The Wagered Bride (6 page)

"Milli,"
the husky voice whispered again. "Are you down there?"

Milli
looked up and squeezed Stephen's arm. "Yes."

"Well,
step away from the tree, dearest."

At the
sound of the voice once again, Stephen felt a pleasurable, yet familiar, tug at
his brain. The lady's voice reminded him of the whisper of silk on a winter
day. It was inviting, but oddly innocent and pure. Where had he heard it
before?

Milli
stared at Stephen as if she wanted him to say something back to her sister. But
he held back the urge to shout and decided to follow through with the scenario.
It might be the only reckless thing he ever did again.

"Oh,"
Milli said, her voice trembling with emotion as she raised her gaze, "I
think she might kill herself."

After
gauging the distance to the ground, Stephen thought the very same thing.
"Dash it all," he said to Milli. "Move aside, imp, I'll catch
your sister if she falls."

Milli
nodded and moved away. "Thank you, dear knight."

Stephen
bit back a groan at the girl's lavish adoration. This was all he needed
tonight. But he had no intention of catching the descending female. He intended
to give her a piece of his mind instead.

"What
is your sister's name, Milli?"

She
opened her mouth to answer when the branches rattled above them, and there was
a shout from above.

"Watch
out! Here it comes."

Before
Stephen knew it, something hard came crashing onto his chest. Uttering an oath,
he fell to the ground with a thud. A blinding pain shot through his shoulders
and he lay flat on his back with a sharp rock pushing against his spine.

Muttering
another curse, he shook his head and looked to his left. Beside him sat an ornate
gold-leafed trunk, worthy of the king himself. Must have weighed a ton, too!

"Hell's
teeth! What kind of trunk is that?" Clothing of some kind came flying out
of the window and landed on his head.

"Catch
my cloak, Milli," the husky voice added in a low hush. "It might
prove a bit cumbersome when I climb down."

"Cumbersome
is too tame, madam," Stephen mumbled as he threw the cloak off his head,
pain shooting down his arm.

By
heaven, this was the end!

But just
as Stephen was about to rise, he glanced up, his eyes widening at the sight of
one creamy white calf shining in the moonlight. He blinked.

"That
was the new trunk she got from Papa on her last birthday," Milli whispered
in his ears. "Are you all right? Did you break something?"

Stephen
gritted his teeth, wondering what star he had been born under to deserve all
this tonight. "Break something? Ruined my future is more like it."

"I
see her leg," Milli said.

"So
do I," Stephen answered, his head throbbing, but not enough for him to
stop staring.

"Do
something, you ninny."

Stephen
blinked again. Was this schoolgirl calling him names?

"Goodness
gracious! She's climbing down. Oh, fudge. She has never been a good
climber."

Brushing
a hand over his bruised shoulder, Stephen immediately realized the danger.
"Move aside, Milli. Plague take it! Looks as if I may have to catch your
sister after all."

"Oh,
oh, I cannot hold on—"

Stephen
planted his feet apart, enough to brace himself for the fall. The impact of the
trunk had been nothing compared to the bang of the woman against his chest. He
was slammed to the ground as if he had been knocked down by three of his
brothers.

"Mr.
Fennington ... you saved me."

The
breathless words were said with such insanity and love that Stephen wanted to
box the girl's ears.

"I
am not Mr. Fennington, madam. And if you would kindly roll off my chest, I
could begin to breathe again."

Elizabeth
jumped up and stood with her back against the tree, watching in shock as two
glittering eyes glared back at her. She gathered her traveling dress, ripped at
the shoulder, and stared back in dismay.

She
could not quite see the man's face because he was still sitting in the shadows,
but the sheen of the moon illuminated that angry gaze as if it belonged to a
sleek black panther she’d seen drawings of in her Papa’s library books. A
sudden shiver swept through her as the man uttered an oath and stood.

She
pressed a hand to her mouth when he stepped into the moonlight. "It's
you!" It was the man from the stables, but he didn't seem to hear her.

"That
was the most dangerous, stupid, idiotic act I have ever seen in my life!"

Elizabeth
lifted her chin, but inwardly her heart was beating like that of a mouse
cornered by a cat.

She
remembered all too well the athletic-looking man in the stables with his wavy
chestnut hair and warm brown gaze. But it wasn't warm now. It was as cold as
the icicles outside her window in the winter. He brushed a hand through his
dark locks, and memories of his kiss lingered in her mind.

