The Wagered Bride (18 page)

He
grabbed hold of her shoulders. "You cannot change your mind."

"Let
me go. You're hurting me."

Reluctantly,
he stepped back. "Beg your pardon. It's just that I love you so much, I
can never think of letting you go."

Maybe she
had misjudged him. "Mr. Fennington, I don't want to hurt you, but you must
see that what we had was a silly infatuation and nothing more. It is entirely
my fault for leading you to believe I would marry you, and I pray you will
forgive me, but I can see that we would no longer suit."

"Forgive
you," he hissed. "Why? Because you have fallen in love with a lord
like your father wanted you to." A low rumble of laughter released from
his chest. "Oh, this is too much."

A wave
of uneasiness coursed through her. "This is my engagement ball," she
uttered, afraid now that people might hear them. "I cannot be away any
longer. Someone will miss me.

His
sudden hold on her arm startled her. "You think that handsome lord loves
you? What kind of innocent are you?"

Elizabeth
tried to wiggle out of his grip, but found herself being dragged further into
the bushes.

"Mr.
Fennington. I have tried to be nice to you, but it seems clear to me that you
do not understand the word 'no.' "

"I
heard and saw everything, Miss Shelby. The words of your undying love. The way
he kissed you, as if you were the only woman he loved. But the fact of the
matter is, he never told you he loved you. His latest flirt is that new opera
singer. It's not as if his brothers don't know it. How can you be so naive? His
kisses were nothing more than a ploy to marry you without a fight."

"I—I
don't believe you." But her heart began to slowly crack. Stephen had never
declared his love for her. And she, fool that she was, had declared her love
for him like some silly child.

"Tell
me, whose kiss did you like best, Lord Stephen Clearbrook's or mine?"

Elizabeth
stared back in alarm at Fennington's twisted smile. "I need to return to
the ballroom. Now, if you will please unhand me, sir."

Before
she could finish, he pushed his lips onto hers. "You will never be free of
me, Elizabeth Shelby. How do you think your lord will feel when he discovers
you have been meeting with your long lost lover?"

The
crunch of gravel sounded behind her, followed by a low, familiar voice. "I
would think the man would not be favorable to the idea, would you, Miss
Shelby?”

Elizabeth
spun around and gasped in horror as Stephen's towering silhouette appeared
before them. He took another step into the moonlight and the tautness of his
face was quite clear. Disgust glimmered in his eyes as he tilted his head toward
the ballroom. "Return to your engagement ball, Miss Shelby."

"It...
well, this is not what it seems."

His
black brows narrowed. "To the ballroom, Miss Shelby. Or need I carry you
back?"

She
clenched her teeth, trying to stem the flow of tears.

Avoiding
the gazes of both men, she walked toward the music, her eyes barely able to see
where she was going.

A few
seconds after Elizabeth slipped into the ballroom, she was stopped by Lady Bringston.
"Elizabeth, dear, have you been introduced to the Duke of
Wellington?"

Elizabeth
looked up, startled to see the war hero standing beside her. "Forgive me,
Your Grace. I have been busy with the other guests."

She
blushed as the man took his hand in hers. "Miss Shelby, delighted to meet
you. And there is nothing to forgive. My congratulations on your upcoming
marriage." He gave her a wink and leaned forward. "Hope you won't forbid
your gentleman to play cards with me now and then? Not like some of those wives
I hear about?"

Forbid
Stephen to play cards? She could never forbid Stephen anything. The idea was
ludicrous. Almost as ludicrous as a knight in shining armor coming to her
rescue. Besides, she would never be his wife, so what did it matter?

She laughed,
displaying a merriment she did not feel.

But
inside, she was numb to the world. Hot tears bubbled up her throat.

She had
made such a fool of herself. She hoped Stephen did not hate her. Perhaps she
could explain. But would he believe her? Could she ever win back his trust?

"You
will regret this," Fennington said, reeling back and holding his nose.

Stephen
was almost enjoying himself. If it were not for the sight of Fennington kissing
his intended, a facer to Fennington's idiotic quizzing glass and what was
behind it would have made his day. "You dare come within twenty feet of
Miss Shelby and I will hang you by your nails. Do you understand me?"

