A Little Bit Wild (3 page)

But certain types of women—those who'd been unhappily married for a dozen years, for example— those women eyed him with avid hunger in their eyes. He looked like a brute, and a brute was just what they wanted.

"So," Aidan continued in a doubtful tone, "you may have sat across from her at dinner on occasion. That still doesn't answer my question. Why would you marry her?"

"I like her."

"Marissa?"

Jude laughed at the doubt in his friend's voice. "Yes, Marissa."

"She hardly seems your type."

Yes, he had a known weakness for rather naughty women. Jude raised an eyebrow. "Apparently she is exactly my type."

"Right," Aidan huffed, then rocked back on his heels to stare at the floor.

Actually, Marissa had caught his attention the first time Jude had seen her. There was that brightness in her green eyes. Not merriment, but...
transgression.
It had always been disorienting, being surrounded by people who seemed to consider her the last bastion of calm and propriety in the York family. Yes, she was graceful and tall and lovely, but could no one else see the way her eyebrows twitched any time she overheard a double entendre? Did no one notice the way her eyes traveled over men's bodies when she watched them dance?

The girl liked wine and dancing and pretty men. She rode her horse too hard and was constantly slipping free of her shoes to stroll barefoot on the grounds. Wildness lurked just beneath her skin, and Jude could feel it every time he passed too near.

But because Marissa York raised her chin to a haughty angle when she walked, she was seen as proper. Because she did not faint or yell or laugh as loudly as the rest of her family, they considered her staid. In comparison to the other Yorks she might be a paragon of control, but it was the passion she was trying to keep contained that interested Jude.

He glanced up from his thoughts to find the family exchanging meaningful glances. "Shall I leave you to discuss this?" he offered, and Edward slumped with relief.

"Thank you, Jude," he said. "do have a drink. We need to talk. And I'd caution you to consider this more carefully."

Shrugging, Jude turned and let himself out of the study. He didn't need to consider it further. If he could persuade her to give up her affection for pretty boys, Marissa York would make a fine and naughty wife. But pretty boys congregated in droves at these parties. Jude had set himself up for a serious challenge.

Marissa waved her hands in helpless frustration as her maid pulled hard on the corset strings. The morning sun mocked her with its cheery brightness as it slanted past the window. Marissa glared at the light, her legs burning with the need to move, to pace, to run to the door and fling it open. "Oh, do hurry," she whispered, clasping her frantic hands together to stop their useless shaking.

The night before, she'd thought she would never sleep. Terror and regret had fought a war for her attention after she'd been sent to her room, and the battle had left her restless. She'd tossed and turned, then paced miles across her chambers, trying to think of a way out of this horrid situation.

No one had come to speak with her, and she'd been too mortified to request an audience. The waiting had been sheer torture.

But in the end, she had slept, and she'd slept too late.

This morning, she found that regret had won the night's battle, and now she felt sick with it.

What had she
done ?

Edward's terse note glared white against the dark wood of the dressing table. The writing was spiked with anger, vastly unlike his normally careful hand.

Marissa was wanted in his study immediately. Her fate awaited her. If only she'd been awake and dressed when the footman had delivered the note, she would be there already.

The maid finally drew a dress over her head, and Marissa breathed a sigh of relief as she stared down at the somber shade of pale gray. Perhaps her brother was feeling regret too. Perhaps he'd changed his mind.

My God, how stupid she'd been. How foolish and reckless. It must have been the wine. Yes, the wine. And the fine cut of Peter White's new coat. And as he'd danced, his trousers had tightened over his thighs, revealing every line of their ...
elegance.

Men's legs were just so lovely. Slim and strong and exposed in a way that ladies' legs never were. How could they expect that girls should not be affected by the sight? Gentlemen obviously intended to be admired, the way they flashed their thighs about, hardly covered at all in the tight cloth of their trousers.

What hypocrites they were, showing off their bodies and expecting her not to look. Or touch.

Still, she shouldn't have given in to temptation, for it hadn't been worth it. Not as it had been worth it before. Before, there had been much more than fumbling and regret. There had been . . .

Marissa sighed even more deeply, certain she'd never experience such deliciousness again.

"There you are, miss," the maid said. She was new, and betrayed her nervousness by giving one last tweak to the sleeve of the dress.

Marissa nodded. She liked this new girl, but if her old maid hadn't run off two weeks before, Marissa would have someone to talk to. As it was, she felt like an island.

