The Bride Says No (6 page)

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with the sun shining off a head full of dark hair that would make any Corinthian proud. He moved with intent of purpose.

Aileen did not recognize him—but Tara did. She skidded to a halt, her eyes widening in shock.

The man didn’t see them. He reached inside the coach for something he’d apparently left behind, made a comment to one of the footmen, and walked back into the house.

“Who is he?” Aileen asked.

A short, hysterical laugh escaped Tara, a sound of impending doom. “Who is he?” she repeated. “He’s my intended. Mr. Blake Stephens.”

A
re you certain?” Aileen insisted. Why would Mr. Stephens make an appearance anywhere close to Annefield?

“Of course I’m certain,” was the terse reply. Tara whirled to face Aileen. “I can’t see him. I won’t know what to say. Or are you going to prod me into being
bold
and confront a man who might very well wring my neck?”

Aileen stood a moment in indecision. When she woke this morning, nothing could have prepared her for the unusual circumstances of this day.

Yesterday her life had been predictable and, yes, boring.

Today she was being called upon to rescue a sister whose friendship, in spite of their bickering, she had missed very much.

“I don’t even know why Blake is here,” Tara was complaining. “He should be furious with me.”

“He should,” Aileen thoughtfully agreed. “And perhaps he has come so that the earl can bully you into marriage, but I won’t let that happen.” She began walking toward the house, every step filling her with new purpose.

“Aileen, what are you about to do?” Tara called.

“Defend you,” Aileen answered.

“Defend me?” came the incredulous response.

Aileen turned. Her sister hadn’t taken a step to follow but stood alone, looking lost and fearful.

“Aye, defend you,” Aileen said. “I am even going to
relish
the battle.” A bitterness she’d kept tamped down so deep inside her that she’d almost forgotten it swelled forth. “The earl knew Geoff was not a suitable husband for any woman.
He knew,
Tara, and still he pushed me into marriage to Geoff because he wanted the money. He
sold
me, and he sold you. And then, when I went to him battered and beaten, an arm broken and bruises all over my body, the earl told me it was my problem, not his.”

Tara’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know Geoff had done that to you.”

“That and more,” Aileen admitted bitterly. “But he couldn’t break my spirit. After all, I am a Davidson, and I give thanks every day that I am free of the monster I married. It was a blessing to hear the French shot him.”

“You don’t truly mean that,” Tara protested.

“I do,” Aileen assured her. “No other woman will go through what I did. Furthermore, I am not about to let the earl bully you into a match you do not want. A woman should be able to choose her husband, or
un-
choose him if she so desires.”

“What are you going to do?” Tara asked, uncertain.

“I’m going to tell the earl that you shall marry for love and no other reason. Yes,
that
is what I will say.” Aileen started for the house.

“But you don’t believe in love,” Tara reminded her.

Aileen paused in her charge. “I do for my sister. You have the right to want what you want. Are you coming? Or shall I plead your case alone?”

Tara looked to the house in indecision. “Father will be angry. He won’t understand.”

“Aye, but he will manage.” White-hot anger surged through Aileen. “In fact those are the very words he said years ago when I went to him over Geoff’s bouts of temper. He told me ‘to manage.’ I shall enjoy returning the advice when he realizes that his youngest daughter will not be cowed as I was. He can no longer sell us to the highest bidder, and he will have to ‘manage’ to find funds from some other source. Or he can give up gaming,” she said brightly. “There is a brilliant idea!” She leveled her gaze on Tara. “So are you joining me?”

Her sister drew breath and released it before saying, “I still don’t want to see Mr. Stephens.”

“You must. The man has obviously traveled here to see you, and the truth is, you do owe him an apology.”

“What will I say?”

“You will say that you regret you have changed your mind and you cannot marry him.”

“Do I mention Ruary?”

“I wouldn’t, but you should inform Mr. Stephens,” Aileen continued, warming to the idea, “that you have decided you will only marry for love. That will reinforce
my
position with our mutual sire.” Oh, yes, she could not wait to deliver this blow to the earl. His creditors were probably breathing down his neck. They usually were. But the day had come for his daughters to say,
Enough
.

