A Marquess for Christmas (27 page)

He
could hardly wait to peel off her layers of clothing, revealing the woman
underneath, her smooth skin and generous curves. Taller and larger boned than
most women, she’d fit perfectly against his own lanky frame. Perhaps he’d find
an opportunity to steal a kiss tonight. Surely that was allowed to an engaged
couple.

“Stop
staring.”

Evan
started and turned to see Lydia’s brother Harry standing beside him. “Sorry.”

Harry
raised a blond eyebrow. “You should be. If you weren’t already betrothed to my
sister I’d have to call you out for the way you were undressing her with your
eyes.”

Evan’s
face grew warm and he tugged at his tight collar. “I’m glad it’s all settled,
but let me tell you, once a man is determined to marry, the waiting becomes
devilish hard.”

Harry
laughed, his blue eyes twinkling. “I can only imagine.”

“Your
turn will come,” Evan assured him.

“I
know,” Harry grumbled. “Obligation to future generations, carry on the family
name, all that rot.”

Evan
chuckled and clapped the other man on the shoulder. “Buck up, you’ve time yet
to sow a few more wild oats.”

“Not
if Mama has anything to say about it. I’ll be expected to dance attendance on
Phoebe when she makes her come out next spring.”

“Ah,
yes,” Evan replied, glancing at
Harry’s
younger
sister who truly was the perfect English rose. Small and petite, with flaxen
hair, a rosy complexion, vivid blue eyes and a flirtatious manner.
 
“I expect you’ll be busy warding off
hoards of beaus.”

“Don’t
I know it,” Harry replied in a gloomy tone. “The sooner we get that one
married, the better.”

Evan
said nothing, just thanked his lucky stars he was marrying Lydia instead. He
had no use for silly young chits who thought the world revolved around them
just because they were pretty. Females like her were far too much trouble.

No,
he much preferred a serious, intelligent, sensible girl. Like Lydia. He’d
expected her to kick up a fuss about marrying a merchant, especially one with
the taint of Indian blood. But so far as he knew, she hadn’t. He was a lucky
man.

* * * *

How
was she going to make it through dinner seated next to him?

Lydia
glanced across the room at Evan Arthur Channing, scion of a fabulously wealthy
merchant family. Her fiancé, soon to be her husband.

They
had met but once, when her brother brought Mr. Channing home to discuss the
financial arrangements with her mother. One highborn bride with entrée into
polite society in exchange for an unspecified amount of cash to shore up the
family coffers.

Just
being in the same room with him disconcerted her. It might have been his dark
good looks, the sleek black hair, deep olive skin and liquid brown eyes. Those
eyes that studied her as if she were some sort of scientific specimen. He
seemed to see inside her, right to her cowardly soul.

She
turned to check her appearance in the drawing room mirror, an excuse to avoid
his intense gaze. Earlier her maid had somehow managed to shape her normally
long, straight, blonde hair into a curly, fashionable style. It would not last
the evening, if experience were any guide, but for the moment it looked good.
Her visage stared back, skin wan, eyes wary. What did he think of her
appearance tonight? Despite her deep resentment at being forced to wed to save
her family from ruin, she couldn’t help but worry what he would think.

“Stop
fussing, you look lovely tonight.”

Lydia
turned and smiled at her sister Phoebe, who truly was beautiful in her pale
pink gown. “As do you.”

“But
I am not the one being devoured by a pair of dark eyes.”

Lydia
felt a flush on her cheeks. “Then it is not my imagination?”

Phoebe
laughed softly. “No, dearest, your intended can barely take his eyes off you. I
begin to envy you your merchant prince.”

“Shall
we trade places, then?” Lydia kept her tone light, disinterested.

Phoebe
laughed and shook her blond head. “It is far too late for that! Besides, it was
not me he came to court.” After that parting shot, Phoebe drifted away.

With
a start, Lydia realized it was true. There had never been any notion of Evan
having to choose between the sisters. She had been the one in his sights from
the start.

