The Wagered Bride (8 page)

"Excuse
me. May I pass, please?"

Stephen
turned at the sound of the husky voice behind him. Miss Shelby was trying to
squeeze past his chair on her way to the sideboard. He looked to her left and
saw an assembly of murmuring dowagers peering her way. The pinkness of Miss
Shelby's cheeks told him she was as embarrassed as he was.

A
combination of pity and protectiveness surged through him.

Miss
Shelby looked younger today. More vulnerable. Her blue eyes looked red and
puffy. But her figure was given full advantage in the light, and by heaven, she
was not at all plain, and not much taller than most women in the room.

He distinctly
recalled holding her supple form when she had fallen on top of him, and he
caught himself smiling at the memory of one creamy calf shimmering in the moonlight.

"And
good morning to you. If it is not the lady of travels and adventure."

Her face
colored a deep red as he stood and moved his chair in for her to scoot by.

"My
father knows nothing of that... that arrangement," she hissed, "and I
would advise you to say nothing as well."

His
interest was piqued at her audacity in telling him what to do. He leaned over
as if to help her through the crowd, whispering into her swanlike neck.
"If we are to become man and wife, madam, I would advise you not to advise
me."

"Truly,
you are a beast," she said as she smiled sweetly, glancing over her
shoulder at the exact moment her father strutted into the room.

"Ah,
my lord," William Shelby greeted loudly, "Elizabeth, good morning to
you both."

"Good
morning, Papa."

Stephen
watched Miss Shelby's mouth thin with displeasure as she hastened to the
sideboard, gathering her food and ignoring her father's smile.

It was
about a minute before Stephen spoke. "Shelby."

Stephen
towered over the man by at least a head. But what the rich cit lost in height,
he made up in cleverness. And sad to say, cards as well.

"My
lord," Shelby went on, "I was wondering if I might have a word with
you before you depart."

Stephen's
gaze traveled over the room, settling on Elizabeth taking a seat one over from
Lady Odette—a seat very far away from him. Those amazing blue eyes locked onto
his face and he felt an instant heat in his belly.

Was he
attracted to the girl? Plague take it. Every passing second, Miss Shelby
reminded him more and more of his sister Emily and her spirit.

And then
there was Lady Odette with the deceitful emerald eyes. He was glad he had
discovered her true nature now. His life would have been a living hell. What
kind of stupid dreams had he been spinning in his head?

"My
Lord?"

Stephen
shifted his attention back to the portly man beside him. "Perhaps later we
can have a word in the library."

"Splendid."
Shelby proposed a time to meet and slapped Stephen on the back, as if
dismissing him, then piled three buttered scones on top his plate and moved
toward the cherry tarts.

Elizabeth
could barely control the spasmodic trembling inside her, she was so angry. She
had seen the letter in his lordship's hand. She also knew what Lady Odette was
like. It didn't take a goose to figure out what was going on. If Lady Odette
dared put one finger on her intended she would—

Good
heavens! What was she thinking? She almost giggled to herself, glancing at Lord
Stephen taking the seat beside her.

Why was
he moving near her? Her heart twisted. For appearances, of course. Well, after
she was done with him, he would not wish to be within ten feet of her, let
alone be her husband.

She
would make him so fearful to be near her, not even half of her papa's money
would entice him to marry her. Of course, when the engagement was broken, he
could go back to that strumpet Odette, and she could go back to Mr. Fennington.

"Let
us have a toast to the new couple," Lord Harmstead suddenly announced,
standing beside William Shelby. "Champagne for everyone."

Five
liveried footmen marched into the room with glasses of champagne set on silver
trays. A rumble of voices filled the air, and all eyes were on Elizabeth and
Lord Stephen.

It
seemed barely anyone had slept in this morning, and Elizabeth had never felt so
embarrassed in her life. They must all know by now that their union was not a
love match, but a marriage of convenience.

Hot
color crept up her neck, and her chest tightened. All she wanted to do was run
from the room. She started to rise but a strong hand stopped her, gripping her
wrist.

Elizabeth
locked gazes with the man beside her as he raised his glass with his free hand.

"To
my beautiful fiancée. A diamond of the first water."

Shocked
at the insistent squeeze on her arm, Elizabeth lifted her other hand from her
lap, gave a sweet smile, and lowered her eyes demurely.

A roar
of approval rang throughout the room. Even Odette gave a clap of her hands, but
to Elizabeth, the lady's burning glare did not go unnoticed. Tears of
humiliation filled Elizabeth's eyes, though everyone seemed to think they were
tears of joy as another roar of approval sounded.

But to her
amazement, Lord Stephen seemed to have deduced the reason for the tears. He was
now frowning at her with those solemn brown eyes. His thumb played at the underside
of her wrist before he let her go. "Elizabeth," he said in a pitying
tone.

She
ignored him and feeling reckless, downed her drink in less than a minute, and
asked for another. Ha, see how he likes a wife who drinks, she thought, feeling
a buzz in her head.

How
dared he call her beautiful and make fun of her? She would not marry this
brute. Mr. Fennington loved her. This man would never see what she was made of.
All he wanted was Odette. Well, let him have her... after the engagement was
broken!

The talk
soon moved from the engaged couple to the day's festivities at the Harmstead
mansion and all that was planned.

Elizabeth
sank into her chair, wishing the floor would swallow her whole and spit her up
on the other side of England.

Thank
goodness she would be leaving this place shortly and traveling to London. As
soon as her father found lodging they would be off to Town. Her father had
promised her a night at the opera while showing her and Milli the sights.

