Here Comes the Bride

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Good morning, Isa.”

  “Good morning, Barth,” she returned with commendable composure. “I fear Mother is visiting Miss Griffith today.”

  He halted far too close to her seated form. “I came to speak with you.”

  “Should you not be entertaining your guests?”

  The hazel eyes darkened. “Thankfully, they believe it is fashionable to lay abed for the better part of the day.”

  She forced herself to calmly fold her hands in her lap.

  “How disappointing for you.”

  “Good God, I was never more relieved ofanything in my life,” he growled. “I vow if l had suspected that a gaggle of women could create such a racket, I should have locked myself in Bedlam before they arrived.”

  She remained thoroughly unsympathetic. “They are staying at Graystone at your invitation.”

  His aquiline nose flared. “An unfortunate circumstance that I intend to rectify as soon as possible.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. Really, the man was impossible.

  “You did not appear quite so anxious to rid yourself of your guests last evening,” she reminded him with distaste.

  His lips twisted in a rueful grimace at her direct thrust. “That is why I wished to speak with you this morning.”

  Realizing that she was giving far more away than she had intended, Isa managed what she hoped was an aloof expression.

  “It is perfectly unnecessary. What you and Miss Keaton chose to do is none of my concern.”

  His gaze narrowed as he studied her pale countenance. “Is that why you looked as if you had swallowed an unripe grape when you came upon us?”

  Her mouth abruptly thinned. How could he possibly have noted her expression when he was so busily kissing anothe.r woman? And more importantly, how dared he imply she was disturbed by what she had witnessed?

  “I was merely shocked at your offensive behavior,” she informed him in lofty tones. “Even aware of your reputation, I had not suspected that you would seduce a young maiden staying in your care.”

  His expression abruptly sharpened. “The only maiden I have ever desired to seduce in that garden is you,” he informed her in blunt tones.

  “Absurd.“ Isa battled the blush that threatened to betray her cool composure. She would not think of their impassioned kiss. Not while he was near. “You forget, I caught you with Miss Keaton in your arms.”

  “She was only in my arms because the deceitful wench pretended to stumble and I was forced to halt her fall to the ground.”

  Isa lifted her golden brows. “And since she was so conveniently close, you thought you might as well kiss her?”

  Barth gave a visible shudder. “Gads, I would as soon kiss my favorite hunter. He at least halts his yapping upon demand.”

  Isa was far from amused. Did he think her a fool?

  “Then you were not kissing her?”

  The hazel gaze never wavered. “No. As a matter of fact, she was kissing me.”

  Isa abruptly stiffened. “Fah.”

  “I do not lie, Isa.” Without warning, Barth seated himself beside her on the small sofa. Caught off guard, Isa was unable to move before the length of his thigh was intimately pressed to her own. Through the thin muslin of her gown, the heat of his body seared over her skin. “I went to the garden to find you. Unfortunately, Miss Keaton followed and promptly attempted to seduce me.”

  With an effort, she forced herself to concentrate on his words and not the unnerving closeness of his large male form.

  “Of course. How could I have forgotten your irresistible charm?”

  His lips thinned. “I believe the charm on this occasion was the lure of my title,” he drawled. “The chit is clearly enchanted with the notion of becoming a countess and is a bold enough jade to use any tactics necessary to achieve her desire.”

  Isa’s anger briefly faltered. It was certainly true that Miss Keaton had made her attentions toward Lord Wickton more than obvious. Indeed, she had been embarrassingly forward. Still, she continued to regard Barth with a frown of suspicion.

  “And you did not encourage her at all?”

  “Encourage her?” Barth gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “That wench needs no encouragement. She is a devilish nuisance.”

  “She would be attractive to some gentlemen.”

  “Not to me. She has been a plague since she arrived.”

  Isa held his gaze for a long moment; then her eyes abruptly narrowed.

  “Good,” she announced with a hard edge in her .tone.