Fennington
wiped his bloody nose with his sleeve. "She loves me, you know. How do you
intend to stop that? Beat the girl?"

Did
Elizabeth still pine over this idiotic fool? "Are you waiting for another
blow to your head, Fennington? Or will you be on your way?"

Fennington
ground his teeth and picked up his quizzing glass. "You think yourself
better than I, do you? You think you deserve Shelby's money more than me?"

He gave
a muffled laugh. "Why, you are just like the rest of us. Ain't no
difference. Money is money. No two ways about it. You sold your soul. But she
won't love you, just remember that. Those were my lips she tasted last, not
yours."

"One
more word and I will kill you." Stephen's voice was dangerously low.
"You are lucky to get off with your nose still attached. But never fear,
this is not finished."

Fennington
opened his mouth, then shut it. Stephen didn't wait. Anger took hold where his
patience left off. He took the man by his pants and flung him across a pair of
thorny rosebushes. Fennington rolled over them, groaning as he scrambled onto
his hands and knees, hastening toward the back exit.

Stephen
watched in silence as the man climbed over the garden wall and disappeared into
the night.

Sold
his soul.
The words
echoed in the hollow crevices of Stephen's entire being. When he had seen
Elizabeth in Fennington's arms, he had been ready to kill the man.

Had she
been lying to him all along?

He
stalked back to the ballroom, intending to seek her out and finish this once
and for all. He gave a start when he saw Wellington as her dance partner.

"Your
eyes are about to fall out of their sockets, little brother," Roderick
said, strolling in from the gardens.

Stephen
scowled. "I suppose you heard everything?"

Roderick's
smile never reached his eyes. "I say we haul the man off to America. Send
him as an indentured servant or something to that effect."

"It
sounds as if you hate Fennington more than I do. But America won't do. It will
have to be Australia."

Roderick
glanced across the dance floor. "He almost took away our sister, and now
he's after your bride. Could I dislike the man more than I do?"

Stephen's
eyes glittered from beneath the crystal chandeliers as he watched Wellington
take the honor of escorting Elizabeth into the supper room. Thunderation, he
could not very well push the war hero aside. "No, but I aim to have him
pressed into service with His Majesty's Navy." He turned a grim
countenance toward his brother as they made toward the exit to supper.
"What say you to that?"

Roderick
raised a calculating brow. "Done."

Stephen
was about to enter into the specifics when he detected Lady Odette coming his
way. "Who the devil invited her?"

Roderick
looked up and frowned. "Mother, I suppose."

"Hell's
teeth. You escort her into supper then. I cannot very well do it at my
engagement ball. But drat it all, Wellington has Elizabeth on his arm,
engagement or not."

Roderick
shook his head. "This is your problem, not mine. Besides, I see my sweet
duchess trying to attract my attention. Duty calls. Must go."

"Coward."

Roderick
smiled over his shoulder. "Been called worse, you know." He smiled.
"By my darling wife, no less. It would not do to make her wait. No telling
what she will call me then."

"I'll
call you something before the night is out," Stephen said between his
teeth a second before Lady Odette and her father approached.

Elizabeth
watched over the rim of her wineglass as her fiancé spoke with Lady Odette—at
their engagement supper, no less! Obviously the lady had fully recovered from
her cherry incident. At that moment Elizabeth wished she had a bowl full of
cherries to push down the lady's throat. The thought instantly horrified her.
What was happening to her?

"He's
as angry as Napoleon when the man lost the war."

Elizabeth
glanced up to find Lord Marcus hovering over her, his eyes alight with mischief
as he spoke about his brother.

Wellington
had excused himself to take part in a conversation about the Peninsular Wars
with some of the eager gentlemen who had served beneath him but had never made his
acquaintance.

Elizabeth
had been honored when England's hero had taken her to supper. Yet she had seen
the teasing sparkle in his eyes. The man seemed to be waiting for her fiancé's
next move, and he laughed when he saw Stephen stiffen. Wellington thought the
reaction jealousy. Elizabeth knew otherwise.

"Anger
is not what I would wish for in a future husband," she said to Marcus.

Stephen's
brother shrugged, picking up a plate of peas and ham. "He is to be
married. That would anger any man if he did not want it."

"I
see," she said tightly.

