The Match of the Century

by Cathy Maxwell

  “You are beautiful,” he said, his voice low. He held out his hand.

  Elin found it hard to meet the intensity in his eyes. She offered him her gloved hand, but instead of bowing over it or even pressing a kiss to her fingers, he took her hand fully in his own. “Come.” He started to cut through his relatives, pulling her toward the door

  “Baynton,” his mother said, “where do you believe you are going? We need to start the receiving line. And you haven’t said a word of welcome to anyone else.”

  He laughed, the sound strong and sure. “Welcome,” he announced with a wave as he continued guiding Elin to the door. “Go downstairs without us, Mother. We shall be there momentarily. I promise.”

  On those words, he hurried Elin across the hall to a wood-paneled library. The room was cozy and apparently also served as his office. The sounds of musicians beginning to play could not be heard here.

  Baynton closed the door.

  Self-conscious, Elin walked toward the desk. The walls were lined with overstuffed bookshelves. No wonder sound couldn’t penetrate his sanctuary. There was a gilded clock on the mantel and a crystal-and-gilt inkpot and pen on the desk.

  “Elin, face me.”

  She did as he requested.

  Solemnly they studied each other. The anxiousness churning inside her began to slow.

  He moved first, walking toward her, stopping when there was barely a foot between them. She had to tilt her head back to look at him. Seeing her do so, he sat on the edge of a leather upholstered chair, the sort men favored, to bring himself down more to her height.

  “Are you ready for this, Elin?”

  The question startled her. Did he have doubts? “I believe so, Your Grace—”

  “Gavin. Call me Gavin.” There was a beat of silence, filled only by the ticking of the mantel clock. Then, he said, “We are to be man and wife. I’ve waited for this time. I’ve longed for it.”

  She wanted to tell him that she’d waited for this moment as well, but shyness caught the words in her throat. Yes, shyness and also a bit of hope. What he was doing was good. Caring. She could love a caring man. She could love him.

  And he wanted her.

  Besides admiration there was an eagerness about him. An adorableness. She’d never seen this side of him or had ever imagined that he wanted to marry her. She had assumed his was nothing more than an obligation, an honorable one, but an obligation dictated by his father all the same.

  Just as she’d been dictated to by her parents . . . however, now, her feelings shifted.

  Elin kept such thoughts close. It was too soon for declarations of any sort.

  Ben came to her mind . . . Ben and what she’d once believed was between them.

  Gavin was not Ben, but let him be the vulnerable one, then she would know she was safe.

  He didn’t seem to be put off by her reserve. Instead, he gifted her with another of those smiles, this one making her almost sway with dizziness over how blinding it was. He pulled a velvet pouch from the inside of his black evening dress jacket.

  “My father gave this necklace to my mother.” He opened the pouch and poured into his hands a string of creamy pearls. “He said it had once belonged to Mary Stuart. His intent was that it be worn by the brides of Baynton. Would you honor me and my family by accepting this gift and wearing it this evening?” He stood, setting the pouch on the chair and holding the necklace out to place it around her throat. “May I?”

  Now Elin truly was speechless. She had never seen anything lovelier than these pearls. How could she have had doubts about this man? This marriage?

  And she felt ashamed that she’d wasted her virginity, the only thing that had been truly hers to give to her husband, on the wrong man. Tears filled her eyes.

  Even though she blinked them back, Gavin noticed immediately. “What have I done? Have I made you unhappy? You don’t have to wear the necklace—” He acted as if he would throw it back in the pouch.

  Elin stayed his hand, catching him at the wrist. Her actions brought her closer to him. Her skirts brushed his legs. She could feel his body heat. His shaving soap was spicy, masculine. She liked it.

  “The necklace is beautiful, Gavin. I’m just touched by your generosity. You honor me. You honor my family.” And the latter meant more to her than the former.

  “You are to be my wife. I mean to honor you,” he said. His gallant words went directly to her heart even as his gaze shifted from her eyes down to her mouth.