  He blinked at her sudden change. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I hope that she is a nuisance,” Isa retorted, refusing to dwell on the decided pang of relief that had flared through her heart. Had she not already determined she was indifferent to how many maidens he might wish to kiss in the garden? “It would only be justice after you invited her to Kent to create difficulties between Peter and me.”

  Something flashed deep in the hazel eyes. “Does it not disturb you at all that Mr. Effinton had once .chosen such a maiden for himself?”

  Isa was not about to admit that she suspected Peter had been bullied into an engagement by a will stronger than his own. Barth was too powerful, too arrogant, to comprehend such weakness. Instead, she gave a small shrug.

  “Not at all. I believe it is common for gentlemen of advanced intelligence to choose the most foolish of maidens when they are young.” Her chin unconsciously tilted to a determined angle. “Thankfully, they eventually mature and search for a lady who can share their interest.”

  She sensed more than felt him stiffen. “A lady such as yourself?”

  “Perhaps.”

  A thin, humorless smile twisted his firm lips. “What a waste that would be, my dear.”

  “Why?” She instinctively bristled at his condemning tone. “Because Peter cannot trace his ancestors back to William the Conqueror?”

  “No, because he is a scholar, and like all scholars, he is consumed by his passion for learning. A mere wife would claim but a small token of his attention.” The glittering gaze deliberately lowered to the soft fullness of her mouth. “But perhaps you are too prosaic to wish for a husband that would prefer to kiss those tender lips than to pore over musty manuscripts?”

  A sharp, wholly unwelcome stab of excitement pierced deep within her.

  No.

  He would not be allowed to stir such sensations again. They led a perfectly reasonable woman to behave as a witless fool. She had learned her lesson all too well.

  “I am prosaic enough to desire a husband who will be faithful and dependable,” she informed him in cool tones. “My father is ample proof that a gentleman who prefers kisses is rarely discriminate as to whose lips he is kissing.”

  He frowned as if caught off guard by her accusation. “You cannot judge all gentlemen by your father, Isa.”

  “No?” She met his gaze squarely. “I suppose you mean to imply you are different?”

  He paused, as if to consider his response. The challenge in her expression warned him she would not be eased with a glib reply.

  “I would never deliberately hurt you,” he at last replied.

  “A wry .smile twisted her lips. He would never understand. He had already hurt her more than she could bear.

  “No, you will not,” she agreed in low tones. “I have no intention of giving you the opportunity.”

  Barth reached out to grasp her hand, his expression grim. “Isa . . .”

  His words were interrupted as the door was thrust open, revealing the housekeeper with a large tray. With a flare of relief, Isa surged to her feet.

  “Oh, good . . . tea.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Barth paced through his grandmother’s private chambers with a distinct sense of annoyance.

  Hell’s teeth, he silently cursed.

  What mere gentleman ever hoped to understand the incomprehensible workings of the female mind?

  One moment they were smothering a gentlema
n with their demanding attentions, and the next they were treating him as if he had crawled from beneath a moldy rock.

  It was enough to drive one batty.

  Seated on the sofa, the silver-haired dowager watched the distracted pacing with a well-hidden sense of satisfaction. She had never seen her grandson so discomposed. His usual air oflazy amusement was decidedly absent. Itwas a most encouraging sign.

  “I see I shall have to have this carpet replaced before the year is out,” she commented with a faint smile.

  Barth came to an abrupt halt, a rueful grimace twisting his features.

  “I am sorry, Grandmother.”

  The older woman settled herself more comfortably in the satin cushions.

  “I have noted that you have not brought your guests to visit me.”

  Barth gave a short laugh. “Consider yourself fortunate. Two more doltish maidens I have yet to encounter.”

  “Then you have not chosen one to be your wife?”

  “Good God, no,” Barth denied, wondering how anyone could possibly imagine he would consider Miss Keaton or Cousin Harriet as more than an unwelcome nuisance. “I have only suffered the presence of my guests because Miss Keaton was once engaged to Peter Effinton.”

