The Spinster Bride (5 page)

Marjorie opened her mouth, stunned. If any other man had said those same words to her, she would have slapped him across the face. But it wasn't what Charles Norris had said, it was how he'd said it, as if one couldn't take anything he uttered seriously. And yet, she knew he was probably speaking the truth. So, instead of slapping him as she should, she laughed.

“You are awful. No wonder you're not married.”

“Good God, do you really think I'd say such a thing to a woman I was courting?” He looked truly outraged.

“But you said it to me.”

He shook his head. “Entirely different. You are not a candidate to be my wife and we are not courting. We're more like . . . business partners.”

She lifted her chin slightly. “Do you often look at your business partners as if you'd like to kiss them?”

Grinning, he turned back to the refreshment table, then let out a low, but audible and very foul, curse.

“Sir, I would recommend you curb your language if you think to attract one of these fine ladies,” she said, looking at him with concern. She couldn't imagine the kind of pain that would cause such a man to seize up and curse aloud in a ballroom.

“I wouldn't use that sort of language in front of a woman I was courting,” he said through gritted teeth.

That statement was beginning to get a bit tiresome. “I'm starting to feel affronted, you know. I am a lady. An
unmarried
lady.” Marjorie knew she should be insulted. Couldn't fathom why she wasn't, but she thought she
ought
to be and should point this out. She found his casual disregard for her endearing, actually. How strange.

He gave her a curious look. “Do you want an apology?”

“I think I do.”

“You're not certain?”

She bit her bottom lip and was slightly dismayed to see his gaze drift down to her mouth and linger. “Stop doing that. If I'm to help you, I cannot worry that you're going to pounce on me at any moment.”

“But I want to pounce on you. I would very much like to ravish that lovely mouth of yours.” His words said one thing, but his eyes quite another. He was simply playing with her, delighting in shocking her. She found herself laughing again.

“Mr. Norris, please do try to resist my charms and put all that energy to finding a woman who is actually interested.”

His expression immediately changed, became more serious, as if she were a secretary reminding him of an important meeting.

“Very good. Who is on the top of your list and is she here this evening?”

 

Perhaps Charles had not completely shocked Lady Marjorie by his behavior, but he had certainly shocked himself. Never in his life had he spoken to a woman the way he'd spoken to her. It was the oddest thing, almost as if crossing her off his list of potential brides had freed him to act as he wished. Had he really told her he wanted to bury his face between her breasts? And had she truly
laughed
?

It was a bit of a problem that he was so physically attracted to her. When he'd first developed his plan, he'd thought she was perfect because he couldn't recall being attracted to her. She was pretty, yes, and her mother was one of the most frightening people in the
ton
, but he supposed he'd been so enraptured with Miss Wright, he hadn't really given Lady Marjorie a serious look. And he knew the futility of courting her, so why look at her at all?

Now, though, she was standing next to him in a gown cut to make a man think things he oughtn't—never mind say them aloud. If anything, he was glad she was aware of his attraction. Hiding such a thing was difficult, and now that they'd had a good laugh about it, they could carry on. Perhaps he could even get that kiss one day. Just the thought of her soft lips molding to his sent a sharp surge of desire coursing through him.

“The lady on the top of my list is Miss Susan Mitchell.”

“I'm not familiar with the name.” Actually, given that he'd been out of the country for ten years, he would probably be unfamiliar with most names on her list.

“Her father is Sir Robert Mitchell. They are quite wealthy and he is related in some way to the Duke of York.”

Charles scanned the room. “Where is she?”

“The girl in pale yellow. Brown hair. She's standing next to an older lady in lavender, her grandmother I think. By the orchestra.”

There she was, the first possible Mrs. Charles Norris. She was a tiny girl—and she
was
only a girl. A flat-chested, skinny girl. She could be fifteen. “How
old
is she?” he asked.

“Nineteen. She is a bit petite, but this is her second season.”

“She won't do. Not at all.”

“Too young?”

“Too everything. Who's next?”