  She found her lips suddenly dry, too dry for a kiss, and she moistened them . . . an invitation.

  He smiled. This time, his smile was not blinding, but admiring. When he looked at her like this, she really did feel lovely. “We are going to do very well together, Elin,” he promised. “I’m going to kiss you.”

  “I know.” Her voice had gone low and husky.

  “Good,” he replied. He drew a breath and leaned toward her. Their closed lips met, brushed against each other, held sweetly for a second, then he drew back. Elin wanted to follow. Her breasts skimmed the material of his jacket, as her hand reached for his lapel for support. That was not enough of a kiss. More, she wanted more. That tiny kiss did nothing save stir long-forgotten fires inside her . . . fires she had once discovered with Ben—

  The door to the library flew open and crashed against the wall.

  The duke and Elin both jumped in surprise. Gavin placed himself between Elin and the door, the pearls still in his hands.

  “Your Grace,” Sawyer, the Menheim butler was babbling from the hallway, “I am sorry you are bothered. I tried to stop him. He refused to listen to me.”

  “Stop me?” the uninvited guest repeated. “From seeing my own beloved brother?” There was no love in that hard tone.

  Brother? It couldn’t be. Elin bent to see around Baynton.

  It was him.

  Benedict Whitridge, Lord Ben as he was known around Menheim, or Major Whitridge in his other life, stood in the doorway, his uniform disheveled by travel and his manner one of such anger, he appeared ready to launch himself at his brother.

  But those were only surface changes.

  Elin found herself shocked by the deeper changes. He was taller than his brother now and his shoulders as broad except that he had retained the lean physique and long muscular thighs of the horseman he’d once been. There were lines at the corners of his eyes as if he’d spent hours squinting into the sun or laughing. The smooth skin of his boyhood had given way to a day’s growth of beard along the line of his hard jaw.

  And his brows were thicker, more animated. Elin had always enjoyed Ben’s brows because they said louder than words exactly what was going on in his mind. Right now, they punctuated the vivid intelligence in eyes that were a lighter hue than the duke’s.

  Of the two brothers, Gavin was definitely the more classically handsome. Still, each was the sort of man whose presence could fill a room.

  However, while Baynton was known for his sterling character, Elin remembered how Ben had charmed her with his character, his humor, his witticisms over comings and goings of those around them. He’d made her laugh.

  Until the day he didn’t.

  Until the day he’d broken her young, trusting heart.

  Gavin tucked the pearls into his pocket. “It is all right, Sawyer. Please see to my guests. And as for you, brother, we will discuss anything you wish later. Right now, I am expected downstairs.” He spoke with the cool dismissal of a man accustomed to being obeyed.

  In answer, Ben slammed the door shut. “Your guests will wait, brother. We talk now.”

  Chapter Two

  Lord Benedict Whitridge—now Major Whitridge of his majesty’s army—had never intended to cross Menheim’s threshold again.

  He’d been done with his family, content with his military career—until Gavin ruined it.

  And he took great pleasure watching his brother’s face shift from shock to outrage that anyone would dare to speak to him in such a manner.


  Was it sane to attack Gavin? No, but Ben was beyond sanity. “You destroyed everything I’d built for myself. Everything I valued.”

  “I didn’t—” Gavin started, but Ben was not ready for excuses and platitudes. He already suspected his brother’s motives, and he hated them.

  “I had a career, respect,” Ben bit out. “I was a warrior.”

  “I know. I received reports. You are well thought of—”

  “Then why did you order me home? Why did you end it?”

  Gavin’s gaze grew sharp, unyielding. His spine stiffened. He was the duke. Dukes did not explain themselves.

  Ben had to step away, struggling with the urge to reach out and choke a reaction out of his brother. Gavin could not force him to accept his dictates—except he had.

