The Bad Luck Bride

by Janna MacGregor

  She bowed her head. So far, the curse and all its ugliness had pretty much left her alone. Aileen hadn’t heard a word of such talk among the staff since the brawl between Charles and the under-footman. Claire could continue to act in her own fashion without worrying about any rumors hovering over her.

  With a deep breath, she tried to concentrate on the rest of her tasks today. Last night, Alex had informed her that Lord Somerton would arrive tomorrow, and Alex had invited Dr. Camden to join them for dinner tomorrow, too. However, when her mental list of responsibilities drifted to the household and tomorrow’s guests, she got lost in thoughts of Alex. The countless times they had made love over the last several days brought her closer and closer to giving him her heart. For all her caution, her heart was its own master and gave itself freely whether she protested or not.

  The brightness of the sun briefly blinded her as she made the return trip to Pemhill. To escape its effects, she glanced at the few white petals that peeked over the edge of the basket she carried. She had kept just enough lilies for a perfect bouquet to set on her dressing table.

  “My lady!”

  Claire faced the mausoleum once again, where a young man slowed his horse from a canter to a gentle stop.

  “Pardon me, my lady, but I was wondering if the Marquess of Pembrooke is in residence?” The young man slid off the horse and sketched a bow, his hat in hand.

  His wavy brown hair was long and desperately out of fashion with the London crowd of dandies. His clothes were the exact opposite. The cut of his coat and waistcoat accented the expensive fabrics, and his boots were almost exactly like hers, the style obviously one of Mr. Hoby’s.

  Flustered, the man shook his head. “Please, let me begin again. I seem to have forgotten how to introduce myself properly. I’m Jason Mills. I mean Mr. Jason Mills.” Another bow was freely given, but he made it brief. “The marquess?”

  Claire smiled at the young man, who was obviously nervous and excited at the same time. “The marquess is touring the estate with his steward. He should return shortly. Come with me, and we’ll see about getting you some refreshments.”

  She proceeded down the path, and the young man slowed his step to keep pace with her.

  “Thank you for the hospitality. Do you live here, my lady?”

  “I do indeed. I’m the Marchioness of Pembrooke.”

  Mr. Mills jerked his gaze to hers. “You’re the marchioness? The marquess married?”

  “Yes. You sound surprised.” Hopefully, wherever Mr. Mills resided, the rumors of her curse hadn’t made an appearance.

  “I shouldn’t be, Lady Pembrooke, but I’ve been away so long, and so much time has passed.” Mr. Mills shook his bowed head. “Is Lady Daphne or … Lady Alice married?”

  As she stopped to ask him his business, Alex crested the hill on Ares in full gallop. The two moved in concert as if made for each other. The sight never ceased to capture her breath.

  He drew the horse to a halt from the path and away from the other horse to dismount. “Lady Pembrooke, you have company? Introduce us.”

  Mr. Mills didn’t wait for her introduction. He stepped close to Alex in an awkward manner and then, as if remembering the correct etiquette, made a polite bow. “Lord Pembrooke, it’s y-you I’ve come to see.” He twirled his hat in earnest. His nervousness had increased to the point that he scuffed his boot against the grass as he stood before Alex.

  Her husband’s expression was blank as he examined the young man before him. “Do I know you?” His words contained a hint of haughtiness.

  She closed the distance between them and placed her hand upon Alex’s arm. The touch drew his attention to her. “My lord, this is Mr. Jason Mills. He was escorting me back from—”

  “I wanted to join you, but the time got away from me.” Alex’s voice turned tender when he addressed her. Quickly, he returned his glare to the young man. “Weren’t you a stable hand at the inn before you disappeared?” He lifted one eyebrow. “Your fortunes seemed to have turned.”

  “Yes, my lord. That’s why I’m here. After I left Pemhill, I traveled to Lower Canada and made a small fortune in the fur trade. With that opportunity, I turned it into an export business. I arrived back in England two days ago and traveled here forthwith.”

