The Wedding Bargain

by Victoria Alexander

  “Bolton feels Miss Effington is not the right woman for me,” Lord Trent said.

  “Oh?” Perhaps this man was not quite so fascinating as she'd first thought.

  “No indeed. But this is perfect. Since you're the friend he paid such attention to--”

  “One moment, Laurie,” Lord Trent said quickly. “I never--”

  Cynthia jerked her hand away and stepped back. “He most certainly did not.”

  Lord Bolton shrugged. “Regardless, it brought him to the Hellion's--”

  “Pandora,” she murmured. No, he was not fascinating at all.

  “--Attention. And no doubt, should she win, the Hellion--”

  “Pandora,” she said again in a firm tone. In fact he was extremely annoying. It was all well and good for Pandora to be pleased with her hellion title, but Cynthia found it more an insult than a compliment. Especially the way this beastly man said it.

  “--Will chose you as Max's bride. You will naturally decline, and Max will be free.” He finished with a flourish.

  “I will not lose,” Lord Trent said mildly.

  “No doubt the Hellion says the same.”

  “Her name is Pandora!” Cynthia resisted the all-too-appealing urge to bash him over the head with the nearest breakable object. “Miss Effington to you. And I would appreciate it if you had the courtesy to address her as such!”

  Lord Trent choked back a laugh. Surprise colored Lord Bolton's face. Obviously neither man expected her to stand up for her friend or for herself.

  “Now then, my lord.” She met the viscount's gaze with an unflinching stare. “The earl is determined to win this match with Pandora. And I am equally determined to make certain he succeeds.”

  “You?” He gazed down at her in a condescending manner.

  “Yes.” She stared up at him with a stubbornness she didn't know she possessed. What an infuriating, arrogant creature this man was! Cynthia couldn't remember being this angry with anyone ever, let alone a tall, handsome lord. “I am quite willing to do whatever is necessary.”

  “Are you?” Lord Bolton's gaze traveled over her once again, a long, lazy look that carried the force of a physical caress. A shiver skated down her spine. “You know, Max, on further consideration, you could accept Miss Weatherly after all.”

  Cynthia gasped. “I cannot believe--”

  “Laurie.” A warning sounded in Lord Trent's voice. “Be careful you do not go too far.”

  “You could do much worse.” He circled around her. Shock stole her voice, and it was all she could do to catch her breath. “She's younger than the Hellion, of good family, I believe, and not at all unpleasant to look at.” He paused before her, an appreciative light in his eyes. “Personally, I prefer tall golden-haired beauties to short dark hellions, but we aren't discussing me. And I daresay she's much better behaved than--”

  Perhaps it was the comparison to Pandora that snapped some long-held dam of restraint within her. Perhaps it was the culmination of the tiny triumphs of the last few minutes. Or perhaps her friendship with Pandora had indeed altered the mildness of her manner over time to a point where now only a spark was needed to ignite a raging inferno.

  Viscount Bolton was without question a spark.

  “I would not wager on it, my lord.” Her words were cold and controlled. “You would lose.”

  He laughed. “Would I?”

  “That's enough, Laurie.” Lord Trent snapped and turned toward her with an apologetic expression. “I must beg your forgiveness for my friend. I'm afraid he's rather--”

  “What he is is rather a…a…”A what? “A prig!”

  “Am I?” Lord Bolton grinned.

  Good Lord, the vile man was pleased! Apparently, “prig” was not strong enough. What would Pandora say?

  “Indeed, you are. A prig.” She stiffened her back, raised her chin, and fixed him with a defiant glare. “A bloody prig!”

  An odd strangled sound came from Lord Trent, as if he wasn't sure whether to applaud or chastise.

  Lord Bolton's grin widened. “Excellent, Miss Weatherly, you certainly proved me wrong. You're not nearly as well behaved as I'd thought.”

  “Oh?” Sarcasm colored her voice. “I was under the impression you did not think at all.”

