Here Comes the Bride

by Alexandra Ivy

  So, if Lord Brasleigh did not know she was in Surrey, what was he doing at Mayfield?

  At that moment it did not matter, she told herself. All that was important was that she avoid Lord Brasleigh at all cost.

  “I must go,” she breathed.

  “Go? Go where?”

  Bella pressed a hand to her racing heart. “To my room.”

  “But why?”

  “I . . . You will wish time alone with your guests,” she hastily improvised.

  “It is merely my nephew.” Lady Stenhold waved a dismissive hand. “He forces himself to make the mandatory visit to Mayfield to ensure his place in my will.”

  “Lord Brasleigh is your nephew?” Bella stammered, wondering if her luck could truly be that ghastly.

  The green eyes narrowed in a speculative manner. “No. Lord Blackmar.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you know Lord Brasleigh?”

  “He . . . I . . .”

  Too befuddled to simply flee as she should have, Bella found herself trapped as the door opened and two gentlemen entered the room.

  The first was a short, rather round gentleman with engaging features and blue eyes. There was an air of lazy amusement in his countenance, although Bella suspected that it hid a swift intelligence. There was also enough family resemblance to Lady Stenhold to convince her that this was Lord Blackmar.

  Her gaze shifted to the second gentleman, and her heart came to a halt.

  He was tall and dark with hair the color of ebony and features that were utterly perfect. Attired in a dove-gray coat and dark breeches it was evident his large form was sculpted to bone and well-toned muscles. But it was the brilliant silver eyes regarding her with alarming intensity that sent a tremor racing through her body.

  There was something deeply unnerving in those eyes. Something that warned her this was not a gentleman to trifle with lightly.

  “Aunt Caroline, how perfectly delightful to see you again.” With polished charm, Lord Blackmar moved to kiss the offered hand of Lady Stenhold.

  “Good God, Richard!” Lady Stenhold raised her quizzing glass to regard the pale yellow coat and breeches. “What a hideous coat. Your tailor should be hung at once.”

  “I shall attend to it the moment I return,” Lord Blackmar promised.

  The older woman gave a snort. “What brings you to Mayfield?”

  “We found ourselves in Surrey and could not pass by without ensuring you are well.”

  “You happened to be in Surrey?” A silver brow slowly raised. “How very extraordinary.”

  “Yes, is it not? May I introduce Lord Brasleigh?”

  Frozen with fear, Bella helplessly watched the raven-haired gentleman step forward to offer an elegant bow. It was like a nightmare where she was slowly falling and unable to halt the inevitable crash.

  “Lord Brasleigh,” Lady Stenhold murmured, carefully studying her unexpected guest. “I knew your father. A remarkably handsome gentleman who broke the hearts of many a maiden. You are very like him.”

  He smiled with a heart-jolting charm. “Lady Stenhold, a pleasure.”

  Lady Stenhold gave a sudden laugh. “Oh yes. You are your father’s son, all right.” Abruptly turning, she waved a hand in Bella’s direction. “Anna, come and meet my nephew Lord Blackmar and his friend Lord Brasleigh.”

  Stepping forward, Bella waited with a sick sense of dread to discover if her fraud was about to be revealed. Lord Blackmar, however, regarded her with nothing more than appreciation as he moved to take her hand and .lift it to his lips.

  “Well, well,” he murmured as he lazily smiled. “Had I known you had acquired such a lovely companion, I would have visited sooner, eh, Bras?”

  Firmly cutting between his friend and Bella, Lord Brasleigh took her hand and raised it to his own mouth. Bella felt as if the warm lips were searing her skin.

  “Nothing could have kept me away,” he said in smoky tones.

  With a shiver, Bella snatched her hand free. That silver gaze was tracing her delicate countenance in the most unnerving fashion. “I . . .”

  “You are going to quite overwhelm the poor girl,” Lady Stenhold thankfully intruded in firm tones. “Come and tell me why you have left London. I suppose you are attempting to outrun your creditors again?”

  Both gentlemen politely turned, but much to Bella’s dismay, Lord Brasleigh remained close enough that she could feel the heat from his large frame.

