The Bridal Quest

by Candace Camp

  She dug her fingers into his hair, aware of a wild desire to rub her body against his, to unbutton his clothes and let her fingers caress his bare skin.

  "Oh, God!" Irene broke away, half turning from him, bringing her shaking hands to her face, "No! What am I doing?"

  Gideon let out a groan of frustration, and his arms went around her from behind, pulling her back against him. His loins cupped her buttocks, hard and insistent against her. She could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and hear the harsh rasp of his breath as he bent to nuzzle into her hair.

  "You feel it," he murmured huskily. "Do not deny that you burn with the same desire I do."

  "I cannot. I will not."

  "You are so stern. So harsh," he went on, his lips teasing softly now at her neck. "Do you not care at all how you tempt me?"

  "I do not try to tempt you."

  "I know you do not." He let out a noise that was half laugh, half groan. "That is the devil of it. You have no need to try. You have only to look at me with those golden eyes. I have only to see a lock of your hair pull loose from its restraint and I can think of nothing else but watching it all come free, of pulling out the pins and sinking my hands into those curls ... gold as honey ... soft as satin."

  "Gideon, stop!" Irene pulled away and faced him, clenching her fists at her sides to still the telltale trembling of her fingers. "I will not allow you to seduce me. Can you honestly think that I would set myself up as your mistress?"

  "No," he replied, scowling blackly at her. "I want you as my wife, as you well know."

  "Gideon, I told you I would not. Why will you not believe me?"

  "What would you have me do?" he countered. "You have told me what you will not do. But you cannot make me cease trying. Did you really think that I would meekly accept your refusal? That I would not do my best to change your mind? To persuade you in whatever way I could?"

  They stared at each other for a long moment; then Irene sighed, relaxing her taut stance. "No. I suppose I did not expect you to give in. Not really."

  "Would it be so terrible?" he asked in a low voice, taking a step closer to her.

  Irene backed up at his advance and found herself bumping against the side of his horse. The placid mount did not move away from her but stayed where he was, stretching his neck to crop at a tasty-looking tuft of grass.

  Gideon moved closer, his eyes holding hers as he brushed his knuckles down her cheek. Slowly, as he continued gazing into her eyes, his hand moved lower, skimming over her jaw and down the column of her throat, then spreading wide over her chest. Irene could not pull her eyes from his, could not even make herself step away as his fingers moved boldly downward, molding her dress to her breasts, her stomach, the side of her hip.

  "Would you find it such a chore to be my wife?" he asked, his dark eyes burning into hers. "To be in my bed ... to feel my touch ..."

  "No," she answered honestly, though her voice shook from the fire that rippled through her in the wake of his hands. "It would not be terrible ... for a few weeks, a month, until you were no longer filled with this lust for me."

  She forced herself to jerk away from his hand. "But then, when your thirst was slaked, I would still be under your control."

  "I think you underestimate how long I would desire you," he said mildly. "But let us say you are right. When the fire between us died, you would still be my wife. You would have my name, my respect, my fortune, still."

  "I would have nothing but what you chose to give me," she shot back. "Once your fire has cooled, once you have gotten what you hoped to achieve, think you that you would find my blunt speech acceptable? No, then, I believe, you would find that I am impertinent and far too independent, that I speak my mind with no regard for what you think or prefer. You would realize that I am argumentative and opinionated."

  His brows arched upward in amusement. "Do you think that I have not already realized those things?"

  "Do not jest with me!" Irene exclaimed. "You may find such concerns silly and unimportant, but I assure you, I do not! If you were the one who would be under another's thumb, with nothing of your own, not even the right to your own body ... dependent on someone else's whims, forced to live by another's rules, then you would not wish to enter into that state, either."

  "Irene—" Looking somewhat alarmed, he held out a hand toward her. "Do you think me such a tyrant?"

