His Jilted Bride (Historical Regency Romance) (3 page)

Closing her eyes to block out the
movements around her, she racked her brain, but nothing was coming
back to her. Her legs began to tremble, and she moved her hand to
get better purchase on the nightstand, her fingers brushing
something hard and cold.

Slowly, she turned her head toward the
nightstand and opened one eye. A glass. And a note of only two
words: DRINK THIS.

She frowned. She didn't recognize the
giant, stiff writing, but a snatch of memory of accepting a glass
of punch from Philip flashed in her mind. Then she'd... What had
she done with it? She hadn't drunk it right away; instead, she'd
walked around and then gone into a dark room. Yes, a dark room
where she'd set it down on a desk. But why was she in a dark room
alone?

Unable to stand any longer, she sank
down to the mattress and picked up the liquid. She sniffed it then
jerked it away from her face with so much force she nearly spilled
it. That was the foulest smelling thing she'd ever been unfortunate
enough to inhale. There wasn't a chance in the world she was going
to drink it. Not like that sweet, fruity punch she'd tasted last
night.

More snatches of last night came to
mind. She'd been taking sips of her punch while digging through
drawers. Her frown deepened. That couldn't be right, could it? Why
would she be digging in drawers in a darkened room?

She looked around the room, hoping to
find some sort of clue about what had happened last night other
than her drinking some very delicious punch. But there was nothing
in the room that looked out of place. Oak armoire. Vanity with a
large oval mirror hung above and a plush pink-topped stool
underneath. The nightstand next to her with a three-candle
candelabra and the note. The demi mask at her feet. The pine che—
The demi mask at her feet? Despite the revulsion in her stomach,
she dropped her gaze to the floor where a white and gold demi mask
lay at her feet.

As if suddenly the pressure of rising
water broke through a dam, incomplete memories came flooding back
to her.

The first was of Philip asking her to
find a bundle of papers. That's what she'd been looking for in the
drawers.

Then she'd been frustrated she'd drank
the entire glass of punch at once and lit the candle. That's when
the mysterious stranger appeared...

They'd talked, about what she couldn't
say. Then she'd... Then he'd... Then they'd...

Fractured memories of him holding her
and carrying her to this room formed in her mind. But then,
suddenly things were very clear. She'd been chasing Elijah around
his father's estate, threatening to kiss him, and when she did,
he'd kissed her back.

Her blood turned cold. That kiss was
real. It had to be. It was far too vivid not to be, which would
mean...

Her hand flew to the gaping bodice of
her gown What had he done after they'd kissed? She searched her
brain but nothing was coming to mind. Clearly the masked scoundrel
from last night had seen fit to undo the top of her gown, but had
he touched her anywhere else? She might never know.

Tears stung her eyes, blinding her,
and she pushed to her feet. She needed to leave this awful place
and go home.

She exited the room and padded down
the hall. Not a soul was in sight. She'd been to her cousin's house
often enough to know her way around and found the stairs easily
enough.

Several loud snores filled the air and
Amelia gripped the handrail tighter as she descended the stairs as
quietly as she could and found a relatively new footman, rather
than the aging butler who'd known her for her entire life, to send
a carriage for her.

Shame and uncertainty and
even fear settled in her stomach as she rode back to Mumford Hill,
her family's country estate. Mother and Father were in London and
likely by wearing the disguise Philip had selected for her, she
hadn't been recognized last night. But that did nothing to replace
her lost innocence and eliminate the other consequences she might
face now. No not
might
, even if she didn't conceive, she was now impure and that
meant she was unmarriageable.

A sob built in her throat and a lone
tear slipped from her eye and by the time she arrived at her house,
she was a sobbing mess.

“
Where the blazes have you been?” Philip slurred without
preamble before she'd crossed the threshold.

Amelia blinked at her brother. He
looked nearly as bad as she felt. His face had several nasty cuts,
both of his eyes had large purple circles around them and the
entire left side of his face was swollen. “What happened to
you?”

“
Never you mind that.” He likely attempted to scowl at her as
he said it, but his face was too swollen and bruised to tell.
“Where the hell did you go last night?”

“
To Nigel's study to look for the papers as you
instructed.”

Philip crossed his arms. “And did you
find them?”

“
N-no.” She wet her lips. “I looked for them, but I couldn't
find them. I—I'm sorry, Philip.”

“
It's of no account,” he said as crisply as his swollen mouth
would allow. “We can try again. Now, you go upstairs and get
presentable. Lord Friar is expected to come for a visit this
afternoon and I do believe it is time you accept his
suit.”

“
W-what?” Amelia stammered. Lord Friar was one of the most
vile, ungentlemanly creatures she'd ever met. He'd pursued her
relentlessly since her come out five years ago, and to her good
fortune, Father had rejected his suit, no matter how strong his
argument of having plenty of funds and of Amelia swiftly becoming a
spinster.

“
You're ruined,” Philip burst out, gesturing to her
dress.

She'd nearly forgotten her own state
of undress at seeing him. “We don't know that yet,” she said,
hopefully. Frankly, being condemned to spinsterhood was better than
being trapped into a marriage with Lord Friar and his leering eyes
and wandering hands.

“
You might have escaped that house unseen,” Philip allowed.
“But you are still ruined.”

“
How do you know?”

“
I just do,” he said, lifting his chin a notch. “And you will
marry him within the fortnight, so if there's a child, he will
assume it's his.”