Elizabeth
held the empty champagne glass between her fingers, ignoring the handsome man
beside her and the smell of his bayberry soap. She wondered if he ever looked
ugly. Maybe she could prolong the engagement for at least a year. Yes, that
would surely give her time to think. She was ready to rise when suddenly one of
the servants slipped a note beside her plate.

She
grabbed the piece of paper and tucked it between the folds of her morning gown.
Hope sprang inside her. There could only be one person who would send her a
note.

"More
champagne, Miss?"

"Y-yes,
please." As the servant poured her another glass, something made the hairs
on the back of her neck stand on end. Lord Stephen was scowling at her.

"I
think you have had enough champagne, Elizabeth."

She
blinked. "We are not married yet, my lord," she said through clenched
teeth, "so do not try your heavy hand with me.

His eyes
darkened as she stood to retrieve a piece of bread from the sideboard. She bit
her lip and hurriedly opened the letter. She squinted to make out the
signature.  It was from him! Mr. J. T. Fennington.

Though she dare not put on her
spectacles, she pulled the note closer and quickly scanned his words. He was
going to see her soon. Her heart fluttered like a butterfly in spring. He truly
did love her.

"A
love note, Miss Shelby?"

Elizabeth
jumped at the sound of the silky whisper sliding along her back.
"No," she said curtly. "It's a note from my long lost
aunt."

The
man's lips thinned, a sign she should have recognized immediately, because the
next thing she knew, he was escorting her into the hall toward a small alcove
behind the stairs.

The
remaining guests in the breakfast room smiled as if they knew the couple needed
to be alone. All except Mr. William Shelby whose worried eyes were pinned on
his daughter.

"I
forbid you to meet with that man," Lord Stephen replied. His breath was
hot against her cheek as he cornered her against the wall. "Is that
understood, Miss Shelby?"

So, he
knew what was in the note, did he? His face was within an inch of hers and her
heart pounded with the challenge of defying him. There was something boyish
about his expression that made him seem less dangerous than he tried to appear.
In fact, at the moment she would have thought him extremely appealing if it
were not for him telling her what to do.

"Oh,
you forbid me, do you?" She shot him a withering stare. Good gracious, she
was feeling quite dizzy.

Taut
lips stretched across a perfectly chiseled chin. "If you dare go against
my wishes, you won't like it at all."

Elizabeth
had the audacity to laugh, shaking her head, causing tendrils of soft
wheat-colored hair to fall about her face. She knew she had probably had too
much champagne, but she really didn't care. He was a beast with thoughts only
for himself. Her knight in shining armor was Mr. Fennington, who loved her for
what she was, not her father's money.

Stephen
stared in amazement at the woman before him. The girl was half drunk. With
those dancing blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and her disarrayed hair, she looked
beguiling. The thought unnerved him especially when he peered over his shoulder
at the sound of clapping heels coming their way.

Lord
Githers and Mr. Blundly had stopped and were now staring at Miss Shelby as if
she were a prize for the hunt. In fact, they seemed to notice the same thing
Stephen had. Miss Shelby was enchanting, and she didn't even know it.

A giggle
escaped her lips and Stephen stiffened.

Blundly
lifted his brow. "Quite a catch, is she not?" Interested dark eyes
traveled along Elizabeth's person. "Well done, my lord.  Well done indeed!"

Stephen
wanted to yank the man by his cravat, but he didn't need a scandal. Instead he
gave the men his iciest glare and they spun on their heels, back down the hall.

"You
need a cup of tea, Elizabeth. Come sit down."

She was
still giggling as they reentered the breakfast room. Stephen kept a smile in
place, though beneath his cool demeanor he fought against the insane notion of
throwing the confounded female into the nearest lake.

Her
reaction to drinking was uncanny. His sister was like that. One glass of wine,
and she was a bowl full of jelly. It would do him well to remember that fact,
he thought as he swallowed hard, feeling her soft body swaying against his.

He
caught a whiff of fine French perfume. He shifted uncomfortably, taking in the
creamy whiteness of Miss Shelby's swanlike throat. What the deuce was wrong
with him?

When he
woke this morning he thought he was in love with Odette, and now he was
becoming quite fond of a blue-eyed, sharp-tongued, crazy woman who only
yesterday had dropped from the sky to meet her lover.

He took
a seat near the bay window, away from the crowd. "I'm going to get you a
cup of tea," he said abruptly. "Wait right here."

"I'd
like a doll... a doll of cream," she said with a hiccup.

He
smiled. "A dollop of cream?"

She
frowned. "That's what I said."

He was
back in a minute with her tea, but stopped short when he noted Odette in
conversation with Miss Shelby.

"Elizabeth,
dear, you must let me congratulate you on your catch. You have come a long way
from Miss Horatio's Seminary, have you not? Of course, with your papa's money,
you probably could have set your cap for the Duke of Elbourne himself... if he
were not married, that is."

All
color left Elizabeth's face. Stephen was oddly disappointed when she did not
give Lady Odette her due.

"But
then I hear the duke has no need for money and is set up quite nicely. Quite
nicely, indeed. Now, Lord Stephen is another matter, is he not? But I do
believe your father's money might even set him up higher than his
brother."

The last
remark seemed to make Elizabeth's hands tremble. Stephen felt a fierce roar in
his belly at the way Lady Odette was babbling on about William Shelby's
finances and Elizabeth.

It was
obvious the conversation had filtered to some other parts of the room as well.
William Shelby's eldest daughter sat in mortification, too choked to speak.
Stephen realized that the champagne had mangled her brain or she would have had
her wits about her and given the entire room something to talk about.

"Of
course, many people have a marriage of convenience and things have a habit of
working out," Odette went on, softly patting Elizabeth's shoulder in a
pitying manner.