Seeking an appropriate match has nothing to do with my own financial status. My plan
as to what kind of man I will marry has been in place long before this difficulty
arose. Regardless of the circumstances, I would never think of marrying anyone who
did not meet my . . . my requirements.”

Disbelief washed across his face. “So you still want another perfect husband?”

“Of course I do.”

“Because that worked out so well for you the first time?” Sarcasm fairly dripped from
his words.

She waved off his comment. “Phillip was unique. I can’t imagine something like that
happening again.”

“And you never make the same mistake twice?”

“Yes!” She glared. “Never!”

His brow arched upward in a sarcastic manner.

“Well, never again!”

“So you don’t intend to fall in love with this one?”

“Of course not. But I certainly don’t intend to marry anyone I don’t like. I do expect
to feel a certain affection for him. After all, we will have a great deal in common.
And ultimately, love is not a necessary ingredient for a good match.”

“There are those who think it’s the only necessary ingredient.”

“Romantics.” She snorted in disdain. “And you’re one to talk to me about mistakes?
You are actively seeking to make the same mistake again.”

“Because I have not dismissed love out of hand? Because I realize there is more to
life than money and position?”

“No, because you let your heart be broken once before and you’re willing to take that
risk again.” Her voice rose. “Well, I am not!”

“No, you’d rather live in a dying world of manors and castles and pointless titles
where tradition triumphs over progress and intelligence and committing one’s life
to someone for the rest of your days is completely devoid of all human emotion!”

She sucked in a hard breath. “That’s not fair!”

“But it is accurate!” His voice grew louder.

“It is not! I said I intended to like him!”

“Well then, Lady Hargate, my apologies!” He glared. “I wish you the very best in your
endeavors. Your fortune-hunting endeavors!”

“My, my.” A familiar voice sounded from the front entry. “Look who has veered from
the straight and narrow.”

“What are you doing here?” Delilah snapped.

Her sister surveyed her from the open doorway. “I might ask you the same thing.”

“Good morning, Camille,” Sam said with a brusque nod.

“Not exactly.” Beryl’s gaze ran over Sam like a lioness appraising a fresh kill. “An
American? How very interesting.” Her gaze slid to her sister. “Who would have imagined.”

“Does no one knock anymore?” Delilah glared.

“The door was unlocked,” Beryl said mildly and closed the door behind her. “Foolish
of you to be so forgetful.”

“Probably my fault,” Sam said under his breath.

“I would wager on it.” Beryl cast him a knowing look.

And wasn’t this just the perfect addition to the day? Beryl was the last person Delilah
wanted to see at the moment. Or most moments for that matter. While she had grown
closer to Camille in recent months, she and Beryl were still treading cautiously around
each other.

Delilah drew a deep breath. “Sam, allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Dunwell. Beryl,
this is Mr. Samuel Russell.”

“Oh.” Realization washed across his face. “Camille’s twin. Yes, of course.” Sam nodded.
“Forgive me, Lady Dunwell, for my confusion. The resemblance to Lady Lydingham is
remarkable.”

“Mr. Russell is a business associate of Grayson’s,” Delilah said quickly, “as well
as a good friend.”

“I see.” Beryl studied him with an appraising eye. “And has Grayson mentioned me?”

“Once or twice,” Sam said, caution in his voice.

“Well, Grayson and I are not the best of friends so I won’t be so foolish as to ask
exactly what he has said.” Beryl’s gaze shifted to her sister. “Nor will I ask any
of the other numerous questions that have sprung to mind. At least, not yet.”

“But if you would be so good as to answer mine.” Delilah crossed her arms over her
chest. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here in my capacity as a loving and concerned older sister.” Beryl coolly removed
a glove and glanced around the foyer. “It has come to my attention that your house
has been closed for several weeks. Not that you saw fit to confide that fact to me.”

“I’ve been in the country.” Delilah shrugged. “With Camille. Preparing for the wedding.”

“Have you indeed?” Beryl raised a disbelieving brow. “Putting aside the fact that
you’ve been gone several weeks by my estimate, which does seem rather a long time
to prepare for a wedding that is still two weeks away, one does not routinely close
up one’s house and dismiss one’s servants for a sojourn in the country.”

“One might,” Delilah said in a lofty manner. “On occasion.”

“No, one doesn’t, ever,” Beryl said in a no-nonsense tone. “And, as much as I would
like an explanation, that can wait for the moment.” She pulled off her other glove.
“As soon as I discovered that your house was closed, I made it a point to drive by
daily to make certain the place had not been ransacked or burned to the ground. Which
I did out of the goodness of my heart, I might add.”