Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy (3 page)

"I have no desire to remain," Percy lied.

"Fine. I expect you to be good as your word. You may attend the wedding; then you'll go."

Percy yearned to storm across the floor and initiate a brawl, but Ophelia stopped him with a subtle shake of her head. Her rapport with Percy was interesting— were they as attuned as Jamie and Jack?—and Jamie tucked away the information for later dissection.

He glanced over at Jack. "Look at my choices, Jack. A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead. How will I ever decide?"

"You've always been partial to blondes," Jack replied, referring to Ophelia but aware that the verdict had already been rendered. "Of course, brunettes are nice. And a redhead, well, you know what they say about redheads."

"Hot in life and hot in ... other places, too."

They shared a laugh, and the ladies were incensed, but Jamie controlled their futures, so they couldn't antagonize him.

"Now then"—Jamie pretended to mull his options— "which one should I pick?"

He stepped to Edith, Percy's mother, a scrawny, older matron who had supplanted Jamie's mother. Edith was thin as a rail, as if she never ate, and her face was covered with frown lines, evidence of decades of misery. Had it been difficult, being wed to Jamie's father? Jamie was certain it had been.

"Countess." Jamie was polite, bowing in respect. He had no quarrel with her. She was slowly going mad, and she seemed as muddled as had been reported.

"Charles?" Apparently, she thought Jamie to be her deceased spouse. "Is it time for church?"

"I'm not Charles, Countess. I'm Jamie. I'm the new earl."

The cloud faded, and as lucidity flowed in, she soured. "Are you finally here, you interloper?"

"Would you like to marry again? You could be my bride, but you're a tad old for me."

"Yes, I am. Besides, one bad husband is enough for any woman."

"You won't mind if I move on to someone younger?"

"Be my guest," she said acidly.

He shifted to Ophelia. She was thirty, as were Jamie, Jack, and Percy. Since she thrived on excess, she'd put on a few pounds, as Percy had, so she was a bit pudgy around the middle. She didn't seem to recognize that she was growing chubby, and in spite of it, she was still quite beautiful, shapely and buxom, with thick, gorgeous blond hair and the Merrick blue eyes. She'd never wed, had remained single, and Jamie was curious as to why.

"What about you, Ophelia?" he needled.

She was his half sister, so his inquiry wasn't genuine, but he'd been told that she was extremely vain about her appearance, about her position as Percy's sister. She lorded herself over everyone in a cruel fashion, and Jamie would love to bring her down a peg or two.

"How do you know my name?" she queried.

"I know all about Gladstone. I made it a point to find out before I came. Considering that I was entering a den of enemies, why wouldn't I learn of you? Did you take me for a fool?"

He could read in her gaze that it was precisely what she'd assumed. She'd believed him stupid, coarse, and illiterate, and at having been so wrong in her calculations she was livid.

"No," she muttered, "I can see you're not a fool."

"She's our sister," Jack interjected. "Marrying her would be quite contemptible—even by your low standards."

"But if I was partial to her," Jamie responded, "do you suppose the church would give me a dispensation?"

"I wouldn't want one!" Ophelia insisted.

"Really?" Jamie pressed. "You wouldn't like to be my countess?"

Obviously, the prospect hadn't occurred to her, and for the briefest second, her greed shone through. Then she and Percy had another furtive exchange, and almost with regret, she declined.

"I'm sure we wouldn't suit."

"I'm sure we wouldn't, either," Jamie concurred. Having her in his bed would be like having a venomous snake.

He continued on to his true prey, Sarah and Anne Carstairs.

They'd come to Gladstone as orphaned toddlers, taken in by their aunt Edith, but for most of their lives Percy had been their guardian. They were his first cousins, with his mother and theirs being sisters, but they weren't exalted Merricks by blood, so he'd never displayed the appropriate attention to them, had never arranged for suitors, let alone coughed up the money for dowries.

With the exception of a fleeting romance Anne had had at age seventeen, the two sisters had puttered about the estate with no means to alter their circumstances.

