The Convenient Bride (9 page)

Clayton
made a fist beside his glass. "Don't tell me you have a fondness for
her?"

"Oh,
she is a rather pleasant girl. Quite scholarly, they say. Not a beauty in the
conventional way."

"I
think her rather pretty," Clayton said in a clipped tone.

Marcus
studied his brother for a few seconds. "Yes, I would say she was rather
pretty indeed. Wasn't it her sister who drowned in the Thames? Father died
immediately afterwards."

"Yes.
The lady and her mother came out of mourning end of last year."

Marcus
twirled the handle of his wineglass. "Now, why would you be interested in
Miss Garland, I ask myself? I admit, she does have a brain, always popping into
the library, especially when she was at Elbourne. Seen her at the lending
library a few times. Blends into the books as if she lives there. Bluestocking
if there ever was one. 'Course there is one bookish gentleman who works there,
and I believe he definitely has eyes for the lady."

He
pursed his lips and regarded Clayton. "If you ask me, I think she's hiding
something."

"For
your information, I didn't ask you."

Marcus's
lips twitched. "Those eyes of hers are quite the thing. But I have to be
honest—lately she wears the most dowdy of gowns. Not that I am a fashion
expert."

"No,
that you are not," Clayton said sharply. What did his brother know about
anything anyway? She'd just come out of mourning.

"But
I do believe if the lady was stuffed into the right clothes she might
present—"

"What
the hell did you have to drink?" Clayton snapped. "I don't need an
entire dissertation on the lady."

Marcus
looked annoyed. "You asked me. I told you."

"Forget
I asked."

"You
do know Em would call you out with swords if you dare take one step in that
direction."

Clayton
scowled. "What the devil are you blabbering about?"

"Miss
Garland, you idiot!"

"You
know, I am sick and tired of being called an idiot."

"You
are, if you think you'll be happy marrying some chit for that castle. I've
tried to help you because you're my brother and you asked me. But you could
have any woman you wanted, Clay. Don't make a mistake just because you feel
time's running out."

"I'm
not making a mistake. I'm not interested in a marriage based on love. How many
couples in the
ton
live like that?"

Marcus's
lips narrowed into a thin line.

"Convenience
is the only thing I ask for. A bride who will let me set her up in the country
is what I need. She will have everything to her heart's desire. If she wants to
journey to London, she need only send word to me and it will be done."

Marcus
leaned across the table. "How old are you, seventeen?"

Clayton's
chair scraped against the floor. "Thanks for all the help. I wish I could
be there when you search for a bride."

Marcus
frowned. "That day is coming, I fear. Being the second son of the duke
gives me no choice in the matter."

Clayton
stood. "You seem resigned to that fact."

Marcus
looked up. "Devil take it, Clay. You have the choice of marrying for love.
I am the second son of the duke. I will look for love if I can find it, but the
title must be secured.

It is my
duty. All my life I have been told I must marry for the sake of the Elbourne
name. You have time on your side."

Clayton
had never heard this confession from his brother. "You don't want to
marry?"

"That's
not it. But I want to travel. Be an ambassador of sorts. Give something back to
the world. What lady would ever want to leave her country for ports unknown?
It's inconceivable."

"You
never gave the slightest hint you wanted to leave England."

Marcus
shrugged. "Back to you. Who do you find the most appealing? You must have
other ladies in the running."

"There
is that opera singer, and then the actress at Drury Lane, but I daresay they
would not make good wives."

Marcus's
eyes sparkled. "No, I don't think they would. Neither would Miss Hookston.
However, Miss Cherrie Black will be at Grimstoke's party, along with a few
others. If you have to make a choice, you will have two weeks with them."

He
leaned back in his chair. "Em won't like it a bit if you go after Miss
Garland. I, for one, would stay clear of the lady."

Clayton
folded the paper and shoved it into his pocket. Stay clear of the lady? Maybe,
maybe not. "Should be enough time."

"And
the special license? Have you thought about that little insignificant
detail?"

"Of
course. The archbishop is staying in the nearby village. Visiting relatives, I
believe."