  A fine shiver raced through her body. Although she had heard all the usual rumors surrounding Lord Brasleigh’ s fatal appeal, she had presumed it was all a great deal of nonsense. One gentleman was much like another to her mind. But this gentleman . . . Well, she would have to be in her grave not to realize he was indecently attractive.

  “Certainly not,” Richard denied; then with a smile, he lifted his hands. “Well, only a handful at any rate. It was Bras who insisted on dragging me from my entertainments. He is searching for a suitable residence to set up his ward once he has her wed.”

  A rather odd expression settled on Lady Stenhold’s lined countenance. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Lord Brasleigh answered. “My man of business has given me a list of several suitable estates, but I was grossly disappointed in the few I have inspected over the past fortnight. I hope to view one or two here in Surrey.”

  Bella felt her breath catch in her throat. He had been out of London for the past fortnight? He could not even be aware of her disappearance. In his mind, she was meekly traveling to London to be handed over to a stranger.

  Perhaps she was not about to be revealed after all.

  “Then, of course, you must stay at Mayfield,” Lady Stenhold graciously offered.

  “How very kind of you,” Lord Brasleigh murmured, even as Bella shuddered in dismay.

  Lord Brasleigh at Mayfield? No. It was not to be thought of. But Lady Stenhold was already waving her hand in a dismissive motion.

  “Nonsense. It will be delightful to have company.” There was a short pause as the dowager regarded Lord Brasleigh’s dark features. “You have a ward?”

  “Yes. A Miss Lowe. I served with her father. Before he died, he requested that I take charge of her.”

  “Is she not traveling with you?”

  Bella trembled, but Lord Brasleigh gave a firm shake of his head.

  “No. She is in London choosing her trousseau. I believe all young maidens place considerable importance on being properly clothed before they walk down the aisle.”

  “She is very fortunate to possess such a generous guardian.”

  Lord Brasleigh gave a short laugh. “I fear Miss Lowe has never considered herself as fortunate. Indeed, she has done whatever possible to make my position as her guardian untenable. Thankfully, the willful chit will soon be married and no longer my responsibility.”

  Bella bit her bottom lip as a sudden anger flared through her heart. He expected her to consider herself fortunate? For what? For being exiled to the country without so much as a friend? For having her clothes, her food, her servants chosen for her? For being forced into marriage with a stranger? For making her feel as if she were an unwelcome burden? Just as she had been to her father?

  Seemingly unaware of Bella’s heated cheeks, Lady Stenhold regarded Lord Brasleigh with a hint of curiosity. “And who is she to wed?”

  “Monsieur LeMont.”

  “A Frenchman?”

  “His father was French, although his mother is British. They returned to England several months ago.” Lord Brasleigh shrugged. “From all reports, he is a most worthy young gentleman.”

  “I see.”

  Bella’s color heightened. Worthy gentleman? Oh, yes, so worthy he was willing to sell himself for a few thousand pounds.

  “Enough of your ward,” Lord Blackmar said, abruptly intruding into the conversation, his gaze shifting to the silent Bella. “I wish to learn more of the delightful Mrs. Smith. Aunt Caroline said you are here as her companion, but she has said nothing of your husband.”<
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  Bella could not halt the revealing blush, but thankfully Lady Stenhold rushed to her aid. “Mrs. Smith is a widow.”

  “That was thoughtless.” Lord Blackmar gave a grimace. “Forgive me.”

  “It does not matter,” Bella muttered.

  “Of course it does. We are to be guests together, and I should not like to begin with ill feelings.”

  “I am not really a guest.”

  “Of course you are,” Lady Stenhold protested.

  Lord Blackmar flashed her a charming grin. “There, you see?”

  Without warning, Lord Brasleigh turned to regard her in a shockingly frank manner. “Which means that she is not to be monopolized by you, Pudding. I shall demand my own share of her attention.”

  Dash it all. He was looking at her as if . . . as if...

