The Star-Crossed Bride (6 page)

She made a face at him. "Don't worry, I won't be so impulsive as to actually tell him so. I might be tempted, though, I promise you, if I did not know that Mother would take out her anger in damage to your sisters' reputations." There was a look in her eye that he remembered all too well.

"I will take care of my sisters and their reputations. You must not let temptation overtake you. Lord Granbury is not a man to cross lightly." How could he quickly convince her of the danger such action would bring? Nothing occurred to him but to show her the letter — and that was unthinkable while he was trapped under this bed, unable to protect her. "It is not wise to let him know you despise him."

She nodded. "I know that. I intend to make him think he despises me. Much the safer goal when dealing with a man, don't you think?" She smiled, amusement and determination shining in her eyes.

"Emily, leave matters to me." He would have spoken some further discouragement, if only he could have gotten the words out before she reached her hand under the bed to grasp his once, tightly. As if she were comforting a child awakened from a nightmare, she said softly, "I must go see to convincing my fiance that I am a bride worth abandoning. I have a plan that I am certain will accomplish my goal without bringing danger to your family — or you."

He took hold of her hand and would not let it go when she would have pulled back. "He is dangerous, Emily. Let me handle this." He could see the stubborn twist of her lips and he squeezed her hand once. "Promise me, Emily. Promise me that you will not put yourself — or your reputation — in jeopardy."

"I will not. I promise. Now release my hand before someone comes in and finds me here like this."

Reluctantly he let her go, though instinct told him to tug her under the bed with him and let the world pass them by. Her mother had threatened him in Emily's presence, and all that he knew about Emily suggested she would do whatever was in her power to protect him, which would leave her exposed to danger. He could not allow that.

* * * * *

"It was too good of you to come all this way to reassure my natural worries, my lord." Emily settled her skirts around her as she sat where the marquess had indicated, certain that she would scream if the man came any closer. Before her mother's untimely missive, he had behaved as nothing less than a gentleman, although she had known from the gleam in his eye and the way he watched her avidly that after the wedding she must not hope for circumspection. There was an animal fervor in him that only social expectation held in check. And now she intended to convince him that he did not want to marry her. Valentine was right — it was a dangerous game she played. Still, the alternative — marriage to the man — was infinitely worse.

"My dear, I could do no less. You have had a most distressing few years and I could not bear to think of you suffering." He grasped her hands and she was shocked to feel his skin, smooth and cool. He had shed his gloves and she had neglected to don her own in her haste to be out of her bedroom.

"That's very generous of you, my lord." She pulled her hands away with difficulty and moved as far away as the settee allowed, so that she didn't feel so suffocated by the marquess's presence. "I don't know why these things keep happening to me. I believe there may be some curse upon me and I fear not for myself, but for you." She smoothed her skirt with nervous movements and the fine fabric beneath her fingers reminded her of the torture she had just undergone.

Dressing this morning had been an exercise in tension. Down to her undergarments and Valentine only feet away under the bed. Valentine, unmarried. How dare her mother lie to her? And how foolish of her to believe the lie, knowing her mother's manipulative ways.

"It is my job to worry for you, my dear, not yours to worry for me." Granbury reached for her hands again and she stood up as gracefully as she could in her haste. She could not bear his touch today. Not knowing that Valentine, her ally, her protector, waited for her in her room.

"You are too kind, my lord," she murmured absently as she crossed to the window. It gave a good view of the gardens, and two men and four hounds nosing into the rosebushes. She was glad that he had remained safely in her room. Under the bed was surely more comfortable for him than to fall into the clutches of the estate employees.

Granbury came to stand beside her at the window. "It is not kindness to see to the comfort of my bride-to-be. It is duty."

She did not argue, although her thoughts were uncharitable. Apparently, seeing to her comfort did not include keeping a respectful distance. "Indeed?" Emily smiled, though she wanted to stomp his toes and escape his presence. "I regret putting you to the trouble."

"It is duty indeed, but a most pleasant one. I think you will find after we are married that I see to my duties down to the last detail." Emily nodded, pretending not to understand the nature of his comments.

