The Wayward Bride

by Anna Bradley

  “Yes, Mrs. Babcock. What is it?”

  “I’m so sorry to disturb, my lord, but I thought you’d like to know your guests have arrived.”

  Hugh blinked, his mind a total blank. Guests? It was the middle of the night, for God’s sake, and they were still caught in the tail end of one of the worst storms England had ever seen. What sort of guests showed up at a man’s door under such circumstances?

  “Lord Pierce?” Mrs. Babcock’s voice had risen an octave. “Will you come, my lord?”

  Hugh glanced at Isla, who was struggling with her bodice, but she hadn’t yet managed to set it to rights. His gaze fell on the shadow between her plump breasts, and his thoughts veered off course again. Whoever these guests were, surely they could wait while he—

  “Lord Pierce?”

  Damn it. “I’m not expecting any guests, Mrs. Babcock.”

  There was a short silence, and then fretful tutting came from the other side of the door. “I, ah…I beg your pardon, my lord, but I believe you are expecting Lord Graystone?”

  Graystone?

  Good Lord. Just the thought of Graystone was enough to make the most stalwart erection wither. Well, that was one problem solved, but what the devil was Graystone doing, coming here at this hour?

  Then, right on the heels of that thought came another one, even less pleasant.

  Graystone hadn’t come alone—

  “Lord Graystone, and Miss Grace, your sweet little niece, my lord, and…”

  Hugh just had time to cast one despairing glance at Isla. “I’m sorry, Isla—”

  “And, of course, Lady Juliana,” Mrs. Babcock added cheerfully, her voice carrying perfectly through the closed door. “Your betrothed.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Isla stood back as Hugh greeted his guests, her cheeks aching from the smile she’d forced to her lips. Looking at him now, no one would guess not five minutes earlier he’d been breathless and groaning as his mouth devoured every inch of her skin.

  Now, standing in the entryway, he looked every inch the proper marquess, with his buttoned coat and smooth cravat.

  To be fair, she’d been as breathless as he was, and no one would have guessed it of her, either. Every button was fastened, every ribbon was tied, and every strand of her hair was smoothed into place. She didn’t look as if she’d just been in the midst of a delicious debauchery.

  No, she looked perfect. On the outside, that is. Inside, she was a quivering mess.

  Hugh was betrothed. That’s what he’d been trying to tell her tonight.

  She didn’t know why she was surprised at it. He was a marquess, with all the duties and obligations the title entailed. He had to marry. Of course, he’d make an offer to another lady, and of course, that lady would accept him.

  This lady.

  Or maybe it wasn’t about obligation at all. Maybe Hugh had made Lady Juliana an offer because he believed she’d make him happy. She certainly looked like the sort of young lady who’d make any man happy.

  Lady Juliana was fair-haired and pink-cheeked, with laughing lips and a pair of dark green eyes so unique and lovely they saved her from being just another English rose, indistinguishable from the rest. In short, Hugh’s betrothed was stunning, and there was no mistaking the way her face lit up when she saw him.

  “Oh, Lord Pierce! How glad I am to see you! I was beginning to think we’d never find our way to Hazelwood. Have you ever seen such turbulent weather? We had to fit the coach with runners for the last part of the journey from Aylesbury.”

  Isla tried to look away from her, but her gaze was drawn back to Lady Juliana again and again, as if she were mesmerized. This lady would be the Marchioness Pierce. Hugh’s wife. She’d be the one to sleep beside him every night and wake up next to him every morning.

  They looked well together. Lady Juliana’s fair beauty complemented Hugh’s dark handsomeness. They’d have lovely children.

  Isla’s face felt ready to splinter with the effort it took to keep smiling.

  “Lady Juliana. Welcome to Hazelwood.” Hugh bowed over Lady Juliana’s hand, then turned to an elderly gentleman with thick white eyebrows, who was cradling a sleeping child in his arms. “Lord Graystone. I can’t imagine how you all managed to make it through the ice and snow, but I’m glad you’ve arrived safely.”

  “Exemplary servants, Pierce. That’s how.” Lord Graystone turned a stern eye on Hugh. “My coachman wouldn’t dream of disappointing me.”

