The Convenient Bride (4 page)

Oh, it
didn't mean that all men were bad, it just meant that Briana would not make the
mistake of putting her heart and soul under a man's power ever again. "I
think we have more important things to discuss than the past, Agatha."

"My
dear, you cannot let a death stop you from living. Now, what do you think of
Lord Clayton? I believe he is a trustworthy gentleman."

Briana's
head snapped up, taken completely by surprise.

Good
heavens! She certainly didn't want to bring back memories of a schoolgirl crush
when she had thought herself in love with the handsome lord and his fine violet-blue
eyes. As the years had passed, she realized the man's charm and good looks had
swayed her innocent mind. Still, his kindness had touched her, and she had
never forgotten how he had taught her to waltz.

"I
believe my mother has been speaking to you. Ever since we have been out of
mourning, she has been hounding Lord Clayton every chance she gets. Do you
know, a few months ago she had him cornered at the Elbourne soirée?"

Briana's
cheeks burned as she recalled her mother's hunt for a husband. "I was only
two feet away when I heard her ask him about marriage! Two feet, Agatha! I was
never more embarrassed in my life."

The man
had made a swift retreat to the library and was never seen again the entire
evening. It was obvious he had been horrified at the thought of marriage to a
boring bluestocking like herself. Briana had not spoken to his lordship since.

Agatha
meant well, but at times she wasn't very practical.

The very
notion of Briana and Lord Clayton as a couple was ludicrous. The man would
never look at her twice. And she was no sixteen-year-old now. Indeed, she had
put him out of her mind!

Agatha
scoffed. "Had a feeling your mama had been meddling. But this idea of a
women's shelter, good though it may be, will only hinder your search for a
husband."

Upset,
Briana reached for the door of the carriage. "Jane is ready to help me
find a facility for my shelter."

Agatha
frowned as Briana pulled on the handle. "It's not as if I won't help you,
dear. Perhaps we can find a husband for you at Lord Grimstoke's party. You know
his daughter, Violet. Maybe she can help."

Knowing
it was better to say nothing on the subject of Grimstoke's party, Briana kissed
Agatha on the cheek, stepped down from the carriage and blinked into the late afternoon
sun.

Agatha
waved her parasol in the air. "I might be a bit late, dear. I'm certain
Jane won't mind if you stay a little longer."

Briana
nodded as she walked up the steps of the duke's townhouse to see the duchess.
She understood Agatha's concerns about her finding a husband, but she wasn't
about to tell the lady the true reason she was attending Grimstoke's house party.

As
Briana stepped into the Elbourne townhouse, her brows puckered with guilt.
Before the butler closed the door, she glanced over her shoulder, watching
Agatha's carriage clatter down the street in the direction of Whitehall.

Briana's
position with Whitehall, and with Agatha in particular, had mostly involved
paperwork. But as of yesterday, that had totally changed. Briana was going on
assignment.

The
opportunity for her to attend a house party where there could be an exchange of
information regarding an assassination plot against the Regent was something
Whitehall could not ignore. Ever since Prinny had been booed by his very own
countrymen on his way to open Parliament, every threat against the Regent was
taken seriously.

Not only
that, but Whitehall had informed Briana that Agatha was in charge of the
mission.

Briana
drew in a ragged breath. In a few minutes the lady would be told that her
goddaughter was going undercover as well, and when that happened, heaven help
anyone in Agatha's path... and that of the lady's trusty parasol.

Clayton
sat on the stone bench in the gardens of Elbourne Hall, tugging at his
neckcloth with one hand and holding his list of possible brides in the other.
He raised his blurry gaze toward the sunset as his brother's shadow swayed over
him. "Miss Hookston ain't on the list. Shouldn't be, anyway."

"The
devil with her," Marcus said with the slow drawl of a man who had consumed
his share of Roderick's wine cellar. "You have three ladies to choose
from, Clay. That should be quite enough."

During
the past few hours, the brothers had downed the last two bottles of the duke's
favorite French wine, among other things. Clayton had quickly come to the
decision that if Roderick could not stay and help choose his future bride, then
the duke could dashed well give up his favorite drink.

Clayton
flicked a finger over the names. "Miss Cherrie Black, Lady Georgette, and
Miss Diana Price." Grinning, he picked up the empty bottle on the ground.
"Roderick's brandy is nothing compared to this."

Marcus
chuckled. "Depend upon it, the turn of the century was a very good year.
But if you would like to have your head attached to your body when you depart
the premises, I would suggest you take it upon yourself to dispose of the
evidence."

Clayton
let the bottle slip to the ground as he returned his gaze to the list of
eligible maidens. "She will have to live in the country."

Marcus
plopped down beside him. "Because you wish to travel and live in Town
during the Season. We have already covered that. All these ladies adore the
country."

Clayton's
finger stopped on Lady Georgette. "She must like children. Seem to recall
this lady ain't fond of them."

The
light in Marcus's eyes dimmed. "Then by all means strike the witch off. We
don't need someone like her in the family. Wouldn't do well at all."

"But
I don't have the pen. You left everything in the library."

"You’re
going to need more then pen and ink for this, brother."

The fog
in Clayton's brain was beginning to clear. "It don't matter. I forgot to
take a copy of the blasted will anyway. Banes mentioned he left one for
me."

Marcus
put an arm on his brother's shoulder. "You know, Clay, I've been thinking,
Grimstoke's house party is not such a bad idea after all."

Clayton
rose to his feet, combing a hand through his disheveled hair. He grabbed his
jacket lying on the bench. "Been thinking the same thing. The man is a bit
stuffy, but he would never dismiss a Clearbrook. Won't be hard to obtain an
invitation."

