An Unwilling Baroness (3 page)

"Should it?" she replied, setting her full
attention on the portrait of Lady Dorothea that hung above the
fireplace. Damn, the woman infiltrated every aspect of Pembridge
House.

"If you harbored any romantic notion toward
me, perhaps it should." Gone was the jovial Jude, the carefree
rake. In his stead was a serious man she didn't recognize.

"Do you bed women to catch my attention? For
if you do, believe me sir, that is not the sort of attention you
should strive for."

"So, you not only don’t love me now, you see
no possibility of it in the future?"

She lifted her chin and stared at him, not
knowing how to answer. If she confessed she could see loving him
for the rest of her life, she could very well be falling for his
charm and beauty as so many others had. She would sacrifice her
heart on a gamble that could cost her everything and leave her with
nothing but a broken heart.

"You can’t even answer me?" He straightened,
his dark eyes reflecting his disappointment. "So, I am not a man or
a man you could love."

At that moment, he ceased to speak and
before she could stop him, he was gone. The ugly exchange was the
last unwritten words they had spoken to one another. Yet, at that
time she'd been completely convinced it was simply his panic
speaking and not his heart.

"No," she whispered, her warm breath tinting
the window glass. "Had he not been such a scoundrel, I may have
considered his suit." Frustration pummeled her with fresh hands.
"Had you not offered your love as an escape, perhaps I could've
believed you."

She pushed her emotions deep down into her
already aching stomach. There was nothing to be done. He was gone,
practically married.

Still, to see his face would be water to her
parched soul. To walk and talk with him again more than welcome,
and to feel close to the one person who understood her dilemma,
ever so refreshing.

However, that was not meant to be, she
reminded herself. This moment was all she had. The last moment
before the matrimonial guillotine blade fell. The idea was enough
to send her back to bed with a headache…only she didn’t have one.
Not yet, anyway.

But at the sound of Lady Dorothea's voice,
the beginnings of the severest of headaches planted their painful
seeds deep in her skull.

"Lady Chloe, be certain to stand in front of
that window. Baron Von Richter is due here any moment and your
silhouette will be quite the enticement." The way the woman hovered
and chatted, one would think that they were expecting a joyous
occasion and not a funeral for her freedom.

Chloe didn’t move and refused to turn toward
the source of her loathing. She stood there as instructed, her
hands coiled tight around the pale blue velvet curtains, the fabric
soft in her fists. Fists that would only relax after they punched
the woman.

"It's said he's handsome enough."

"Enough for who?" she asked, her tone every
bit as strained as the rest of her.

"For you," Dorothea replied, her voice
rising with her anger. "Don't think for a moment that turning into
a shrew will deter him. His missives have been direct and if he's
at all the man I believe him to be, your courtship will be short
and your marriage immediate."

Dread clung to every bit of her. Did she
truly have no choice? Perhaps she'd run away just as Jude had.
Wouldn't starving be preferable to this?

"I can't believe a man as handsome and
wealthy and titled as Baron Von Richter would want a woman with a
minute dowry and a father who owes much." Still she didn't move,
her eyes pinned to the countryside, the once bright blue sky losing
its luster as gray clouds pushed in over the horizon.

"Regardless of your father’s debts, he's
still a man of wealth and title." Chloe finally looked to her
stepmother as Dorothea lifted a brow and pursed her lips.
"Pembridge is worth a small fortune and will be an asset to the man
who inherits it. That man will be your husband. The baron desires a
foothold in England. You, daughter, are perfect for him."

Chloe glared at her tormentor, ready to
scream and shout and claw her way out of the sack in which her
stepmother had tied her. "And if I refuse?"

"You won't."

At the sound of her father’s voice and the
massive presence of him in the doorway and her ire flared. So the
bear finally emerged from his cave. Damn the sight of him.

"Father," she mumbled, her teeth clenched.
His being there, the sound of his voice, everything about him hurt
and disappointed her.

"You've always been a dutiful daughter and
this time will prove no different. You will have tea with Baron Von
Richter. You will speak gently to him. You will allow yourself to
be wooed."