  “Of course,” Hugh murmured, but he was no longer looking at Lord Graystone, or even at Lady Juliana. He was gazing at the child in Lord Graystone’s arms, both trepidation and longing written plainly on his face.

  Isla couldn’t see much of Grace Bernard—just a small body wrapped in a thick wool coat, and an abundance of dark, silky curls—but her hair was the exact same rich mahogany shade as Hugh’s.

  “She fell asleep just before we turned down the drive toward Hazelwood.” Lady Juliana ran an affectionate hand over Grace’s back, and the child stirred, raising her head from her grandfather’s shoulder. “She made us promise to wake her when we arrived. Put her down, father, so she may greet her uncle properly.”

  Lord Graystone didn’t look as if he were eager to relinquish her, but after a bit of irritated grumbling and a warning look from Lady Juliana, Lord Graystone at last set Grace on her feet. “There, child. Here’s your uncle, Lord Pierce.”

  Grace Bernard’s cheeks were flushed with sleep, but her dark eyes were alert, and she subjected Hugh to a silent, head-to-toe inspection so intense she put Isla in mind of Queen Charlotte during a court presentation. Hugh swallowed, looking as nervous as any debutante, until at last Grace offered him a shy smile. “You look like my mamma.”

  A spasm of pain crossed Hugh’s face, but he leaned down and took one of Grace’s hands in his. “So do you, Miss Grace. You look just like your mamma.”

  Isla’s throat closed as she watched the tender moment unfold. Hugh needn’t have worried for a single moment Grace Bernard wouldn’t like him or that he wouldn’t know how to be a loving parent to his niece. One had only to look at his face to see he was already half besotted with his sister’s child.

  “Will you introduce us to your friend, my lord?” Lady Juliana turned to Isla with a polite smile.

  Hugh started, and his face flushed with embarrassment. “I beg your pardon for my rudeness.” He cupped Isla’s elbow and drew her forward. “This is Miss Isla Ramsey. Miss Ramsey, this is Lady Juliana Bernard, Miss Grace Bernard, and his lordship, the Marquess of Graystone.”

  “How do you do, Miss Ramsey?” Lady Juliana offered her a polite curtsey, but her green eyes darted between Isla and Hugh, an uneasy furrow between her brows. Isla could hardly blame her. There were very few innocent explanations for her presence in Hugh’s house at this time of night.

  “Lady Juliana, Miss Bernard, and Lord Graystone.” Isla curtsied to them in turn, but it felt as if her bones had turned to ice, and she made an awkward enough job of it.

  “Good evening, Miss Ramsey.” Lord Graystone’s gaze swept over Isla, and his formidable white eyebrows lowered over a pair of cool green eyes. “I didn’t realize you had other guests, Pierce.”

  “Oh, I’m not a guest. That is, I’m…” Isla trailed off, her cheeks heating. She hadn’t the faintest idea what she was, or why fate had seen fit to put her here to witness this moment. She knew only she’d never wanted to escape more than she did right now.

  “Miss Ramsey is Lord Huntington’s sister. You recall my neighbor, the Marquess of Huntington, Lord Graystone? Miss Ramsey was out riding near Hazelwood when the storm descended on us. She got caught in it and was obliged to take shelter here.”

  It was hardly the entire story, but Hugh didn’t linger over the explanation, and Isla was grateful for it.

  “Indeed. How singular. You should know better than to
ride out in the middle of such a storm, young lady.” In spite of this comment, Lord Graystone appeared satisfied with Hugh’s explanation, because after one more measured look at Isla, he turned away, dismissing her.

  Whether Lady Juliana was as satisfied as her father was another question, but whatever she felt, she hid it well. “I’m afraid that must have been terrifying for you, Miss Ramsey. I’m very glad you’re safe.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” No one seemed to know what else to say after that. In the brief silence that followed, Isla saw her chance at escape and snatched at it. “Forgive me, but I believe I’ll retire to my bedchamber now. It’s late, and I’m hopeful for an early return to Huntington Lodge tomorrow.”