  "I don't know! I don't know you!" Her eyes were wide in her pale face, her cheeks splotched with a blaze of color. "But I know how easy honeyed words come to a man's lips when he hopes to gain something, and how quick he is to forget them later. I know that if I trust and I am wrong, then I will have bartered my life away. You could beat me and no one would interfere. The children I carried in my own body, born in blood and pain, would be yours, and I would have no rights over them. You could take them from me if you pleased. You could lock me away. The very clothes on my back would belong to you. Whatever money I had to spend would be only what you gave me. You—"

  "My God," Gideon interrupted. "I am not such a monster! No, you do not know me—any more than I know you—but have I given you any reason to suppose that I would act in such a way?"

  "No," she replied, and struggled to pull together the remnants of her composure. "And you doubtless find me foolish to think of such possibilities. Others have told me so, you need not reiterate it."

  He paused for a moment, studying her, then asked quietly, "Is it because of your father that you have such a fear of marriage?"

  Irene bridled at his words, retorting automatically, "Fear? I do not fear marriage. I look at it sensibly, that is all." But then she let out a sigh, her stiffened back relaxing a little, and she said quietly, "You knew him. You know what he was like. Obviously he must have wronged you in some way, since I found you trying to beat him into unconsciousness."

  He looked at her a little quizzically. "I find it reassuring that you assumed that I went after your father because he wronged me first."

  "Do not be overly proud of the matter. It was more the result of my knowledge of my father than my knowledge of you," Irene told him drily.

  "I prefer to take it as a compliment, if you don't mind. Such things are hard to come by from your lips."

  "You may take it any way you please," she replied, and began to stride once more down the path.

  Gideon fell in beside her again, leading his mount. After a moment, he said, "I did know your father. I knew him in my world. He attacked a woman who worked for me. He had a habit of assuming that any woman who made her living dealing faro in a gambling den was available to him in other ways." His mouth tightened. "When she refused him, he hit her."

  "And that is why you came to our house?"

  He nodded. "Yes. But I must be fair and admit that the actions of a man in my part of London are not necessarily his actions among his own kind. In his family."

  "I cannot answer for how he was among his peers, but I know how he treated those he considered his inferiors, and I can tell you that his wife and children were among that group. My mother is a woman of great patience and sweetness, but he constantly found fault with her. I do not know what she was like before she came under his power, but I know that around him, she was fearful and timid, uncertain about everything she said or did. None of us ever knew what might set him off. He would go for days, weeks, and do no more than roar about this or that 'mistake' one of us made. Then he would suddenly lash out and hit my mother for the least thing."

  "I am sorry."

  "It is over now. As you might imagine, I did not mourn his death overmuch."

  His jaw tightened as he went on. "Did he hit you?"

  "Once or twice he knocked me aside. I am not sure he intended to hurt me, as he was often clumsy with drink. He was, I think, in some way a little proud of me. I did not cower from him. He could not reduce me to tears or shakes, as he could Mother or Humphrey."

  Gideon smiled faintly. "I am sure you were a little lioness."

  She shr
ugged. "I saw early on that it only made him worse if one showed fear. It is much the same principle with animals, I think. But I did not need to feel his hand to know what the results of his anger were. I saw what he did to my mother often enough. I knew he was worse with her because she was his wife. She told me once what a fine gentleman he had been when he wooed her, how he had extolled her charms, her virtues. It was only after they were married that he found her foolish."

  Irene glanced over at Gideon. She was a little surprised at herself for telling him about her father. Such stories were not something she normally shared with anyone. She was not sure why it was easier to tell him—perhaps because he had known her father's wickedness personally, or because the life he had lived had been far rougher than that of anyone else she knew, or simply because she sensed that any secrets would safely remain with him. Still, she could not help but wonder if he would look at her a little differently now. Men did not like a woman with too much knowledge of the darker side of the world.

  Gideon stopped, reaching out to take her arm and turn her to face him. "Not all men are like your father, you know. Many men treasure their wives. They treat them with great care, even tenderness."

  "I am no precious jewel," Irene replied bluntly, "to be coddled and wrapped in fine silk. No man would think it, and even if he were foolish enough to believe it, I can assure you that I would soon set him straight about the matter. I am, I suspect, more of a thorn in one's side."

