The Wagered Bride (7 page)

To his
continued surprise, the woman turned her back on him and began tugging at her
trunk, muttering something about too many gowns. Stephen stood rooted in place
and watched in silent amusement. She dragged the trunk about a foot before she
was panting heavily.

"And
where do you think you are going now?"

She sank
onto her trunk and glared at him. "Obviously my plans have changed. But I
warn you, your lordship, I may seem meek, but I am not about to sit here and
take your insults any longer. If you were a gentleman, you would leave."

A
gentleman? The devil of it was, that's precisely what had thrown him into this
fix in the first place.

Rising
from her seat, she pointed a small white finger at him. He almost laughed,
thinking her actions more like his sister's. Emily would adore her.

"Leave
me alone. Do you hear me? If you ever dare to interfere in my life again—"

"Interfere
in your life? Dear woman, you were the one who came toppling from the sky,
throwing me to the ground as if you were an anchor shot from the upstairs
window."

Anchor?
How apropos, he thought grimly, the realization of the situation slowly
penetrating his brain.

At least
the female had the grace to flush. "Well, yes," she said meekly,
"that was rather unwise of me. I should have waited until everyone had
left."

Stephen
swallowed a growl of anger. The impudence of the chit. She could have been
killed!

"And
I do appreciate your saving my life and taking the fall for me, my
lord"—her eyes narrowed into slits of rage— "but since you have also
ruined my life, I would say we are dead even. So it only signifies that we leave
it at that."

Ruined
her life? Stephen's lips curled. This was the end of his playing the controlled
gentleman. "Miss Shelby, dead even will never describe the situation that
is between us."

"Us?"
she hissed. "There is no us."

He
almost felt more sorry for her than he did for himself.

Almost.
"I have something I need to say, madam, and whether you like it or not,
you must hear it from me first."

Her chin
lifted, completely negating any first impression Stephen had of fragility.
"Say it and be done," she said in a clipped tone. "I never want
to see you again."

A
twisted smile flashed across his face. It was clear that this woman would never
go along with her father's edicts. As long as he gave the chit his side of
things, she would be on his side faster than the Prince Regent could spend a
guinea. It was to her benefit that they agreed on a plan.

"Well,
Miss Shelby, not seeing me again may be a bit hard to arrange."

"Oh,
say what you will and be done with it!"

"Ah,
I see you two have already met. Capital! Capital!"

Stephen
groaned at the sound of William Shelby's deep voice projecting from the
darkness. Within an instant, the portly silhouette emerged from behind the
wisteria.

As
Shelby came into full view, the man's silent glare bored a hole through any hope
of Stephen extricating himself from this unseemly union. Whether his daughter
agreed to the marriage or not, Stephen knew without a doubt that Shelby would
make certain it went on as planned.

"Papa!"

Elizabeth
hurried toward her father, her heart jumping out of her chest. Milli stood
beside him, her eyes wide. Did their father know this man?

Elizabeth
stiffened suddenly. The trunk? Could her papa see it in the shadows?

Standing
beside her father, she tightened her hold on her cloak, trying to hide the rip
in her gown. If her father had any idea she was planning a trip to Gretna
Green, she would be locked away in the country for a year. Not that her papa
didn't love her, but he was as strict as Caesar when it came to disobedience.

"Lizzie,
my love. Milli mentioned you were going for a walk to help your headache. But I
daresay it is too late for you to be out here alone without an escort, ball or
not. I know you were not feeling well, but how fortunate you have met up with
Lord Stephen Clearbrook. Has he told you the news?"

Elizabeth's
brows furrowed in confusion when the lord purposely moved away from her trunk,
removing her father's gaze from the evidence of her elopement. What was this
man about now? He was not trying to save her from her father's wrath, was he?

"What
news, Papa?" she asked, feeling oddly grateful to Lord Stephen Clearbrook.

"You
tell her, your lordship?" William Shelby said, rubbing a hand over his
chin as Milli opened her mouth and closed it again.

"No,"
was the curt reply as the lord crossed his arms over his chest, staring back at
Elizabeth.

Elizabeth
looked from one man to another, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of her
stomach. The icy brittleness hanging in the air had nothing to do with the
weather. Murmured voices from the ballroom floated to her ears, a dim reminder
of the party still taking place.