She
swallowed as his large form shadowed over her, blocking her view. "I will,
er, reimburse you for your clothing, sir."

Dark
eyes flashed as he pulled the torn jacket from his shoulders. "You think
your intended would allow you to pay for a gentleman's clothing? How
half-witted do you think I am?"

His
words were said with such contempt she felt the insult all the way down to her
toes. Why, he had no idea they had met before. Her mouth opened and closed as
she pushed her back into the tree, feeling its bark scratching against her
spine.

Yet, to
be quite honest, it was this man's casual elegance that unnerved her. He was a
lord. She knew that from Odette's previous rendezvous with him. But there were
no brass buttons, no waterfall cravats, no ornate jewelry. His clothes seemed
simple and clean—before she had knocked him down, that is. Moreover, there was
something about the way he wore them that set him apart from the other gentlemen.
He emitted a certain masculine charm that turned her knees to jelly.

Regarding
him, she could see that he was much more muscular than Mr. Fennington.
Humiliation welled up inside her. How could she have mistaken him for her
fiancé?

His eyes
gleamed with humor and a sparkle of recognition as he continued to stare at
her. "The girl from the stables, I see."

He
remembered her, did he? She might not be as pretty as Odette, but at least Mr.
Fennington wanted her. She lifted a haughty brow. "My fiancé will not mind
clothing a man in need, sir."

The
man's face became taut, and for the first time Elizabeth noticed Milli standing
in front of her trunk, watching the exchange with wide innocent eyes.

Elizabeth
bit her lip, regretting her outburst instantly. Why, she had never treated
anyone so outrageously. This man had saved her life, and he had every right to
be riled after her idiotic descent from the window.

"Sorry
to disappoint you, my dear, but I will not need your assistance in my choice of
wardrobe. I regret I am to marry soon."

Her
cheeks burned. "That is not what I meant, and you know it." He
laughed then, a deep resounding rumble from his chest, making him look even
more handsome than he had in the stables.

"You
think this funny?" she asked, shaking her free fist at him while the other
fist held her gown together.

"Hilarious,
madam."

Milli
let out a snort of amusement and Elizabeth's icy gaze shot to her.
"Sorry," Milli said, lowering her eyes as she sat upon the trunk.

Elizabeth's
temper soared. This man was laughing at her as if she were some silly chit. Mr.
Fennington was a true gentleman—not at all like this man. Her fiancé would
never laugh at her like some uncaring beast. And where was Mr. Fennington,
anyway?

Anxiety
at the break in her plans soon replaced her rising anger. She needed to rid
herself of this detestable lord if she still wanted to make her escape tonight.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm the emotions surging through her.

"I
thank you for breaking my fall," she said, her tone softening.
"However, I am no longer in need of your chivalry. If you would be so kind
as to leave, I will be on my way."

The smile
in the man's eyes died. Before she could open her mouth, her sister did.

"Lizzie,
the man did save your life, and, well, he seems to know Mr. Fennington,
too."

A
sinking sensation filled Elizabeth as she took in the lord's taut expression when
Milli mentioned Mr. Fennington. "You may leave, sir. As you can see, I am
not injured. I have no more need of you."

"Too
devilish bad," the lord drawled, his gaze locking on an approaching form.
Then her dratted rescuer moved into the shadows, appearing even larger than he
had only seconds ago.

Elizabeth
glanced over her shoulder as a familiar blond head came into view. Relief swept
through her.

"Oh,
Mr. Fennington," she whispered. "Over here."

"I
fail to see what whispering will do," the man beside her interjected with
a sarcastic snort. "If we have not awakened the entire ballroom by now,
you may rest assured you are safe to speak." He shifted back a step and
glared at her bare shoulder.

With a
quick hand, Elizabeth scooted the material higher, scowling back at him.

"Ah,
dearest, I knew you would not fail me. I have the carriage waiting."
Fennington walked up to Elizabeth, his huge quizzing glass in hand as he
surveyed her appearance. "But my dear, whatever happened?"

"She
fell," came the deep baritone voice from the shadows.

Fennington's
quizzing glass dropped to his side. "You!"

"Me."
The lord's face took on a threatening twist.

Elizabeth's
heart pounded wildly as the tension in the air thickened to the consistency of
Cook's holiday pudding. She was surprised when Fennington took a step back. Her
fiancé's reaction bruised her pride. Was he afraid of the man?