Marcus
raised a sardonic brow. "How very fortunate. Once you find the girl and
she agrees, you rush to the archbishop's side and obtain the special license.
And the man can even marry you if you wish. What lady could ask for more?"

His
expression sobered. "You know, Clay, did you ever once think that perhaps
a female might refuse your offer?"

Clayton
thought of Miss Briana Garland. No. She would never refuse his offer. She might
have a slight temper when provoked, but he could keep her under control. A
little charm and she was his.

He was
getting deuced tired of all this bickering about lists and brides. Why even
attend the party at all? Miss Garland would be the perfect wife. Why go back
and forth about the issue? The answer was right before him. She would have her
mother for company, and the two females could travel to their hearts' content.
His family would warm to the idea soon enough, even Em and Jared.

He
grinned. Tomorrow, he would seek out Miss Garland at the Elbourne ball. This
list would be used only as a backup plan.

"What
the devil are you grinning about now?" Marcus asked.

Clayton
gave a soft pat to the list in his jacket pocket. "I appreciate your help,
but I might not need it after all."

He
grabbed his glass of wine off the table and lifted it to his lips, watching
Marcus's eyes narrow in confusion.

Jupiter
and Zeus, this was much easier than he'd thought. Truly, it was inconceivable
that Miss Garland would turn him down now. There were the two tea incidents,
but those accidents were insignificant. Hadn't Emily mentioned the girl adored
him?

This was
going to be as easy as teaching the lady to waltz.

Chapter Eight

I
f Briana thought she would be able to
lose herself in the crowd at the Elbourne ball, she was sorely mistaken. With
Agatha buying her an emerald-colored gown from Madame Michelle's, and Emily
lending her a pair of diamond earrings and matching necklace, she felt rather
conspicuous, to say the least.

She had
desperately wanted to wear her gown of pale pink trimmed with white lace, but
since it was the duke's birthday and Jane wished everything to be just right,
Briana had given in to the duchess's demands, with Emily's and Agatha's help.

A few
minutes after her arrival at the ball, Briana was surprised to find herself in
the arms of Lord Clayton. He had literally snatched her hand from Lord
Rockham's for a waltz.

"I
seem to remember I was the one who taught you this dance, Miss Garland."

Briana
felt a blush creep up her neck, recalling those innocent years spent at
Elbourne. Why had this man sought her out?

Had she
not told him they could never be friends? After the lemonade incident she had
thought he would try to evade her every chance he had. And after overhearing
his words with the earl, she could not see any reason he wanted to be with her.
She thought he would be seeking out some female with, well, similar values.

She
purposely looked over his shoulder, not wanting to fall for his inexhaustible
charm. And she told herself, she was not afraid of him or her heart, even
though he did smell of bayberry!

"Miss
Garland, I seem to remember informing you that at this time in the dance you
are to say something back to me."

More
embarrassed than ever, Briana raised her head and replied, "I remember a
dancing master named Mr. Summers, my lord."

He let
out a rich laugh. "You are not as shy as you appear, are you?"

Briana
noticed Agatha waving her gloved hand from across the room and winced. The
woman was in sheer ecstasy over Briana's dancing with Emily's brother. What did
her godmother think the man was going to do, ask her to marry him?

Briana
quickly shifted her gaze back to Lord Clayton. "As you can see, I am not
sixteen, my lord."

His gaze
was riveted on her face, and his hand tightened about her waist. "Indeed,
you are not, Miss Garland, much to my delight."

His
words slid down her body like a silky caress. The charmer! The rogue! Why had
he chosen her for the waltz? Perhaps he wanted to get back at her for the tea
and lemonade accident the other day. Or perhaps Agatha had begged him to dance
with her. The thought was humiliating.

It
certainly didn't help matters that his nearness had kindled feelings she had
hoped wiped from her heart. And she could not deny there was a strength about
him that captivated her, making her feel totally safe in his arms.

Yet
there wasn't an unmarried young woman in the room who didn't want to dance with
him. The feelings she had were probably the same as they experienced when they
were in his arms. Her pounding heart meant nothing at all.