  Hugh didn’t try to stop her. Indeed, he seemed nearly as impatient for her to leave as Isla was to go. “Of course. Good night, Miss Ramsey.” He bowed politely, but his eyes didn’t meet hers, and in the next moment he turned back to his guests. “May I offer you some refreshment before you retire?”

  Isla didn’t stay to hear whether the party chose to refresh themselves but fled to her bedchamber. Once she was safely inside, she let herself sag against the closed door at her back. A thousand emotions were swelling inside her chest, but she didn’t try to untangle them. She simply waited while the battle raged, until at last one feeling overwhelmed all the others and spread through her body like a contagion.

  Sadness.

  Perhaps she should be angry at Hugh, but she wasn’t. It wasn’t as if he’d betrayed her. He’d tried to tell her he was betrothed, but she hadn’t wanted to hear him. Even if she had known, it wouldn’t have changed anything. It wouldn’t have made her want him any less. She was half-ashamed to admit it to herself, but she still would have kissed Hugh, and touched him, even if she’d known he was betrothed to Lady Juliana.

  She still would have told him she loved him. That she’d never stopped.

  Isla let her head fall back against the door. Whatever she might have persuaded herself to believe while she’d been in Hugh’s arms, the truth was it was utterly hopeless between them. Lady Juliana’s appearance didn’t make the least bit of difference. Isla’s heart had no right to be curling in on itself like a wounded animal.

  She dragged herself away from the door with a weary sigh. A servant had been in to lay a fire already, so Isla slipped out of her clothes and into her borrowed nightdress without assistance. Despite the softness of the bed and her exhaustion, however, she didn’t sleep. She lay on her back and let thoughts drift through her mind.

  She thought of Hugh and the vagaries—and often the cruelty—of fate.

  She thought of James Baird, and how he’d hurt her, and how she’d never found her way back to herself after it happened.

  And Sydney. She thought of Sydney, of how dear he was to her, and how from the start, there’d never been any secrets between them. Oh, how rare it was, to have a friend like that! How fortunate she was, to have found Sydney.

  He’d shown her what was inside his heart. She knew who he was, what he feared, and what he treasured. She knew about his father, and his father’s expectations of his only son, and she knew Sydney would have to give up a part of himself when they married.

  She knew how lonely he was.

  As surely as she’d seen into Sydney’s heart, he’d seen into hers. He knew about James Baird and all he’d taken from Isla. Not just her virtue, but everything that had made her who she was. Her hopes, her trust, her belief in herself. Sydney knew she blamed herself for everything that had happened in Scotland. He knew—

  Isla’s breath caught, and tears stung her eyes.

  He knew she no longer believed in love.

  Not for herself. For others, yes—Finn and Iris, and Lachlan and Hyacinth. Soul-deep, transformative love did exist, but not for everyone. It wasn’t for someone with her secrets and her sins. It wasn’t for someone whose mistakes had cost others their happiness.

  She’d truly believed that, because she’d let pain and guilt push everything else out of her heart. She hadn’t fought for Hugh, because there was a part of her that had believed she wasn’t good enough for him. She’d made a promise to Sydney she never should have made, one that cheated them both of the happiness they deserved.

  How easy it was to make promises when you didn’t believe in love. You might promise to marry someone you could never love as you ought to—someone you cared for, but couldn’t love with everything inside you, with your whole body and heart. You might vow to marry your dearest friend, and promise yourself a lifetime of companionship would be enough for both of you. You might tell yourself it was more than you deserved.

  You might even persuade yourself none of it was a lie.

  Isla rolled over onto her side. She pressed her damp cheek to the pillow, and for the first time since James Baird had hurt her, she let herself listen to that tiny corner of her heart that had never quite given up.

  It was a lie. All of it. That soul-deep, transformative love was hers. She knew that now, because she felt it every time Hugh looked at her and every time he touched her.

  She couldn’t marry Sydney. If she did, she’d be stealing his chance at love from him. It was difficult for him—she knew that—but she couldn’t believe love could overlook a man with a heart as kind and pure as Sydney’s. If anyone deserved love, it was him. He was her dearest friend, and she could never do anything to hurt him, any more than she’d do something to hurt her brothers, or Hugh—

  “Isla?” There was a soft knock, and Hugh’s low voice reached her from the other side of the door. “Isla, please. Let me talk to you.”