  Lady Sarah was swift to grasp his devious intent. “Ah, your grand battle plan.”

  “Precisely.”

  Lady Sarah’s lips seemed to twitch. “And how do you progress?”

  Barth regarded his grandmother with a gathering frown of suspicion. If he did not know better, he would have suspected that the old fox found his troubles vastly amusing.

  “Devilishly bad, if you must know,” he confessed in a growl. “Not only did Miss Keaton prove to be a most inadequate distraction to Mr. Effinton, but she has behaved like a perfect fool.”

  “Meaning that she decided she preferred an earl to a mere vicar’s son?” Lady Sarah demanded; then, as Barth’s eyes widened at her intuitive guess, she gave a tinkling laugh. “Really, Barth, what did you expect?”

  “I thought young‘ maidens were supposed to be romantically devoted to their first loves.”

  Lady Sarah gave a click of her tongue. “From the few glimpses I have observed of Miss Keaton, I would hazard she is far too silly to ever be truly devoted. Her emotions are no doubt as shallow as her thoughts.”

  “So I have discovered,” Barth muttered.

  “Besides, you can hardly blame a maiden for wishing to better her position,” Lady Sarah continued.

  “Egad. The chit actually attempted to seduce me in the garden.”

  Lady Sarah gave another laugh. “How distressful for you.”

  “As it happens, Isa was also in the garden,” he said in grim tones. His grandmother clearly did not comprehend the severity of the situation. “Miss Keaton’s shameless behavior has only furthered Isa’s belief that I am a frivolous rake.”

  “But, my dearest Barth, you are a rake.”

  Barth was not at all amused. Was it not annoying enough to be constantly compared to Isa’s scapegrace father? He was not a hardened gambler, nor did he host vulgar parties in the back of gin houses with common prostitutes. Indeed, his lifestyle was quite mild when compared to many of his associates.

  “I am no different than any other gentleman who wishes to enjoy a bit of life before taking on the burdens of a wife and family,” he retorted in defensive tones. “Certainly no one is taking Brasleigh or Challmond to task for their behavior.”

  His grandmother tilted her head to one side. “Brasleigh and Challmond?”

  “We served in the same regiment.”

  Lady Sarah abruptly narrowed her gaze. “I believe I once knew a Lady Brasleigh. A most tedious woman. Always imagining herself to be ill.”

  Although Philip had not been one to confide his private troubles, Barth had been aware of the rumors surrounding Lady Brasleigh. It was said that the woman was thoroughly self-absorbed and made constant demands upon her son for attention.

  “Yes, I believe she has been a decided burden upon Brasleigh.”

  “These are friends of yours?” Lady Sarah demanded.

  A sudden smile eased the tension marring the handsome features. He had never felt as close to anyone as he did to Philip and Simon.

  “More like brothers.”

  “And they are about to wed?”

  “Ha.” Barth gave a laugh at the mere notion. Both gentlemen were confirmed bachelors and fortunate enough in their positions not to be forced into the parson’s mousetrap. Unlike himself. “Napoleon will be crowned king of England before those two would allow themselves to be leg-shackled.”

  Lady Sarah met his gaze squarely. “So there is no one to be concerned if they chose to be less than circumspect with the fairer sex.”

  Barth smiled wryly, recalling the unpleasant gossip that had seemed to travel throughout the length and breadth of England. Perhaps selfishly, he had never considered how his numerous affairs would affect Isa. Indeed, it had never occurred to him that she would ever be aware of his life in London at all. Now he could only wish he had been more discreet. He had been honest when he had assured Isa he had no desire to hurt her. He might rail at a fate that forced him to wed, but he was beginning to accept the fact that he could do far worse than have Isa as his bride.

  “Point taken, Grandmother,” he conceded in dry tones.

  “What shall you do?”

  Placing his hands behind his back, Barth paced toward the window and stared unseeing at the vast terraced garden and distant parkland.

  “First, I shall send Miss Keaton and Cousin Harriet packing with all possible speed.”

