The Wagered Bride (9 page)

At that
precise moment Odette tilted her head in Stephen's direction. Whether she had
known he was standing there or not, she had taken advantage of the situation to
humiliate Elizabeth even more.

"Money
is good for some things, Miss Shelby," she said, her chin lifting, along
with her skirts, "but it cannot make a princess out of a
bluestocking."

A female
titter from the corner of the room sent up a gasp of disapproval from one of
the ancient dowagers. But it didn't signify. The damage had been done.

Stephen
glared at Odette as the harpy stepped aside to speak with a nearby earl. The
little witch! Thank goodness he had never asked the chit to marry him.

Concealing
the anger boiling beneath his skin, Stephen strolled forward and handed
Elizabeth her tea. For the first time in the last twenty-four hours he was glad
Shelby had whipped him at cards. He would rather have an honest female like
Elizabeth Shelby at his side than a two-faced shrew.

Stephen
watched as Elizabeth's face became a ghostly white and her breath came out in
little pants of distress. Would she swoon and give Odette's cutting remarks
more power than they had? If she did, this incident would become the Season's
on-dit.

Honor
demanded he do something quick. But one thing he decided there and then was
that this would be the last time she sipped champagne in the presence of
anybody but himself!

With an
easy grace, he leaned over and took hold of Miss Shelby's hand. "Ah, my
love, you must ready yourself for the journey to London. I cannot bear to be
without your company and have asked your father if your family would do me the
honor of becoming the guests of the duke and my family at the Elbourne
townhouse."

The
cessation of voices allowed the sound of forks clanking against plates to echo
throughout the room, followed by dead silence.

Inwardly
cursing, Stephen was more aware than ever that everyone in the breakfast salon
had been paying attention to the scene between Lady Odette and Miss Shelby.

Smiling
like a besotted lover, he kissed his betrothed's hand. "My love, perhaps
you should return to your chambers and rest before the journey."

Lady
Odette's emerald eyes narrowed into slits as she turned on her heels and left.
Elizabeth's blue gaze widened. She managed a smile as Stephen escorted her back
to her father.

After a
few minutes of polite conversation, Stephen made his excuses, bowed, and
departed from the room. He stopped short when he found Milli waiting for him
down the hall.

Huge
gray eyes locked onto his face. "I do believe I'm beginning to like you,
you know,” she said. “But do not try to best me with your acting ... or Lizzie,
your lordship. She's not stupid."

Stephen's
mouth dropped open in surprise at the girl's frank assessment of his conduct in
the breakfast room. Before he could say anything in his defense, the little elf
turned, gave him a saucy wink over her shoulder, and hurried upstairs.

Chapter Six

E
lizabeth stood gazing out the window
of Lord Harmstead’s library, blinking against the afternoon sky. Her head hurt
as though someone had taken a hammer to it. The champagne had been too much,
too quick—and so had Lord Stephen Clearbrook.

"Did
you see what he did at breakfast, Papa?" She turned to her father.
"Did you? He acted as if... as if he loved me.”

Elizabeth
was both furious and touched at Lord Stephen Clearbrook's behavior this morning.
She could very well see how he had saved Wellington's life. The man was no
coward.

That
point was proved when he acted the hero this morning, saving her from an embarrassing
scene. Although making that ludicrous announcement was akin to professing his love
for her, the two of them were definitely not a love match.

Yet she
couldn't deny the spark of warmth that had swept through her when he pressed
his lips lightly to her hand. She would not think about that. Nor would she
think about the way his eyes had devoured her with such tenderness that she
wanted to cry.

No, she
didn't want to think of him having any heart at all. She wanted him to be a
callous man whom she could distance herself from. Even heroes were callous at
times.

But he
had not been callous, her heart whispered.

Whether
he pitied her or not, he was a fiend with feelings, she told herself. Feelings
that could charm a woman into a rake's lair with one blink of his devastating
smile.

However, she would not be
Lord Stephen's woman. Why, when he had pulled her into the hall after she
received that note from Mr. Fennington, the circumstance had not affected her
at all!

Oh,
maybe she had enjoyed his nearness a tad more than she would admit. But who
wouldn't? Those chocolate brown eyes had probably swept many a lady off her
feet. Yet she was no simpering female and even heroes had their flaws. She
would never forget the fact he only wanted to marry her for money.

"He
is a gentleman, Lizzie. Knew that the moment I clapped eyes on the
fellow."

Elizabeth
stared at her father, her mind working furiously to extricate herself from this
absurd situation. "Of course he's a gentleman; he's the son of a
duke."