Though Marissa was free to descend to the study, she stared at the door. Aidan must know by now. He hadn't come to her room last night, which likely meant he was too furious to talk. Edward never frightened her, but Aidan ... he was a different sort of man these days, and she worried that she would burst into tears the moment he turned his disappointed glare on her.

He'd once been joyful and charming, but then he'd suffered his own private scandal. The girl he'd loved and meant to marry had died. His anger and guilt over the wretched circumstances had changed him. Now her handsome brother was as cold as he'd once been charming. Marissa did not want to face him.

But it was time to pay the piper, so she gave herself a somber nod and set off for the study.

She expected to find Edward there, of course. And she feared she'd find Aidan as well. But she did not expect a whole room full of gentlemen, all looking toward her as she stood frozen in the doorway.

To be fair, there were only four of them, her brothers and her cousin and another man who looked vaguely familiar. She had the brief impression that perhaps he was a groundskceper, but she could not puzzle that out now, for Edward was walking toward her with a grim set to his mouth.

Her eyes rolled with a touch of panic, and she caught sight or her mother in a corner chair, but her mother would offer no refuge. Her eyes were closed, and she'd pressed a cold compress to her head.

Marissa would face the men of her family alone.

"Marissa." Edward kissed her cheek and took her hands as if she were made of the thinnest glass. "Are you well?"

"Yes, quite."

"You're sure? You do not feel... injured?"

"Not at all." She pushed up on her toes to whisper in his ear. "Is Aidan very angry with me?"

"I believe he's angrier with that scoundrel White."

She snuck a peek over his shoulder to find Aidan staring out the window, his jaw clenched so hard that the muscle jumped in a secret rhythm. "He won't even look at me. Edward, I'm so sorry. Have you... surely you have reconsidered your proposal? I'm certain there's no reason to worry."

"On the contrary, I have found a likely husband for you."

"Pardon?" She stepped back in shock, her heels crossing the threshold so that she stood half in the hallway, as if stepping the last six inches into the study would be an acceptance of this mad plan. "Where could you possibly have found a man who'd marry me?"

"Right here, as it turns out."

"Here? In the district?"

"Here, in our house."

"But who?"

He gestured toward the room. "Mr. Jude Bertrand."

"Mr. Bertrand?" she repeated too loudly. Panic-was beginning to set in. Edward hadn't changed his mind at all. He was moving matters forward at a dizzying pace. "Who is Mr. Bertrand?"

A figure moved from Aidan's side. It was that groundskeeper fellow, stepping toward her, his wide mouth crooked in a half smile as he approached. He stopped a few paces away and made a passably elegant bow. "I am Jude Bertrand," he said, turning the surname into something French and exotic.

"Should you not present him?" she snapped at her brother, meaning to insult the presumptuousness of this man who looked like a servant dressed in gentleman's clothes.

"Miss York, my apologies," the man said, rising now to meet her gaze. "But we have already been introduced. Twice."

"Oh." She pressed her hand to her chest, briefly mortified by her own rudeness. "I apologize, Mr. Bertrand. I must have . .." The words trailed off as she realized how meaningless all these pleasantries were. She slid her eyes toward Edward, trying to convey her alarm.

This man was not suitable. Not at all. He was big and rough looking, built for mucking out stables or loading freight onto a ship. He was not a gentleman. Not by far.

"I ..." She gave up subtlety and raised her eyebrows at her brother.

He smiled. "Marissa, Mr. Bertrand is a good friend of Aidan's, and he has generously offered to... be your escort for the next few weeks. Would you allow him to accompany you to the breakfast room this morning?"

Had she driven her brother to madness? Marissa gave her head a frantic shake. "I would rather a moment to speak with you in private!"

Mr. Bertrand offered another bow. "Of course, Miss York. I'll excuse myself." Again, it was a perfectly elegant bow, but each time he rose, he seemed to grow bigger. He was taller than either of her brothers, and his shoulders looked to fill the whole doorway when she stepped aside to let him pass. Not a groundskeepcr then, but a blacksmith. Yes, she could picture him perfectly in a leather apron, hand grasping a great hammer.

Utter madness.

Cousin Harry rose, tortured regret twisting his mouth. "I can't help but feel responsible. Peter White was my friend, after all. I apologize to all of you for inviting him."

"Nonsense," Edward said. "Aidan and I knew him as well. It's no more your responsibility than ours. Please don't give it another thought."

Harry didn't look convinced. "I wish it were as simple as making him step forward as a gentleman. I'd be gratified by the opportunity to persuade him."