"Wooed?" The word sounded as stupid on her
tongue as it did circling around her frantic brain. There had to be
a way out. "Don't you mean sacrificed upon the altar of your wife's
greed?"

"How dare you!" Dorothea shouted. Her shrill
tone had Chloe's ears aching.

The hag rushed toward her, her hand raised
to strike. She closed her eyes and braced herself.

"Mother! Really!"

Chloe's eyes sprang open just in time to see
the woman stop as if in mid-flight. The color drained from her
cheeks as she slowly faced her son.

"Jude!" Chloe exclaimed, a lightness of mood
rushed through her heavy bones. Her synapse's suddenly alive with
relieved delight. He was like a beautiful dream. She had to be
dreaming. The stress had finally snapped her mind. She wavered on
her feet, lightheaded.

Before Dorothea could react, Chloe flew to
him, wrapping her arms around him so tight that he let out a
surprised groan. "Good to see you too," he remarked, but didn't
return her embrace, just stood there like a maypole while she
wrapped her ribbons around him.

Embarrassed heat sped to her cheeks. Chloe
stepped back. Smoothing her gown, she averted her eyes. Of course,
he didn't want her to hold him so intimately, didn't want her
making a fuss over him. He was, after all, an engaged man.

"I beg your pardon," she said, finally
looking upon him. If possible he had grown more handsome. His hair
lightened by the sun, his skin tanned a deep bronze, and his body,
well, my God he had filled out. And was it possible he had grown
taller? Perhaps it was the confidence that now exuded from every
fiber. He had indeed grown up and flourished in America.

"No, I beg your pardon. You caught me off
guard, that’s all." He grinned and the familiar dimples dotted his
cheeks. His gaze was soft upon her and her stomach filled with
butterflies.

"It will not happen again. I assure you." He
continued to stare at her, the glint in his dark eyes almost
unnerving. Had his eyes always been so lovely and clear? Had he
always looked at her with such precision? Finally, he looked away.
"Now Mother, do you not have anything to say to your wayward
son?"

Dorothea glared at him with disdain as she
moved forward. "You look well, Jude. What do you want?"

Jude shrugged his shoulders. "Does a son
have to want something to visit his mother? It seems that the only
suspicion lies in what a mother wants from a son." He pulled out a
letter from his dark suit pocket. "You say here you're in dire
straits. Is that true? For the place looks acceptable and you my
dear Mother, you're dressed, as always, in the latest fashion."

"Give that to me," Father's voice boomed,
his meaty fist jutted out of the sleeve of his white linen shirt.
Jude allowed him the letter and ripping it open, her father began
to read.

"No, my lord, that's not necessary!"
Dorothea yelped. "It says nothing to concern you…"

"You accuse me of not taking care of my
family? You would go begging to a son who deserted you?" Father
curled the paper in his fist. Dorothea rushed him, her delicate
fingers around his ham-sized hand.

Jude stepped back, his mouth twisted in a
derisive smile as he watched the pair fuss over the missive. A
missive he came a long way to return.

Chloe stared at him, her heart hammering
against her ribs at his sudden reappearance. He looked lovely and
tanned and healthy. Why was he here? Had he learned of her misery
and rushed to her aid like the knights of old? But no, that was
silly…

"Give it to me, Jacob!" Dorothea cried as
Father lifted his arm, he held the crumpled sheet of paper above
her head like a carrot.

"Not until I've read its entire contents!"
he retorted, his eyes sparkling with…was it joy? My goodness the
pair were as silly as children!

Chloe looked to Jude and they both laughed
as they had the last time her father and his mother had a row.
Their parent's mutual loathing for one another so strong, it had
her never wishing to marry for anything less than true love.

"Come out into the garden with me," Jude
shouted over the fray. "I've someone I wish for you to meet."

Chloe set her hand to her stomach, her
amusement fading. Was he about to introduce her to his betrothed?
Or worse…his wife? And why did it bother her in the slightest? They
had been separated for over three years. That was plenty of time
for someone of Jude's obvious wit and charm to find a lady eager to
return a love he once offered to her. A love that had strings
attached far more than the norm. A love that she doubted truly
existed. But she could forgive him now, for looking to her for an
escape. For, being snared in her stepmother's matrimonial trap, had
her understanding far more than she'd care to admit. And marrying
Jude seemed a rather pleasant alternative, especially now, seeing
him so glorious, so fit, so very manly.

