The Wedding Bargain

by Victoria Alexander

  “Never,” she said sharply. “I would prefer to be eaten whole by jungle beasts in the darkest corners of Africa before I would allow you even the merest glimpse of victory.”

  “As you wish.” He shrugged as if he didn't care one way or the other whether jungle beasts ate her whole.

  “I propose to set a time limit of, oh, say, a fortnight.”

  “A fortnight? Impossible. I refuse to agree to any condition that virtually guarantees failure. Three months seems more appropriate.”

  “Entire civilizations have risen and fallen in three months.” She paused. “I'll allow you three weeks.”

  “I'll take two months.”

  “One month, then. Or rather, four weeks.”

  “Agreed.”

  “With time commencing from the moment we agreed to our bargain.”

  “That puts us back to around three weeks.”

  “Yes, but you already passed two challenges.” She smiled in a deceptively sweet manner.

  “Very well,” he said casually, although he still had no idea how to accomplish most of her tests. “Anything else?”

  “Since this is a game, I propose each test passed will receive one point, simply as a way to keep track.”

  “And I need twelve points?” She nodded. “I have no difficulty with that. So is that the extent of your rules?”

  “Not entirely.” She glanced at her hands and plucked at the fingers of her glove. “There is one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  She drew a deep breath and raised her gaze to meet his. “I don't think there should be any more, well, affection between us.”

  “Affection?” He lifted a brow.

  “Yes. Affection.” She heaved a sigh. “Kissing?”

  “Oh.” He bit back a grin. “That kind of affection.”

  “It's highly improper and not entirely fair.”

  “To the spirit of the game?”

  “Exactly.” She smiled with relief.

  “We wouldn't want to violate the spirit of the game. Still…” He adopted a studious air, clasped his hands behind his back, and paced the room. “I must confess, I am a bit confused.”

  “Confused?” Irritation crossed her face. “It's a simple, straightforward rule. No kissing.”

  “So it would appear at first glance.” He shook his head solemnly. “However, nothing is ever as simple as it seems.”

  “It's not?” she said with caution.

  “No indeed. I have a problem with the definition of your terms.”

  “My terms?” She scoffed. “A kiss is a kiss. It's not difficult to define.”

  “Oh, but it is.” He stepped to her side. “For example, should I meet you at a social gathering, would it break the rules to take your hand,” he took her hand, “raise it to my lips,” he brushed his mouth across her glove, “and place a polite kiss upon it?” His gaze never left hers.

  “I suppose that would be acceptable,” she said reluctantly.

  “Excellent.” He released her hand and moved closer. “If a kiss on the hand is allowed, then would a kiss, say, on the cheek be allowed?” He placed two fingers under her chin, raised it, and leaned forward to feather a light kiss on one cheek, then the other. “The French consider it no more than a polite greeting.”

  “But we aren't French.” Her voice was just a bit breathless.

  “No, but we do put great store in being polite.” He gazed into her eyes and saw what was surely a reflection of his own desire. “Is such a well-mannered kiss acceptable?”

  “I shall have to consider it.” Her gaze darted to one side, as if she was considering escape. But the desk was behind her and she had no place to run.

  “Very well. And if you decide it is permissible, then all we need to determine is what isn't allowed.”

  “We do?”

  “Say, again merely as an example, I were to put my arms around you.” He matched his actions to his words. “And you were to put your arms around me--”

  “I don't think--”

  “I want to make certain I understand the rules.”

  “Very well, but only for the sake of clarity.” Tentatively she placed her hands on his shoulder, then around his neck. Her fingertips touched the nape of his neck and a jolt of heat shot through him. Without thinking, he pulled her tighter against him. Her eyes widened but she didn't protest.

  “Clarity is crucial when it comes to rules. Now then, I would imagine this--” He lowered his head and placed a delicate kiss just below her ear, then trailed kisses down the side of her neck. She gasped. “--would be against the rules.” He whispered against her warm, fragrant skin, then ran his lips along the annoyingly high collar of her pelisse to the notch in the fabric and the hollow of her throat. Her body seemed to melt against his.

  “Oh my, yes.” Her eyes were half closed and she angled her head to allow him better access to the other side of her neck. “That's definitely not permitted.”

  “I didn't think so. I suspect this would not be allowed either.” He met her lips in a kiss barely more than a breath, fully intending to do no more than tease. For a moment she froze, then her arms tightened and her mouth pressed against his.

  All restraint within him shattered and he crushed his lips to hers, holding her body tighter against his. Her lips parted and his tongue met hers in a mating of greed and wonder. Her hands clutched at the back of his head and she clung to him as if life itself were at stake. He slanted his mouth harder over hers and one kiss blended into another and another, the very taste of her intoxicating and addictive. His hands slipped lower to cup the enticing curve of her derriere, holding her yielding body tighter against the heat of his own arousal. How could he bear another moment, another day, let alone the remainder of a month without her?

  He wrenched his lips from hers and tried to catch his breath. “Hellion.” He nuzzled her ear and she moaned softly. “Forget this silly game. Marry me now.”

  “Max, I…” She ran her fingers through his hair, her chest heaved against his.