Marjorie looked about the room and suddenly jerked. “It's Katherine.” Across the ballroom Charles saw Katherine Wright, the American girl he'd been a bit smitten with, but who was now married to his friend, Graham Spencer, Lord Avonleigh.

“I really have no interest in courting a married woman,” he said, teasing Marjorie. But she was so distracted by seeing her friend, she apparently didn't immediately understand his quip, but then looked up and gave him a brilliant smile. Clever girl.

And then Katherine spied them and began walking their way. He'd been more than smitten with Katherine before realizing—yet again—that she was in love with one of his friends. Looking at her now, he felt nothing but a bit of embarrassment that he'd made such a cake of himself. Thank goodness most of his friends were married, or he'd no doubt fall in love with their intendeds.

Charles looked for Marjorie's mother, saw her frowning their way, and decided to remove himself from Lady Marjorie's company. My God, her mother would have made a fine general.

“I'll let you two ladies become reacquainted,” he said, and left Marjorie before she could protest, but he did think he heard her say beneath her breath, “Oh, bollocks.” God, she made him smile.

 

Marjorie watched Katherine and her new husband, the Marquess of Avonleigh, formerly known as the Miserable Marquess, walk toward her. The pair looked decidedly happy and were fairly glowing with good cheer. Perhaps Katherine had forgiven her for nearly driving the pair apart.

“Hello, Lady Marjorie,” Katherine said pleasantly, but Marjorie's stomach twisted. Katherine had never called her “lady” anything.

“Please, may we talk privately?” Marjorie asked, feeling very nearly on the verge of tears. Although their acquaintance had been brief last year during the little season, they'd become fast friends—until Marjorie had betrayed their friendship in an ill-conceived plan to “save” Lord Avonleigh from Katherine. Marjorie's mother had convinced her that Katherine had been scheming to trap Lord Avonleigh into marriage. Dorothea had forced Marjorie to tell Lord Avonleigh her suspicions. And though, to be perfectly honest, it had appeared that Katherine was indeed trying to trap Lord Avonleigh, it turned out Marjorie had been terribly wrong.

“Go on, Katherine,” Graham said. “I'll keep Norris occupied while you two talk.”

Marjorie led Katherine from the crowded room and into a small hall. When the two women were alone, Marjorie spun around and said, “I cannot say how sorry I am for what I did. I am so glad to see that you are happy together. It was my mother. I mentioned, in passing, what you'd said to me after you'd been caught with Lord Avonleigh. I only spoke because she'd seemed so enthusiastic about a match between the two of you. I could not have predicted her reaction. She was incensed and demanded that I tell Lord Avonleigh what you'd said to me.”

“It's all right. Everything is fine now and we're very happy.”

“You didn't plan it, did you?” Marjorie said, remembering how Katherine and Lord Avonleigh had been caught quite publicly in a compromising position.

Katherine shook her head. “No. I didn't.”

“I
knew
you didn't. But . . .”

“I understand. Graham and I never were very discreet. It was bound to happen. And now we're both very glad it did.”

“Oh, that's wonderful,” Marjorie said. “I was going to write, but I didn't know quite what to say.”

“Please, you are forgiven. You only did what you thought was right. And what of you? Are you here with Mr. Norris?”

Marjorie looked slightly taken aback. “No,” she said quickly. Then, “Yes. No. Well, yes.”

Katherine laughed. “Which is it?”

“Yes. But we're not courting. It's a long and very ridiculous story. I find him extremely onerous, as a matter of fact.”

“He
is
handsome. And rich.”

“No title,” Marjorie pointed out with a laugh. “And besides, he's no doubt already half in love with someone else.”

“There is always Lord Mandeville,” Katherine said, referring to an ancient widower.

Marjorie laughed. “I'm so glad you're not angry.”

“I
was
angry,” Katherine said. “But that lasted only until Graham came to his senses.”

The two women returned, arm in arm, to the ballroom. Katherine immediately spotted Graham and led Marjorie to her husband, who was still talking with Mr. Norris. It appeared as though Mr. Norris had said something to make Lord Avonleigh angry.