"But
that ain't precisely what I meant. You must see that honor is as much a part of
Lord Stephen Clearbrook as breathing. It's a code the man lives by. All the men
in the Elbourne family live by it. His three brothers are very highly thought
of, my dear. You should be pleased to be marrying into such a family."

There
was a bit of reproach in his tone, and Elizabeth tried to mentally count to
ten. Honor? Forget about the man's past. What kind of honor was it when a man
married a woman for her father's money?

This
conversation was getting her nowhere.

"Well,
if you ask me," Milli piped in from across the room where she sat on a
leather chair, swinging her slippers over the rug, "I believe his lordship
would die for Lizzie if he had to. Now, that would be real love, would it
not?"

"Millicent,
please do not tell me that you are falling for the man's charms,"
Elizabeth said, pinching the bridge of her nose. This was the outside of
enough.

"Oh,
but I like him regardless," her sister said, jumping off the chair.
"An hour ago I saw him in the hall, and he gave me a sack of candy,
whether I became his sister-in-law or not."

Elizabeth
groaned. The charms of this rake were never ending.

"He
may be handsome, Lizzie, but he's not the smartest man on earth," Milli
added thoughtfully. "He treats me as if I were only twelve. Can you
believe that? I will be fifteen next month."

"Fifteen?"
William Shelby replied with a frown.

Elizabeth
was surprised at Milli's defense of the handsome lord. Though Milli was smaller
than girls her age, she made up in spirit for what she lacked in height. Brown
locks coiled about her face and down her back in a childlike innocence that
made most people think she was younger than she was. No wonder Lord Stephen had
given her candy.

"See,
Papa," Elizabeth said with a hopeful edge to her voice. "The man
cannot be serious about wanting to marry me if he made that comment to Milli
about her possibly not being his sister-in-law."

William
Shelby lifted a bushy brow. "Depend upon it. His lordship is very serious.
Do not shame him or me by insisting on breaking this engagement. The
announcement has been sent to the papers. As a gentleman of breeding, he ain't
one to rescind his offer and I will not let you reject it."

Elizabeth
felt her frustration rising. She could not marry the man. He would never love
her. Lord Stephen Clearbrook would have his flirts in London like many gentlemen
of the
ton
, and as this morning had proved, the man could charm a flea.

Besides,
if the man continued his obnoxiously nice behavior, she could very well learn
to like him and would that not put her in a precarious situation?

Elizabeth
scrambled for anything that could thwart this marriage. "But what if after
a time, he does not want me ... and he asks me to break the engagement?"

William
Shelby smiled. "Want you? How could he not want you, my dear?"

He
wants Lady Odette, that's why. He would never look twice at me if I were not an
heiress.

How such
a war hero could suggest a marriage between Elizabeth and himself was a puzzle
to her, but then again, men were so different from women, nothing surprised her
anymore.

Her
heart gave a little twist of regret at her monetary circumstances. She would
never be certain about anything because of the money attached to her name.

"But
it's obvious he wants your money, Papa, not me."

Shelby
stuffed a hand inside his waistcoat pocket. "And who with any brains would
not want my money, poppet. But rest assured, the man wants you, too. All is
well. Now run along with your sister and see to your packing. It seems we are
going to be the guests of the duke while we are in Town."

Milli
twirled about the room like a ballerina. "Goodness gracious, I have never
met a duke. Is he as handsome as Lord Stephen?"

Elizabeth
gritted her teeth. No one was as handsome as Lord Stephen Clearbrook, she
decided, but that was beside the point. She had to make her plans. First, she
must post a letter to Mr. Fennington telling him of her lodgings while in London,
then she would ready herself for the journey to the duke's home.

As soon
as her father and Milli left the library, she asked one of the servants for
paper and pen. It would do no good to write her missive in her bedchamber.
There was no telling what Milli would convey to her father, let alone what the
abigail would pass on to William Shelby, since he paid the girl's wages.

After
Lord Harmstead's servant opened the writing desk in the corner of the room and
set Elizabeth up with what she needed, she took her leave. Alone now, Elizabeth
slipped on her spectacles and sighed as she dipped the pen into the ink and
pressed the point of the quill to the paper. She had just finished signing her
name when the door opened.

"Hard
at work, Miss Shelby?"

The deep
baritone voice slammed into her ears like an icy polar wind. She jumped from
her chair, almost turning over the inkwell. "Er, you ... you surprised
me."

"Evidently."
Lord Stephen's sharp gaze swung to the letter on the desk. "An avid writer
as well as a traveler, I see."