He swung
her around the dance floor until she felt dizzy. "You do know I am an
idiot," he whispered in her ear.

She
accidentally stepped on his toes. "I, uh, beg your pardon, my lord."

"I
am trying to apologize for my ungentlemanly behavior the other day. You
remember when I was lost in my own thoughts?" He leaned down, his breath
warm against her cheek.

Briana's
heart sped with the beat of the music.

"Am
I forgiven?" he asked huskily.

She
pulled back, clearing her throat. "Of course, my lord."

Was she
imagining things? Or was he trying to play with her mind?

"A
little air, Miss Garland? You look a bit warm."

Out of
breath, she nodded. "Yes ... please." It was the heat of the room
doing things to her brain. Yes, that's what it was.

Before
she knew it, the man had her out the ballroom doors and down a secluded trail
of the Elbourne gardens. During those innocent summers so long ago, there had
been a few times when Briana and Emily had hid in the bushes and spied on the
Clearbrook brothers.  However, now as Briana passed a certain stone bench, she
immediately recalled every single detail of Clayton's past encounters.

She
halted, digging her feet into the ground.

Clayton
turned to her, his hand still curled about her elbow. "Feeling
better?"

"Yes,"
she said, trying to keep her voice calm as she looked around. "I, er, if
you would be so kind as to return me to the ballroom, I will be forever in your
debt, my lord."

Bright
white teeth flashed in the pale moonlight, and she felt light-headed. He took
hold of her shoulders and gently pulled her closer to him, so close in fact
that she could study the little scar at the corner of his eye. "Forever in
my debt is a long time, Miss Garland. However, may I point out that you have
barely had a chance to catch your breath?"

He was correct
about that. She could hardly breathe at all. He was so compelling, she found
she could not move. "I would, um, like to return to the dance floor,"
she said faintly.

He ran a
finger over her ear. "You are a Fairy Lady. Gabrielle was right." His
hand traced her cheekbone, moving to the freckles on her nose.

"Magic,"
he said, his voice lowering along with his lips. She froze as his mouth covered
hers in a slow, drugging kiss.

"A
magic Fairy Lady." His comment was a mere whisper in the wind, and—horror
of horrors—he was staring at her as if he had never seen her before.

Shocked,
Briana stepped back, raising a hand to her lips. Heat filled every inch of her.
He looked as confused as she felt.

"Why
did you do that?" she asked rather sharply.

"Why
did I kiss the most beautiful girl at the ball?"

Her
mouth was burning from his touch, yet she remembered Clarice, she remembered
her father, and most of all, she remembered her lieutenant and all his fancy
words before he left and got himself killed. But Alistair had never kissed her
like that!

The man
seemed to be studying her. "You didn't like it?"

Of
course she liked it. "No," she said a little too prudishly.

His eyes
twinkled. "Maybe I should try again. I seem to be losing my touch."

She took
another step back, her knees bumping against the stone bench. With a wicked
smile, he pressed a gentle finger to her shoulder and she lost her balance. He
caught her, pulling her against the bench as his body sprung beside her.

"There.
That's much better."

Briana
blushed. "That was not very gentlemanly," she said, keenly aware of
his scrutiny.

"Briana,
may I call you by your Christian name?"

Stunned,
she stared at him, wondering if he had stopped at the club and had too much
wine before the ball.

"Certainly
not," she said, trying to pull away, feeling her heart softening under his
steady gaze. No, she could not let him do this to her.

He
chuckled and held tight to her hands. She tried to ignore the wild beating of
her heart, but it was impossible. Dappled moonlight spread over the bench and
she glanced toward the ballroom. He tilted her head toward his. "I'm over
here."

"I
know that," she said coolly. "I do have a brain."

"I
noticed that." His voice held a certain degree of admiration that
surprised her. A moonbeam brushed across his face, making his glittering eyes
appear more powerful.

"Do
you know, Miss Garland, I believe you have more life in you than all the women
I have ever known." He turned his head toward the ballroom, smiling.
"Except for my sister, that is."

Briana
took that as a compliment, but she had no idea why the man was doing this to
her.