  “Perhaps easier said than done,” his grandmother warned. “A determined miss can find any number of excuses to prolong her stay near an eligible bachelor.”

  Barth’s countenance hardened. “If necessary, I shall bundle them into their carriage and drive them to Dover myself.”

  Clearly realizing that her grandson meant every word, Lady Sarah turned her attention to the larger problem at hand.

  “And then?”

  “Then I shall endeavor to find another means of ridding myself of Mr. Effinton.”

  “Another maiden?”

  A frown gathered on Barth’s wide brow. “Certainly not. Mr. Effinton is clearly less interested in ladies than in his studies.”

  “How very disobliging of him.”

  Barth ignored his grandmother’s teasing as a most brilliant notion flashed through his mind. Of course, he silently congratulated himself. He was a fool not to have thought of it sooner.

  “Perhaps not,” he murmured.

  “What do you mean?”

  Turning about, Barth met his grandmother’s curious gaze. “Mr. Effinton is at best a distracted suitor,” he explained. “I believe that he seeks the company of Isa more out of desperation for an intellectual conversation than any overwhelming passion.”

  A shrewd glint entered the jade eyes. “For now.”

  Realizing that his grandmother was right and that with time Mr. Effinton would no doubt drift into deeper emotions, Barth became more determined to see his plot through.

  “What would occur if he were suddenly surrounded by gentlemen who shared his scholarly interest?”

  “I should imagine he would be delighted.”

  “Delighted enough to become oblivious to Isa,” he continued, the fine features set in lines of determination. “Pardon me, Grandmother, I must send my groom to London.”

  “Barth,” Lady Sarah halted her grandson’s abrupt exit. “You really are a scoundrel.”

  Lord Wickton acknowledged the thrust with an elegant bow and his most roguish smile.

  “Yes.”

  Eight

  “So you see, his entire philosophy was centered on the simplicity of life.”

  Abruptly realizing that Peter was regarding her with an expectant expression, Isa hastily recalled her wandering thoughts and suppressed a treacherous yawn. It was not that she did not find Peter’s research fascinating, she
attempted to reassure herself. Indeed, it was quite gratifying for a gentleman to speak. with her of philosophy and politics rather than presume that a mere woman could not comprehend such complicated matters. And certainly she was not so silly as to desire a gentleman who wasted her days with empty compliments and shallow flirtations.

  Still, as she sat beside Peter on the sofa in the front parlor, she could not deny a tiny pang of regret. She would not mind if he were a bit more . . . dashing, she had to admit.

  Against her will, the image of dark features and gold-flecked hazel eyes rose to mind. What would Barth do if they were alone on this sofa?

  Certainly he would not have devoted two hours to discussing his previous night’s readings. No. More than likely he would have pulled her into his arms and made her head spin with his heated kisses.

  A thoroughly unwelcome tingle of excitement raced through her body.

  Such kisses . . .

  “Isa, are you attending me?”

  A flare ofcolor rushed to Isa’s cheeks as she firmly chastised her wayward thoughts.

  She was shameless.

  “Yes, of course I am.”

  Once more confident his audience was giving him the proper attention, Peter continued his lecture.

  “It is all so much clearer, since I have a copy of the original manuscript. Too much can be altered in the translation.” He held out a large sheet of parchment covered in neat script. “You see the verb here . . .”

  “Peter.” Isa desperately interrupted the droning voice. She simply could not bear another two hours of such tedious conversation.

  “Yes?”

  “Could we not perhaps spend the day upon the lake?”

  She might as well have suggested that they traverse to the colonies for the shock that widened Peter’s eyes.

  “The lake?”

  “Yes. I could have Cook prepare us a basket, and we could row to the island.” She smiled in a pleading fashion, not about to admit that she had already requested that Cook prepare a romantic luncheon and pack it into a wicker basket just in the hopes of luring Peter away from his manuscripts.

  Peter grimaced as he glanced toward a window where the sun tumbled happily into the room.

  “There is rather a breeze.”