  Alex narrowed his eyes but relaxed his shoulders. He placed his hand over Claire’s and squeezed. She reciprocated the gesture with her hand on his arm.

  Mr. Mills cleared his throat. The twirling of the hat had stopped, but he gripped the brim so tightly that his knuckles were white. “My lord, I’m worth over ten thousand pounds and expect that amount to double by next year if business continues to grow as it has.”

  Alex kept his hand over hers as she stood beside him. Whether it was intuition or a need to provide comfort, she closed the distance between them as a show of support for Alex.

  “Congratulations.” Alex relaxed his stance. “That’s quite an accomplishment. If you’re looking for investors, the only thing I can offer is a letter of introduction to Lord Somerton. He’s fond of finding new opportunities. His business acumen is celebrated throughout London. He handles our investments.”

  The young man smiled but shook his head. “I’ve never been this nervous before. Please forgive me if I’m sounding dense. My lord”—his expression grew serious—“I’ve come to ask for Lady Alice’s hand.”

  Alex took a sudden step back as if the words were a direct blow to his body, but he never let go of Claire’s hand. She squeezed harder.

  “Pardon me?” Alex’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “I know it’s a shock. Alice, I mean Lady Alice, and I had planned to marry when I returned from making my fortune. If she’ll still have me, I promise she’ll want for nothing. I come from humble beginnings, but I’m a hard worker and will continue to succeed. I can assure you, she’ll be treated like a queen.” Mr. Mills’ gaze was fierce in determination. “Whether you approve or not, I’m going to marry her. Your blessing would mean a great deal to us both. Alice always spoke of you with the highest praise and genuine affection.”

  Alex didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and walked to Ares. Claire had no choice but to give her attention to Mr. Mills. “Sir, I don’t know how to say—”

  “I do,” Alex drawled. Pure rage twisted his face as he stood twenty feet from the young man with a flintlock pistol, the hammer fully cocked. His grip was steady and he aimed straight at Mr. Mills’ heart. “To answer your question, you will not marry her.”

  The color drained from the young man’s face. “What?”

  “Before I kill you, tell me why you left her alone?”

  The young man’s eyes grew wide with fear. “I knew you would never allow a match between a stable boy and your sister. I had to prove my worth. It was difficult to post a letter, but I sent a few.” His voice softened to a whisper. “Please don’t tell me a falsehood so I’ll leave. I love her.”

  “You love her?” Alex stood deadly still and spoke with a crisp enunciation. “Well, so did I when she moved to her permanent residence over a year ago. Befitting her status as a lady, her apartment is exquisite—outfitted with the finest velvets, white satins, and lace of the highest quality. The mahogany box is safely tucked away from the elements on a cold slab of gray marble in the family crypt.”

  “She’s gone?” The anguish on Mr. Mills’ face appeared to turn into a physical pain as he grabbed his chest. “May I go see her?”

  “No.” Alex drew in a gulp of air. “When I kill you, it will give me great pleasure to know you’ll be in hell while she rests in heaven.” He took one step closer.

  Claire had never seen this side of him, resolute and possessed at the same time. If she didn’t stop him, he would ruin the young man’s life and his, too, with one shot.

  His forefinger bent to pull the trigger.

  Without thinking, she stepped directly in the path of his aim. “Alex, no!” She stood far enough between both men that neither could push her out of the w
ay.

  “Stand aside. You don’t know what he’s done.” Alex took a step closer, and she matched his movement. Only eight feet separated them.

  “If you shoot him, you’ll not only hurt him, but me. If you’re tried for murder, I’ll be left alone. You promised me at Lady Anthony’s you’d never leave me.” The tension between them made her weak. Her legs were about to give out, but she locked her knees and continued to face him. “Alex, he’s grieving, too,” she whispered.

  He never lost eye contact but kept the gun aimed at Mr. Mills. “Get off my land.”

  In seconds, the young man had mounted his horse and was retreating the way he had come at a full gallop.

  Claire stepped closer, but Alex turned on his heel with his back to her.