He
brought her hand to his lips. "So beautiful, yet so scared."

A hot
ache grew in her chest. She tried to ignore her body's reaction to him. She
owed Clarice and every woman like her sister a place to stay, a place to feel
safe. A man like Lord Clayton could ruin her plans. He could ruin her life if
she let him. Her heart could be easily swept away by this man and all her plans
easily forgotten.

"I
have no fear of you, my lord," she said calmly.

"Clayton.
My name is Clayton."

"My
lord," she repeated firmly.

His eyes
darkened. "You smell of roses. Sweet and innocent. And yet there is a hint
of vanilla about you. I find it fascinating."

Though
she knew she should return to the ballroom, Briana felt a tiny glow of excitement
inside her.

The man
wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.

"Briana."

She
shivered. "My lord—"

He
kissed her ear. She almost fell off the bench.

"Briana,
sweetheart." His lips moved to her neck. "Marry me."

She
froze. "Wh-what did you say?"

He
smiled, taking her hands in a gentle but firm grasp. "I asked you to marry
me."

Her
tongue grew thick. Was this some kind of joke?

"This
may come as a surprise, but I truly want to marry you."

She
swallowed, still in shock.

"It
would be an agreeable arrangement for both of us."

He
didn't wait for her response, but continued his little speech as if they were
having tea with Gabrielle.

"You
would live in the country with your mother. And I, on the other hand, would
spend most of my time in Town."

Her
chest throbbed with pain. It spread throughout her entire body until her hands
began to ache.

"Of
course, I would make certain you had a life of luxury, reading all the books
you love."

Beneath
the glow of the moon his eyes sparkled with pride. She would like to box his
ears!

"You
would have access to the most fashionable dressmakers in England. Servants
would be at your beck and call. It would be a simple marriage of convenience."

His face
seemed to beam at that last comment. A simple marriage of convenience? That was
the last thing she had expected from the man.

She
blinked in awe as he continued to explain their marriage and all the wonderful
aspects of her becoming his wife. Her pain soon turned to a cool numbness and
then to a scorching fury.

Good
grief! He was acting like some gallant prince sent on a journey to save her
from a life of doom.

"We
can obtain a special license and marry next week." He went to kiss her
again and she turned so his lips fell upon her cheek. The arrogant oaf!

He
smiled, seeming to presume her jerk of the head was due to her innocence. The
man was amazingly ignorant!

He rose
from the bench, taking her with him. "No need for a long engagement. Why
don't we make our announcement tonight?"

Briana's
mouth opened and shut like that of a codfish caught on a hook. She could hardly
think of what to say.

"I
have chosen a perfect place for you to live. It's within a day's ride from
London." He swung his gaze toward the music drifting from the ballroom,
then back to her.

"I
can be by your side for family functions and such, but beyond that we can both
live our separate lives."

"No,"
she said calmly.

His lids
fell halfway over his eyes. It took him a moment to answer. "Very well. If
you would like to be closer to London, I can see to that. Perhaps Lord
Henshield's mansion. It's for sale, they say. A prime piece of land it is,
too."

"No."

His
brows gathered in thought. "Something near Dover, then? If I recall, your
mother's family resides near there—"

Holding
back from slapping him, she started for the ballroom. It was odd that her
refusal never seemed to register in his brain. "No, thank you. I really
don't think we would suit at all."

He
grasped her elbow, stopping her. "What?"

She spun
around, her veins bubbling with rage. This man was almost as spoiled as the
prince. He was acting as if he had never heard the word "no" before.
And that was probably true, at least from the women he knew.

"I
will not marry you, my lord. I will not live in a house in the country. I will
not play party to your frivolous notions of marriage. I cannot, will not,
never, ever be your wife."

The man
stared back at her in confused silence. Then to her astonishment, his shoulders
shook with laughter. "Ah, I see. You are quite the little mind worker.
Very well, you win. I will give you twice the pin money any wife in the
ton
is allowed. You may travel at your convenience to and from the Continent
whenever it amuses you. Unless, of course, you are with child."