His Unexpected Bride (4 page)

“Ah, Cameron,” called Eustace, holding up a forkful of egg in a bizarre salute. He laughed. “I had not thought to see you here alone this morning … or so early, if the truth be told.”

“Is that so?” He suppressed his vexation. Why was his friend smiling? Didn't
his
head pound?

Dozens of times, Cameron had nursed his friend through a hangover, so he knew Eustace was not immune to the headache Cameron was enduring now. Eustace enjoyed his brandy, seldom passing up any chance to share a fine bottle, whether at the club or dining with a friend.

Cameron massaged his throbbing brow. Everything about the past day was a puzzle: why Eustace had suggested they stop here at this out-of-the-way house to visit Masterson; why Masterson had kept them talking for long hours last night with every bit of gossip he could wring from them; and, most importantly, why Cameron had imbibed so much last night. That was not his way, for although Cameron appreciated savoring a good glass of an excellent vintage, he refused to drink until his good sense was drowned in wine, brandy, or ale. Eustace had no such compunctions. Mayhap his regular experience with a bottle was the reason he seemed unaffected by all he had swallowed, and Cameron was suffering from far more than a headache.

“You are not a very attentive bridegroom,” Eustace added. Craning his neck to look out the door, he asked, “Where is your charming bride?”

“I should not be any sort of bridegroom, and Miss Masterson is in her rooms doing whatever she deems necessary before we meet to discuss this whole shocking mull.” By exerting all his will, he kept his feet from plodding along the rug as he walked to the closest chair. He dropped heavily into it. Too heavily, for the motion resonated all through him, and he groaned.

His friend regarded him over a full fork. “You look horrible.”

“Thank you.”

“And I see your temper is as odious.” Eustace continued eating as if he had not seen food in a year.

“Wouldn't
your
temper be odious if you discovered yourself with a bride you barely know?”

He shrugged and shoveled another forkful of fish into his mouth. “If she looked like Masterson's daughter, I might think I had gotten a bargain out of the deal.”

“Why are you acting bacon-brained?” Cameron leaned one elbow on the table, then moved the newspaper that crackled under his sleeve. Shoving it away, he barely noticed it was from last week. “Forget that question, and answer this one: Why didn't you say something to stop that travesty of a wedding last night?”

Eustace dug his fork into the food on his plate again, then leaned back in his chair with the fork balanced between his plate and his mouth. “You would not be stopped.”

“What?” He frowned, sure he must have heard his friend wrong.

“You were fairly shouting that you wanted to wed—and I quote—that luscious red-haired angel. No one could talk you out of it, and you had Masterson send posthaste for the vicar so you would not have to leave—and I quote again—that luscious red-haired angel here where someone else might find her and win her heart before you could.”

“And you believed that?” He shook his head. “It must have been the brandy talking.”

“Mayhap, but I have not seen you so forceful about anything since your return to England. I could not help seeing how you took such eager notice of Masterson's daughter.”

“I do not argue she is lovely.”

“No,
you
would not waste your time on such a futile undertaking.” Reaching for some jam to put on a piece of toast, Eustace shrugged again. “I have to own, my friend, I was pleased to see you so enthused over something. You have not once lost your blastedly boring equilibrium since you returned from the Continent.”

Cameron took a deep breath and released it slowly. Why was Eustace babbling on about this now? His friend knew how hard Cameron fought to keep from losing his temper and giving in to emotional upheavals. Eustace knew why as well, for even Eustace, as outrageous as he could sometimes be, was placid compared to Cameron's older brother Russell, the present Duke of Hawkington.

Russell's seeming inability to keep his desires in check had created problems that, if they continued, even a duke would not be able to extract himself from without damaging his name and place in the Polite World. There had been a duel that fortunately ended with both men so inept with their pistols the only wound was to a tree. There had been carriage races where only luck had prevented someone from being killed, as had happened last summer in St. James's Park to two young ladies who must have wanted to prove they had driving skills to match a man's. As well, the rumors of Russell's prowling the dusky corners of Covent Garden and Drury Lane had not closed any doors to him.