  “Go to the house.” The low rumble of his voice sounded like the first hints of thunder ready to burst through the night. He threw the pistol to the ground. Without a look back, he took Ares’s reins and walked into the nearby woodland.

  * * *

  Claire dined alone. The exquisite meal sat before her untouched. Alex had been gone for hours. Earlier, she had checked the stables, but Ares’s stall was empty. After the third course, she waved off the footman and waited for her husband in his study.

  Newly built, the fire glowed with a warmth that should have brought comfort. Instead, she shivered as the cold surrounded her. Without knowing where Alex was or what he was doing, she would suffer through it.

  “My lady?” Simms entered with an expression of worry that matched her own. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  “No, thank you. Why don’t you retire? I’ll wait for Lord Pembrooke.” Claire hesitated but decided to ask anyway. It made little difference at this point. “Has he ever done this before?”

  “No, my lady.” The butler shook his head.

  “Thank you. If you hear anything, I’ll be here.” She rested her head against the back of the sofa.

  The sound of clinking glasses woke her. She blinked several times to help her eyes adjust to the darkness. The fire was out, with only a few embers glowing. A fur wrap covered her body.

  “You’re awake, sleeping beauty.” Alex caught his hip on the desk and cursed. He gently placed two glasses and a decanter in front of him. “Will you join me?”

  “Are you well?” His lack of emotion tempered her relief.

  He didn’t answer, but the gurgle of whisky broke the silence. The potent smell filled the room. With a sip, he rounded the desk and handed a glass to her. He retrieved the decanter and sat at the opposite end of the sofa.

  “Where were you?” she whispered.

  He ran his hand over his face and exhaled. “Facing my demons and my failures.” He took another drink. “I thought I understood Alice’s action. Today was proof I failed in that also.”

  In the faint light, his neck muscles tensed and then bobbed as the liquid slid down his throat. She mimicked his sip.

  With a spread of his arm against the wooden frame, he appeared relaxed and poised, but the energy between them told a different story. “You shouldn’t have stepped in front of Mills.” He took another swallow and emptied the glass. “You could have been hurt or worse.”

  She exhaled a deep sigh. Wherever this conversation led, she had to learn what haunted him. “I couldn’t let you hurt Mr. Mills and be saddled with that pain.”

  “You see yourself as my salvation?” His impassive tone gave no hint as to his thoughts.

  “Why did you want to shoot him?” His mood was frightening, but she pressed forward. “Tell me.”

  “He deserved it and, more importantly, I deserved to deliver his punishment.” He leaned back, the movement slow as if he were in pain. “I will never forget the day I buried her. In the cold air of the crypt, I actually considered bringing her back to the house. Foolishly, I didn’t want to leave her alone—in the dark.” He took a deep breath and poured another glass. “That was the depth of my despair.”

  “I felt the same way about my parents.” Her voice quivered, exposing her unease. She hadn’t left her parents’ side for five days after they were prepared for mourning. She prayed as hard as she could that it had been some dreadful mistake and they’d wake up any moment. She’d always wondered what she’d done to deserve such a fate. Perhaps that’s when the curse had started. It would certainly explain her life.

  She took a calming breath. This was about her husband’s grief, not hers.

  Alex inched his way toward her but retreated. “A hint of sanity returned when I glanced at my father’s final resting place. He lies just to the right of Alice. I know he watches over her in death, as he always looked after all of us in life.” He took another swig of whisky.

  “A comforting thought for those of us left behind.” She reached and grasped his hand.

  He brought her hand to his lips. She was thankful for the gesture. It stopped his retreat.

  Instead of a kiss, he rubbed his lips over and over her skin as if it brought him relief from pain. When he tired of the play, he brought their hands to his lap. “Under my father’s watch, this never would have happened.”

  She waited for him to continue, but he appeared lost in his thoughts. She moved closer. “What would have never happened?”

  The silence stood between them like a wall. Finally, he broke the quiet. “Alice left a note in my desk. She was”—he took a deep breath—“enceinte. She told me that the humiliation was too grave for her to face, so she took her own life.” His voice was low, but his pain permeated every word.