  “Undo it,” Ben ordered. “Undo what you did. You had them remove me from my command, from the service, from everything that meant something to me. Now tell Whitehall, you made a mistake. You interfered where you shouldn’t have. You want to have my dismissal overturned. You have that power, Baynton. Exercise it.”

  “I can’t. This country is at war,” Baynton answered, as if that should explain everything.

  “We’ve been at war for most of the last fifty years. Father knew that when he sent me off.”

  “However, I will not have you in harm’s way. I need you, Ben. The title needs you.”

  “The title? The bloody title?” Ben wanted to put his fist into the wall. “Is that all you think about? This is my life, Gavin.” Ben hit his chest hard. “Mine. Not yours. I know you have the bloody power to do whatever you please. You and father are lions in the same den on that matter, but I have the right to be my own man.”

  “And I must protect the title.” Gavin took a step toward him, which right now was not the wisest thing to do. “I need you, Ben,” he said, his tone low, conciliatory. “If something happens to me, you must know what to do.”

  “Why?” Ben was genuinely confused, and that was when he noticed Elin.

  For a moment, his mind reeled as he recognized her, as he realized what was happening.

  From the moment he’d been ordered into his commander’s tent and relieved of his men, Ben’s whole being had been in turmoil. He’d been in charge of an infantry division and had been eagerly awaiting the return from London of his friend Lieutenant General Arthur Wellesley, who had recently been named the new commander of all British forces in Portugal.

  Ben had been part of the drubbing the British had received at Corunna several months ago. He was not one who liked retreating. Having served with Wellesley in both India and on the Peninsula, he felt the right man was finally leading the battle against the French.

  Furthermore, Wellesley had written Ben personally, informing him of his return and promising a promotion to lieutenant colonel as soon as the general set foot in Portugal. Since Ben had refused his family’s help in purchasing his commissions and had to earn them on the battlefield, this was the opportunity for which he’d waited.

  All of that was gone now. When he’d protested his being relieved, he’d been informed at headquarters that he was being ordered to resign because of national interest. They didn’t explain what they meant, but Ben knew. Gavin wanted him home, and it didn’t make sense.

  Ben had walked out of headquarters that day and, without stopping, had marched for the nearest ship heading to London. There was actually the possibility that his ship and Wellesley’s had passed each other on the Channel.

  And all Ben wanted was to return to his men, to lead his troops, except here was Elin.

  Elin.

  He remembered her as a girl. He was shocked to see her a woman—although her impact on him had not changed. There had been a time when she’d been all he could think about. He’d had to work to erase her from his mind. He’d forced himself to let her go.

  Now he realized he’d forgotten nothing.

  He took a hesitant step toward the door. He’d been so intent in hunting Gavin down, many important details hadn’t registered with him. They did now.

  The duke was hosting a ball. Ben had rarely seen the house lit up the way it was this evening. It had been prepared for a truly memorable occasion. The foyer had been full of people dressed in their finest, and the musicians played with great vigor

  And here was Elin. She, too, wore her best.

  Maturity had added to her beauty. She had always reminded him of the wood sprites his Nan claimed inhabited the forests around Trenton. Elin was delicate, finely made, and yet full of spirit.

  Her maid had attempted to tame the glorious curls of her hair to make her more acceptable to London society. They must have had a time of it. He remembered the way her curls would escape her braid and frame her face or her hair’s heavenly mass when she’d worn it down.

  However, the biggest change were her curves, the divine swelling of her breasts and the shadow through the gauzy material outlining her waist and legs.

  Memory is a tricky thing. Yes, he could recall covering those breasts with eager hands. He also remembered his father horsewhipping him and, of course, the banishment . . .

  Ben groped for his anger, surprised it could have dissipated so completely, diverted by Elin’s presence. Why was he stunned to find her here? He shouldn’t have been. She was Gavin’s. She’d always been meant for the duke. She’d told him often enough.

  “I suppose the two of you are married.”

  He sounded harsh. He felt harsh.