A duke could do as he pleased. How many times had Russell bragged about that to Cameron when they were younger? Whether or not it was true, Cameron had been well aware that the younger son of a duke, in spite of the possession of a courtesy title, must not be so foolhardy.

He must have spoken that last thought aloud, because Eustace asked, “Do I assume from your questions you are having second thoughts this morning?”

Cameron muttered a curse under his breath before saying, “Neither I nor Miss Masterson wish to be wed to each other.”

“You called her that before. You, of all people, should not forget she is now Lady Hawksmoor, my friend.”

Rolling the newspaper into a tube, he slapped it against his hand. “No matter what you call her, she wishes to be addressed rightly as Miss Masterson, for there is something not right about a wedding ceremony where the bride is asleep in another room and the groom is lost in his cups.”

Eustace chuckled heartily. “Is calling her by her maiden name a demand she made to you? Did she fly up to the boughs and dress you down?”

“Quite to the contrary. She has been the pattern-card of calm and rational thought. Her mien has been gracious, and she is willing—”

“You are a lucky man.”

“—to help me put an end to this marriage as quickly and quietly as possible,” Cameron finished, scowling at his friend. “I find her behavior exemplary.”

“Do you?” Eustace chuckled.

“What is so amusing?”

“She must be as wise as she is lovely. A very dangerous combination in a woman.”

“Why do you say that?”

“That she is wise? Because she is playing your own game with you.”

“Game?”

“That cool serenity you assume when you want to unsettle everyone around you.” Eustace picked up another muffin from the basket on the table. Slathering it with a generous portion of butter, he took a hearty bite and washed it down with the fragrant coffee. “You have succeeded with that pose very well, but you may have met your match in your wife.”

“'Tis no pose.”

“For you or for Masterson's daughter?”

Cameron folded his arms on the table. The very idea of eating sickened him. His head still seemed too light and the pain in his stomach too heavy. If he could keep his eyes from drifting out of focus, he might be able to think more clearly.

“I have no reason to believe she is pretending, Eustace.”

“And you?”

“What reason would there be for me to pretend?”

Eustace chuckled again, sounding a bit too self-satisfied to Cameron. “I do not know many men who would pretend to be displeased to find such a lovely lass waiting upon waking.”

“And finding themselves wed?”

“There is that small matter.” He stirred more sugar into his coffee. “It is a complication.”

“An understatement.”

“A habit I may be assuming from you.”

“One thing I fail to understand is where that accursed special license came from. I certainly did not carry one in my pocket on the off chance I might decide to be married during this trip to Town.”

Eustace took a deep drink of his coffee and yelped. “Hot! Blasted hot.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he set the cup on the table. “I would be curious about that myself, but the license must be legitimate, or the vicar would not have married you.” He glanced at the servants gathered by the kitchen door, then lowered his voice and leaned toward Cameron. “Your scowl suggests you intend to be done with this marriage posthaste.”

“You are right. It is what I want.”

“Despite what such a hullabaloo will do to Masterson's daughter?”

“I don't give a rap about Masterson's daughter,” he growled. Drawing himself up short before his anger could gain the upper hand, he said, “I, of course, do not wish to see her reputation destroyed.”

Eustace laughed. “So you have changed your mind about her?”

“I had no time to make up my mind before I found myself wed to her.”

“Nonsense.” He chuckled again and took another bite. “I saw how you admired her when we were introduced yesterday afternoon. You even smiled, something you have not done frequently since you returned to England.”

“Do not confuse being polite to a woman with being intrigued with her.”

“I don't. Do you?”

Cameron pushed back his chair, but a maid came forward to inquire what he wished to eat. “Coffee.” When it was set in front of him, he lifted the cup and let the steam wash over his face. Blast! Even its feathery fingers hurt against his skin. Only Tess's touch had eased this pain.