  It was all too much for the shaken Bella. She needed time to think. To consider what she was going to do. “I should warn Mrs. Clarke that she will need to prepare your rooms. Excuse me.” Without waiting for a response, Bella hurried across the room and out the door. Once in the hall, she pressed a hand to her heart.

  Dear lord.

  What was she going to do?

  * * *

  Sampling the excellent sherry, Philip stretched his glossy boots toward the burning fire. It had been nearly three hours since his arrival at Mayfield, and the first occasion he had been alone with Pudding. Lady Stenhold had excused herself to change for dinner, and, Miss Lowe had never returned from her hasty flight. An unknowing glint of anticipation shimmered in the silver eyes.

  He had to admit that Miss Lowe had proven to be quite a surprise. He had feared she might give away the game the moment he entered the room. After all, his arrival must have been a decided shock. But she had revealed an admirable spunk. Even though she had obviously been shaken, she had managed to maintain her composure.

  Of course, he wryly acknowledged, that had not been the only surprise. He had been unprepared for her luminous beauty. Who the deuce would expect such a hellion to possess curls woven from the finest gold? Or eyes the richest brown velvet? Or delicate features that might have graced an angel? Even her tiny frame was perfectly proportioned.

  Pondering her exquisite curves, Philip lifted his head to discover Pudding regarding him from across the room. Hoping his friend could not read his thoughts, he abruptly lifted his glass. “A fine sherry,” he complimented.

  “Yes. My uncle always kept an enviable cellar.” Pudding paused, then abruptly narrowed his gaze. “What do you think of Miss Lowe? Will she flee?” he demanded.

  Philip shrugged without concern. “I have ensured that my groom will keep a close eye on her, as well as two servants who I have ordered to stay at the local inn. If she flees, I will be close behind. But it is my guess that she will attempt to bluff her way through. After all, she cannot have much money and has few places to hide.”

  A slow smile curved Pudding’s lips. “She is a remarkably pretty wench.”

  “Oh, yes, quite angelic,” Philip acknowledged, feeling the instinctive quickening of his blood. “A pity she possesses the temperament of a shrew.”

  “That is hardly fair,” Pudding drawled. “You know nothing of her.”

  “I know that she has managed to terrify experienced companions, bully an entire household of servants, and flaunt my desires at every turn.”

  “I found her quite charming.”

  Philip narrowed his gaze. He might have been caught off guard by Bella Lowe, but that made her no less a bundle of trouble. “It is not too late for me to change bridegrooms.”

  “Not me.” Pudding chuckled as he settled himself on the window seat. “I am quite content with my life as it is. Besides, I should make a ghastly husband.”

  “Yes,” Philip agreed.

  “So how do you plan to begin your campaign?”

  Philip sipped the sherry, carefully considering how he intended to proceed. He had every intention of frightening Miss Lowe into marriage. Beginning with a sharp lesson in what a young maiden could expect without the protection of a husband or guardian.

  “I shall have to be careful not to pounce too swiftly. I do not wish her to become suspicious.”

  “Did you ever consider the notion that she might not repel your advances?”

  Philip felt an absurd twinge of annoyance at the question. Good lord, whatever was Pudding thinking? This was his ward, not some common actress. “Whatever her numerous faults, she has been raised as a lady.”

  “Even ladies do foolish things when they imagine themselves in love,” Pudding murmured with a knowing expression.

  Philip gave a shake of his head. “I shall make it painfully obvious that my intentions are thoroughly dishonorable and without pretense of romantic nonsense.”

  The blue eyes twinkled. “Not too dishonorable, I hope?”

  “Very amusing,” Philip said in dry tones.

  “She is very beautiful.”

  “She is also my ward, in the event that you have forgotten,” he retorted, refusing to consider the notion that he had not thought of her as his ward when he had first laid eyes upon her. At that moment, he had only thought that she was perhaps the loveliest maiden he had ever seen. “I will simply ensure that she is aware of the dangers of being a young lady on her own. Soon enough she will be anxious to wed Monsieur LeMont.”

  “We shall see . . .” Pudding murmured; then glancing out the window that offered a view of the terraced garden, he suddenly leaned forward. “Ah.”