  “Would you care to know my thoughts now?” He leaned toward her and trapped her gaze with his. His nose was but a few inches from her own. In a corner of her mind she marveled at her stubborn stance and realized that not once since this man had entered the room had she felt even the tiniest inclination to swoon.

  “I can't imagine your thoughts to be of any interest.”

  “You may well be interested in this.” His brown eyes gleamed with intensity. “Max is my oldest friend, and I will not allow him to ruin his life with marriage to the Hellion.”

  “Miss Effington,” she snapped.

  “The Hellion,” he said through clenched teeth. “And I shall do all in my power to prevent him from succeeding in this game of theirs.”

  “I would wish you luck, my lord, but as Miss Effington is my dearest friend and I wish only for her happiness,” her voice rang with all the conviction of one who knows she is in the right, “I shall do all in my power to ensure Lord Trent's victory.”

  Lord Bolton scoffed. “That's all well and good, Miss Weatherly, but what exactly can you do?”

  What could she do? She'd offered her help to the earl, but she had nothing specific in mind. Still, there was no need to reveal that now.

  She smiled slowly. The kind of secretive smile that Pandora had perfected and encouraged her to attempt. The kind of superior feminine smile that had always been uncomfortable for her. The kind of all-knowing smile that now fit her like a well-made glove.

  Confusion tinged with suspicion and something else she didn't quite recognize flitted across Lord Bolton's face.

  “We shall see, my lord. We shall see.” She nodded at Lord Trent, who grinned back at her, turned, and swept through the doorway without hesitation.

  “We shall indeed, Miss Weatherly,” Lord Bolton called after her. “Bloody hell, Max, she's an apprentice hellion.”

  Masculine laughter rang behind her.

  The butler held the front door open and she murmured a word of thanks. Only then did she notice the trembling in her hands, a paltry price to pay for the remarkable elation that filled her. She'd done battle and emerged unscathed. No wonder Pandora said what she wished and acted as she pleased. This exquisite, heady sensation of being for once the current in the stream and not a mere leaf subject to the whims of any and all other forces was well worth any risk.

  She climbed into her carriage and settled back for the brief ride home. There was still the matter of exactly what form her help would take. Pandora's tests were difficult enough, but now that obnoxious viscount was determined to thwart his friend's efforts. She had no doubt if left alone Lord Trent would certainly triumph.

  Abruptly the answer flashed in her mind and she laughed aloud. She knew precisely how she could lend the greatest assistance to the earl. It was an idea worthy of Pandora herself.

  Perhaps on one point Lord Bolton was right.

  Perhaps she was indeed an apprentice hellion.

  Chapter 9

  The Rules Defined

  “Oh, it's you.” Pandora adopted her loftiest tone, as if she hadn't known full well Max was already in the parlor waiting for her.

  “Good evening,” he said, without looking at her. He stood beside the Chinese gong, staring at Hercules, who stared back.

  “Interesting bird.” He extended his hand. Hercules studied it for an instant, then hopped on.

  “Do be careful. Hercules is not always pleasant with people he doesn't know.”

  “Hercules?” He chuckled and brought the parrot closer, bird and man surveying each other with interest. “I believe he likes me.”

  Hercules cocked his green head. “Meow.”

  “He's a bit confused,” she said with a sigh.

  “Ver
y interesting indeed.” Max brought his hand back to the gong and Hercules obediently hopped onto the crossbar.

  He has the look of Apollo about him.

  Her mother's words echoed in her head just as they had this afternoon. She'd nearly forgotten how handsome, tall, and overwhelming Max was. The cluttered room was fuller with his presence.

  Max examined the gong with an air of concentration. He ran his hand over the carved ebony in an appreciative caress. At once she remembered the feel of his hands on her back and an odd longing surged through her.

  “Remarkable piece,” he murmured.

  “Remarkable,” she said under her breath.

  “Is it very old?” He glanced at her, genuine interest in his eyes.

  “Very.” For the briefest moment she wondered why she didn't accept his offer to forget the game, declare him the winner, and throw herself into his waiting arms.