Amelia blanched and her hands went
straight to her abdomen. “I cannot marry that man.” She refused to
say the word “gentle” in regards to Lord Friar.

“
Then do you plan to be branded a whore and bring shame on
your entire family?” Philip countered, a hardness in his eyes
Amelia had never glimpsed before. He sighed. “Don't you understand
this is what you must do now? Your chances of making a match are
diminishing by the day as it is and now that you've—you've—” He
gestured toward her abdomen. “You cannot afford not to
marry.”

“
I could go off to live in the country,” she said in a broken
whisper.

He snorted. “Is that what you think to
do? Go off and live in the country?”

“
It's a possibility.” Not one that most young ladies dreamed
about, but when one found herself in a delicate way without the
bonds of marriage, it was certainly a possibility.

“
Not for you it's not. You know as well as I do that Father
doesn't have the funds to keep his townhouse in London. Keeping you
hidden in the country is the equivalent of building a castle in the
clouds.”

“
I don't have to have my own cottage,” she pointed
out.

Philip's jaw dropped. “Are
you suggesting you and your bastard live
here?”

“
It is my home, too.”

“
No,” he snapped. “It's Father's home and one day it will be
mine and I will not let you and some bastard bring shame to
it.”

She blanched. “We don't even know that
I've conceived.”

“
Nor do we know that you haven't, and won't for a while yet, I
expect. Which is why we need to accept Lord Friar's suit today.
Tell him you'd like to have the wedding before the end of the
month, so you get to enjoy the majority of the Season with your
husband. He'll understand that. Then in nine months when there's a
grand event, he'll just assume it's his.”

“
You seem to have everything worked out,” she remarked. “But I
wonder why he'd be so inclined to want to marry me once he finds
out about my ruin.”

“
Do you plan to tell him?”

Her face heated. “No. I thought you
would.”

“
Amelia, listen to the nonsense you speak. If I tell him then
he won't marry you.”

“
But if you don't and he finds out after we marry he might
petition for a parliamentary divorce,”

Philip twisted his lips. “All right.
I'll inform him, but you must promise that if he doesn't mind that
you're no longer chaste that, you'll marry him.”

That was a promise no
young lady wanted to make. But it was also one that Amelia couldn't
afford
not
to
make. At least this way her mother and father wouldn't have to
suffer the scandal of a bastard grandchild, she whispered to
herself as the last rays of hope that one day Elijah Banks would
come back from one of his many travels and fall in love with
her.

She took a deep breath. “I
promise.”

Chapter Three

Two weeks later

Brighton

Elijah Banks clenched his hands into
twin fists and willed himself to stay seated.

He shifted on the hard bench and took
a deep, calming breath. It had only been forty minutes. Lord Friar
could still arrive.

The silence that filled the room
seemed louder than the crowds who gathered each night at
Vauxhall.

Or mayhap that was just the steady
tattoo of his blood pounding in his ears.

“
Would you relax?” his twin Henry whispered. “It's not your
wedding.”

And what a pity that
was.
For as much as he'd denied the
possibility to his father when he was younger, he'd gone and fallen
in love with Lady Amelia Brice. And desperately wished it
was
his wedding today.
“It might not be my wedding, but she
is
my friend.”

“
Do you think he woke up this morning and realized he was
about to marry a spinster?” one of the ladies sitting in the pew
behind him asked with a slight giggle.

Elijah bridled at her remark. Amelia
might be four-and-twenty, but she wasn't what he'd consider a
spinster. Besides, if anyone was getting the bad end of this
bargain, it was Amelia. At least she was young and attractive.
Hiram, Lord Friar was older than her father; and though Elijah had
never actually seen the man, as he mixed in circles that even
Elijah wasn't welcome in, the man's reputation of being one of the
worst sort of no-good, lecherous scoundrel preceded him.

Henry lifted his eyebrows at him and
Elijah jerked his gaze away. In a moment such as this, he wished he
wasn't a twin. For as odd as it might seem to others, he and Henry
had the ability to finish each other's thoughts and sentences with
no difficulty, and with something as simple as an exchanged look,
they could communicate every thought and feeling they had to the
other. And right now, he didn't want his twin to know a single
thing that was racing through his mind.

“
Only five more minutes, then I can claim my winnings,”
another lady said behind him.

The hair on the back of Elijah's neck
stood on end. What was she talking about?

He was saved from asking when one of
the lady's companions inquired.

“
Nothing you'd be interested in, Griselda,” the woman said
archly. “Just a little wagering.”

“
You placed a wager on the wedding today?” the lady who must
have been Griselda said in shock.

“
Perhaps.”

A little sputter of laughter passed
one's lips and Elijah's temper flared. Amelia had been his friend
as long as he could remember and he'd be damned if he'd continue to
sit idle while she was mocked behind her back.

He shoved to his feet. “Excuse me,” he
murmured, pushing his way down the pew and to the aisle, where he
dodged a multitude of curious looks on his way to the back of the
sanctuary.

Closing the large oak door
behind him, he exhaled and swallowed. He could do this. He
needed
to do this. He
owed it to Amelia.

Chancing a look down both sides of the
hall to make sure her father or brother weren't stirring about, he
knocked softly at the door to her bridal chamber.
“Amelia?”

No answer.

He twisted his lips and considered
knocking again, then dismissed the idea. She was in there, he was
certain of it. Quiet so not to startle or upset her, he turned the
knob and opened the door.