The Wagered Bride (17 page)

She
paused and smiled. "When I'm done, Stephen will fall all over you like a
lion that hasn't eaten for a month."

A few
minutes later Elizabeth reluctantly took a seat and let Lady Emily go to work.
By the time the lady was finished, Elizabeth had a head of springy brown curls
that framed her face, making her look quite the thing. Blond streaks added
depth to her new locks, a natural highlighting that had been hidden.

After
the maid left with the scissors and iron, Emily smiled, quite pleased with
herself. "Well, what do you think?"

Elizabeth
touched her hair, not able to believe the change in her appearance. Her hair
had been too heavy to curl so easily before. But now the difference was
unbelievable. She looked—well, pretty. "You think your brother likes me a
little?" she asked meekly, lifting her eyes in the mirror to lock with
Emily's.

Emily
leaned forward. "Of course he does. And after tonight, who knows what he
will do."

The
muscles in Elizabeth's throat tightened. Did she want Stephen to love her?
Would she follow through with this sham of a marriage?

She
looked back at her reflection. The haircut accentuated her eyes, along with the
silver blue of her gown. A small part of her wanted Stephen to notice her
tonight— truly notice her.

"There
is one thing you must do tonight," Emily announced.

"What?"
she asked, trying to hide her emotions.

"You
must dance with all my brothers at least twice, and above all, avoid dancing
with Stephen if you can, except, that is, for your opening dance. I have spoken
to Marcus, Clayton, and Roderick. They are quite in agreement with me.

Emily's
eyes twinkled. "Of course, Stephen has no idea we have this all planned to
the letter. And besides my brothers, you must flirt with the most eligible
rakes that my horrid siblings will provide for you."

Elizabeth
could not hold back her laugh. "You are a wicked sister. Your brother will
think me a terrible flirt."

"No,
he will think you the most beautiful woman in the room, and he will eventually
come to your aid, whisking you into the gardens for a kiss."

"But
it seems so dishonest. I cannot do such a thing."

"Oh
yes, you can. Do you want him to fall madly in love with you or not?"

Elizabeth's
heart skipped. "Yes, yes, I do. I believe I'm starting to fall in love
with the fiend myself."

Emily
laughed. "Very well, then. Let's get to work."

"Who
the devil is that dancing with her now?"

Stephen
paced the back of the ballroom, keeping his fiancée in sight at all times. She
had taken his breath away when he had seen her descending the stairs, looking
like a princess with her soft golden-brown curls framing those deep blue eyes.
He wanted to comb his hands through her locks and sweep her into his arms.

And when
he had dropped his gaze to the low cut of her silver-blue gown, which displayed
her feminine curves, he had gulped back an audible groan.

Her snow
white skin looked soft and delicate. But it was those eyes. Their innocence had
reeled him in. They were quite the loveliest pair of eyes he had ever seen.

The duke
raised a black brow and leaned against the wall. "Don't you recognize your
own brother Marcus?"

Stephen
stopped, barely able to see the couple across the ballroom, the lighting from
the crystal chandeliers was so dim. "This is their second dance together
and a waltz at that. What is the man thinking?"

Roderick
cleared his throat and smiled.

"And
what is so funny?" Stephen asked. "I seemed to recall you being a bit
addlebrained when Jane had you running around in circles. If I recall correctly,
you claimed you didn't love her."

"That
was long ago." The duke's voice was dangerously low. "If you dare
remind her, I will hang you by your toes."

Stephen
felt a bit of satisfaction at his brother's reaction. At least Roderick wasn't
smiling anymore. Stephen certainly wasn't. This was the first time a woman had
turned his life completely upside down.

Oh, it
was more than the idiotic wager that made him feel stupid, it was Elizabeth
Shelby herself.

She was
different from the usual ladies he favored. He found himself intrigued, and
yes, maybe a little bit in love. The thought unnerved him since it was obvious
the female loathed him. Besides, she still seemed to have a liking for that
weasel Fennington.

"I
believe I will have a go at your beautiful fiancée."

Stephen
had no time to answer before the duke pushed himself off the wall and moved
across the floor, claiming Elizabeth for the next dance. Following that set,
Clayton took the blue-eyed siren in his arms. Stephen also noted, with a spurt
of jealousy, that his brother looked to be acting all too familiar with her. It
wasn't hard in the dim light to see that Elizabeth was laughing at something he
said. Her face positively glowed.