Sarah was twenty-six and the elder of the two. She was also a beauty, with lush brown hair, big green eyes, and a curvaceous body. She was quiet and restrained, the pragmatic sister, the no-nonsense sister, and she looked very sad, as if she'd never experienced anything but heartache. If she hadn't been so patently unhappy, she'd have been the logical choice.

"What say you, Sarah Carstairs? Would you like to be my bride?"

"No, and I have no idea why you'd ask."

"Don't you? If I don't let you stay, where will you and your sister go? What will you do?"

"We're not even related. How could our plight possibly matter to you?"

"It doesn't. I'm merely allowing my benevolent side to poke through."

"Which is exactly what I expected your answer to be."

"I'm not much for flowers and poetry, so this is as chivalrous as I get. Haven't I swayed you?"

"No, but thank you for the offer."

"I'm afraid it has to be your sister, then."

He turned to Anne Carstairs, who had been his destination all along. Her pretty green eyes were wide with terror, like a frightened fawn about to bolt. At the notion of marrying him, she was horrified, and on viewing her dismay, he was incredibly annoyed.

Who was she to spurn him?

He wasn't too keen on marrying, himself, but the Prince Regent had demanded it as the price for Jamie reclaiming his heritage. The King had once been friendly with the Carstairses' father, and he'd often worried over their situation.

Jamie was a proud man with few loyalties, but he was and always had been a British subject, so he hadn't been able to refuse the royal request. Nor would he have jeopardized his chance to regain his title by saying no.

The Prince hadn't wanted Jamie to join the ranks of the aristocracy, and Jamie had had no doubt that if he'd ignored the Prince's stipulation, His Highness would have found a way to keep Jamie's future from being realized.

Marriage to Anne Carstairs—to any woman—was a small price for Jamie to pay to get what he deserved.

"You shall be my bride," he advised. "We'll wed in the morning—at eleven o'clock. I presume you'll be ready?"

He was being a complete ass, but he couldn't help himself. There was something about her that made him want to misbehave simply to see how she'd react. Besides, it wasn't every day that a fellow tied the knot. He ought to be permitted to have a spot of fun before the drudgery set in.

"Miss Carstairs?" he badgered. "Has the cat got your tongue? Or are you struck dumb by my magnificent self? I guess I'll have to take your silence as consent."

She'd been gaping at him as if he were a ghostly apparition, and the remark spurred her out of her trance.

"Marry you?" she hissed. "Are you insane?"

"People say that I am, but I'm not. Although I must admit that, if the situation warrants, I can be a beast. Such as now."

Frantically, she assessed him, appraising his dishevelled state, his unshorn hair and worn clothes. Her disdain was evident, and it rankled. While he'd learned many things about her, he hadn't heard that she was a snob.

"No, no, no!" She shook her head. "I absolutely will not marry you."

"Excellent! I'm delighted," he gushed as if she hadn't just curtly rebuffed him. "We'll discuss the details over supper."

"Aren't you listening? I won't do it. Not tomorrow, not the next day, not the day after that. I never will."

"And why is that?"

"Because I don't like you."

"So?"

"So! You're rude and overbearing, and I won't have a husband who's an arrogant lout."

"A lout?" He rolled the word on his tongue as if testing its flavor; then he chuckled. "I've been called worse. And I will be called worse, once you get to know me better. You don't throw things when you're angry, do you? I hate women who throw things."

"Are you deaf?" she snapped, exasperated. "I won't marry you!"

She appeared mutinous, and her surging temper flushed her cheeks and deepened the emerald color of her eyes. Her breathing was elevated, drawing his attention to her bosom. Her pert nipples were enlivened and visible against the bodice of her gown.

He vividly recollected how those nipples had been pressed to his chest after he'd rescued her from the stream. As he thought of how soft and sweet she'd been, he was amazed to feel his cock stir between his legs.

His wedding night would be no chore, at all!

She was actually quite spectacular, and if he weren't so adamantly opposed to matrimony, he'd have been thrilled by how affairs had played out. If he had to marry a stranger, and in a hurry to boot, she was definitely a fine choice.

Sarah Carstairs stepped forward, positioning herself between him and Anne.

"She's said no, Lord Gladstone. As her elder sister, I insist that you respect her wishes."

"Why would you deem it appropriate to butt in?"