"That must be a comfort to any wife, I expect." She wondered what Valentine was thinking. Did he consider her brazen to carry out her toilette knowing he was scant feet away? No, he was a sensible man, and no doubt understood there was no alternative.

Granbury moved minutely closer. "Still, I feel there is some distance between us."

Emily sighed, uncomfortable at how near he flirted to the truth. "As I told you, I am concerned for you. I feel that I may unwittingly cause you to suffer the same fate as the previous two men who were kind enough to ask me to be their wife." Her only consolation was that Valentine's view had been severely limited by his position. Otherwise, she'd never have been able to face him again. Unbidden, the feeling of being in his arms, dressed only in her nightgown, flashed in her mind. She could feel the heat seep into her cheeks. How could she have been so shameless?

Suddenly Granbury was leaning in toward her; his soft fingers biting into her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "There is no one else, is there, my dear?"

"Someone else?" Shock made her clumsy. How could he know? Was the truth there on her face to be read?

"Another swain, some importunate fool who has given you his heart and dazzled you with poetry?" Emily gathered her wits enough to realize that he did not know about Valentine. He could not. He was simply trying to understand why she no longer wanted to marry him.

"I am not easily swayed by poetry," she said sharply tugging her chin away from his painful grip. "And I have had dozens of hearts laid at my feet during my seasons, enough to know that means nothing."

He did not back away and his eyes narrowed. His displeasure was plain. "My heart is yours, my dear. Surely you are not telling me that means nothing to you?"

"I would not have agreed to marry you otherwise," Emily lied. "And that is why I am so very worried about you. No man I have agreed to marry has lived until the wedding day." She bit her lip, wondering if he would laugh at her melodrama.

“Except, of course, the one with whom you ran away."

She did not have to feign her displeasure. "That is an unworthy rumor to repeat, my lord. And it does no credit to the two men of whom I speak who made honorable offers. Neither of them knew that asking me to marry them would lead to their untimely demises." She wondered if she had laid it on a bit thick, but desperation was pushing her.

His reaction was curious and unsettling. A gleam of satisfied amusement lit his eyes. "I am not an ordinary man. Some have said that I was blessed with the nine lives of a cat when I was born." Obviously the idea pleased him.

Emily knew she was treading dangerous waters to disagree with him, but she could not help replying sharply, "No one truly has nine lives, my lord, not even a cat. And I have two men who pledged to marry me and never made it to the altar. You can call me superstitious if you please, but the cold facts remain unchanged."

"I would not give up my prize because of a foolish superstition." His voice was chilling. "Nor would I give her up to another man, not without a fight." He smiled again, his voice pleasant and easy. "And I always win, my dear."

Just then, her mother arrived, giving Emily a chance to break his gaze and move away from him. His prize. Was that how he saw her? She suppressed a shiver. Where had her wits been when she accepted his proposal? He was a toad. Worse‚ he was a poisonous toad. To her great relief, her mother kept them company‚ ensuring the conversation would remain innocuous‚the rest of the afternoon. What Granbury had said preyed on her mind. So much so that she took the opportunity, while her mother was distracted with a matter in the kitchen, to continue her plan to dissuade him once again. As the tea things were delivered, she debated how to deal with his apparent belief that he was meeting some kind of challenge by continuing on with the plan of marriage. "I must tell you, your words when we spoke earlier have moved me, Lord Granbury."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. Greatly. I agree that you are not an ordinary man, my lord."

"You are a discerning young woman, then."

"But I must tell you that your extraordinary character is my exact concern." She handed him his tea, two lemon slices. Crafting her own expression carefully, she hoped she looked sufficiently distraught as she poured for herself, cream and one sugar. "For I am no ordinary woman. I must confess that I have brought ill-fortune to every man who sought to marry me." Including Valentine, she thought to herself. Why else but for her sake did he now lie under her bed in danger of being torn apart by the hounds, whipped out of Scotland by her mother, or utterly destroyed by the marquess of Granbury?

Infuriatingly, he still did not take her seriously. His voice was pitched as if she were a child when he said, "I will take my chances, slight though they be. You are a prize worth winning despite a little danger, my dear."

Emily wanted to toss her spoon at the dratted man. "I cannot bear the thought that you might be injured on my account. If this . . . this curse is mine to bear, then I must do so alone."