 
When she saw him moving in her
direction, she forced a smile to her lips. This wasn’t what she had wanted,
this arranged marriage to a stranger, but she’d be a fool to think she could
marry for love. How had she, plain, overly tall Lydia of the straight hair and
wan complexion, ever let herself dream of romance? That was for pretty, petite
girls, like her sister. Whose brilliant debut would be made possible by the
dashing of Lydia’s own hopes and dreams.

Stop
it. You won’t do yourself any good by descending into bitterness. What’s done
is done.

Evan
sketched a short bow. “Good evening, Miss Blatchford. May I escort you to
dinner?”

“Yes,
of course.” She placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her into the
dining room. She liked the fact that he was so tall. She never felt gangly
around him, though she was a bit nervous.

The
table was set for seven—four
Blatchfords
and
three
Channings
. Lydia found herself seated between
Evan and her brother Harry. She glanced across the table at Evan’s mother and
uncle. Frederick Channing was half-Indian, with a darker complexion that Evan’s
light brown. In his late forties, he was still vigorous and handsome, in an
exotic way. In contrast,
Selina
Channing was fair,
with graying blond hair and pale blue eyes.

“I
am so glad we could lure you back to town for this occasion, Mrs. Channing,”
Lydia said. “Evan tells me you prefer the seaside to the bustle of London.”

Selina
Channing laughed. “Indeed I do. There isn’t much
that can budge me from my cottage by the sea in summer, but the engagement of
my only son…” She gave Evan a fond look. “I couldn’t be happier. In fact, I
don’t expect you’ll see much of me after the wedding.”

“I
hope you will not be a stranger, ma’am,” Lydia protested.

“Mama
is not overly fond of town,” Evan said. “But she knows she is welcome any
time.”

“Of
course,” Lydia echoed.

Mrs.
Channing waved a hand. “I’ll come when you need me. But the town house is yours
to run as you see fit, my dear. It probably needs a bit of redecorating.”

Lydia
smiled at her warmly. “I look forward to the challenge.” Her prospective
mother-in-law seemed like a pleasant woman, not the interfering type at all, so
that was one worry put aside.

If
only she could stop worrying about the man she was about to marry.

All
through dinner, she was aware of his presence at her side. His quick smile,
pleasant manners, his long, long fingers that occasionally brushed her hand.
Then there was his deep voice murmuring in her ear during the meal. It mattered
not what he said, the very sound of his voice sent alternate waves of heat and
cold through her. She was barely been able to eat a bite, though she’d drained
her wineglass more than once before the champagne toast was served. She drank
that as well.

Now, feeling a bit
woolly-headed, she walked out onto the balcony for some fresh air where a
slight breeze cooled her heated face. The men were still having their port in
the dining room while her mother and Phoebe sat and visited with Mrs. Channing.
Lydia knew she should go back inside and converse with her future
mother-in-law.

Lydia
was eager to learn more about Evan’s childhood. She knew his father had died
when he was a babe in arms, murdered during the
Sepoy
Uprising, and that Mrs. Channing’s Indian in-laws had protected her and the
infant Evan from a similar fate. She must have loved her husband greatly, for
she had never remarried.

It
was a tale worthy of one of her favorite romance novels, but she wasn’t in the
mood to be sociable. Thank heavens it was a small gathering, just her immediate
family, Evan, his mother and his uncle Frederick. She’d never have been able to
deal with a crowd tonight.

When
the men entered the room, her gaze flew to Evan. He looked around the room,
frowning, until he spotted her standing by the open door. A smile creased his
face as he headed straight for her. She clutched the doorjamb as her heart
started pounding.

“There
you are,” he said, stopping in front of her. “I feared you’d left.”

“I
just needed some fresh air,” she explained.

“Are
you well?” he asked, taking her hand solicitously. Heat radiated from him,
shooting up her arm.

“I’m
fine, just a bit warm.”

“I
am, too,” he said, guiding her to the railing looking over the small garden at
the back of the house. The scent of roses and honeysuckle wafted up.