  He straightened and studied her as if he could read her thoughts. Her breath caught. A taut silence hung in the air. Why didn't he say anything? What was he waiting for? It was as if she balanced on one side of a rickety bridge and he on the other and the simplest move would send them tumbling into the raging waters below. He smiled slowly.

  “I didn't know you were here.” She struggled to sound aloof and unconcerned.

  “Odd.” He raised a brow in disbelief. “I asked Peters to announce me. He doesn't strike me as the kind of servant to disregard a request.”

  “No doubt an oversight on his part.” Of course Peters had announced him. But Max had thoroughly ignored her in recent days, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of thinking she had nothing better to do than wait for his attention. “He probably assumed I had no desire to suffer your company and thought if you were ignored you would go away.”

  Max laughed. “I doubt that. Peters seems rather too perceptive to jump to such a wrong conclusion.”

  “In this case, he would have been correct.”

  “Would he?”

  “Yes.” Any lingering inclination to throw herself in his arms vanished. The man was infuriating. “Why are you here?” She nodded at the bundle of fabric he held under his arm. “And what is that?”

  “This?” Max looked at it as if he hadn't seen it before.

  “Yes.” Suspicion sounded in her voice. “Is it for me?”

  “More or less.”

  “Then--”

  “In due time.” He glanced around in a futile search for available space.

  Abruptly she saw the parlor as others might, well aware most people did not live among the remains of long-lost civilizations. She refused to apologize to anyone for the unusual nature of her family and her upbringing, although just once it would be pleasant if life in the Effington home was a bit more organized.

  She waved at a chair. “You may put it there.”

  “It feels like home,” he muttered, stepping around a large marble fragment, part of a frieze, probably, and avoiding a precarious stack of books to drop the bundle on the chair. What on earth was in it?

  “Now then.” He turned toward her. “First of all, I wish to discuss your rules. All of them.”

  “I believe we settled that this afternoon. You have the rules and I am to attend Lady Farnsby's soiree. Good evening.” She nodded in dismissal and started toward the door.

  “Not quite yet, Dora.” The stern command rang through the room.

  She stopped in mid-step and whirled to face him. “Do not use that tone with me. And do not call me Dora!”

  “We are not finished.” He strode toward her with a gleam in his eye and a tremor of panic shot through her. Without thinking, she stepped back. Good Lord, what were the man's intentions?

  He brushed past her and closed the doors to the hall.

  “Whatever are you doing?” Her hand rose to her throat.

  He stepped toward her. “I do not wish to be disturbed, and I would prefer that Peters, and whoever else might be lingering outside the doors, not be a silent witness.”

  She gasped. A silent witness to what? Had she pushed him too far? Had he completely lost his senses? He had an odd look in his eyes. The look of a man who knew precisely what he wanted and was prepared to get it.

  And what he wanted was her.

  Surely he was not about to ravish her? To finish now what they had begun today?

  Not while she had a breath left in her body. “I absolutely will not permit it, Max. Regardless of whatever feelings I may have for you, regardless of how, well, interesting this afternoon was, I will not allow it. Not now. Not ever!”

  “What are you babbling about?” His brows pulled together in confusion.

  Her chin jerked up in a manner worthy of a Greek shepherdess defying the advances of a god. “I will not allow you to ravish me!”

  He hesitated. Good. Obviously he was reconsidering his actions. His eyes narrowed and his voice was cautious. “You won't?”

  “Never?” Her voice rang fearlessly. No heroine of myth or legend had ever said it better.

  “Never?” he said mildly.

  He certainly didn't look at all distraught over her pronouncement. She planted her hands on her hips. “No, never.”

  “Not even a little?”

  Maybe a little, a traitorous voice whispered in her head. She pushed it away. “No!”

  “Not even when we're married?”

  “We're not going to be married.”

  “Oh, but we are.” He moved closer and a wicked light snapped in his eyes. Her stomach fluttered. Perhaps he wasn't distraught because he had no intention of heeding her protest.