“We shall then see what this Mr. Stephens is made of,” Aileen observed. “If he deeply cares for you, then he will protest his loving concern—”

Tara snorted her doubts.

“If he doesn’t, then he should see that the two of you are not a match,” Aileen finished. “After all, marriage is not easy. A woman loses so much. She must be clear-eyed.”

“Yes, clear-eyed,” Tara echoed. “And that is what I am. I love Ruary. I will not settle for anyone else. I’d rather be alone.”

Aileen doubted her sister’s resolve. Living alone was not easy. However, now was not the time to quibble. “Good. Then let us go tell
Father
.” Since that day almost six years ago when a frightened Aileen had run to her parent for help and had been rebuffed, she’d not used that term of affection. And there was no respect in her voice when she used it now.

She started for the house. This time, Tara hurried to fall in step beside her. They walked together as sisters should. In spite of the distance of age and the passing of time, the bond between them was strong. Together they could battle dragons.

They entered the house.

“Where is the earl?” Aileen asked Ingold, who had been in a conversation with Mrs. Watson while servants dashed around to respond to their master’s sudden arrival.

“His lordship is in the library with his
guest
.” Ingold emphasized the last word as if to warn the sisters what they would face. He was no fool. Aileen was certain he’d known from the moment Tara had arrived dressed as a lad that something was up.

“Thank you,” Aileen murmured and set off for the library, located down the hall across from the family sitting room.

Tara’s step started to slow, but Aileen took her hand. “You have done nothing wrong,” she whispered.

“Just jilted my intended and masqueraded as a boy all over the countryside,” Tara answered.

“Masquerading is not murder. Jilting is not mayhem,” Aileen replied, wanting to put the issue in perspective. “A woman has a right to change her mind.”

“Not if she is one of Father’s daughters.”

“Then we are starting a new tradition,” Aileen answered. “Besides, if anyone should understand the capricious nature of women, it is a man who has had two wives and is renowned for the pursuit of women in all shapes and sizes.” She rapped smartly on the library door.

“
Come in,
” was their father’s gruff response.

Aileen had forgotten the sound of his voice. She’d put it out of her mind. Since Tara made no move to open the door, Aileen reached past her and turned the handle. She gave the door a small push and it slowly swung open.

Annefield’s library was Aileen’s favorite room, and she was accustomed to using it as her own. An ornately carved walnut desk dating back to the Reformation sat in front of the window so its occupant could take advantage of the light. Her great-grandfather Darius Davidson had been a great collector of books, and the shelves lining one whole wall were filled with tomes on botany, history and ancient classics.

Aileen had seen to the arrangement of furniture before the marble hearth—large, upholstered chairs with goose down pillows. Her own mother had picked them out. The best was a red and gold brocade with a deep seat and cushioned arms. Aileen had spent many an evening before a fire enjoying a good book in that chair, her feet resting upon a wooden footstool.

She’d added a table in the center of the grouping so she always had a place to set a tray or a glass of sherry, and she’d instructed the servants to always keep a vase of fresh flowers from the summer garden on the table. She liked this feminine touch to such a masculine room.

Mr. Stephens sat in Aileen’s favorite chair.

From afar he had appeared tall.

Now he seemed almost gigantic; not only did his figure fill the chair but his presence commanded the entire room as well.

He did not rise for them, as would have been proper. Instead, he seemed to settle deeper into the chair, his long legs, encased in well-cut breeches and highly polished boots, stretched out in front of him. He held an empty glass in the hand of the arm resting over the side of the chair, and his hard jaw spoke louder than words that he wished to be anywhere but where he was right here, in this moment.

He was also one of the most intriguingly handsome men Aileen had ever laid eyes on.

She had assumed Blake Stephens would be good looking. His reputation as a marriage catch and Tara’s interest in him had preordained that would be true.

But what Aileen had not anticipated, what she was not prepared for, was
her
reaction to Mr. Stephens.

She lived in a country known for brawny, masculine men. She’d come to expect broad shoulders and well-formed legs. They were everywhere.