"Mr.
Fennington," she said with a little laugh, "the most peculiar thing
happened. I was coming down that tree and thought you were there to catch me.
But in fact this—uh— gentleman broke my fall. But as you see, I do have my
things ready for—"

"Fennington,
how well you move around these days." The sharp words cut through the
night like a well-honed ax.

Fennington
raised his quizzing glass. "Ah, Lord Stephen Clearbrook, I thought I saw
you in a card game earlier."

Elizabeth
frowned at the flash of irritation on the intruder’s face. He seemed to stiffen
at Mr. Fennington's words. It was obvious the lord was readying for a fight.
Goodness knows this was the last thing she needed tonight.

"I
see you two have met before," she said, her thoughts racing. "Well,
Mr. Fennington, as I said before, this man saved me from a terrible fall, but I
have already thanked him. I believe I am ready to depart on our journey."

Hoping
she would not lose her nerve, she turned to her sister and gave her a hug.
"Good-bye, Milli. I will write—"

"You,
madam, are not leaving."

The
commanding words burst forth from the intruder with such imposing clarity,
Elizabeth froze. Seething with indignation, she turned around slowly, intending
to set this man straight, but she hesitated when she noted the dark scowl that
masked his face.

"I
do appreciate your help, Lord, um, Stephen Clearbrook, is it not? But Mr.
Fennington and I are deeply in love—"

Elizabeth
watched his expression change from irritated to amused. The man was mad. He was
laughing at her again. "I beg your pardon."

"My
dear." Fennington inched toward her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Thank goodness he would take care of this hateful man. At least she could
depend on someone.

"Love
is not part of this little escapade, Lizzie," the intruder stated in a
commanding tone.

A cold
knot settled in Elizabeth's stomach. What was wrong with him? "I am Miss
Elizabeth Shelby to you, sir. So if you would please excuse us, we will be
taking our leave."

For a
moment the man stared back at her as if she had grown a beard. A second later
his hand shot out and grabbed her elbow. "No doubt someone will be taking
his leave, Miss Shelby, but it certainly will not be you."

Chapter Four

W
ith a decisive jerk, Stephen
separated Miss Elizabeth Shelby from Fennington's side.

He
wanted to beat his head against the disfigured elm. Lizzie, her sister had
called her. He should have known.

Dash it
all, this was a hideous nightmare. But by heaven, as a gentleman of honor he
could not let this little bird fly the coop into Fennington's greedy hands.

Besides,
Stephen thought bitterly, as his fiancée, the female belonged to him whether he
liked it or not.

He set
his teeth. How utterly convenient.

Watching
the shocked expression playing across Miss Shelby's face, Stephen felt his
maddening emotions gradually fade, only to be replaced by a stir of deranged
amusement.

Miss
Shelby was, without a doubt, a feisty little creature, and she definitely did
not come by her looks from her father's side of the family. She was not what
one would call exquisite, but her haughty manner made up for what she lacked in
conventional beauty.

Nevertheless,
the chit was rounded in all the right places. He knew that the minute she had
dropped from the sky and literally fallen onto his chest. Gracefully
curvaceous, he thought, and quite pretty when riled. Her cheeks reminded him of
a cherub—plump and rosy. But her big blue eyes reflected an innocence and
naïveté that brought his protective instincts to the surface.

He felt
her stiffen under his regard. It was obvious this girl had no idea of the
depths of Fennington's deceit.

He
stared at her lips, recalling the kiss in the stables, realizing he had enjoyed
their earlier confrontation immensely. Yet she was so gullible it amazed him.

And here
she was with Fennington.

For the
love of the king, he had not forgotten the prim little miss at all. But heaven
help him, if the lady had wanted to box his ears in the stables, wait until she
heard the news that they were to be married.

Dappled
moonlight played against her creamy white skin, and he caught Fennington eyeing
her bare shoulder with the look of a wolf licking his chops.

In one
smooth move, Stephen lunged toward the cloak lying on the trunk, grabbed it,
and threw it to her. "Here, put this on. Don't want you to catch a fever
of the lungs, now, do we?"

Those
blue eyes snapped back at him as if he were the devil himself. "What would
you care?"

"I
think, Miss Shelby, that you may find my answer rather enlightening."

So this
was the lady he was to marry. He would have laughed if the situation were not
so horrid. And the joke of it was, she thought herself in love with Fennington.

Well, he
could let her follow through with this little fiasco and relieve himself of the
burden of marrying her, but there was no honor in that. And though he was an
absolute idiot to drink and gamble his life away, no matter what his excuse, it
was no reason to let this girl marry the weasel before him.