  “I want you and you want me. We were made for each other.” He could barely choke out the words. She was all the delights of heaven and the fires of hell at once in his arms. “You're all I require in a wife.” He could not get enough of her and barely noticed she'd stilled in his arms.

  She drew back. Her gaze searched his. “And?”

  “And…what?” Confusion meshed with the fog of desire hazing his mind and he marveled he was able to think at all.

  “And is that it?” Her tone was cool.

  “Yes?” What had he said? “No?” She pushed free and stepped back. “No, of course not.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. Her face was flushed, her lips were swollen, and she looked very much like a woman tasting passion for the first time. The desire that had ebbed for an instant swept through him once again and he wanted nothing more than to take her back in his arms.

  “I mean…” What on earth did he mean? “It seems pointless to continue when the outcome is inevitable.”

  “Inevitable?” Her eyes narrowed. Perhaps he was mistaking anger for passion.

  “Certainly. I have every intention of victory, and according to the terms of our bargain, you will then marry me. Given what just occurred between us, it's obvious you want this match as much as I do.” He stepped toward her.

  Her hand shot out to stop him. “Unless you are willing to forfeit--”

  “Which I'm not.”

  “I didn't think so.” Her expression was as noncommittal as her tone. “Therefore the game will continue.”

  “If that's what you want,” he said slowly.

  “It is.” She adjusted her gloves and smoothed her clothing, avoiding his gaze. He noticed with satisfaction a slight tremble in her hand. “I have told you more than once and I will tell you over and over if need be: I do not wish to marry you.”

  “That's not the impression I got.”

  “You do need to work on that, Max. Once again your impression i
s mistaken. What happened here was a momentary lapse in judgment, nothing more than that. And it will not happen again.” She raised her chin in a haughty manner and started toward the door.

  “As you wish.”

  She paused and turned toward him, her eyes wide with surprise. “You don't believe me?”

  “Not for a moment.”

  “You are a beast, Max.”

  Her eyes flashed and he realized the passion of her anger was rivaled only by the passion of her kiss. Either way, it stirred his blood. By God, even if he had to face all the trials devised by ancient Greeks or stubborn hellions, she would be his.

  “But I will grant you this. While it is definitely against the rules.” A faint smile danced across her lips. “You are a bloody fine kisser.”

  She swept out of the room in as grand an exit as he'd ever witnessed. He shook his head and grinned. Pandora had obviously forgotten the tenet by which she'd long lived her life.

  The best thing about rules was breaking them.

  Chapter 8

  The Players Increase

  Lord Trent sat at a large desk, studying a book that lay open before him. He casually turned a page and addressed her in a smug tone without so much as looking up. “I didn't expect you to return so soon. Have you changed your mind?”

  Surprise caught Cynthia up short. “I don't think so.”

  Lord Trent's head jerked up and he stared in disbelief. “Miss Weatherly?” He jumped to his feet. “I did not…what I mean to say…” He craned his neck to peer around her. “Are you alone?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “I believe so.”

  He rounded the desk. “I must say, this is an unexpected pleasure.”

  Cynthia smiled weakly. The butler who'd shown her in stepped out of the room and quietly shut the doors behind him. Her gaze shot to the entry and at once she knew the feelings of a trapped animal. She wished nothing more at this moment than for the ground to open up at her feet and swallow her whole.

  Lord Trent stepped forward, a touch of sympathy in his eyes as if he sensed her apprehension. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  “I really shouldn't be here at all,” she murmured. How had she ever imagined she could summon the courage to say what she wished to say to the earl? What on earth could have possessed her? If she was caught, she could be ruined. It was outrageous. Improper. And no doubt a result of Pandora's influence.

  “Do sit down.” He smiled, and Cynthia realized Pandora was right: his eyes were indeed an interesting shade of gray. “Please forgive the disarray.”

  “The disarray…” She glanced around the room, noticing the clutter for the first time. “Oh my, it looks like the Effington parlor in here.”

  He laughed. “As well it should. I have been diligently studying Greek myths.”

  “How thoughtful.” Her tension eased. “Of course, I would expect no less from a fox.”

  His brow shot up. “A fox?”

  “It's of no consequence.” She sank onto a leather couch and clutched her gloved hands tightly together in her lap. She was not a woman used to visiting a man alone and was not entirely certain where to begin.

  “Miss Weatherly?” Her gaze jumped to his. Curiosity glimmered in his eyes and a smile lifted the corners of his lips. “How can I help you?”

  At once she knew that, his reputation aside, this was a kind man. And any man willing to go to the effort evidenced by the work scattered about the distinctly masculine domain was a man worthy of her dearest friend.

  “In point of fact, my lord,” she drew a deep breath, “it may well be I who can help you.”

  “Oh?”

  “I want you to know,” her voice rang with determination, “should you need any assistance in your match with Pandora, you may count on me.”

  “I may?” His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Yes, why?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the desk. “Forgive me, Miss Weatherly, but Pandora accused me of leading you to believe I had certain intentions toward you, and I can only assume you believed the same thing. Therefore your willingness to help me now is somewhat suspect.”