  “What is it?”

  “I believe I see your lovely ward making a dash for the woods.”

  With a smooth motion, Philip was on his feet and crossing to the window. Glancing over at the gardens, he caught sight of the slender maiden scurrying down a path that led directly to the nearby woods. “She certainly appears to be in a hurry. Perhaps I should join her and discover what has her so troubled.”

  “Yes.”

  Setting aside his glass, Philip offered his companion a mocking bow before leaving the room and making his way to a side door that led to the garden. Stepping into the spring sunshine, he used his long strides to skirt the ornamental pond and moved toward the stream that ran in the direction of the woods. He was clever enough not to directly follow Bella. He would come from the opposite direction, as if he had been out examining the grounds.

  Entering the woods, he caught sight of a tall man lazily holding a fishing pole over the stream. It was one of the servants that he had sent to the local inn, and with a brief nod, he hurried past him. Miss Lowe would find it a difficult task to flee his grasp again, he acknowledged.

  It took several moments, but at last he could hear the soft sound of footsteps, and with perfect timing he stepped on the path in front of the startled Bella Lowe.

  Not surprisingly, she took a hasty step backward, her velvet eyes wide with dismay. He was clearly the last person she had expected, or wanted to encounter.

  “Well met, Mrs. Smith,” he murmured with his most charming smile.

  “Lord Brasleigh.”

  “This is an unexpected pleasure. I thought you were busily plotting with Mrs. Clarke for care of our rooms.”

  Her delicate bosom heaved as she struggled between fleeing and putting on a brave face. Then, with a spirit he couldn’t help but admire, she squared her shoulders.

  “I wished a breath of air.”

  “Then we are of a like mind.” He smoothly stepped closer. “I also dislike being inside when there is such promising weather. And of course, a short stroll gives me the excuse to investigate the local rivers in the hope of finding a bit of sport with the fish.”

  “Then, I will not keep you from your investigations.”

  “Nonsense.” He reached out to lightly clasp her elbow. She shivered beneath his touch. “I may enjoy fishing, but I far prefer being in the company of a lovely lady.”

  A flare of panic rippled over her countenance at the deliberate manner with which he studied her lush mouth. “I really shoul
d return to Lady Stenhold.”

  “I believe she is resting,” he countered. “So you see, there is no hurry.”

  “Still . . . I . . .” Her words abruptly halted as he stepped far closer than was proper.

  “I have not offended you, have I, Mrs. Smith?”

  “It is not that,” she stammered.

  “You seem nervous.”

  A tiny tongue peeked out to wet those rose-kissed lips.

  “Not at all.”

  “Then you will join me in my stroll?”

  He watched her through narrowed lids as she smothered the longing to bolt.

  “I . . . very well.”

  Taking her arm, he wrapped it firmly through his own and led her through the dappled shadows of the lane. In the air, he could smell the faint scent of lavender from her golden curls. A gentleman could easily be distracted by such a tantalizing aroma, and with an effort he schooled his wayward fancies. “Tell me, Mrs. Smith, how long have you been a widow?”

  Her gaze remained stoically trained on the path ahead. “Just over a year, my lord.”

  “You must have been very young when you wed.”

  “I am older than I appear.”

  His gaze stroked over her profile. That was true enough. Although he knew her to be almost three and twenty, she appeared as young and untouched as any debutante. “Was your husband a military man?”

  “Yes.”

  Her tone was hardly encouraging. Of course, Philip could not resist. “Smith.” He rolled the name slowly off his lips. “I believe I knew an Edward Smith. He served with Wellington. And a David Smith who was stationed in Austria. Are they relations?”

  “No.”

  “What of Robert Smith?”

  “No.”

  He swallowed a chuckle. “Well, I suppose Smith is rather a common name.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  Obviously uneasy at his probing, Bella attempted to hurry their steps. Her efforts merely succeeded in causing her to stumble over a rock in the road, and she lunged to the side. Philip managed to keep her upright, although she brushed into an overhanging branch.