"Do
you?" Marcus peered over his shoulder and smiled. "Don't be too hard
on him. He believes in love from both sides. He saw what happened in my
parents' marriage. My father gave my mother every convenience. The only thing
lacking was love."

"Your
parents entered into a marriage of convenience?"

"In
a way." He glanced affectionately toward his mother. "My mother loved
my father, but the love was never returned. You see, he had always loved
another."

Elizabeth
frowned. And she had loved Mr. Fennington, or thought she had. That had been
her biggest mistake. And now Stephen thought she still loved the fool.

Marcus
set his plate down and took Elizabeth's free hand in his. "You must be
patient. He will come around."

Her
heart stumbled. Come around to what? Love? Trust? She slipped her hand from
Marcus's gentle grip, angry at herself for thinking such things, and doubly
angry at herself for falling in love with his handsome brother.

"You
must forgive me, but I have a horrid headache. I will return as soon as
possible."

Before
Marcus could speak, she hastened from his side in search of the exit, knowing
very well she could not leave for the entire night. She spent a half hour in
her chambers, wishing she could start the evening over.

After
returning to the ballroom, she managed to keep a smile on her face as she made
the acquaintance of many of the guests, avoiding Stephen and his cool assessing
gaze.

No one
seemed to notice the tension between the engaged couple, no one except the Clearbrook
brothers, who were eyeing Stephen with contempt.

She
finally made it to her bedchamber two hours later without speaking to Stephen
again and fought back the tears. Could she ever convince Stephen they could
escape his parents' fate? Probably not. Could he ever love her after the last
incident with Fennington? She didn't know.

Her life
was spinning out of control, and if her father did not come back soon, she was
going to go mad.

She
would speak to her papa. Tell him how miserable the situation was. He loved
her. He had always wanted the best for her. This wedding could not take place
as things stood now. It could not.

Chapter Twelve

I
mpossible! You will marry Lord
Stephen Clearbrook and that is final!" William Shelby wiped a crumpled
handkerchief across his forehead and lowered his voice. "Lizzie, don't be
stubborn. The arrangements have been made."

Elizabeth
took an agitated turn about her father's spacious bedchamber at the Elbourne
townhouse. Her life was shattering into a million pieces and he was doing
nothing about it.

William
Shelby had returned from Portsmouth the day after the engagement ball. It was almost
impossible to change his mind, but it was her life that was hanging in the
balance ... and her broken heart.

"But,
Papa, I do not love him."

She
wondered if she truly knew what love was. She had not loved Mr. Fennington and
thought she had. And Stephen believed she still did.

"Fustian,
child. Love will come in time."

"But
he loves another!" There. It was out. Lord Stephen Clearbrook loved Lady
Odette.

"Posh!
Don't believe it. Anyway, if you do not love him, then why care if he loves
another?"

She
wanted to stamp her foot. "But I want to marry for love. You of all people
should know about love, Papa. You loved Mama."

He
slowly shook his head and turned away.

Elizabeth
went to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, Papa. I don't know what
came over me. I did not mean to bring Mother into our conversation. Please
forgive me."

He
gently took her hand and guided her toward a green-striped wing chair.
"Sit down, Lizzie. It's time you heard this from my lips before you hear
it from another."

Elizabeth
regarded his pale face with a hint of alarm. "What? What is it?"

"Now,
poppet, I don't know how to say this without hurting you, but you must not
think less of your mother," he pulled nervously at his neckcloth,
"or, I hope, of me."

Anxiety
spurted through her veins. "What?"

He sat
down opposite her, his hands hanging between his knees, the handkerchief pulled
taut. "It's like this, Lizzie..."

He
avoided her gaze, staring absently across the room, wetting his lips.
"When I was married to your mother, I had a friend on the other side of
town."

"A
friend?" After a tense pause, she rose swiftly from her seat, knowing what
was coming next. No, her father loved her mother! He did! This was not
possible!

"Enough,
Papa. I do not want to hear this."

"Sit
down, child. This is as hard on me as it is on you."

She
raised a fist to her mouth. "Mother is dead. Let me have my memory of her
without you disgracing it."

"Her
name was Philomena."

No, her
heart cried. It wasn't true.

"Philomena?
What kind of name is that?" she replied in a mocking tone.