What she hadn’t expected was for Mr. Stephens to have these qualities
and more
. His face was interesting. His nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken, and there were laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and cynical ones around his mouth.

He also didn’t strike Aileen as the sort who could be forced into anything he didn’t want to do. He appeared full of pride, with an almost defiant sense of his own self-worth, and he seemed far from heartbroken.

Oh, no, he had the air of a tiger, an angry one.

Now she understood Tara’s reluctance to confront him.

The earl stood by the liquor cabinet—of course.

He had apparently just finished a dram and was ready to pour himself another from one of the five decanters kept there along with glassware, always ready and waiting for the moment that he should deign to make an appearance at Annefield.

The earl of Tay had once cut an imposing figure. He was a rapier-thin man. From him, Aileen had received her height, and Tara could claim his coloring. His once flaming red hair had long ago vanished. It now resembled the color of a mouse pelt, and he combed it forward to hide his receding hairline.

He’d aged since Aileen had seen him last. His paunch was more pronounced, the lines of his face more self-satisfied. And yet, there was still an air of masculine vigor around him.

Tara had not moved since the door opened. Aileen gave her a wee nudge in the back. Her sister took a step forward.

Aileen nudged again.

Another step, and then another. They were fully in the room. Tara in front and Aileen standing staunchly behind her, ready, and so willing, to leap forward and protect her.

“So, you’ve decided to present yourself,” their father said in his booming voice, ignoring Aileen and directing his sneering comment to Tara. He had a mild accent, an Anglicized one. Aileen had once tried to tone hers down as well. Now she happily embraced it, proud of its soft, musical lilt.

Tara stood silent, her expression tight. Aileen wished her sister was bolder, but she could forgive her. It was hard to face their father when he was angry. Displeasure always made him unpredictable.

Aileen felt herself bristle. She was ready for battle, but before she could speak, Tara turned to her intended.

“Hello, Mr. Stephens.” She sounded very young, defenseless.

He didn’t speak. If he had truly been a tiger, his tail would have twitched his response—and Aileen decided she did not like him.

In fact, this whole interview was a bad idea. Tara wasn’t ready for confrontation yet, so Aileen took her arm. “Mr. Stephens is apparently suffering from a lack of manners. Come, Tara. Let us not linger here.”

Mr. Stephens did not like that, not one bit. Outrage lit his eyes, and Aileen couldn’t help but smile. If she’d learned one thing while she’d been married, it was how to tweak a man’s nose.

But Tara shook her arm off. She took a step forward. “I owe you an apology, sir.” Her voice trembled slightly, but it was filled with determination. “I’m sorry that I treated you with such disregard.”

Mr. Stephens did not move. He sat still, too still. Aileen wanted him to say something, to respond to her sister’s very pretty apology in the way a gentleman should, but that undercurrent of anger was all around him.

Their father spoke. “You did make a muddle of this wedding, Tara. And a sorry one it is. However,
I
have saved the day.”

Tara turned to him. “Saved the day?”

The earl capped the whisky decanter and raised his glass as if celebrating his cleverness. “There
will
be a wedding. I learned of your leaving in time to send word that the breakfast would be cancelled since you decided you wished a Highland wedding surrounded by family.” He didn’t wait for a response but plunged ahead, announcing, “And so we shall have the wedding here in Kenmore.” He referred to the village a short distance away. “We will be right and proper, with the banns and all.”

Tara frowned, as if she wasn’t certain she understood. “We are still to marry?”

Their father walked up to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Aye. Stephens has agreed.” His voice lowered as he said, “You are very lucky, daughter. Your rash actions have made matters very difficult. We are fortunate for Stephens’s good humor. Another man would have shamed you, but he is forgiving.”

Aileen slid a suspicious look at Mr. Stephens. His shoulders had stiffened with the earl’s announcement. She wondered what the true reason was for his agreeing to this marriage.

“Consequently,” the earl was saying with his air of pompous importance, “in London, they aren’t discussing your reckless behavior and your ruin but how charming it is that a bride wishes to properly celebrate the sacrament of marriage. Of course,
I
went to considerable trouble to make these changes. You understand how difficult it was?”