At the Bride Hunt Ball

by Olivia Parker

  “Maddie? Did you fall asleep?”

  Rolling onto her back, Madelyn opened first one eye, then the other, her eyes adjusting to the low light emitted from the small hearth across the room. She eyed the green velvet gown slung over the silk dressing screen. “So how was it?” Madelyn asked. “The rest of the tour and dinner, I mean. Did Lord Tristan speak with you, look at you, confess his undying admiration and swear off all other women?”

  Charlotte sighed, spinning the apple she held by its stem. “He surprised us all and joined the tour. Saw me in my spectacles, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, Charlotte,” Madelyn murmured with sympathy. “Chances are he has already seen you in them prior to this occasion. He did pull you from that carriage accident years ago.”

  “Yes, but he wasn’t looking at me then as a potential bride. And listen to this,” her friend said, leaning forward. “Harriet told me he eliminated Julienne Campbell because one of her bottom teeth turned inward.” She smiled wide, baring her teeth. Then she spoke while barely moving her lips, “Peas luk. Ahrrre ’ine cruked?”

  “Your teeth are fine, Lottie,” Madelyn said with a shake of her head. “And I’m sure Julienne’s are as well. ’Tis Lord Tristan whose mind is crooked.”

  “You think I’m silly, don’t you? Well, if he’ll cross off a beautiful girl with one crooked tooth, he very well will think nothing of axing a pale, flat-chested, spectacle-wearing dullard.”

  Madelyn whacked her in the head with a pillow. “You are not a dullard.”

  Charlotte shrugged, sobering. “I would have enjoyed your company at supper. I was seated between your stepmother and Laura Ellis this time.”

  A twinge of guilt stabbed at Madelyn’s conscience. She had pleaded a headache to a furious Priscilla as she returned from their dressing room, holding the velvet gown that now hung on the dressing screen. Her stepmother had been so angry, she’d even forgotten to lock her in her room before she left for dinner. But after hearing that Gabriel was scheduled to attend, she couldn’t fathom sitting down to dine, squished in a snug dress while he scowled down at her, or worse, ignored her.

  “I’m sorry, Lottie,” Madelyn replied with sincerity. In addition, she knew she couldn’t handle watching the ladies keep one eye on Gabriel while they pretended to maintain an interest in Lord Tristan with the other. She wouldn’t have been able to keep from rolling her own eyes and throwing up her arms with the absurdity of it all.

  “Well, I don’t blame you. Could hardly eat myself. I was nearly overcome by Laura’s perfume,” Charlotte said, crinkling up her nose. “The girl must have fairly drowned herself in lavender.”

  “Lord Tristan’s favorite perfume?”

  “No, actually,” Charlotte said, sounding surprised herself. “In fact, Lady Rosalind mentioned after the tour that the duke rather enjoyed the lavender-lined path in the courtyard.”

  “I see.”

  “Change your mind about the apple?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Charlotte tilted her head to the side to bite into the fruit, but paused and spoke instead. “His Grace was there, you know.”

  “Yes, Priscilla had said as much,” Madelyn said, trying hard not to needle Charlotte with questions about Gabriel. Had he teased the other girls like he did her? Or, did he seem out of sorts? Thoughtful? Did his smile come easily and often like it did when they spoke? Did he ask—

  “He inquired after you. Priscilla told him you were unwell, and he expressed his desire that whatever it was that ailed you didn’t keep you from the riding jaunt to the falls tomorrow.”

  Madelyn groaned. She hoped he wouldn’t be joining them. If it was the same cascading falls she frequented when she lived up here as a child, she certainly didn’t want the sinful duke to intrude upon her decent childhood memories—let alone face him in the daylight.

  She sat up, holding her bent knees to her chest. “I’m a coward, Lottie.”

  “Don’t be silly, it is me who always hides. In fact, that’s why I came to see you now. They’re all down there, the chaperones, drinking Madeira and playing charades. I daresay, the entire lot is top heavy. I pleaded an upset stomach, told my mother I was off to bed when in actuality I am too shy to play their game.”