"Philomena
was your mother, Lizzie."

Elizabeth
felt as if the earth had shaken violently beneath her feet and she was falling
where there was no bottom.

"Wh-what
are you saying?"

"Your
real mother died giving birth to you. I brought the babe to Sarah after you
were born. Sarah loved you like her very own. Sarah's name is even on the
papers as your mother."

But
Sarah was her mother! That was the only mother she had ever known. Not
Philomena! No! Eyes blurry with tears, Elizabeth backed up, tripping over her
feet.

"Lizzie,
please."

She gave
a haunting laugh. "And you want me to marry some stranger? How do I know
you are my real father?"

William
Shelby seemed stricken and it was a moment before he could speak. "I will
not answer that, Lizzie. But you will marry Lord Stephen Clearbrook. I promised
your mother I would take care of you. I am doing this for you. Your best
interest is what I am concerned with here. I ain't going to see you marry some
wastrel."

Elizabeth
clasped her hands tightly together. "Oh, this is grand. You would marry me
off to some man who wants nothing but my money, and in return, your soul is
saved. How wonderful for you. Your good deed is done."

"Lizzie,
that ain't how it is at all. You don't understand."

"Don't
I? I believe I do, Father. You never loved me. You loved only a dream of a
woman that died years ago."

He took
a step toward her. "None of what you say is true. I wanted you to marry a
lord because Philomena begged me to marry you well. I chose Lord Stephen
Clearbrook because he is one of the very best men in England, and I wanted the
best for you, poppet. Don't you see?"

She raised
her hand to ward him off. "Milli?" she asked warily.

"Milli
is Sarah's daughter."

Elizabeth's
heart felt ripped from her chest. "I see." No wonder Milli looked so
different.

Silent
tears streamed down Elizabeth's cheeks, and before William Shelby could say
another word, she bolted from the room and ran down the hall, slamming directly
into a solid chest of muscle.

"Elizabeth."
Stephen's voice startled her as much as her collision. "What's
happened?" He grabbed hold of her shoulder, his face softening with
concern.

"Nothing."
She gazed over his shoulder. He didn't love her either. Why should she care?
"I forgot to tell you, I'm leaving as soon as it is feasible to find other
accommodations."

His
hands dropped to his sides, his stance rigid. "Fennington has left and
should not be seen again. So douse those flames of desire, my dear. You won't
be going anywhere with him. We are still engaged."

Fury
filled her. Fury at her father. Fury at Mr. Fennington. And fury at this man
for not trusting her. She lifted her gaze, her eyes smoldering with contempt.
"You are not my husband, my lord."

"No,
but you still have obligations," he said stiffly. "You don't have
much time. Get dressed. We are to attend Wellington's soiree tonight."

"We
are not going anywhere, my lord."

"Yes,
we are. You have exactly one hour."

"How
dare you give me orders." She turned from him, heading toward the stairs
to her room.

"Elizabeth?"

She
didn't stop her progress.

"You
will be ready."

His
command vexed her to no end. If she packed fast enough and had Milli's help,
she could be away from this place before her hour was up. But then again, maybe
she could show him that she was immune to him and those spellbinding charms.

They had
just left Wellington's soiree. Stephen watched the odd play of emotions on his
fiancée's face as she turned her head toward the carriage window. She was not
speaking to him now. In fact, she had spoken but ten words to him all night.

He had
to admit he was amazed she was going to follow through with her plan to leave
the duke's home because she felt she had overstayed her welcome. Ha! As if he
believed that.

He was
not about to declare himself and bare his soul, but he would die before he let
her run away with Fennington, even if she thought she loved the idiotic man.
Besides, he thought smugly, Fennington was probably at sea by now.

"Your
father did not love your mother, did he?" she asked.

Elizabeth's
words took Stephen by surprise. Something flashed in her eyes. Dread? Pain?
Regret?

"No.
Why do you ask?"

She
shrugged and glanced back out the window. "My mother died when I was
born."

The
information startled him. He could smell the touch of sweet perfume she had
dabbed along her neckline, and he tried to rein in his senses, controlling the
urge to sweep her in his arms and kiss her. "I did not realize your father
married twice."