She
hurriedly stood in front of the desk, hiding the evidence. "I may be the
daughter of a businessman, my lord, but I assure you, I have been educated in
all things. I speak three different languages, I draw, I play the pianoforte
and the harp, and I know well how to sit a horse."

"So
I have heard." His brown eyes glinted with amusement. "You are well
educated in the English language as well, I see. Have you any other attributes
I should know about?"

Warm
brown eyes traveled from her face to the tip of her slippers and back again.

A blush
swept across her cheeks and she cleared her throat, swiping the spectacles off
her nose. "As you must know, my lord, I find this situation intolerable."

He
cocked a dark brow at her candid remark. "And pray tell me, Miss Shelby,
do you always speak your mind?"

He
strode toward her, his cool gaze locking on the desk.

She
moved a bit more, trying to block his view. "Well, not always, my
lord."

She
watched in horror as his long limbs quickly ate up the distance between them.
Her heart beat faster. Good heavens. He looked like a determined tiger treading
through the jungle.

He
stopped and tilted his head to the writing desk behind her, his lips curling
into a wry smile. "So, Miss Shelby, who is to be the recipient of your
wonderful pen?"

Distinctly
recalling his words about her having no contact with Mr. Fennington, she
swallowed past the lump in her throat and managed a smile. "A sick
friend."

He
pursed his lips, moving within a hair's breadth of her. He smelled of shaving
soap and fine leather, very male scents that were starting to annoy her because
they did silly things to her stomach.

"A
sick friend?" he repeated. "How very noble of you."

He
snaked his hand around her and when she realized his intent, she spun about and
snatched the letter off the desk, but not before he caught a piece of it too.

The
letter ripped in half.

"Look
what you did!" Her cry of protest covered the relief she felt at holding
the top half of the letter with Fennington's name on it.

He glared
at his half of the letter. "Yours forever... Elizabeth?"

The
words were pushed through locked teeth. Elizabeth gulped. To lie or not to lie,
that was the question.

"Miss
Shelby." He planted his very large hands on top of the desk and glared at
her. "I have given you fair warning, have I not?"

She took
a hesitant step away from his formidable form. "We are not married. And
lord or not, I take no orders from you."

He
seemed to have trouble speaking.

Finally,
after wiping a stiff hand over his face, he took a deep breath and crumpled his
half of the letter in his fist, stuffing the remnants of the missive into the
palm of her hand.

"Have
you no brains at all? Mr. Fennington is a thief and a rake. He will probably
never marry you. His plans are to blackmail your father into buying him
off." His lips thinned when he realized that his fingers were still
touching hers.

Stepping
back, he slipped his hand into his coat pocket. "You may depend upon it.
He will ruin your good name in the process. Is that what you want?"

Elizabeth
gasped in outrage. "Of course not. What you say is not true!" Her
hands shook with fury as she balled the two halves of the letter in her hand.

"It
is true, madam. Every hellish word of it."

"How
dare you use that tone of voice with me. You ... you liar. You, sir, are no
gentleman."

His eyes
flashed. "He chased after my sister one hour before her marriage. He even
tried to kidnap her with plans of taking her to the border. Believe my words or
not, it doesn't change the fact that the man is a weasel, unfit to marry any
lady, rich or poor."

Elizabeth
felt the slap to her heart as if he had physically given her the blow himself.
This man was lying. "I do not believe you." Her knees felt wobbly.
She sank onto the writing chair beside her and held back tears of frustration,
not daring to let this man know how much he affected her.

He stood
back, crossing his arms against his chest, his dark eyes pinning her to the
seat. "Oh, believe me, Miss Shelby, it is all true."

Even
with that aristocratic glare, she was intensely conscious of the man, but she
would never tell him that.

His
jacket fit him as if he were royalty. His neckcloth was folded in simple lines,
as if he had not a care in the world and cared even less about what the world
thought of him. His breeches fit him to perfection, accentuating his powerfully
muscled form. And his confidence vexed her to no end.

Was
there nothing that irked him, besides her? Even his manner this morning, to
save her from an embarrassing scene, was perfection itself. But she was not of
his caliber. Even Fennington had that stupid quizzing glass. And she her
spectacles. They were made for each other.

"You
will not contact Mr. Fennington, is that clear?"

Her eyes
were cold as she gathered her strength and rose from the chair. "No."

He
unfolded his arms and came toward her. "No?"

She
skirted the chair, pushing it in front of her. Well, what did she expect? He
had demanded instant obedience and she had flung her defiance in his face. He
did have his pride, but confound him, so did she. "I said no."