When the two women reached the men, Mr. Norris said, “Lady Avonleigh, did you know that your husband once made a mockery of me for having the audacity to fall in love?”

“It does sound like something he would do.”

“What in heaven's name did you do to him, my lady?” Mr. Norris asked.

Katherine looked up at Graham, her eyes shining. “I made him smile.”

“If that is all that's necessary, I should have been long married by now,” Marjorie said. Katherine did look so happy, so much in love, and Marjorie couldn't stop the small twinge of envy she felt. Would she ever love anyone like that? Would a man ever look down at her the way Lord Avonleigh was looking at his bride?

Marjorie saw her mother frowning at her, but Marjorie knew her mother approved of Lord and Lady Avonleigh, in spite of their inauspicious courtship. She was no doubt tolerating the presence of Mr. Norris because he was a friend of Lord Avonleigh.

When the first waltz began, Lord Avonleigh asked his wife to dance, and the two drifted off together, looking dreamily into each other's eyes.

“He didn't even want to get married,” Charles said, sounding a bit mulish. “And there he is, looking like a besotted fool, dancing with his lovely wife. Doesn't he know it's not the done thing?”

Marjorie laughed. “Don't worry. We'll have you looking at your wife like that before the season is through. Right now, though, my mother is staring daggers at me for being so brash as to talk with a man without a ‘lord' in front of his name. Off I go. I'll look for the next note. What fun.”

No doubt Charles wouldn't get a chance to speak with Lady Marjorie again, a thought that made him slightly depressed. He scanned the room, his gaze stopping at every young thing in a skirt. God, they all looked the same. Hair carefully curled, white or pale-colored gowns, hovering by mothers and looking hopefully about the room for a potential suitor.

Miss Lavinia Crawford was, by far, the most beautiful girl of the bunch. Though he'd at first crossed her off his list, he gave her a second, long look. At least she didn't look like a girl. She filled out her gown in a lovely way that stirred his imagination. She might have all those boys hovering around her, but he wasn't a boy and perhaps that would make all the difference.

And so, Charles convinced himself that he could win Miss Crawford's hand. He smiled at the way she tilted her lovely head. Such a charmer, she was. She had her bevy of boys acting like puppies begging for a treat. And she was a treat. Just lovely. The sort of woman he'd imagined himself with. They'd have blonde-haired children with her lovely blue eyes. He imagined they must be blue to match that white-blonde hair of hers. And, good Lord, she had the smallest and most intriguing little mole right above her lip, like the beauties of the last century who'd put false ones on their faces. Like Marie Antoinette.

Decision made, he began moving toward her, feeling himself grow more and more entranced by her with every step he took. She laughed, and it was, if not delightful, the sort of laugh that made one want to join in.

“Oh no, you don't.” The words issued from a female to his left. Lady Marjorie.

“What am I doing?” His eyes were still on the lovely Miss Crawford.

“From that ridiculous look on your face, you are falling in love with Miss Crawford and Ruthersford is already in negotiations with her father. He's a viscount.” She added this last with emphasis.

“I am not falling in love. Do you think me that great a fool? I haven't even spoken to her yet.” He finally looked down to see Lady Marjorie looking at him the same way his old governess had looked when she was very displeased.

“You have engaged me in a mission to stop you from attaching yourself to the wrong woman. Miss Crawford is the wrong woman.”

As if drawn like a flower to the sun, he turned his head to again drink in the sight of Miss Crawford. “We shall see,” he said, and moved past Lady Marjorie with determination. He thought he heard her make some sort of sound behind him, but he knew she wouldn't give chase.

“I quit.”

Now that did stop him. Cold. He turned slowly, trying to hide his irritation. “There is the small matter of a debt.”

He watched as she set her jaw. Then she took a few steps closer, looking about to make certain no one was curiously watching them. “How can I hold up my end of our evil bargain if you will not hold up yours?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper. “You gave me very specific instructions. Miss Crawford is practically engaged. And her mother—”