  “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to play with them either.” Madelyn grimaced. “No, Charlotte. I am a true coward. Do you remember how we had that conversation back in London, the day after the ball?”

  “Of course.” Charlotte stood, and twirled the apple again by its stem. “After scolding me for keeping my little secret, you told me you had met a bull-headed but devastatingly handsome scoundrel who had fooled you into accepting the invitation when you ran into the garden.”

  “And do you remember why I ran?” Madelyn prodded.

  “Because you despised the Duke of Wolverest and his brother and you did not want any part of their ‘arrogant madness.’”

  “I thought so. I think so.” Frustrated, Madelyn rubbed her temples. “I suppose there is an underlying reason. Perhaps I was afraid if I joined in the bride hunt, I might be painfully compared to the other, more sophisticated, infinitely more desirable women, and be forced to confront my own blinding inadequacies.”

  Charlotte smiled warmly, still twirling the apple. “That is perfectly understandable. I felt that way at times.”

  “How could you say that? You are beautiful.”

  “I hardly feel that way,” Charlotte scoffed. “Why do you think I worry so and purposely walk around nearly blind? There’s a welt on my shin the size of Cornwall from all the times I walk into the legs of furniture.”

  “You try to change yourself to fit someone’s…some man’s ideal…I cannot do that. I will not live my life trying to be something I am not.” Gabriel was making her so confused. If he thought her so unfit, so unacceptable that he mercifully allowed her to attend this stupid ball, why had he kissed her, why did he look at her in that unnerving, yet thrilling way, and why had he not sent her home a long time ago? “I’m sorry. I should not have said such a thing.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “It is true. I will not hide from the fact. We want the same thing from life, from love, we just have a different way of going about it. We all need to marry well. I need to wed, Maddie, and if looking a certain way or acting a certain way will get me there, so be it.”

  The stem of the apple weakened and the fruit Charlotte was holding dropped to the floor. A soft knock sounded at the door at the same time.

  The friends shared a glance. “Who could it be at this hour?” Charlotte asked.

  Indeed. Everyone was downstairs and according to Lottie were all deep in their cups. Besides, Priscilla wouldn’t knock, she’d just barge in.

  Madelyn swung her legs to the side of the bed at a second round of knocking. Grabbing her thin robe, she shrugged it on and tied the sash. “Your mother could be looking for you,” she said, standing. “Perhaps she went to check in on you and found you gone. This would be the next logical place she’d look.”

  Charlotte agreed, then loped over to the chaise lounge to feign not feeling well.

  Madelyn padded toward the door, picking up the apple. She hesitated before the closed door. “Who’s there?” Silence. She looked over her shoulder at Charlotte. “Perhaps they’ve gone.”

  Turning the brass knob, the door opened with a groan. A tall black shape stepped forward.

  “Forbidden fruit,” Gabriel murmured with dark amusement.

  Madelyn glanced down at the apple clutched to her chest, then hastily hid it behind her back. Giving the appearance of temptation to a man who kissed her senseless hours before was certainly not an intelligent idea. She took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. He smelled warm and alluring, and she struggled with the compulsion to step closer into his aura of heat.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to appear nonchalant. In truth her entire body fairly thrummed because of his nearness. His black locks were tousled, as if he’d just run his hand thr
ough his hair, and the top three buttons of his shirt where undone, his untied cravat hanging loosely around his neck. He looked adorably rumpled, which softened his cross expression.

  “You don’t listen,” he drawled, slowly waggling one long finger. His azure eyes glittered with the reflection of the firelight coming from within her room…and with something else, something darker, dangerous. “You weren’t supposed to open the door.”

  The deep timbre on his voice made her shiver. “If you weren’t expecting me to open the door, why did you bother to knock?”

  “A test.”

  “And I failed.”

  “Miserably,” he said, his slow, appreciative gaze feasting on her scantily attired body from the top of her head down to her toes and all the way back again.