  Claire felt his anguish as he released his burden. She brought his hand to her mouth. “Oh, Alex.”

  He squeezed her hand in return. “She told me not to blame someone, a man she named. Immediately, I thought him the father. But tonight, I learned the truth from a young man who thought he was doing the right thing.”

  Her stomach clenched into a knot, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. Alex needed her. She leaned to embrace him, but suddenly he stood out of reach.

  “You should retire. We’ve both had a long day, and there are several matters that still need my attention.” He lit a candle and light filled the room. “I’ll be up shortly.”

  “Shall I wait up for you?”

  “I’m not good company tonight.” His gaze caught hers. “Mother and Daphne haven’t heard this story, and I’d prefer they not.”

  “Of course I’ll be discreet.” She stood beside him, unwilling to leave his side. If he grieved alone, she feared he would disappear again. “May I stay with you here?”

  He shook his head, then walked back to his desk. “I’ve become that person I most despise. Someone who didn’t protect their family. I failed to save her when I had the chance.” The devastation in his eyes was hard to miss. He looked as if he were physically in pain.

  Unable to control her response, she stepped closer. His words, his actions, and even his demeanor seemed desperate. Whatever comfort she could provide as his wife, she’d gladly give. It wasn’t from a sense of duty, but from a desire to provide a safe haven where he wouldn’t have to grieve alone. She had appreciated such efforts after her parents died. It was the least she could do for her husband.

  “Claire, you’re cold and it’s late. Aileen is waiting for you to retire.” He turned his attention to the papers on his desk. “I don’t want to ask again. I want my privacy.”

  She really was cursed.

  * * *

  Aileen announced the marquess and her guests were waiting downstairs. When Claire descended the steps, Alex stood at the bottom like a guard dog while Somerton and Dr. Camden were deep in conversation.

  Alex’s eyes pierced the distance between them. They hadn’t been in each other’s company since she’d left him in the study. She concealed the inner turmoil that burned from his revelation last night and focused on their guests. Dr. Camden saved her from an awkward moment with a warm smile and a polite bow.

  “Lady Pembrooke, as a bachelor, my evenings are devot
ed to either patients or reading materials. May I say this evening will be just what the doctor ordered?”

  Claire laughed at his ill attempt at humor. As she’d learned from Aunt Ginny, a good hostess needed to make her guests feel welcome. After greeting Somerton, she turned her attention to Dr. Camden.

  The party entered the ornate dining room and took their seats. After the footmen served the first course, she surveyed the length of the table. Alex met her gaze with fire in his eyes. He was dark and remote, like a gargoyle perched on a medieval castle. The man she had come to know over the past days was a million miles away tonight, and the turbulence of his emotions swirled around her. He needed time to erase his pain. That’s why he was so distant tonight.

  Somerton sat across from her and did his best to keep the conversation lively, asking for her impression of a new Egyptian exhibit in the British Museum. Soon, she and her guests had become engrossed in a discussion of the definition of art. Alex sat silent at his end of the table. Alone.

  His behavior was unbearable, as evidenced by the awkward silence when Dr. Camden asked him a question, which he ignored. Before Claire could introduce another topic, Simms entered. “Doctor, the Briggs boy is at the door. There’s been an accident. His mother—”

  Dr. Camden rose to his feet. “Lady Pembrooke, I apologize and thank you for the hospitality.”

  Claire followed the doctor to the entry hall. Alex and Somerton stayed in the dining room. When she returned, both men were absent. She took advantage of the time alone and retreated to her sitting room. Within a short time, she had finished the daily bookkeeping for the household accounts. Satisfied there was nothing else that needed her attention, she made her way to the family quarters. The path took her directly past Alex’s study.

  Outside the door, the different sounds of masculine laughter blended together. Somerton had found a way to lure Alex out of his foul mood. With some luck, his newfound merriment might extend to her. A quick good night to both seemed appropriate under the circumstances.