Stephen
raised himself on his toes. Thunderation! What the deuce was going on here?
Clayton seemed to be lowering his lips to her neck. He had best be whispering.
The music stopped and Stephen started toward Elizabeth.

He
should have kept her shackled to his side all night. And why was Clayton
introducing her to Lord Pool? The man was a first class rake!

"Ah,
there you are, Stephen. I was just saying to Lady Roberts how lucky you were to
find such a level-headed beauty."

Stephen
halted. It was all he could do not to shake his mother off his arm. He watched
in alarmed silence as Pool escorted Elizabeth to the refreshment table.

Stephen's
animosity toward the man rose to an extreme when he saw Pool's gaze sink from
Elizabeth's face to other delectable portions of her anatomy. He would kill the
man!

"Do
you not think it would be wonderful, my dear?"

Stephen
was pulled away from his thoughts at the sound of his mother's question.
Obviously, he had missed something here.

He could
only smile at the ladies who surrounded him. "Delightful," he replied
woodenly, peering across the dance floor to where Pool had led Elizabeth once
again.

"Splendid!
I told Mr. Shelby you would have no problem with it, considering that he said
you already had the special license. Next week is a perfect time for a
wedding."

Stephen's
head spun back to the conversation. "Wedding?"

The
ladies laughed as if Stephen were teasing them. But his mother knew better. The
lady pulled him aside.

"You
just agreed to be wed next week. I had no idea you were not listening, but
there is no way to run from it now. The information will spread in
minutes." She sighed, her gaze flipping across the floor to Elizabeth.
"I daresay you two lovebirds cannot wait to be wed."

Stephen
stood dumbfounded. Married next week?

His gaze
was glued to Elizabeth as he marched across the room, determined to hold onto
his fiancée until the night ended. He had only danced with her once.

Something
inside him turned warm at the thought of holding her, kissing her lips,
pressing her soft body to his.

Perhaps
next week was not too soon after all.

Chapter Eleven

L
ord Stephen was incensed. Elizabeth
could see it in those sable brown eyes as he drew nearer to her. His gait
across the dance floor was determined, like that of a man in battle, skilled and
powerful, yet intelligent and quick. At that moment she knew that indeed this
was a man who could easily have saved Wellington's life.

The
daunting notion sent a slight shiver through her.

Good
gracious. She had unleashed a veritable tiger.

Evidently,
the man's sister had known exactly what she had been doing, but now Elizabeth
was not quite so sure she should have submitted to the lady's wishes. Guilt
played havoc with her stomach. What on earth had she done?

Swallowing,
she turned to Lord Clayton standing beside her.

"Not
to worry, my dear. He is as gentle as a lamb."

Elizabeth
brought a shaky hand to her bosom. "But he seems, um... rather determined.
Perhaps after our first dance, I should have paid more attention to him."

She
grabbed Clayton's arm. "Oh, my lord, do take me outside before he
comes."

Clayton
took pity on her, ushering her aside.

"Listen
to me," he said as they walked beyond the French windows onto the terrace,
"you cannot have a man's heart if you keep brushing him aside. I know my
brother, and he will come around. But you must be strong."

"I
am strong. But he does not love me. I cannot change that fact." And it
hurts too much to bear.

Clayton
laughed, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. "You are such an
innocent."

Elizabeth
looked up into his eyes and smiled. He was like a brother to her, the brother
she never had. "It is so embarrassing to love a man when he does not
return that love."

"What?
He adores you. And against my better judgment, I would advise you to maneuver
him into the gardens before the night is out."

Her
brows lifted and she cleared her throat. "Do you truly think that a viable
option?"

"Think
what a viable option?"

Stephen
stepped through the doors, gently taking hold of Elizabeth's arm, shooting his
brother an icy glare.

Clayton's
smiling eyes fell on Elizabeth's face. "I was speaking of the gardens,
little brother."

Elizabeth
felt the grip on her arm tighten.

Music
drifted in the background, but all she heard was the thumping of her heart. Was
Stephen jealous?

"The
gardens?" Stephen said, his voice holding a note of warning. "No one
will be taking Elizabeth into the gardens unless it is me. Is that understood,
brother?”