"Stuffy?"
Marcus replied in disapproval. "That is an understatement. Grimstoke
ruined some lady two summers ago."

Clayton's
brows went up. "Ruined her?"

"No,
not like that. She was caught on a boat with Lord Hughs. Some innocent outing
that went awry because of the weather. Grimstoke claimed the girl was compromised
and demanded they marry. Both refused. The girl was shunned from the
ton
and now lives in America. Blasted shame."

Clayton
shrugged into his jacket. "Then I won't be caught on a boat with a lady
unless I intend her to be my wife."

"I
don't think that's funny, Clay. I think what you're doing is dangerous."

Marcus
rose and picked up the empty bottle that Clayton had dropped on the ground.
"Even more dangerous is Roderick when he is in one of those moods. He
won't be too happy, you know. We had best refill this with something more
agreeable than water."

Clayton
let out a chuckle as he walked down the garden path, his boots crunching on the
gravel. "If that were the least of my problems, I would join you in the
refilling process. But duty calls. You can take care of the weighty matter
while I pick up my copy of that cursed will. Won't be but a minute."

Stepping
into the duke's library, Clayton closed the door behind him and made his way to
the desk at the other side of the room. His head was aching like the devil.

And dash
it, he didn't like the idea of making a list of potential wives at all. But if
he wanted that deuced money, he would have to give in to Uncle Cathaven's
demands. A bride of convenience would suit his needs perfectly.

Raising
his gaze to the steady ticking of the mantel clock, he scowled when he thought
of the lost rendezvous with Miss Hookston. He fixed his eyes on the desk,
snatched the will, and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

"Hell
and thunderation," he mumbled. He could be—

At the
sound of a light snore, he snapped his head around. Who the devil?

His eyes
widened at the sight of auburn curls peeking out from the side of a wing chair
near the bookshelves.

A smile
worked its way to his lips as he treaded softly toward the hidden intruder.
Why, it was Miss Garland, sleeping like a baby with her slippers tucked beneath
her bottom and a book in her lap. He tilted his head to scan the title and his
eyes widened with respect.
Archimedes, the Great Mathematician.

She was
called a bluestocking in many circles, but he'd had no idea to the depths of
this woman's knowledge until now. Oh, years ago he had conversed with her many
times in this very room. They had talked of such things as crop rotation and
how many stars were in the sky.

But Archimedes?
He laughed to himself. He seemed to recall she enjoyed studying Egyptian
history, too. On her visits to Elbourne, she had adored his mother's cat,
Egypt, had she not?

He shook
his head as another thought came to him. He pursed his lips, pulled out his
list, looked at it, then switched his attention back to the sleeping lady. No
one on his list possessed any great intellect. At least nothing like Miss
Garland's.

And what
about his future children? He didn't want them to be a bunch of nitwits, did he?

As
quietly as he could, he pulled up a chair and studied the woman. Two delicate
white hands slipped from her lap to the side of her face as she cuddled against
the arm of the chair. He smiled. That was definitely a snore. She was probably waiting
for Jane to return from her shopping excursion with Roderick.

But if
Clayton knew the duke, he had made a romantic side trip with his wife. Miss
Garland might have a longer wait than she planned.

Another
delicate snore. Clayton suppressed the urge to laugh. The lady would be
mortified if she knew he was staring at her. Flickering light from a nearby
candelabrum fingered upon her head, setting off her locks in fiery red streaks.

She let
out a little whimper and Clayton felt an instant tug on his heart. There had always
been an innocence about this girl that had attracted him. He vividly recalled
the day he had taught her to waltz. She had been a shy little thing, but in the
end, she had surprised him when she snapped back with a comment that had both
infuriated and charmed him.

However,
she was Emily's friend—off-limits to him and anyone like him. He was definitely
someone this lady did not need, even though her harassing mother seemed to
think otherwise.

Not
realizing he was smiling, he observed the spray of freckles about her nose.
Society regarded the dots on any female as a sign of ugliness, but to Clayton,
Miss Garland's freckles gave her character. She was different from most ladies,
in her looks and her manner. She wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty in a fragile
sort of way.

He
leaned forward and dropped his gaze to her berry lips. The sweet scent of
vanilla pulled him closer, and in an unguarded moment he almost kissed the
sleeping beauty. Muttering an oath, he quickly rose and pulled at his
neckcloth. That deuced wine must have been stronger than he thought.

He kept
staring at her lips and rubbed his hands along his face in frustration. He
blamed his actions on the castle and the blasted will. Yes, yes, it was Uncle
Cathaven and that stupid bridal clause turning his brain upside down. The
entire situation had upset his balance.

Narrowing
his eyes, he leaned down once again, only to have a peek. He was doing it for
his own good, to prove she meant nothing to him. But before he could stop it
from happening, two unfocused emerald eyes blinked back at him in horror. The
next moment
Archimedes, the Great Mathematician
, took to the air and the
lady shot up with a scream.

Clayton
quickly threw a hand over her mouth and jerked her body against his.
"Devil take it, woman. Do you want the entire household to come running to
your rescue?"

She
seemed slender and fragile beneath his grip, but to his amazement, she tilted
her face to meet his and her fine green gaze skewered him like a piece of meat
on a spit. Why, the little termagant. "I'm letting you go. Just don't
start screaming again." He slowly lifted his hands, but the touch of her
lips against his palm sent a tingle of awareness through him.

"What
were you doing standing over me like that?" she snapped, a rush of pink
tinting her cheeks.

She may
be slender, but fragile? He felt the list in his pocket and looked at the lady,
his lips twisting into a wry smile. Why should Emily determine if this lady was
appropriate for his bride or not? "Why indeed?" he muttered.