 
“Since our engagement is official, I’ll
send the announcement to the Times tomorrow, and then speak to the vicar about
having the banns read. Shall we set a date now?”

She
stiffened, staring straight ahead. Official. The word pounded in her head. Once
the announcement was published, there would be no backing out. She closed her
eyes, not knowing what to say.

“Lydia?”

Gently,
he grasped her chin and turned her head toward his. When she looked up, his
expression was concerned.

“What’s
wrong, my dear?”

Everything.
But she could not say so. In truth, she was afraid of the weeks to come. Of
what this marriage would mean. How it would change her life.

He
moved his hand to her shoulder. “Are you apprehensive?”

She
managed a jerky nod.

“So
am I,” he whispered.

She
stared at him in astonishment. “Truly?”

“Truly.
This is a big step for both of us. I realize we don’t know each other very
well. If you’d like a long engagement–“

”No.
Waiting will just make things worse.”

He
quirked a dark brow. “How so?”

Taking
a step back, she spread her hands. “It will just give me more time to
dread–“

She
broke off at the injured look on his face. “Forgive me, but surely you
understand this marriage was never my preference.”

He
turned away from her and ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, I know, but I hoped
you had become resigned to it.”

“I
have. At least I have tried to be,” she said, the words tumbling out of her
mouth. “That’s why I think it best just to plunge ahead. Once the banns have
been read thrice, we can wed almost immediately.”

He
turned back, a frown still marring his forehead. “Will that give your mother
enough time to plan?”

She
shrugged. “All I need is a new gown.”

“But
won’t society think it odd we married in such haste?”

She
looked him in the eye. “Let me make one thing clear. I do not give a fig for
what society thinks. If you supposed you were marrying a social butterfly, let
me banish that notion right now.”

He
smiled at her. “Harry said you were sensible, but this surprises me. I’m happy
to agree to a short engagement.” He stepped closer, towering over her. “The
sooner I can make you mine, the better.”

Her
heart pounded and her breath caught as he lowered his head and touched his lips
to hers for but a second before backing away. She drew in a deep breath. Her
first kiss and it had been over almost before it was begun. She didn’t know
whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“Shall
we go inside and discuss the wedding plans with your parents?”

“Not
yet. There is something else I’d like to say.” It was now or never.

“Yes,
my dear, what is it?”

She
licked her lips then plunged ahead. “I know how these things work. Arranged
marriages, that is. I won’t expect fidelity from you.”

His
shocked expression surprised her. “Is that what you think, Lydia? That I’m
marrying you with the intention of cheating on you?”

“Perhaps
not now,” she said. “But in a few years… It’s not as if ours is a love match. I
won’t cut up a fuss if you decide to take a mistress. As long as you are
discreet.”

“How
very... sophisticated of you,” he said, his tone dry enough to parch a desert.

She
took a deep breath before continuing. “And once I’ve produced the requisite
heir and spare, I assume I’ll be free to seek my pleasure elsewhere.”

The
thunderous look on his face startled her and she stepped back.

“You
will do no such thing,” he said fiercely, reaching for her. “Ours may not be a
love match now, but I fully intend to see it turns into one.”

With
that, he pulled her into his embrace, trapping her arms between them as his
encircled her shoulders and waist. Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her
with a heady combination of passion and anger. Her resistance crumbled in the
face of his onslaught. She clutched at his lapels and returned his kiss, even
parting her lips when his tongue probed them. Overwhelmed by the sensations his
lips provoked, she let her eyes drift shut as she clung to him.

When
he let her go, he was still visibly upset. “There will be no more talk of
infidelity. Have I made myself clear, Lydia?”

(Note:
Seducing A Reluctant Bride was previously published under the title Love… By
the Book.)

For more information, go to
http://lyndilamont.com/ReluctantBride.html

Excerpt From

Loving the
Marquess

By Suzanna Medeiros

Landing a Lord
Series

Sexy Historical Romance