What an irony! The cause of his anguish was the only solace for it. He gulped from his cup, ignoring how it burned his mouth. Blaming Tess for the ridiculous actions Eustace had gleefully outlined for him was contemptible.
He
was the one who had demanded to marry her in a drunken madness.

Luscious red-haired angel
. They did not sound like words he would speak. Eustace was the one who spouted nothing-sayings to woo a woman. But those words were the perfect description for Tess. She was unquestionably a rare woman, in his estimation, for she had seen the impossibility of their situation and had offered her help to rectify it. If Masterson had not come in as he had … blast! This was becoming more and more complicated.

“All right,” Cameron said as he set the cup back on the table. “I made a horrible mistake. Now I must do what I can to rectify that mistake.”

“It will be costly.”

“Costly?” He had not given that part of the matter any thought. Staying wed to Tess Masterson would be even more costly. Not to his accounts, but to his state of mind. He had come back from the war with Napoleon determined to pick up his life where he had left it. That meant long days at his club, where he could discuss matters of political concern with his friends or enjoy cards.

However, he had planned his first call to be at Pamela's house. He did not try to bamboozle himself into believing she would set aside her current protector, Lord Stedley, for Cameron knew she would not wait for him faithfully. That was not her way, although she had been his alone before he had bought his commission and set off to save England from Napoleon's dream of a vast empire. Pamela was a practical woman.

As Tess Masterson seemed to be.

“I am aware of the costs,” Cameron said, pulling his mind back to the conversation.

“Good. And I assume Masterson's daughter is, as well.”

“Yes, she is well aware of them. In fact, she mentioned several of them to me before I had thought of them.”

Eustace arched a brow. “Egad, she sounds as logical as your mistress. Mayhap logical thought is what you seek in a woman, rather than passion.”

“Quite the contrary. In many ways, it would have been simpler if she had screeched and threatened to do harm to herself and everyone else involved in this muddle.”

“As volatile as Masterson is …”

Cameron sighed and took another sip of his coffee. Its strong flavor bolstered him. “That is true. I would not have guessed his daughter would show so much restraint.”

“Especially when she responded so ardently to your seduction?”

He put his cup back on the table and leaned toward his friend. “Watch what you say, for I suspect there are, already flying through this house, enough rumors of things that never took place.”

“You did not—” He flushed as he looked past Cameron. “Ah, here is the pretty bride now.”

Hearing Mr. Knox's words, which might be announcing her arrival or warning Lord Hawksmoor to take care what he said, Tess paused in the doorway to the room that once had been her favorite in the house because sunlight welcomed her each morning. Noticing how the maids and footman exchanged clandestine smiles, she affixed one of her own in place. She could not be vexed with them. For her to marry the son of a duke would be deemed an excellent match. But not this way! She had dreamed of being courted and learning to love the man she would marry. Instead she had been denied that.

She knew her smile was brittle as Eustace Knox came to his feet and bowed over her hand. If Papa had arranged for her to marry Mr. Knox, who gushed with congratulations she doubted were any more sincere than her smile, Tess wondered if she could have kept from fleeing into the woods and going to another town and changing her name and … a shudder raced along her. She
had
changed her name. She now was Tess Hawksmoor.
Lady
Hawksmoor.

When Mr. Knox clapped Lord Hawksmoor on the shoulder as the marquess stepped forward, she saw the marquess's smile was feigned, too. He held out his hand, and she placed hers on it. His gaze slipped along her. Did he find her gown too outmoded for his Town taste? It was her very best one, but it could not compare with the perfect cut of his navy blue coat and his waistcoat, which had been skillfully embroidered in a paisley pattern.

A titter came from the other side of the room, and Lord Hawksmoor's fingers tightened painfully over hers. She did not remonstrate with him or with the maid, who now had her fingers pressed to her lips as she stared at the floor. How could Tess chide Sally for laughing when the situation was unquestionably silly?