Still, she did as he asked, walking numbly
away from her bickering father and stepmother and alongside the man
who had once been her best friend but who now felt like a
stranger.

In the hall, she closed the door, muting her
father's bellows and Dorothea's unladylike screeching.

Jude stepped closer and blocked her way. She
looked up at him. The light dim, the heat of his body, the smell of
sandalwood…oh my, what was happening?

He reached up and touched her cheek and she
closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his hand upon her skin. How
she missed him.

"You're far lovelier than I remembered," he
said, his fingertips pleasantly calloused. "And far sadder."

She lifted her lashes and gazed up at his
full lips. "Well," she said, pulling back just a bit. It wasn't
proper, for was he not engaged? "You understand why that is, do you
not?"

"No, do tell," he said, the momentary spell
broken between them. "Why are you so sad?"

"Because," she replied. "I am nearly engaged
to a man I have yet to meet."

He lifted a brow. "Ahhh, I see. Your little
foot has replaced mine in the marriage trap."

He flexed his jaw, a sure sign of his
irritation, his gaze coming to rest sternly upon the door. "My
mother. I wish I were born of a street whore. At least then I would
know what sort of treachery to expect."

She rested her hand on the fine material of
his brown jacket. "Jude, don't say such things. You know its better
this way."

His eyes flashed with mischief as his gaze
came to rest upon her face. There was her Jude. The playful man she
knew. "Why is that?"

"If she hadn't married my father, you and I
would not be brother and sister."

He chuckled. "I beg your pardon, Lady Chloe.
Until lately, I hardly viewed you as a sister."

She took a step back, her hip coming to rest
on the door stick. "What does that mean?" She eyed him with
suspicion.

He shrugged noncommittally, his countenance
stern. "It means nothing. Now come along. It's rude to keep our
guest waiting."

"Guest?" she asked, relieved that he stepped
away and offered her an escape…relieved and somewhat confused. He
had changed so much in their time apart. She didn’t understand his
new complexities.

"Yes, remember? In the garden?"

He offered her his arm and she curled her
fingers around the strength of his forearm, the muscles hard and
tight beneath her touch. Dear Lord, if he were going to introduce
her to his fiancée, how would she feel? How? For having him by her
side felt so comfortable and yet strangely new and exciting. She
realized, with a start, that she didn’t want to share Jude.

"Who is in the garden?" she asked as they
moved slowly beneath the arched doorway that led into the
conservatory. She couldn’t stop looking at him, wanted to memorize
every detail, old and new. If it wasn’t for the feel of his warm
body next to hers, she'd scarcely believe he was here.

"Oh, yes. My dear friend, Fredrick Von
Richter. I happened upon him when I arrived." Startled she froze
just inside the double doors that led out into the garden. When she
should've been considering his statement, she found herself
mesmerized by the way the afternoon sun glinted off his chestnut
curls. Curls far too long for the current fashion and yet she found
she liked them. Living in America had turned him into quite a
man.

"Von Richter?" The name felt odd on her
tongue. "He's the man your mother insists I marry."

"I see," he replied. "You could do far
worse." She gazed at him, saddened by the sparkle in his eye. Was
his obvious happiness a result of the news of her possible
nuptials? How could he be happy for her? He knew how she felt. Knew
she viewed the engagement as a trap. Knew she didn't want to marry.
He knew so much. Why was he behaving so oddly? So completely out of
character.

"Jude," she grumbled, tears coming to her
eyes. "That is a machination of your mother." She dropped his arm
and stepped further back into the room. "I don't wish to marry him.
I just told you, I haven't even met the man."

The smile slid from Jude's face. "Well, he's
a rather terrific fellow," he said, offering her his handkerchief.
"And he will make a fine husband and a good match, indeed. He owns
much land in Germany, has an estate in Scotland, and even has
holdings in America."