  For a moment Cynthia could do little more than stare mutely. Then unexpected laughter bubbled through her lips. “My lord, I assumed nothing of the sort.”

  “You didn't?” he said cautiously.

  “No indeed.” Was it the humor of his suspicion or realizing he thought she was capable of spinning a web of revenge for a meaningless flirtation that vanquished her unease? “You did nothing at all improper, and in the handful of dances we shared, we scarcely spoke more than a dozen words.”

  “My apologies then,” he said with relief.

  “Accepted, although I do suspect the minimal attention you directed toward me was not aimed at me at all.”

  “Yes, well…” A distinct look of discomfort passed over the earl's handsome face.

  She'd never caused discomfort in a gentleman before. An odd sense of accomplishment flared within her. So this was what it was like to have a man under your control. No wonder Pandora relished the manner in which she lived her life.

  “Now then, my lord,” she said with a newfound strength of purpose. “Pandora is like a sister to me. I wish to see her happy.” She stared him straight in the eye. “I believe you are the man who can do that.”

  He gazed at her with an expression of bemused admiration. No man had ever looked at her like that.

  “I appreciate your expression of confidence. Pity Pandora doesn't agree with you.”

  Cynthia frowned and debated how many of her friend's secrets to reveal.

  “She doesn't agree, does she?”

  “Not aloud.” Cynthia resigned herself to doing what she must to ensure Pandora's happiness, even if she would not see it quite that way. “You have annoyed her, my lord. She finds you irritating and arrogant.”

  “And this has convinced you I'm the right match for her?” Again his dark brow raised.

  Cynthia laughed. “Indeed it has.”

  “I'm afraid I don't understand.”

  Cynthia favored him with the kind of look she would give a small boy and relished bestowing it on a grown man. “I know it sounds illogical, but I have never seen Pandora react quite like this before. She finds men amusing in general and annoying on occasion, but she's never particularly been concerned enough about any one man to let his actions bother her.” For the first time, Cynthia understood precisely how amusing men could be. “Does that make any sense at all?”

  “Yes, I believe it does,” he said slowly.

  “Good.” She heaved a sigh of relief and stood. It hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd feared. Indeed, the entire encounter had been almost pleasant. She started toward the doors. “I am quite certain--”

  Without warning, the doors flew open and a tall, fair-haired man burst into the room. She took a quick step back, into the shadows of the room, and out of his way.

  “Max, you're right. Absolutely and without a doubt. What was I thinking? Escape is not the honorable way out.”

  The stranger paced the room, brow furrowed, steps rapid, an image of concentration and barely restrained energy.

  “Nonetheless, it remains the easiest answer and the most effective, and perhaps the most enjoyable as well. I hate to see you dismiss it.” He glared at the earl, who watched him with the kind of tolerant smile worn by one who has seen such behavior before. “Still, you have my word I will not rest until I find a solution to this mess.”

  Passion radiated from the man, and she wouldn't have been at all surprised to see him jump onto a table and deliver a fiery speech equal to anything given by an overzealous parson or a wild-eyed orator.

  “I vow here and now: I will save you, Max.” The man's promise rang in the room with the power of a blood oath. She'd never encountered anyone like him. “Whether you like it or not.”

  Who was he? They hadn't met, she was certain she'd remember…and equally certain a man
like this would be completely unaware of her.

  “Laurie,” Lord Trent said, but his guest silenced him with an impatient wave.

  “No, Max, I cannot in all good conscience allow you to go through with this ridiculous bargain.”

  He was the most fascinating man Cynthia had ever seen.

  “You're certain to win, and then you'll be stuck for the rest of your life. It's a fate worse than death! She'll--”

  “Laurie.” Lord Trent tried again.

  “Protest all you wish but you haven't thought this through.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You haven't considered the consequences. Dire consequences. You--”

  “Laurie.” The earl's voice sharpened. “Have you met Miss Weatherly?”

  “Miss who?” He turned and caught sight of her. “Damnation, Max, why didn't you tell me we weren't alone?”

  “I believe I tried,” Lord Trent said wryly.

  “Weatherly, did you say? No, I don't believe we've met.” His gaze flicked over her as if he were assessing her fitness for harness and a hot wave washed up her cheeks.

  “May I present Lawrence, Viscount Bolton.”

  Lord Bolton stepped toward her, took her hand in an expert manner, and brushed his lips across it. His gaze lingered on hers, and for a moment she thought she might well drown in eyes the rich, deep color of chocolate. She smiled hesitantly.

  He straightened and stared down at her. She was tall, but he was taller. It wasn't so much that he was an attractive man, although she considered him such, with fine regular features and hair the color of sunlit wheat; it was rather his presence that held her enthralled. For the space of a heartbeat, she completely forgot how to breathe.

  “By God, you're the friend, aren't you?”

  “The friend?” He still held her hand. Terribly improper, yet she had no desire to pull her hand from the warmth of his.

  Lord Bolton nodded at Lord Trent. “She is the Hellion's friend, isn't she? I daresay I didn't--” He stopped as if struck by sudden inspiration or a flash of genius and grinned with triumph. “Of course, that's the answer.”

  “What's the answer?” Cynthia's gaze slid from the viscount to the earl.