William
Shelby stared hard at the hovering gentleman, and Lord Stephen glared back at
her father.

A rush
of blood drummed through Elizabeth's veins. The two had obviously met before
and whatever had happened at their last meeting was not finished.

"Tell
me what?" she asked hesitantly.

William
Shelby's face instantly changed, his frown lifting, only to be replaced by a
tight smile. He stepped closer to Lord Stephen and had the effrontery to slap
the man on the shoulder as if his lordship were his long lost son.

"Why,
Lizzie dear, his lordship here has asked for your hand in marriage. And I have
accepted."

Elizabeth
felt the world tilt beneath her. "W-what?"

Stephen
looked at this woman and for not the first time that evening felt a wave of
pity for her. She was as headstrong as a mule, but she had to be or her father
would have pushed her along life's path without a thought to what she wanted.

But her
stubbornness didn't seem to be working for her now, for William Shelby had
decided his daughter's fate as much as the man had decided Stephen's. Well, not
precisely. Stephen had done it to himself. This girl was the man's daughter, a
circumstance she could never change.

Shelby
cleared his throat, slipping a hand between the buttons of his snug waistcoat,
his militant stance more like that of Napoleon Bonaparte issuing an order than
that of a doting father. "I have accepted, Elizabeth."

Stephen
frowned. No woman deserved such a cold introduction to her future, especially
one's own daughter.

"I
see." Miss Shelby shifted a daring look in Stephen's direction, then
turned to Milli. "The spectacles, Milli."

Milli
frowned and fished in her pocket for her sister's spectacles, giving them to
her. Anger flashed in Miss Shelby's blue eyes as she put on the ugly eyewear.

Stephen
felt an instant warming toward the girl. Or was it respect? Dash it, but those
spectacles were repulsive, and it seemed she thought to scare him off with
them. How many females would try that on an unwanted suitor? Not many.

"Take
those silly things off your nose, Lizzie. I won't have you acting like some
insipid bluestocking."

Miss
Shelby pursed her lips and swiped the spectacles off her face, stuffing them
into her cloak. Stephen's amused gaze riveted on the creamy expanse of her neck
and followed her hand.

He
abruptly put a stop to his wayward thoughts. Thunderation! She was a rich
termagant, too tall for his liking, and her father was greed incarnate. It was
a blasted nightmare.

"I
suppose he is tolerable, Papa," Miss Shelby replied, lifting her head.
"He is definitely a muscled sort of brute. Has a good set of teeth. A
thick brown-black mane of hair."

Stephen
perceived a slight mist forming in the lady's eyes and his gut clenched. She
was more sensitive than she let on.

She
deserved better. But Stephen was an honorable man. He paid his debts. He would
not back out of this arrangement if it killed him. He swallowed, feeling like a
boy cornered after stealing from the baker. However, this was more than cakes
at stake. This was both their lives.

"Of
course, Papa," she continued. "I take it this man has a title worthy
of your money, does he not?"

Shelby
grunted uncomfortably. "He don't come from livestock, Lizzie. He is the
fourth son of a duke. And you will desist with this incorrigible behavior. Do
you hear me?"

The lady
seemed deaf to her father's command, for she forged on, her lower lip
quivering, something William Shelby did not seem to see or want to see.

"Ah,
sired from a duke," she said softly. "And the fourth son. My, how
honored I am." She batted her eyes and gave Stephen a deep curtsy that
made him feel about an inch tall.

She
darted a sweet glance toward her father. "I daresay he needed a tidy
little sum to get him through life, and he came to you offering himself as a
prize for your eldest daughter?"

William's
thick lips curled into a real smile. "Well, yes, poppet. It did go
something like that."

Dark
blue eyes shot toward Stephen. "Then I daresay he will have his money's
worth, will he not? You will give my husband a good sum for the use of his
lordly title?"

Stephen
bit back an oath, wanting to strangle the girl. She was making it sound as if
she had been bought. This was ridiculous. But before he could utter a single word
on his behalf, William Shelby fell into the trap.