"See
here," Fennington said, "we have had our differences, but I say, be a
good chap and let us be on our way."

Stuffing
a hand into his pocket, Stephen turned toward the six-foot worm across from him
and gave the maggot a twisted smile. "As a gentleman, I cannot do that.
You do understand, do you not, old chap?"

The
peabrain had the gall to pull out that stupid quizzing glass and look him up
and down. "And pray tell why not? Because your sister could not have
me."

Miss
Shelby gasped. Milli scowled, slipping beside Stephen.

Stephen's
anger at Fennington was past the breaking point. However, it was Stephen's
sense of impassioned duty to safeguard this Shelby woman that surprised him the
most. Elizabeth Shelby was too trusting by far. Moreover, though the little
sister was a veritable termagant, he discovered, much to his surprise, that in
the past few minutes he had become quite fond of the little imp. Having
Fennington in their lives would be a living hell.

Stephen
leaned against the elm and lazily crossed his arms over his chest.
"Fennington, my dear sir, I will give you to the count of three. And if
you do not leave these premises, grounds and all, I will call you out."

Fennington's
face turned white. "B-but you cannot do this. You have no say in Miss
Shelby's life. We have plans ... Y-you cannot interfere." The monstrous
quizzing glass shook in the man's white hands as he shoved it back into his
pocket. "Upon my word, this is barbaric. I simply will not allow it."

Stephen
raised an irritated brow, pushing away from the tree. "Well, to tell you
the truth, Fennington, I have been waiting for this time together ever since my
sister's wedding. I promised my mother I would not follow you, but since you
came across my path, what can a man say to that?"

Fennington
gulped.

Miss
Shelby threw herself between the two men, fixing an icy stare upon Stephen.
"Do not come one step further, you beast!"

Stephen
blinked at the lady. She was not a dazzler like Odette, yet those eyes of hers
could put a spell on any man if he looked long enough. He stared thoughtfully,
then shook his mind free of his fanciful notions. Her wheat-colored hair was
escaping its pins and combs, and fell about her face as if she were some
ragamuffin with no manners at all, making him wonder about the long years ahead
of him.

"Ah,
so you love this greedy rake, do you?" he asked her.

The lady
wrung her hands on her skirt. "That is none of your affair."

So she
was not as fearless as she seemed. He noticed that Milli had left. Good. The
poor child did not need to see the blood spurting from Fennington's nose.

Fennington
added an agreeable grunt. "Not your affair at all. Not at all."

"Oh,
depend upon it. This is my affair," Stephen said calmly, glancing between
Fennington and Miss Shelby.

"You're
mad," Miss Shelby hissed.

Stephen's
lips twisted. "Never said I wasn't, Miss Shelby."

She bit
her lips, her face seeming to drain of color as though she believed he was
going to pull out a pair of pistols and kill them both. So she had an imagination.
Intriguing.

Stephen
felt an instant stab of regret. The poor woman had no idea what was happening,
but she would know soon enough. Fennington had been a thorn in his family's
side for years now. It was time to do something about it.

Without
a second thought, Stephen put his hands on Miss Shelby's waist and lifted her
from her spot, placing her behind him. She sputtered something incoherent as
she stumbled against the tree. He left her flailing in the dark, grateful she
could not see him cuff Fennington in the jaw.

The man
flipped over the gold embellished trunk and landed on his nose with a
resounding thud.

Stephen
hovered over him, lowering his voice to a deathly calm. "If you dare ever
to come near this lady or her family again, I shan't be giving you a warning.
Is that understood?"

Holding
his nose, trying to stop the blood from rushing down his face, Fennington
nodded.

Behind
him, Stephen heard a horrified gasp.

"B-but
Mr. Fennington, you are not going?" Miss Shelby's lip trembled and
Stephen's stomach knotted at the longing in her voice. "My trunk, the
carriage, our plans ..."

"I
fear..." Fennington pulled out a handkerchief and held it against his nose
which muffled his voice as he backed up toward the wisteria, "dear
Ewizabeth, our pwans have changed."

Elizabeth
stepped forward and smacked Stephen on the shoulder. "Because of this
brute?"

Stephen
hardly moved at all, but inwardly his respect for this female was growing by
the minute. By Jove, the little thing would probably call him out if she were a
man.

Hand
still pressed against his nose, Fennington managed a contorted smile as he took
a quick glance at Stephen, then returned his attention to Miss Shelby.