Her back
seemed to tense. "My father did not marry twice. He married only once and
that was to Milli's mother, not mine."

The
implication of her words hit Stephen like a splash of ice water.

She
turned, as if daring him to comment: "Does that surprise you? I thought it
would. It did surprise me this morning when my father finally decided to tell
me. He told me that Sarah, the lady who raised me and is the mother on my
papers ..."—she gave a cold laugh—"well, it seems her father was a
baronet. I am from some kind of peerage after all. But in truth, I am not.
Imagine that."

Stephen
said nothing as he watched her try to hide the pain. Dash it all. William
Shelby was a fool twice over. To withhold the information from his daughter and
then to trade her to any man without her consent was intolerable.

"You
probably will think twice about the offer you made my father," she said
softly, staring down at her hands. "The gossip would be unforgivable if
anyone discovered the truth."

Stephen
cared nothing about the gossip. What he did care for was the woman beside him.
Was she telling him the truth or did she want him to call off the engagement?
"You believe this information would sever our wedding plans?"

She let
out a deep, shuddering sigh. "You must not wish this marriage now. Perhaps
my father will settle upon you a good sum for your troubles and we can part
amicably."

He
detected the noted strain in her voice as the clatter of horses' hooves pounded
along the street. Did she love Fennington so much to play this hand with him?

A lonely
teardrop slid down her face, and he raised a finger, wiping it from her cheek.
"I would never hurt you."

She
pressed her forehead against the glass, stifling a sob.

He drew
her hand to his lips and lifted his gaze to meet hers.

She bit
her bottom lip, and he thought it enchanting. She was so innocent, he wanted to
be the one to teach her about love.

He ran a
thumb over her velvety cheek, then buried his nose in her hair. He felt drugged
by her nearness. She smelled of sweetness and everything wholesome.

He
tipped her head back and kissed her.

"Stephen,"
she whispered as she wound her arms around his neck.

He saw
the question in her eyes and his gaze bore into hers. "I don't care about your
mother." He crushed her to him, flames of passion exploding between them.

When the
carriage stopped, he realized they were at the townhouse, and he dragged
himself from her arms. He laughed at the sight. Her hair was tousled, and his
cravat was askew.

She
pressed a hand to her mouth. "Oh, forgive me. I never meant... I only
wanted ... oh, how I must look."

He
raised her hand to his lips. "You look beautiful, and I fail to see why
you need to apologize."

Her eyes
filled with tears and she looked away.

He
frowned. "Perhaps it is I who should beg your pardon?"

She
shook her head. "A marriage of convenience would break my heart. I want to
marry for love. Please, I beg you. Don't do this to me. Ask my father to
dissolve this engagement. It would be best for both of us. Your family would never
approve once they discover my mother's secret."

Stephen's
hope sank. So, she did not love him after all.  He said nothing as they entered
the townhouse. The entire fiasco would be coming to an abrupt end, he thought grimly.
This had gone far enough. Elizabeth deserved better than to marry a man she
didn't love. He would seek out William Shelby, intending to settle the debts
once and for all.

"You
must woo the lady. What kind of man are you?"

Stephen
glared at Roderick, sitting like some pompous king behind his library desk,
lifting a snifter of brandy to his lips.

"Woo
her? You must be mad. I am already engaged to her. Wooing her is past tense
here."

Besides,
he had already wooed the lady, had he not?

The
snifter hit the desk with a splash. "Heaven protect me from addlepated
idiots. If every man thought like you, the human race would have died out years
ago. Have you no decency? The woman wants to be wooed. All ladies do. How do
you think I talked Jane into marrying me?"

Stephen's
face flashed with contempt. "Ah, yes, I see your point. Flowers and
soothing words of love might have worked for you because Jane adored you, even
though you were a conceited oaf."

"Let's
not delve into my personal life, if you please. You are the one with the
problem at the moment. I have already jumped my fences to secure my bride. Now,
it's your turn."

Stephen
slapped his palms on the desk. "She hates me, Roderick. How can I woo a
woman who hates me because she believes I want her father's money? This entire
situation has put me in a bad light, and the truth of it is, I can see no way
out of it without dishonoring her."

"Yes,
Miss Shelby is a debt paid," Roderick said, the condescension in his voice
clear, "not well done of you."