"That's
the way of it, Lizzie. I am to provide him with a great sum when you are wed.
But perhaps I should leave you two alone for a few minutes."

"But,
Papa," Milli interrupted.

"Millicent,
go back inside and get your hot chocolate."

Milli
gave her father a swift salute. "
Certainement
, Napoleon." With
a sour grimace, the girl disappeared beyond the trees, marching toward the
servants' entrance.

Ignoring
Milli, William continued, looking toward his eldest daughter. "Knew you
had a headache and wanted to clear your mind. A walk will do that, but next
time, Lizzie, you must take an escort."

He gave
a hearty chuckle. "Milli mentioned you were out here alone. Girl does have
a vivid imagination though. Never know what's true or not. In fact, I had
better leave you two alone and see what havoc she's raising in the
kitchen."

He
turned toward Stephen. "No need to worry about the announcement. I will
send the notice to the Gazette immediately. All Town will be abuzz. You are
staying here for the night?"

"I
am," Stephen answered, his jaw tight.

"Ah,
then, until tomorrow." Shelby bent forward and gave his daughter a peck on
the cheek. "See you in the morning, Lizzie."

A sweet
concerto filled the air while Stephen and Elizabeth watched in shocked silence
as the man disappeared from sight. "How lucky I am." Miss Shelby's
quivering voice broke through the stillness. "And you, Lord Stephen
Clearbrook, was it not you who mentioned something about a thief? How many
heiresses have you sought out?" Her blue eyes glittered with unshed
tears—tears she had obviously held back from her father.

 An
unwelcome blush stole across Stephen's cheeks. "It was not like that at
all."

By
heaven, he would like to call Shelby out for this.

She gave
a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Ah, I see. But then what makes you
believe you are any different than Mr. Fennington? You have no quizzing glass,
is that it? Oh no, of course, you are far above such things, are you not? You
have no need to use any type of spectacles at all, do you?"

"You
have no idea what I need, madam."

"Oh,
but you are mistaken. You may have saved me from my father's wrath by keeping
him away from my trunk, but if you had not interfered, that trunk and I would
have been long gone by now. So, do not tell me I have no idea what you
need."

"Indeed,"
he said, his lips thinning, barely following the thread of her conversation.
"What is it that I need, Miss Shelby?" 

"Money,
my lord. My father’s detestable money."

Chapter Five

E
lizabeth paced the length of her
father's bedchambers, seething with indignation at the night's folly.

Lord
Stephen Clearbrook! The hateful, arrogant man! She would never marry him. Not
if he were the last man in England.

Granted,
the man might have a title, not to mention the face and figure of a god, but
that meant absolutely nothing. He was a penniless thief and would never have
her heart. And if she had anything to say about it, he would never have her
father's money either.

"He
is a despicable man, Papa, and I will not have it. I will not marry him!"

William
Shelby turned from the fire, his deep gray eyes filled with sympathy and
something more—grim determination.

An icy
finger of despair slid down Elizabeth's spine. She had seen that calculating
look on his face many times before when he was involved in the most ruthless of
business ventures. It meant no shortcuts, no leniency, no giving in, and cursed
be the man or woman who dared to stop him from achieving his goal.

"Papa
... please ... I beg you, do not do this to me."

Her
father glanced back into the crackling fire, dipping his hands toward the
hearth for warmth. "I know how you are feeling, poppet. But believe me,
this is for the best. We could always look for an earl or a marquess or, by
Jove, even a duke. But this is enough. More than I had ever hoped for."

With a
tired sigh, he turned back to her, stuffing his chubby hands into his pockets.
"I ain't one to be greedy, Lizzie. But the man's the fourth son of a duke.
Don't you see? Your children will be able to hold their heads up in Society and
never have to prove themselves to the world."

Elizabeth's
heart tripped. "But I do not love him, Papa. And the man does not love
me." He loves another.

Her
father shook his head. "I will not go back on my decision. It's as good as
done. I've already sent the notice to the papers. Told my friends. In fact,
many of Lord Harmstead's guests know all about it by now."

Elizabeth
grabbed the back of a chair, her fingers digging into the cushion. And what
about Mr. Fennington? To let him wallow in her wake seemed too heartless to
contemplate. She should have made her plans sooner.

