The Wagered Bride (22 page)

Chapter Sixteen

T
he soiree was more a ball than an
evening party, with at least a hundred people crowding the floor. An army of
candelabra lit the perimeter of the room, giving the appearance of a thousand
twinkling stars. Elizabeth stood between the young duchess and Stephen's
mother. It was amazing that the Elbourne household could host another party so
soon after her engagement ball, but Stephen's brother was a duke after all.

Elizabeth
took in the sight of the couples gathering for the country dance that was about
to begin. A pinprick of tears lined her lids. It was all she could do to keep
her embarrassment over what her father had done to a minimum. To be a wagered
bride was unforgivable.

She
wondered how many people knew the truth. The duchess? Stephen's mother? How
many people were laughing at her behind her back?

The
thought of running into Stephen made her all the more determined to follow
through with her plans. She had regretted slapping him the second she had done
it. And her guilt had magnified a thousandfold when she had seen him walking
lazily into the room an hour ago.

He had
been dressed in black evening attire, making him appear even more devilishly
handsome than she remembered. His stride was confident and graceful. Many of
the ladies, young and old alike, fluttered their fans and batted their eyes as
he gave them his most irresistible Clearbrook smile. His easygoing
self-confidence exuded such masculine charm it was unnerving.

Her
heart plummeted as she regarded the dancers.

But
Stephen would never truly love her. He was just too honorable to refuse the
terms of her father's wager.

After
years of marriage, he would eventually begin to pity her, and she would begin
to hate him. It was all too much to bear. She had to make up her mind what she
was going to do about her life before it was too late.

"You
look lovely tonight."

The low
whisper broke into her reverie. She glanced over her shoulder. Stephen's cheek
was an inch from her ear, setting the hairs on the back of her neck tingling
with warmth.

"Good
evening, my lord."

His hand
pressed possessively on the small of her back. "Would you honor me with
the next dance?"

The heat
of his words flowed like warm honey through her veins, and before she could
think of a way to excuse herself, he had pulled her onto the floor for a waltz.

"What?
Not happy to see me?"

She
lifted her eyes, finally coming to her senses. "You should have told
me."

The
tenderness in his gaze compelled her to look away. She would not fall for his
charms. She would not.

He
smiled and pressed her closer, turning her around the dance floor as if nothing
were amiss. "You are as light as a fairy with wings, my love."

Her
steps faltered. "Don't," she said, holding back a sob.

The
lines around his mouth hardened as he twirled her toward the ballroom doors
that led to the garden. An ache tightened about her chest when he took her arm,
taking the conversation outside.

"What
your father did matters not to me. I want to marry you, Elizabeth."

She
avoided his dark gaze as the cool night air caressed her cheeks. Her heart struggled
with her conscience. But he had lied by keeping the truth from her. How could
they ever be happy?

"Don't
you understand?" she said in a hurt tone. "I would always believe you
married me because of my father. I was beginning to believe a marriage of convenience
between us was something I could live with. But I cannot do it."

She
gathered her courage and tried to hold her heart together as her eyes locked
onto his. "The fact that my father pushed me upon you will always come
between us. Our fate together has been doomed from the very start, my
lord."

He
gripped her arm more tightly and pulled her down the path toward the darkness
of the trees. "But none of that signifies."

"Yes,
it does."

No, not
down that path again! She dug her heels into the pebbled walkway, knowing that
if she wanted to keep her heart from shattering forever, she had to stay in
sight of the couples standing outside the ballroom.

"We
would never be happy," she added. "You could never be happy."

He
stopped and turned. "You do not trust my love?"

Love?
No, he was only doing the honorable thing. It was only a word to him.

"No,"
she finally said, wondering if he did love her just a little. But a little
would never do. Her father's interference would always be between them. She
would never be able to tell fact from fiction.

He
raised his arm and clasped her waist, dragging her body tightly against his.
"Tell me you do not love me, Elizabeth. Tell me. By heaven, the truth this
time. I need to know."

She felt
the beat of his heart against hers and drank in the sweetness of the bayberry
scent she loved so much.

"The
truth, Elizabeth," he whispered.

Tears
spilled down her cheeks. She had to pick up the broken pieces of her life
before there was nothing left to mend. She had to leave. "I never loved
you. I don't want this marriage. You are a gamester like my father. I could
never marry you."

For a
few seconds he stood there, his muscles slowly stiffening beneath his clothes.
The air between them grew thick with silence. He stepped away.

"I
would never force you, madam, despite what you think of me. I am not an ogre.
If you do not love me, then it is done."

She bit
her lip, wanting to bury her head against his chest and tell him she loved him.
But the coolness of those brown eyes told her it was over.

A deep
aching pain sliced across her chest as he escorted her back to the ballroom,
his determined stride making her hurry. "Smile, my dear. People will think
we have argued."

Her pain
quickly shifted to anger. He had given in all too easily. He should have fought
for her love if he truly loved her. "I am not married to you. Do not tell
me what to do."

"And
that is the crux of the matter, is it not?" His lips thinned as he made a
curt bow, kissing her hand. "You leave me no choice," he murmured
more to himself than to her, then handed her off to the duke for the next
dance.

Stephen
sank back in his chair as he took in William Shelby's flushed face. The blue
room in the Elbourne townhouse was theirs to command. A small fire crackled in
the hearth, giving the impression of a cozy ambience. But icy tension enveloped
the room like a wicked winter storm, making the stakes undeniably real.