Marissa closed her eyes to try to find some calm, but when she opened them, she found that Aidan had crossed the room and now stood before her. She'd been wrong to think he would wound her with a glare. He looked at her with disappointed pity in his eyes.

Tears gathered in her throat like a lightening fist. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "But can we not reconsider this plan?"

Edward shook his head. "It is enough of a risk to wait the month out. I have given you that, 'Rissa. It's more than our father would have done."

"But that man ... he is entirely inappropriate. I would not even trust him to see me across the street, much less give the rest of my life to him."

Aidan finally spoke. 'Jude Bertrand is a gentleman and a good friend. I would not have let him offer otherwise."

"He looks as if he were dragged from the smithy's hearth!"

"Marissa," Aidan bit out, and she finally saw the scorn she'd feared to find in his eves. "You sound like a silly, spoiled chit. A decent man has offered to help solve a problem that your thoughtlessness created. Perhaps instead of acting like a rude child, you could treat him with a bit of graciousness."

Anger rose up to cover her hurt. "I don't even know him!"

Aidan leaned toward her and pointed a finger at her chest. "Here is what you need to know: He's smart. He's decent. I've never seen him mistreat a woman. And he is willing to marry you and accept another man's babe as his own firstborn child without a moment's hesitation."

"He ..." She threw up her hands in frustration. "And what kind of man would
do
that? He must be a grasping, prideless fool who wants nothing more than to elevate himself with a convenient marriage!"

Edward crossed his arms. "Marissa Anne York, you forget yourself. Need I explain to you the kind of vile words others would use about you if the truth gets out? Your disdain is sadly misplaced."

Her anger left her as suddenly as it had appeared to prop her up, and she felt the full force of her brothers' scorn. Her shoulders slumped, and she pressed a hand to her forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm sure he is a fine man, it's just that..."

"As these things seem so important to you," Aidan interrupted, "understand that Jude Bertrand is the acknowledged son of the Duke of Winthrop. Jude needs no elevation, Marissa. Not from the mined sister of a baron, certainly."

Marissa closed her mouth so quickly that her teeth clicked.

Aidan's own teeth looked ready to crack under the pressure of his clenched jaw. He shook his head in weary disgust. "You are no longer a child. You've made sure of that. You will marry Jude or you'll marry Peter White, but Mr. White will not make a very good husband with his throat cut out, I'm afraid."

"Aidan," she whispered, starting to reach for his arm, but he stepped away from her. "It's not fair. You'd never be forced to marry a girl who—" Horrified with what she'd been about to say, Marissa cut off her own words. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, his eyes went dark with pain, but he gentled his expression with a smile. "Life is unfair, little sister, but Jude is a good man. I wouldn't have it otherwise."

She nodded, knowing that was true. He finally reached for her, pulling her close for a tight hug before he kissed her cheek and let her go. Marissa wanted to cling to him, but she could see he was already far away, his eyes looking into the past. "If you'll excuse me ..."

He would take one of his long rides now, and be gone for hours. Her friends all thought his brooding irresistibly romantic, but Marissa couldn't share their admiration for his sorrow.

She stared at the closed door of the study for a long moment.

"I agree with Marissa," her mother said in a wobbling voice. "That Mr. Bertrand has a frightening appearance, and he moves like a thief. I still don't see why she can't simply marry Mr. White. He's lovely and handsome, and his sister is married to George Brashears. Do you remember Mr.—"

"She can't marry him," Edward cut in on a sharp note, "because he deceived her into giving up her virtue in a deliberate attempt to force her into marriage. Does that seem lovely to you?"

"Well ... if he claims to be in love with her ..."

Both Edward and Marissa glared furiously at her, and their mother finally lay back in the chair with a martyrlike sigh. "I suppose you must be right, Baron. Oh, this is all so difficult to accept! My poor family!" And she was gone into one of her swoons again.

Marissa turned back to Edward. "The acknowledged son of a duke. He's natural born then?"

"Yes."

She started to raise both hands to plead with him, then thought of what Aidan had said. She lowered her hands. "I have never even spoken with him, Edward."

"He's visited us four times, but if he doesn't make a pretty turn in the ballroom, I suppose you do not see him."

The awfulness of that truth swept over her like an icy breeze. Gooseflesh sprang up on her skin. And yet, what could she say? She liked to dance with handsome gentlemen. She enjoyed their flirtatious attention and the excitement of stolen kisses. And when there was no music or dancing to be had, she preferred that they disappear into their smoky male habitats and leave her alone with her friends.