"A
wady of your dewicate constitution should never... have had to witness ... such
depwaved conduct." He rubbed his jaw, his eyes gleaming with reproach as
he glanced at Stephen. "A scandaw may suwound you... if I... do not take
my weave."

"But
you cannot leave!" Elizabeth took a hasty step in Fennington's direction,
but Stephen halted her movement by slipping a strong arm about her waist,
hauling her back.

To
Stephen's surprise, Fennington took that moment to slip in and raise
Elizabeth's hand for a farewell kiss. "Good-bye ... my sweet...
good-bye."

"Oh,
Mr. Fennington," Elizabeth sobbed, "You are too good."

Stephen's
hold on Miss Shelby tightened as he watched Fennington depart toward the back
of the garden.

Elizabeth
heard the towering lord growl something she could not understand and she
swallowed another sob as she wrenched free from his hold. "You
beast!"

Her
heart turned over at the thought of Mr. Fennington's courage. He had left her
alone so there would not be a scandal, and hence, this intruder could not
smudge her name on the dueling field.

But the
man standing next to her looked so smug in his simply tied neckcloth and torn
dark jacket, which he had thrown back on, that she wanted to slap him.

He
seemed to read her thoughts. "I would not do it if I were you, Miss
Shelby." Brown eyes looked into hers with something akin to pity and her
cheeks bloomed with color.

Only
moments ago, when his hands had rested upon her waist to move her away from
Fennington, she had been surprised. He had been gentle, but determined.
However, so was she.

"You
... you ruined my life, you fiend!"

His
hollow laugh rumbled in her ears. "Ruined your life? This is too rich.
Depend upon it, I saved you from a man who only wanted you for your papa's
money."

Elizabeth
drew in a sharp breath. "How dare you! Mr. Fennington loves me. We will marry;
you will see. He has left with his dignity intact." She gave him a swift
perusal and snorted. "Which is more than I can say for you."

"Me?
By Jupiter, madam. That man is nothing but a thief. He has gone after many an
heiress seeking her fortune. Are you daft as well as stupid?"

She
tripped back against the tree and held a hand to her bosom. "Why, you
insufferable lout. How dare you speak to me as if I were some ... some tavern
wench!"

Stephen
knew the moment the words were out he could not take them back. Tears pooled in
those innocent blue eyes, and he felt a thousand times worse than he had an
hour ago. He loved women. Never said an unkind word to one as long as he could
remember.

Even
when his sister Emily had been in high spirit, he had all but encouraged her
manner, vexing Roderick and his brothers Clayton and Marcus to no end. Still,
it seemed that this woman irritated him more than she would ever know.

"I
beg your pardon, madam." He stepped closer. "I have no reason to
besmirch your good name. However, I should point out to you, since no one has
already, that Mr. James Theodore Fennington is a cad and a wastrel. Never mind
that he is a well-known rake and a voracious gambler."

She
clapped her hands to her cheeks. "Oh! You are a horrid, horrid man."
She glanced over her shoulder, as if looking for a means of escape. "If
you dare touch me again or come any closer, I will scream."

Tears
rolled down her face and Stephen instantly felt ashamed. Splaying his hands in
the air, he heaved a sigh. "I won't touch you. In fact, I have no desire
to touch you."

He shook
his head at the sound of her gasp. "That is, we seemed to have gotten off on
the wrong foot. Let me introduce myself." He gave a deep bow. "Your
servant, Lord Stephen Clearbrook."

A small
squeak emerged from the girl's throat, which in seconds became a full bellow of
laughter. "My servant? Good gracious, you are my worst nightmare,
sir."

Stephen's
head snapped to attention and he narrowed his eyes on the female. Was she mad
as well as stupid? Irritation flowed through his veins. No woman had ever
laughed at him except his sister, and for her he made allowances because she
loved him. He stared back in contempt, waiting for Miss Shelby to compose
herself.

The look
on her face quickly changed back to one of horror.

Exasperated,
Stephen tried to soothe her. "I have no reason to touch you, Miss Shelby
... at least not yet."

Wide-eyed,
she hastened to her trunk as if the ornate piece of luggage would save her.
"Stay away from me."

"I
daresay, Miss Elizabeth Shelby, if you are who you say you are, then we have
more important matters to discuss than the question of servant and
master."

Two
delicate brows drew together. "We do, do we? Well, I must say, you are
full of surprises today. But believe me, I am in no mood to amuse you any further.
I have other matters to attend to. I thank you again for saving me from that
fall, but let me remind you, your gentlemanly act does not give you the right
to take over my life."