  “Tonight’s the betrothal ball,” Gavin answered. “We postponed the marriage when Father died. It took me a bit more time than anticipated to make the transition.”

  “Well, that explains all the nonsense downstairs.”

  Elin had not spoken. Ben was having difficulty keeping his gaze away from her. Be angry. Stay angry.

  His brother came forward, blocking Ben’s view of Elin’s petite figure. “I’m glad you are here.”

  “I don’t want to be here.” There it was, his temper. He found his footing again. “And if you are marrying, what is this talk about needing me? Within the year, you will have begat a little duke with a host more to come. I’m temporarily your heir. You don’t need me.”

  “No one knows what life holds,” his brother answered. “After all, we didn’t expect Father’s death. He had been a healthy man, a strong one, yet he was gone before we knew it. I could meet my death on the morrow, or before Elin bears a child, then you will need to understand the demands of the title.”

  “You might meet your death right this minute, brother, if you do not reverse what you did to me. I have no desire to be Baynton.”

  For a long second, the duke took his measure. He was known for his ability to read men. They said he was more skillful than even his father had been. Ben thought it pig swill.

  “I can’t,” Gavin said at last. “Whether nothing happens to me before Elin bears my heir, or if she gives me a host of sons, someone I trust must be on hand to guide the next duke in my stead. That is you, Ben. You are the only one I can trust. If I could give you back your command, I would. However, you are needed here.”

  “To do what? Wait upon your death? I’m a man, Gavin, not a lapdog.”

  “I am aware I ask a high price,” his brother answered, finally showing annoyance. “If Jack were here, this would be his role. But he is not, and so it falls to you.”

  “His role?” Ben echoed. “To wait in case I’m needed? To twiddle my thumbs at garden parties while you attend all the important meetings? To be a gentleman? To hop to your bloody orders? No wonder Jack ran.”

  “He didn’t run. He wouldn’t do that.”

  Ben gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Oh, yes, he would, Gavin. I remember the rows he had with Father. He didn’t want what was planned for him any more than I do.” He took a step forward. “You don’t need me, Gavin. You are not going to die anytime soon.”

  A shadow crossed his brother’s face. “You don’t know any such thing.”

  “I’m fairly
certain,” Ben answered. “You look hale and hearty, and I see no reason for me to lose what I’ve built for myself because you have grown maudlin over Death.”

  That barb hit its mark.

  “I’m not maudlin. I’m practical,” Baynton said, his manner changing from brother to lord. “I accept you do not approve of my decision. However the matter has been settled. Prepare yourself, Ben. Your education is about to start.”

  “My brother, if you do not let me return to the war, then I’ll be the one to teach you a thing or two. You are not Father, and I’m not some docile lad to be led by my nose. I’ll not be the man you want me to be. You worry about the havoc of death on the title? You’d best start worrying about the devilment I can raise.”

  “The title is our family responsibility—” Gavin started, sounding like the bloody prig he was.

  Ben cut him off. “You are a damn fool. And yet, I, of all people, understand why. Father molded you into the man he wanted you to be. You have no idea what it is like to live completely for yourself. You are full of shoulds and should nots. Be careful, the weight will crush the life out of you, but I will not let it have me. Do you understand? I’m not a bloody sheep.”

  “Neither am I.”

  Gavin took a step forward. They were very much alike, Ben realized suddenly, both sons of their father. Neither would back down. Gavin proved him right by saying, “I have had your commission recalled. You have been dismissed from the military. I give you this evening to come to your senses and realize your responsibilities. We shall discuss this matter further on the morrow.”

  “There is nothing more to discuss,” Ben returned, his fury with his brother’s high-handedness simmering under every word.

  “So be it.” Gavin turned to Elin. “I’m sorry you were a witness to this, but it could not be avoided.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we join our guests? It is past time.”

  “Yes, yes, please,” Elin murmured. She placed a gloved hand on his offered arm. Gavin led her to the door as if she was a special prize—and she was.