"But,
Papa, to marry a man I do not love?"

"Not
another word about it." Her father cut the air with his hand, giving her
his back as he moved toward the bedside table to pour himself a glass of wine.

Elizabeth
stood, shocked. The man she had loved all her life was dismissing her plea as
though they were speaking of something as mundane as what entree was to be
served at supper. She felt as if he had ripped her heart out of her chest and
stamped on it.

"The
deed is done, Lizzie. Lord Stephen is a fine fellow. Fine on the eyes, too.
Can't deny that. Got you a prime gentleman, I have. Strong muscled, dresses
with elegance, but not a bit of the fop in him.

"Ain't
one of those stuffy fellows. He was at Waterloo and I have heard of some mighty
fine things he did there. Fine officer. Saved Wellington's life. Caught a ball
right through the leg for him. Threw himself in the line of fire."

Elizabeth's
eyes riveted on her father's face and Lord Stephen instantly jumped a few
notches in her estimation. "He saved Wellington's life?"

"Indeed,
he did. I have my sources. But keep your lips shut on that, my girl. Covert
information, don't you know."

He
laughed. "I daresay, maybe this will make you feel better. Heard that Lady
Odette had set her cap for him. Wasn't she the one who gave you all that
trouble in Bath?"

Elizabeth's
stomach rolled. Her father might think he was planning the union with her best
interests at heart, but she should be able to choose her own husband.

"You
have a prize there, my girl. Handsome as one of those Greek gods you and Milli
read about." William Shelby puffed out his chest and took a swallow of his
wine. "Yes, indeed. Should have handsome children, too. Imagine, they will
be nieces and nephews to a real duke. By Jove, this is famous."

Elizabeth
stood in mute horror as his glass clanked on the table beside him. He wasn't
going to change his mind. It was useless talking to him.

"The
thing is, Lizzie, you couldn't get much higher than that unless you married
into the king's family itself."

A
metallic taste seeped into Elizabeth's mouth and she realized she had bitten
the inside of her cheek. Blood sat on the tip of her tongue, but she felt as if
it had leaked from her heart. No, she would not marry this lord.

She
backed up toward the door, not able to say another word. Her father was not
going to listen to her. He had sold her to the highest bidder, Lord Stephen
Clearbrook, the son of a duke.

With a
pang she realized that there was no way to escape from this horrible nightmare,
not unless Mr. Fennington came through for her. And he would. She would make
certain he would.

Stephen
had tossed and turned all night hoping the entire escapade at the gaming table
a dream, but now, standing in Lord Harmstead's breakfast room, he felt his
insides curl in disgust at the thought of what he had done. His entire future
had been played out in a few turns of a hand.

He
forced a cool smile as he greeted the guests roaming about the sideboard for
their food. By the smug look on some, he could tell they had already heard the
news. His gaze immediately shifted to that little minx Milli who seemed as
innocent as a kitten, sitting off in the far corner of the room watching him.
She gave him a sly wink. The impudent chit.

And
where was her elder sister? Still sleeping?

He
recalled the embarrassment on Miss Elizabeth Shelby's face when her father had
announced the marriage, and at that moment, he had actually felt sorry for her.

Though
the moonlight had played up the blue in her eyes, he had gathered his wits this
morning, coming to the conclusion that she was a boring bluestocking with plain
features and a tongue as sharp as a knife.

Just
what he needed—a nagging, detestable female. And in those ugly spectacles, she
looked like some fifty-year-old spinster. If the predicament had involved
someone besides himself, he would have thought it all rather amusing.

Yet the
plain fact of the matter was he was stuck with the chit. His family would no
doubt disapprove and he couldn't blame them, especially since there was the
small fact that Miss Shelby wanted nothing to do with him at all.

And the
truth was, he didn't want her either. He wanted Lady Odette. But the thought
that Miss Shelby would choose Fennington over him vexed him more than the
thought of her being his wife. The little idiot. She had no idea of the depths
of that man's depravity.

Hiding a
scowl, Stephen threw some eggs and kippers onto his plate, keeping up a conversation
with Lord Mavernly to his left.

"In
for the hunt tomorrow?" the baron asked.