  She started to pull away, but he held her firm, saying flatly, "Do not mistake me for your father. Or for other men."

  Irene raised her eyes, glinting golden in the afternoon sun, and stared at him. "I do not. But if I am wrong, I would not know until it was too late. I assure you, sir, I will not change my mind. I cannot marry you."

  * * * * *

  She parted from Gideon not long afterward. He went on to visit his holdings, and she walked back to the house, a little surprised by the vague feeling of sadness that hung over her. She felt sure that she must have gotten through to him this time; he would cease his pursuit of her and turn his interest to the women who would attend the party next week. She ought to be relieved, she told herself, not despondent.

  Yet, despite her best efforts, she could not seem to dispel the downcast mood. She spent much of the afternoon in her room, staring moodily out the window. Somehow, she thought, she must have let herself slip into some silly girlish dream of love. Why else had she allowed Francesca and the others to talk her into buying those attractive new gowns?

  Why else had she agreed to travel to Radbourne Park? Why else had she allowed Maisie to change her hairstyle?

  Well, that had changed. She had set things straight with Gideon this afternoon. And tonight she would do her hair as she had done it for years, and she would wear one of her older dresses down to dinner. She had done the right thing, and she would soon be back in her usual spirits.

  She did as she had planned, choosing a brown bombazine that had been enlivened only a little with lace at the neck and cuffs, and turning away Maisie's offer to put her hair up in the style she had worn last night.

  Nor did she go down to supper early tonight, waiting instead until she heard Francesca leave her room, then joining her. In this way, she managed to avoid having to come face-to-face with Gideon before they all went in to supper. There, she knew, she would be distant enough from him that she would not have to talk to him.

  Supper moved along at a glacial pace, seeming even slower due to the lack of conversation—except for that of Lady Odelia, of course, who could apparently always be counted upon to find something to talk about if she so desired.

  Late in the course of the meal, however, Gideon spoke up, surprising everyone, as he had not joined the conversation before that point. "Grandmother, I should tell you that I have invited another guest to the party next week."

  Irene saw little to shock anyone in such a pronouncement, but his words seemed to stun both Lady Radbournes, as well as Lady Pencully. The three of them turned to look at him, eyes wide and mouths ajar.

  "I beg your pardon?" Lady Odelia said at last.

  "I have invited one of my friends to join us next week. Piers Aldenham. The party is rather overweighted with ladies. It seemed a good idea to add another man to the group. After all, there will be dancing." When none of the women said anything, simply continuing to stare at him in amazement and, Irene thought, horror, Gideon continued blandly. "I have already informed the butler and housekeeper, of course, so you needn't worry about that. But I thought I should let you know, as well, as you might need to make adjustments to your plans."

  After a long moment Lady Odelia said, "A friend of yours? What do you mean? Someone you knew—before?"

  "Precisely. Mr. Aldenham and I have been friends for, oh, ten or so years, I should say. I will be pleased to introduce him to you."

  Teresa and Pansy both turned to Lady Odelia, who looked back at them, eyebrows raised, then returned her gaze to Lord Radbourne.

  "You cannot be serious," she told him flatly.

  "Indeed, I am."

  "That is absurd! You cannot introduce one of ... of ... those people you used to know to the people we have invited."

  "I cannot?" Gideon's voice was mild, but Irene detected an iron tone that seemed to escape his great-aunt completely.

  Irene glanced across the table at Francesca, who was watching the exchange with interest, then returned her gaze to Lady Odelia.

  "No, of course not," Lady Odelia boomed, looking as if she thought she were on firmer ground now. "You should have consulted me before you asked him. I would have told you that it would not do. It is very good of you, I am sure, to remember those people, but you cannot expect them to mingle with our sort."

  "Indeed. So they will shun him, you think?" He continued meditatively. "It is a good thing then, I suppose, that Piers is not easily cast down."