  Never in her life had a man looked at her so thoroughly, as if he wanted to consume her. Now that was a silly thought. However he could have looked, she must have imagined it, that was all there was to it. Swallowing loudly, Madelyn crossed her arms over her chest in a shielding gesture that she hoped came off as indignation.

  “All right, then,” she said. “Seeing as the test is complete, I bid you good eve—”

  He took a step closer, raising a hand to press firmly against the door. “Are you alone?”

  She took a step back. “No.”

  At his skeptical look, she stepped aside momentarily, revealing Charlotte lounging on the chaise. Or she hoped, anyway. There was a chance her timid friend had gone into hiding upon hearing Gabriel’s voice.

  But he didn’t remove his piercing eyes from her face to see for himself if she was lying. So she stood there, shivering as the heat from her room escaped into the drafty hall.

  “What do you want?” she asked, tossing a long, loose lock over her shoulder.

  He gaze was direct and unflinching. “A confession.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Whatever for?”

  “You are playing a dangerous game, Miss Haywood.” Gabriel’s deceptively quiet voice vibrated through her.

  Whatever did he mean? “I’m not playing any sort of game.” She placed both of her hands on her hips. “I’ve a mind to think you are the one playing a game, sir. I didn’t come knocking on your door in the middle of the night.”

  Straightening, he shook his head slowly, a hint of irritation shining in his eyes. “I will not profess innocence. I came here knowing you’d be abed.”

  “And I was,” she said with a brisk shrug, stating the obvious.

  “I came here thinking you were alone.”

  “And I’m not,” she pointed out flippantly.

  He ducked his dark head down, close to hers. “Miss Greene sits fifteen feet away and ’tis the only reason my hands remain at my sides and not sculpting over your naked, quivering flesh.”

  Her heart skipped as the burn of a blush crept up her throat to her cheeks. Some traitorous part of her body delighted at his words, but then her rational mind took over. Prior to his threat of ravishment, she’d thought that maybe he would come to apologize for his part in their unexpected kiss, but it had become evident he entertained no such benevolence.

  Her ire rejuvenated by her thoughts, Madelyn straightened her shoulders. “Please step back. I’m shutting the door now.” She hoped her voice sounded more convincing than it did to her own ears.

  He gave her a slight bow of his head and turned to leave. “Don’t forget about tomorrow afternoon,” he said over his shoulder.

  The ride to the falls.

  “You’ll be happy to know I shall be in attendance.” He smiled, wide and arrogant.

  “Thank you for supplying that piece of information,” she said sourly. “Perhaps I shall have a headache tomorrow afternoon and spend the day resting in my room.”

  He turned, walking backward down the hall, his swagger matching his roguish smile. “And perhaps I’ll carry you down to the stables slung over my shoulder. I’ll spend the rest of the day relishing the memory of having your—”

  “Stop!” she called out, throwing up a hand. “Do not say another word. I don’t want to hear—”

  “I think you do.”

  “I certainly do not,” she said flatly, before rushing to shut the door.

  It suddenly dawned on her why so many otherwise prudent women turned to milk toast from one devilish glance, one soul-searing kiss: being good and proper took hard work, and being bad was…sinfully easy.

  An unreachable concern hung just above her present thoughts. What had Gabriel said that confused her? Oh yes, he had wanted a confession. It was the second time he had asked for one. And whatever for? For this game he claimed she was playing? Had he noticed her plan to keep Charlotte away from Lord Tristan?

  Leaning her back against the door, she sighed and threw an exasperated glance at her friend. “I’m sorry,” she said shakily.

  Charlotte’s expression was of pure astonishment. “Was that who I thought it was?”

  Clutching the apple to her chest, Madelyn nodded, thankful for the solid support of the door at her back. Surely temptation awaited in the hall.

  Gabriel stalked down the hall, mindless to the cool drafts haunting the corridor like floating specters, mindless to the deep shadows swallowing the carpet before him. His alert mind and body was yet fully focused on Miss Haywood. She had answered the door in her blasted night rail.

  The infernal woman had no idea the picture she had presented standing in her thin gown with the firelight at her back. She might as well have been naked.