The card
game had gone on for at least two hours. Shelby had lost a great sum. Grumwell
and Hewitt had taken their leave a while ago.

Stephen
laid his cards on the table, his eyes never leaving Shelby's face.

The
older man looked up. "I fear you have me again, my lord."

Stephen
pursed his lips. "Another hand, perhaps?" He knew men like Shelby.
Winning was everything to them.

Shelby
pulled at his cravat and took a mouthful of brandy. Stephen eyed the liquid,
wanting just a drop to touch his tongue. Just a taste. Shelby must have
realized his suffering.

"Soothes
the throat, my lord. Sure you ain't wanting just a pinch? A bit thirsty?"

Smiling,
Stephen shook his head. "I need to stay awake." He reached out to
pour a cup of tea from the small tray table beside them.

Shelby
frowned. "The engagement is still on, my lord. No matter what my Lizzie
says. Or you. It would be a breach of contract, it would."

Stephen
curled his lips deliberately. "Don't want that, do we? Would not look good
for the Clearbrook name, now would it?"

As if a
cool wind blew into the room, Shelby stirred in his seat. "Now, see here,
my lord. We are to be family soon and I see no reason for any hard feelings.
This is a business arrangement after all."

"A
business arrangement, of course. What else?"

Shelby
looked up, frowning, but he said nothing as he dealt the cards for another hand
of vingt-et-un.

Stephen
studied the man before him. The notion that he could have lost Elizabeth forever
because of Shelby's machinations numbed his conscience.

"No
hard feelings, Shelby. Shall we continue?"

Shelby's
eyes gleamed at the amount Stephen threw in. "You seem to have more than
enough money tonight, my lord."

Stephen
shrugged. "Believe it or not, a man in my situation has a few business
dealings on the side."

Shelby
looked him over with a critical eye and laughed. "You won't be thinking to
have all this back in Elizabeth's dowry now, would you?"

Stephen
calmly took a sip of tea. His business dealings the past few weeks had given
him a lively income with most of the money still tied up in investments.
Nevertheless, he would like to have thrown Shelby's money in his face, but he
needed to win. He needed to follow through with his plan. "Looks as though
I will have to win enough for the honeymoon, eh?"

Shelby
laughed. "Always knew you had a sense of humor."

Stephen
picked up his cards. Sense of humor, indeed.

"If
you are looking for my brother, Elizabeth, he can be found in the blue salon
playing cards with your father."

Elizabeth
glanced up to find Stephen's brother Marcus standing in her path. The hall had
been deserted only a minute ago. She lifted her chin, pulling together her pride
as she tried to walk past him. "I am not searching for your brother. You
can be rest assured of that."

"My
dear girl, you are not as good an actress as your little sister."

Elizabeth
bit back a retort and tried to move past the man blocking her advance.

He
touched her arm, stopping her. "You love him."

"I
do not."

"You
lie, Miss Elizabeth Shelby."

She shot
him a haughty scowl. "Are all you Clearbrook men so arrogant?"

Marcus
chuckled and gently pulled her further down the hall. "I fear you have
found us out. We are an arrogant lot, to be sure. But we fight for what we
believe in, and whether you want to believe it or not, Stephen wants to marry
you."

She
halted and folded her arms across her chest. "It matters not. The
situation as it stands now is not one I choose to stay in. He obviously does
not love me."

Marcus
frowned. "But I believe the engagement papers are signed. You will be
ruined if you pull out of the agreement now. You cannot jilt him. Millicent
would be touched by scandal as well. Do you want that? Besides, you love him.
Give him another chance. I know my brother. He is an honorable man. He will do
right by you. Mark my word."

Give him
another chance. She had been thinking that exact thing when Stephen had left
her to dance with the duke.

"But
what if he never loves me? What kind of life will I have then?"

"You
mean, what kind of life will you have because you have been tossed about in a
game of cards?"

She
stared back in shock. Humiliation overwhelmed her. So he knew.

Marcus
took her hand in his. "It has nothing to do with your worth, my dear. This
is between your father and Stephen."

He
tilted his head toward the stairs. "I believe Roderick mentioned to me
that your father and Stephen are in the blue salon, second door on the left. If
you wish to have a conversation with both of them in the same room, I would
think this is as good a time as any. But it's up to you."

Elizabeth
realized he was right. She still loved Stephen. She had to have this out with
the two of them, no matter what happened. She turned toward the stairs. But a
hand on her elbow stopped her.

"And
if by chance you do not marry my brother," he gave her a devilish wink,
"I will be here."

She felt
herself color. "You would thwart your own flesh and blood?"

He
smiled. "If what you say is true, and Stephen does not love you, then it
should not matter at all."

"But
I can never believe him." Could she? Yet a little seed began to grow,
making her think that anything was possible.

Marcus
sent her an irresistible smile. "As I said before, you are not a very good
liar. You have already answered your own heart. You love Stephen, and somewhere
inside you believe he loves you, too. No matter what your father has done or
what Stephen agreed to, you were meant to be together. Believe me, if it is
true love, nothing will stand in your way."

She felt
her throat spasm as she bent to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."

To her
surprise, his face bloomed with color. "What for?"

Her lips
split into a meaningful grin. "For understanding what the heart sometimes
does not want to hear. After the wedding, I will find you a lady worthy of your
love."