Stephen
slapped a piece of bread onto his eggs. Hunt? He didn't need a hunt because he
had already been the hunted. He had planned to stay at Harmstead to woo Lady
Odette. He had danced with her last year at Almack's and although he hadn't
known her long or well, he thought her charming and sensitive, someone he could
love. He had been hoping that this Season he could ask her to be his wife. But
those plans had changed.

"Won't
be staying,” Stephen replied. “Leaving today as a matter of fact."

"Ah,
yes. Heard you came up to scratch with Shelby. Lucky man. There was many a
gentleman wanting to be in your shoes. Man is as rich as the king, they
say."

The
baron lowered his voice as he placed some butter onto his plate. "Daughter
isn't much to look at. A bit on the tall side, but who cares about that?
Marriage to her will give you plenty of blunt at the gaming tables now,
eh?"

Stephen's
mouth hardened as he turned toward the man. It was one thing talking about
money, another talking about money and a lady at the same time. "Utter
another word about my fiancée and I will see you at dawn."

Mavernly's
plate clanked against the sideboard, and his cheeks turned ashen. "No harm
meant. Smart as a whip, they say—er, pretty blue eyes, too. And being tall can
be an attribute—"

Stephen's
glare turned to ice, his voice to barely a whisper. "You have one minute
to depart from my side, and if I catch sight of you any time during my short
stay here, you will call your second. Am I making myself clear?"

The man
swallowed. "P-perfectly." He set his plate off to the side. "Not
hungry anyway. Digestion problem." And then he was gone.

Clenching
his plate in his hand, Stephen turned and bumped into the loveliest lady he had
ever laid eyes upon. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He stared into
two celestial pools of emerald green, vowing that no matter what, he would
never again enter into a card game with high stakes.

"Good
morning, Lady Odette. Up early, I see." Hell's bells. He could have been
waking up to this every morning instead of the sharp point of that female's
tongue.

They
stood alone at the buffet table. Her hands, white and elegant, fisted at her
sides. Tension crackled between them.

The
statuesque figure lifted her delicate chin and flicked a pair of long, dark
lashes Stephen’s way, making him want to haul her against him and kiss her. She
was beauty itself. He could have had all this if he had not been such a fool.

"Good
morning?" she answered tartly, yet her smile was as sweet as honey.
"I do not see what a good morning it is when one has been played the
fool," she hissed between her berry lips.

So she
had heard. What did he expect? That a miracle would occur? Stephen's mouth
thinned as he looked into those hard emerald jewels, his throat tightening with
regret.

"I
beg your forgiveness, but my circumstances have changed. I would give anything
not to have hurt you."

Honor
demanded he not tell Odette of the exact circumstances surrounding his
engagement. And though he did not particularly care for Miss Shelby, he did not
feel the engagement her fault. It was that greedy unfeeling father of hers who
wanted a title so badly he bartered away his daughter like chattel.

Odette
dropped her gaze to the cherry tarts on the sideboard, hiding her scowl.
"Cherries give me hives, you know."

He
wanted to sweep her into his arms and soothe her ailing heart. She couldn't
even look at him she was so hurt. He thought he heard her sniff. He had no idea
it was the grinding of her teeth.

More
people were quickly moving into the breakfast room, and he knew he needed to
distance himself from the lady. He gave her a slight bow. "Your servant,
madam."

He
turned to leave, but stopped short when she rested an elegant hand upon his arm.
"Lord Stephen." Her face softened, and his heart gave a. kick. She
was lovely when she smiled.

She
turned and grabbed a plate of eggs and bread. "I am always ravenous in the
morning." Her eyes twinkled, and before she walked away, she slipped a
note into his hand. "Good-bye, my lord. Or should I say,
au revoir
."

Heart
thumping, Stephen took a seat, realizing she had written the note before she
entered the breakfast room. With the eagerness of a little boy, he peeked at
the small piece of paper in his hand.
My lord, if you find you need to see
me again after you are wed, you know where to find me.

He
immediately lifted his gaze across the table to find Lady Odette smiling his
way. An uncomfortable heat rippled through him. Why, the shameless strumpet.
She was no lady at all. How could he have been so wrong about her? Would she
have done the same thing if he had married her?