  Muscles tense, his blood threatened to boil over unless he appeased the lust coiling within his ravenous soul. His body ached for her touch with a fierceness he’d never known he possessed. And his anger at the prospect of her betrayal only amplified his hunger. Some low and wicked part of him seethed with the desire to show her the risks involved with playing this foolish game of trying to tempt him. She was playing with fire.

  So, the brides-to-be thought they could change his mind about marriage? He had half expected this…this turn of attention from his brother to himself. He suspected the silly chits would get it into their heads that one of them could change his mind. But not her. Not Madelyn. Oh, he wasn’t worried about the other women. He knew without a doubt none of them would ever be able to sway his mind. Their manners were faultless, their form always the epitome of social grace.

  Perfectly forgettable.

  He wasn’t so sure about Miss Haywood. The pang of her deceit rankled his spirit. He had believed her. He had believed she didn’t want anything at all to do with his bride hunt.

  So then why do you keep her here?

  The answer came easily, though it was no less of a shock. He kept her here for selfish reasons. Hell, he had to give up the pretense that he kept Miss Haywood under his roof because he thought he could alter her opinion of his brother, that maybe she’d begin to find Tristan appealing, that maybe Tristan would choose her. All of those reasons were glaringly false. In fact, if his brother did choose her, and if the aggravating woman accepted, he just might go mad.

  He had kept her here for himself. To see what she did next, said next, wore next; to see what new feeling, new insight, her smile inspired within himself. It was suddenly apparent that somehow he had allowed her to break some unseen barrier within him.

  And her only weapon was her sincerity. If she was part of this ruse, if she thought to trick him, it meant all his impressions of her were based on a lie. He didn’t want to believe it, but it appeared to be true.

  Tomorrow, Tristan had scheduled a ride to the falls on the outskirts of the Wolverest estate. Perhaps there he could lure her away from the others and persuade her into a confession. Yes, that could work. Perhaps in the light of a new day, the situation would untangle itself.

  Chapter 12

  They were loaded in a wagon like sheep at the market.

  “The terrain is simply too steep,” Lord Tristan was explaining, handing Belinda Fairbourne up into the waiting wagon laden with blankets and pillows of every
size. He waited until she settled her skirts, then strode over to collect her sister and guide her up the steps placed at the open end of the wagon by the footman.

  “What valleys we will cross,” he continued, “are strewn with ruts and rocks. Too dangerous, I’m afraid. Can’t have any of my precious spring blossoms thrown from your mounts.”

  Madelyn grumbled. “More likely, his concern is for his horse’s welfare alone,” she muttered under her breath. Standing with arms crossed over her chest in a mutinied manner, her gray wool cloak whipped and flapped in the brisk wind. Her wide-brimmed bonnet was secured to her head with numerous pins and a band of yellow ribbon tied tight under her chin, but the breeze still threatened to lift it off her head.

  Charlotte stood next to her, spectacle-free and apparently sinking in the mud from the previous evening’s downpour. And sinking fast. Her friend was at least a foot shorter.

  Madelyn looked down at Charlotte’s feet with avid concern. Only there wasn’t any mud, just gravel. A niggling suspicion surfaced in her mind. “Charlotte Greene,” Madelyn admonished. “Are you slouching?”

  Charlotte only gave her a side glance, hesitant to break her attention from Lord Tristan. “Ah…do I look like I’m slouching?”

  “I…I suppose not.” A frown wrinkled her brow. “That is, if one isn’t aware of your true stature.”

  “Good,” Charlotte mumbled out of the corner of her mouth. “Because I am.”

  Madelyn’s jaw dropped. “Whatever for?”

  “Shh, Maddie,” Charlotte pleaded.

  Relaxing her defensive stance, Madelyn stared down at her friend with a sense of wonder and growing amusement. “Let me guess,” she whispered. “Lord of Perfection doesn’t like tall women.”

  Charlotte nodded solemnly, trembling a touch from the effort it took to hold herself with bent knees for an extended period of time. “Tell me this…do you see Miss Laura Ellis here?”