Clayton
gave them both a formal bow. "Understood all too clearly, brother."
And with those final words, Clayton retreated into the ballroom, stopping to
pull Milli from behind the curtains. "You little minx. Marcus told me
about you."

Elizabeth
would have laughed as she watched Milli's face turn white the moment Clayton
gave away her hiding place, but her own face paled as she turned to the man beside
her. Her heart beat faster as she felt the tension grow between them.

"Your
lordship, perhaps a bit of punch—"

Stephen
tipped her chin, making her look at him. His eyes impaled hers. "I believe
our Christian names are in order since we will be married within the
week."

Elizabeth
blinked. "Within the week?"

"We
are to be wed next week. I have the special license."

Her
tongue grew thick, her mind spinning. "A special license?"

His
finger trailed a path along her neck, and she thought he would hear her heart
pounding outside her chest. What was he doing to her? She was falling under his
spell, and she knew if she let this continue, she was doomed.

She
glanced over his shoulder, hoping for a sign of one of his brothers.

"Ah,
searching for a knight in all his chain mail to rescue you, my dear?" He
whispered the words along her neck as he tugged her deeper into the gardens.

She dug
her heels into the graveled path, knowing that if she moved any further beyond
the ballroom, there was no turning back. "I, uh, have a bit of a chill.
Perhaps we should turn back and you could fetch my shawl for me."

The man
had the audacity to laugh.

"What?"
she asked sharply. "Is there a problem with a woman being chilled?"

"Chilled
or scared?"

Elizabeth
took a step back. His intense gaze seemed to be peering into her soul,
searching for her dreams, searching every nook and cranny where her most
private thoughts were hidden. It was unnerving.

She
glanced around her. Rosebushes, trees, and the dark.

No, she
did not want to walk any further into the gardens with this man. Her heart
could stand only so much pain.

Before
she had a chance to run, he took hold of her hands. "Elizabeth, don't be
frightened."

"I...
don't fear you, my lord."

"Stephen,"
he said, his tone a caressing command.

"Stephen,"
she said softly. How many times had she repeated his name in her head? A
hundred? A thousand?

He
pulled her closer, his breath soft and sweet against her face. "Tell me,
how did a beautiful woman such as you slip away from rakes like me and never
get caught... until now?"

His hand
swept up to touch her cheek. The strain between them began to fall away like
the leaves of autumn, making her vulnerable to his charms. She swayed against
him, knowing he had already wormed his way into her heart.

"Elizabeth."
His lips brushed hers in a tender kiss.

When he
gently pulled away, she was unable to explain the feelings whirling through her
mind. No man had ever kissed her so lovingly, including Mr. Fennington.

She loved
this man. It was more than the kiss. It was something he had touched in her
soul. Oh, yes, his charms had doomed any resistance she had ever tried to
exert, and being a war hero only enhanced his appeal. But it was when she had
seen him holding that baby she knew her fate was sealed.

Stephen
stared down at the woman in his arms. What was she thinking? Did she love him?
Or did she still love Fennington? Would he have a marriage like his parents'?  He
had no wish to play games with this innocent. He had to know if there was a chance
of having some kind of happiness in their future. He had to know her feelings
toward him.

"Elizabeth,
do you think you could ever find it in your heart to love me?"

He was
pleased when she smiled at him, her teeth glimmering against the glow of the
moon. "Love you?"

He noted
a slight chip on one of her bottom teeth. So the lady was not so perfect after all.
He lifted her hands to his lips, kissing them. "Am I so hard to
love?"

Her
bottom lip trembled as she spoke, "I think I'm falling in love with you
... Stephen." Her whispered words were husky and low, like smoke twirling
in the night.

His
chest tightened when his glance slid to the creamy skin of her neck. Who would
have believed his night of gambling would come to this? This wonderful woman
was kind, intelligent, and most of all, she loved him. What more could he ask?

"You
are beautiful, Elizabeth."

Tears
sprang to her eyes, and he took that moment to kiss her again. The taste of
her, the smell of her, the touch of her was his undoing. They fit together so
perfectly, he thought he was dreaming. Her lips were as soft as the rose petals
in spring. Salty tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks. His heart leapt as
he pulled her into his arms, drawing her further into the garden.

Elizabeth
felt alive for the first time in years. Stephen's tender concern for her was
another point in his favor. And this was the man she was to marry.