She blanched as if she'd been slapped. "It's my duty to watch over her."

"Well, you haven't done a very good job of it so far. She's a twenty-five-year-old, poverty-stricken spinster. Unless the two of you can prevail on my charity, she's about to be tossed out on the road. Yet you dare to suppose she should refuse me?"

He studied her casually—as if he hadn't a care in the world. And he didn't really. His life had wended its way around till it was just about perfect. The only nagging remnant that remained unresolved was his burning need to know who had aided his father in sending them away when they were defenseless children. He was also anxious to discover who'd finally felt guilty enough to tell the truth about what had happened.

He wouldn't rest till he had the answer to both questions.

He turned away from the two Carstairs sisters to face the others.

"The ceremony is tomorrow at eleven," he explained, "in this parlor. Ophelia, I trust you to handle the arrangements so that it's an event my bride will never forget."

He spun on his heel and walked out, Jack bringing up the rear.

In Jamie's wake, the family was shocked to speechlessness, and as he made it to the stairs and started to climb, he heard Anne say, "Would you all excuse me?"

Then, she was chasing after him, and he was tickled to note that she had the backbone for a confrontation, though he wasn't about to quarrel with her, so he kept going.

He'd been captain of his own ship for fifteen years, and now he was Earl of Gladstone. He was never denied. His orders were always obeyed.

She would be his wife. No matter what.

Three

“Lord Gladstone! There you are! I've been looking everywhere." Anne hovered in the threshold of the master suite. She was anxious to appear meek, so she bit down on all the furious remarks she'd like to add.

After his absurd demand for a marriage, she'd wasted the afternoon trying to catch up with him. He'd deftly evaded her till it was so late that the entire house was abed. Except for him. And her. She was frazzled. "Hello, Miss Carstairs." "I'm returning your coat."

She extended it like a peace offering, but when he didn't rise to take it, she felt foolish and she laid it on a table next to her.

"Thank you. Come in."

At the invitation, she hesitated. He was grinning as if he were the cat and she the canary, as if she'd cornered him precisely where and when he'd wanted her to.

His room was a mess, with Percy's belongings only half-removed, but Jamieson Merrick had been

determined to spend his first night at Gladstone in the earl's chamber. He'd definitely made himself comfortable. He was sipping on some of Percy's finest whiskey, and he was lounged in a chair by the hearth. Even though it was a warm June evening, a huge fire blazed in the grate.

"What's it to be, Miss Carstairs? In or out?"

"In." She took a few halting steps, but she dawdled, unable to begin with what she'd intended to say.

"Well... ?"

"Today in the woods ... why were you up on the ridge?"

"Why do you think? I was surveying all I own and gloating."

"Why would someone shoot at you?"

"I'm not wanted here."

"But who would do such a thing?"

"Percy. Or some miscreant Percy hired. Aren't you glad he missed?"

"Percy has many faults, but he's not a killer."

Jamie shrugged, indicating that her opinion was irrelevant. "Shut the door."

"I most certainly will not."

"Why? Are you afraid I'll bite?"

"No. I simply refuse to be in here alone with you. I won't have the servants gossiping."

"Who cares if they gossip? We're getting married in a few hours."

"We are not."

"Yes, we are. Shut the door." "No."

"Do you ever do as you're told?" "I'm a perfectly reasonable person—when I'm dealing with reasonable people."

No doubt, he was used to being blindly obeyed. She'd heard the stories, about his daring, about his bravery and treachery. He'd been a ship's captain for many years, but he had no qualms as to who hired him. Supposedly, he worked for the highest bidders, robbing and pillaging on their behalf and taking his share of what was stolen.

Others catered to his whims. They fawned over him and groveled to please, so in dealing with her he was in for a surprise.

She wasn't in awe of him, nor did he frighten her. His attitude was all bluster, meant to intimidate, so he could snipe and bark to no avail. The very worst thing he could do was kick her out of her home, but that's what she'd been expecting to have happen. He had no hold over her; he had no way to coerce her.

He uncurled from his chair, like a cobra about to strike, and he sauntered over but walked right past her. He closed the door himself and spun the key in the lock. She was stunned, and her mouth fell open in dismay.