  “Only if you win, and you're not going to win.” Even to her own ears she didn't sound entirely confident.

  “Oh, but I am.” He stood barely a hand's width away from her now. So close she could see the rise and fall of his chest with every breath.

  “No.” She shook her head. So close she could feel the heat of him through his clothing and hers.

  “Now about these rules.”

  “Rules?” So close she could reach out and touch him if she so desired. Feel the hard planes of his body beneath her fingers and the warmth of his flesh against her hands.

  She tilted her head back and gazed up at him. He stared down at her. His gaze shifted from her eyes to her mouth. At once her throat was parched and dry, and without thinking she licked her lips.

  Lord help her, she so desired.

  He lowered his head to hers. Slowly. Deliberately. She strained upward to meet his mouth. She braced her hands against his chest and his muscles tensed beneath her touch. Her breath caught. His lips brushed hers and an odd weakness stole her strength and her will.

  Her eyes closed. Her blood roared in her ears. Her heart thudded in her chest and there was nothing in the world save the barest touch of his mouth to hers. He whispered against her lips, his words dim, distant.

  A sweet growing ache filled her, and she clutched at his coat. This afternoon his kiss had been firm and demanding. Now his lips teased, carrying only the vaguest memory of what had come before and a subtle promise of what was yet to come. And she wanted more.

  “Hellion.” His voice drifted somewhere in a haze, muffled and indistinct. “Did you hear me?”

  “Umm…” Why didn't he kiss her, really kiss her? Now. What was he waiting for? She opened her eyes. “What did you say?”

  His lips were still against hers, his nose nearly touching her own. “I asked if you heard me.”

  “Before that,” she said slowly.

  “Hellion?”

  “Previously.”

  “Oh, I simply asked if this was a permissible kiss. Not against the rules.”

  She stared into his eyes, only inches from her own, and a dozen scathing comments flew through her mind, but only one question rose to her lips: “You did not intended to ravish me, did you?”

  “Not today.” He grinned. “However…”

  “Well, I wouldn't have allowed it, at any rate.” Annoyance battled with frustration
and the indisputable knowledge that she would have indeed allowed it. And with a fair amount of enthusiasm, to boot. She did not doubt he knew it as well. “Not now. Not ever.”

  “No?” He accented his question with a hard, fast kiss.

  She gasped. “No.”

  “Really?” He kissed her again, longer and harder, and her very bones seemed to melt, until finally he drew his head back. “Are you certain?”

  “Quite.” Her voice had an annoying breathless quality.

  “Then perhaps you should let go of my coat.”

  She jerked her hands away from him as if he was on fire. She certainly was uncomfortably warm. “I'd simply forgotten I was holding it.”

  Pandora crossed the room in an effort to put as much distance between them as possible. Her knees shook and she was amazed she could stand without assistance. Blasted man. How could he make her feel as if all that existed in the world were him and her? She'd always prided herself on her ability to keep her wits about her. How could he do this to her?

  “Be aware, Pandora, that I fully intend to kiss you as often as possible. I do not promise to abide by that particular rule, or any of the others.”

  She turned in surprise. “But you must.”

  “Hardly. There were no rules when we made our bargain, and I see no need to alter our agreement now. I am well willing to risk anarchy.”

  “But--”

  He held up a hand to silence her. “However, I am also willing to compromise, in the spirit of the game. I will agree perhaps that I have not tamed man-eating mares as of yet, but given the difficulty of the challenges you have set before me, from this moment, if I can accomplish two with one stroke I shall do so.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

  “Furthermore, I will not hesitate to use any means at my disposal, up to and including every pound I have, to achieve success.”

  He did have a point, and he was willing to sacrifice one of his successes. And his threat to kiss her as often as possible warmed her blood in a delightful and exciting way. Still…“What about the time limit?”

  He shrugged. “I will give you that.”

  “Very well. Then tonight's business is concluded.”