  "No, Gideon. You misunderstand me. You cannot invite him. You must send another note, telling him not to come. Perhaps next time you are in London you may visit with him."

  "No, Aunt." Gideon's voice was level, but his eyes were cold as stone. "I fear it is you who misunderstand. I have invited him. He is coming here."

  Lady Odelia gaped at him. Finally she snapped her mouth shut with a clack, then said, "No. I forbid it."

  "You forbid it?" Gideon repeated, but his silky tone did not deceive Irene.

  Lady Odelia regarded her great-nephew sternly. The woman was, Irene thought, in for something of a surprise.

  "My lady." Gideon leaned forward slightly, and his words, cool and careful, dropped like hard stones from his mouth. "I fear that I have given you the wrong impression. I have gone along with your plans for my future because they coincided with my own intentions. Unfortunately, my acquiescence seems to have given you the impression that I have turned over the running of my life and this household to you. Allow me to remind you that Radbourne Park belongs to me, and that you and everyone else in this room are staying here on my sufferance. I will invite who I want to this house whenever I choose to do so. And while I will show you the respect your age and familial ties deserve, I am not now and never will be subject to your command. Piers will arrive here next week, and I expect him to be treated with courtesy. I hope I have made myself clear."

  Lady Odelia, for once in her life, had no answer. She simply stared at Gideon, gaping.

  He waited for a moment, then inclined his head briefly. "Ladies. As I am the only man present tonight, I believe I will take my port in my study. Excuse me."

  He rose and strode from the room.

  The stunned silence continued after his departure. Finally Francesca took a sip of her wine, then said, "Well, one can certainly see the Lilles blood in him."

  Irene let out a chuckle, quickly covering her mouth with her napkin.

  "What are we to do?" Teresa wailed, looking wildly around the table.

  "It doesn't seem to me that you have much choice," Irene commented.

&
nbsp; "You!" Teresa whirled on her. "Oh, yes, it's well enough for you. You won't be the one who is humiliated."

  "Oh, dear," Pansy said anxiously, her eyes tearing up. "I'm afraid he's terribly angry with us now. Odelia ..." She turned imploringly toward her older sister.

  "Well." Lady Odelia looked shaken. "Well. He is an ungrateful pup, is he not? I have half a mind to wash my hands of him and go back to Pencully Hall."

  "No! Odelia!" Pansy cried out, and now the tears spilled over, running down her cheeks. "Please, don't leave us with him."

  Lady Odelia's face softened, and she reached out to pat her sister's hand. "There, there, now, Pansy, you know I shall not desert you. If I decide to go, you may come with me."

  "Lady Radbourne," Irene said to Pansy, "I should not worry, if I were you. I do not believe, that Lord Radbourne would harm you in any way. He does not strike me as a man who is spiteful."

  "Of course he will not hurt you, Pansy," Lady Odelia told her sister. "Though I fear he is becoming recalcitrant." Her brow knitted in thought. "Why is he digging in his heels now?"

  "Perhaps, my lady, he has simply become tired of being told what to do," Irene suggested. "No man of my acquaintance would meekly accept being told that he could not invite whom he wanted to his own party."

  "There was something about him of our father, wasn't there, Pansy?" Lady Odelia said reflectively.

  Pansy's only reply was a small moan of distress.

  "Well," Lady Odelia went on. "Clearly the Ferrington chit will not do. No spine at all—she would never be able to direct him. Pity ... Ah, well, good thing we have you, Irene."

  "Excuse me?" Irene replied, facing Lady Odelia. "My lady, I meant what I said. I have no intention of marrying Lord Radbourne."

  "Yes, well." Lady Odelia shrugged dismissively. "Easy enough to say, my girl. But we have all seen the way you jump to his defense."

  "I was only being fair," Irene replied with some heat. "It does not mean I—I—have feelings for the man."

  "Hmm. I suppose." Lady Odelia gave her a patronizing smile. "Still, I hope that you wake up to the truth ... before Gideon gives up and chooses one of those other girls."