  Isla closed her eyes. She should send him away, but God help her, she couldn’t do it. She slipped out from under the coverlet, padded to the door in her bare feet, opened it, then stood back to let Hugh enter.

  He closed the door behind them, then stood there staring at her as if he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms. He didn’t, though. Instead he dragged both hands through his hair with a sigh and said, “I owe you an explanation.”

  Isla hadn’t intended to touch him, and yet the next thing she knew she’d taken a step toward him and rested her hands on his chest. “I know you were trying to tell me in the study, and I…well, perhaps I knew it was something I didn’t want to hear, because I did my best to distract you.”

  He looked wearier than she’d ever seen him, but he smiled a little at that. “Yes. You’re very good at distraction.” He hesitated, then nodded toward the bed. “It’s cold, and your feet are bare. Will you get back in bed, and let me hold you?”

  Tomorrow, she’d leave him and return to Huntington Lodge. These were likely the last moments they’d ever have alone together, and she wanted his arms around her. “Yes.”

  He led her to the bed and pulled back the coverlet. Once she was settled, he slid in beside her, wrapped her in his arms, and urged her to rest her head on his chest. They lay like that for a long time, with him stroking her hair, until at last she felt his chest move with a deep sigh.

  “I became betrothed to Lady Juliana a few weeks ago, after I learned you were betrothed to Lord Sydney.”

  Isla raised her head from his chest and tried to make out his face in the dark. “Hugh, you don’t have to explain—”

  “Shhh. I want to, and there’s more. Much more.” He cupped the back of her head and gently eased it down to his chest. “Lady Juliana and my sister Emma were dear friends, even before Emma married Lady Juliana’s brother, Jonathan. Emma spent so much time with the Bernards, perhaps it was inevitable she and Jonathan Bernard would fall in love with each other.” He sighed. “She was so young when she married, but they were madly in love. I envied Emma a little, I think. It was impossible to see the two of them together and not believe they were meant for each other.”

  As few as three days ago, Isla would have scoffed at such a sentiment, but not anymore. She nodded against his che
st but remained silent.

  “After Emma died, I knew there was no hope Jonathan would survive the loss. He died just a year later. You can imagine how difficult it was. I believe Lady Juliana felt much as I did—that nothing would ever be right again. But she at least had Grace. Jonathan made Lord Graystone Grace’s guardian just before he died, and Grace has lived at Graystone Court with them ever since.”

  Isla thought of the way the little girl had scrutinized Hugh, and a smile curved her lips. “She’s a beautiful child, and I could see how eager she is to love you. Does she look very much like your sister did at that age?”

  There was a brief silence, and Isla imagined Hugh was smiling in the dark.

  “Just like her, yes. When I first saw her face, for a moment I could have persuaded myself I was looking at Emma.”

  Isla pressed a kiss to the center of his chest and waited for him to go on.

  “Lord Graystone is a decent man—a good man even—but he’s high-handed and stubborn, and like many gentlemen of his age, he has some old-fashioned notions. I told you he’s Grace’s guardian. Well, he took gravely ill some months ago. Lady Juliana feared the worst, and though he did recover, he’s far feebler now than he was prior to his attack. He’s not going to live much longer, Isla, and so Lady Juliana has had to consider Grace’s future.”

  Isla was quiet as she considered this, then she asked, “Has Lord Graystone appointed another guardian to succeed him?”

  “Not yet, no, but he will, and it will be soon. Lady Juliana wants to keep Grace with her, and I agree that would be the best thing for Grace. She was very young when Emma died, and Lady Juliana is the only mother Grace has ever known. It would be devastating for her if Lord Graystone died and she was torn away from her home and sent to live with strangers.” Hugh paused to draw in a quick breath. “But that’s just what will happen if Lady Juliana doesn’t marry.”

  Isla jerked upright in the bed. “What? You mean to say Lord Graystone—”