Irritation erased the indulgent smile on his lips. "Emily, I do not wish to discuss this matter again. I am not a superstitious man, and I do not wish for my wife to harbor fanciful imaginings either."

"But — "

"Emily!" Her mother's voice was stern as she entered the room and overheard the direction of the conversation. "Have I not taught you to listen to your husband in all matters?"

"Of course," Emily said politely. "But he is not yet my husband, Mother."

Her mother's lips pressed tight together. "He will be, in less time than you seem to realize." She waved a hand toward the tea tray. "Pour for me, please." Emily poured without protest. She would simply have to try again. She could not fight against both the marquess and her mother at once. With her teacup poised lightly in her hand, and a false smile set firmly upon her lips, the countess set out to convince the marquess that Emily's worries were just the mark of a high strung young woman who could be easily reined in by the proper husband.

As Emily, gritting her teeth, rose and poured a second cup of tea for her mother, she could not help a quick glance at the doorway. If she ran quickly enough, would she be able to escape? Even as she had the thought, she realized the futility of running away. The dogs had been called out. Granbury would consider it only a new challenge to win, and Valentine would be trapped up in her bedroom without anyone to rescue him.

Valentine lay cramped and uncomfortable as the chambermaids tidied up the mess left from Emily's tumultuous morning toilette. Giggles were clearly audible once or twice as one or the other held up a garment to herself and took a sweeping circle around the room. Though they were for the most part quiet and efficient — a feather duster thrust under the bed had nearly made him sneeze — their low voiced comments on Emily's situation made him realize that the servants were not as blind to the situation as the countess herself.

"It's a true pity that 'handsome boy couldn't ha' eloped with 'er again," said one with a little sigh.

"'E'd better not, not unless he makes sure ta do it right this time," the other replied, and then spoiled her severity with a giggle.

Valentine cringed at the truth of the comment. Even the servants had no confidence in his ability to protect their mistress. It was no wonder that Emily felt she needed to devise her own plan of action in dealing with the marquess of Granbury. He turned his mind from that worry, there was nothing he could do to prevent her carrying out her plan as long as he was stuck under her bed. Later, however, he would make sure she understood the danger. He would make her promise to let him handle the matter alone, for her own safety's sake.

He could not help but think of Emily as she had been this morning, clad only in her nightgown, looking at him as if she wished he would sweep her away. And he, shameful cad that he was, considering the option eagerly. Of course, that had been before she realized that he had no wife. Knowing that, might her desperation lead her to agree to a plan which would not be good for her future? Perhaps he should have let her believe he was indeed married? No. He had never lied to Emily before, he would not start now. It was enough to tell her that he could not marry her and let her believe the reason was that he no longer loved her.

Caught up in his thoughts, it took some time for him to notice that the room had become quiet. The maids had gone.

Careful of his limbs, stiff from their cramped positioning, he eased out from under the bed, on the side away from the door. As he stood, enjoying the sunlight that streamed in from the window, he noticed Emily's room as he had not the night before in the dark. It was her design, he had no doubt — the dark oak of her armoire was lightened by an emerald green scarf that matched the color of her bedclothes, which were complemented by the cream lawn curtains sprigged with tiny flowers. There was a lightness, an airiness to the room that spoke of Emily, despite the drafty, dank nature of Eddingley Castle itself.

Like his sister Miranda, she believed in fairytales, and the room reflected her belief. He imagined, briefly, the changes Emily might have wrought at Anderlin by now, if their elopement had not been foiled. It was unproductive to wonder, and painful as well, so he deliberately turned his thoughts to his present predicament. What should he do? He moved restlessly, unable to come to a decision. Her dressing table, neatened by the maids, held little bottles of all shapes, sizes, and colors. He lifted one, a cobalt blue with a curved and sinuous shape. She must have chosen some of these simply for the shape and color of the bottle. But once chosen, the bottle would have been cherished — which was why there was scarcely room for the silver brush and comb set. She deserved a man who would cherish her as she cherished her own possessions. Granbury was not that man. But if Valentine were discovered here, Emily might find herself married within the week.