Marry.
The word whirled through her mind, curling around her heart like a whisper of
heaven.

Resting her
head against his shoulder, she closed her eyes, letting him slide her onto his
lap as he took a seat on a bench in a far corner of the garden.

"Elizabeth,
sweetheart."

She
opened her eyes and lifted her head.

The next
moment, every muscle in her body stiffened.  For there, behind a large oak,
stood Mr. Fennington, his frown carved into his face like the knots of the
ancient tree that shadowed him.

Stephen's
hands froze on Elizabeth's stiff form. Guilt flooded him. What had he done?

"Forgive
me."

He placed
her beside him, his breathing labored. "My instincts ran away with me,
Elizabeth. I beg your pardon."

From
what he could see from the moonlight, her face was as white as his cravat. He
felt like the worst rake in London.

"Elizabeth,
say something. Please."

Her hand
was clammy, and she seemed frightened out of her wits. He had pushed her too
far. She was not a lady of the night or some lonely widow. She was an innocent,
and dash it all, she was to be his wife. He had moved too quickly.

Wide
blue eyes stared up at him as she pulled her hands from his grip. "You
have no need to ask my forgiveness, my lord," she said all too coolly.

My lord,
he thought with a grimace.

"I...
that is, we must return to the ball." She blinked rapidly, wringing her
hands on her lap.

"You
are fine then? You do not hate me?"

She gave
a hesitant laugh and stood, stepping into the full light of the moon. "We
must go back."

He
nodded, knowing he would have to control himself until the wedding. "I
promise you, you will have no need to fear me."

If she
could have turned whiter than before, she did. Stephen felt as if someone had
kicked him in the stomach.

Cursing
himself for his hasty actions, he took her arm, sensing her uneasiness.
"Let us return and see what fools my brothers have made of
themselves."

Her
laugh was forced, and he wondered if he had ruined everything. He would keep
his distance from her, giving her room to breathe. He realized, with an
intensity he couldn't explain, that he wanted this woman for his wife, for his
lover, for the mother of his children. He wanted her, and by heaven, nothing
was going to stop him from having her. Not even himself.

Minutes
later, Elizabeth stood in the ballroom, speaking to Stephen's mother. But her
fear Mr. Fennington would somehow make an unannounced appearance was like a
noose about her neck. The very sight of the man in the gardens made her throat
constrict until she felt faint.

The
crowd had pushed in around her, the gentlemen asking for a dance, the dowagers
wanting to know where she had bought her gown. But to her surprise, none of
Stephen's brothers had come to her rescue, not even Stephen.

Her
fiancé had left her like a cold fish after he had kissed her. He must have been
having second thoughts about their marriage. She was not a good kisser, she
knew that. She hadn't the experience. Yet if was there was any chance at all
that he might love her, she had to rid herself of Mr. Fennington.

She
thought she had made it perfectly clear that she was not interested in the man.
She had no idea what had happened between Stephen and him at the dressmaker's
that day, but upon her exit, she had thought she heard a groan of pain.

Yet,
when Stephen had hopped into the carriage, he seemed not the least bit
breathless, and his ensemble was in perfect condition. However, the hardness in
his eyes alone had betrayed his emotions. He had been angry. And rightly so.

Somehow
she would have to make Mr. Fennington see that she meant what she said. Knowing
the fool, he probably thought she would slip from the ball to see him, and drat
the man, she would have to do just that to set him straight.

Within
minutes she had made her way past the French windows and returned to the
gardens. The music slowly dropped to a low murmur while a cool breeze fingered
through the trees. She knew Mr. Fennington would eventually find her. But as it
was now, she could not have the odious man intruding into her life anymore.

She was
about to give up her search when a cold hand clamped over her mouth, and she
was dragged behind the bushes. She fought against the body that held her.

"Miss
Shelby, Elizabeth, it's me."

Her
mouth thinned in anger when Mr. Fennington released her and she spun around.
"Why did you do that? I am perfectly capable of speaking to you without
being accosted."

"I
received your letter to come and fetch you."

Elizabeth
stilled. The letter? He had received the letter she had posted before the
shopping excursion. How long ago was that? "Well, it does not signify.
I've changed my mind. In fact, I already gave you a piece of my mind at the
dressmaker's."