The Mischievous Bride (The Clearbrooks)

by Teresa McCarthy

  She lifted on her toes and kissed his cheek.

  Marcus was already heading their way. “Devil take it—”

  Milli put out her hand. “One more minute, if you please.”

  Marcus halted, his eyes flashing with determination. “I am watching you Hughmont.”

  Hughmont grinned at Milli and lowered his voice. “By George, you have him in the palm of your hand.”

  Milli giggled. “I love him with all my heart.”

  “I know.”

  “Thank you, John. I will never forget this.”

  “Well, considering we were to be man and wife . . .”

  She chuckled. “At least we didn’t end up like Romeo and Juliet.”

  The teasing merriment in his eyes touched her.

  “Spare me the details of that play, if you please.” His voice was a mere whisper. “Your plan worked, but I have to admit, I was quite skeptical. Pretending to marry you went above and beyond the call of duty, I believe. But we are actors, are we not?”

  Milli shifted her gaze toward Marcus who stood far enough away not to hear their whispers. She smiled at him. He smiled back. She returned her attention to Hughmont. “Yes, we are true actors. Our plan worked. Um, how much do I owe you to pay off the vicar?” Her eyes danced.

  Hughmont smothered a grin. “I shall take care of the matter entirely. Harry’s a friend from Eton. Likes acting too, if you didn’t notice. He’s off to the races after this.”

  Hughmont gulped when he looked back at Marcus. “I am not very fond of the stories about Mr. Fennington, you know.

  “You have nothing to fear.”

  “But what if your intended discovers our ploy?”

  Milli’s gentle laugh was one of pure joy. “Oh, I have my ways.”

  Hughmont blushed. “You are quite the woman, Miss Millicent Shelby.”

  She put out her hand, watching from the corner of her eye to make sure Marcus didn’t pounce. “We will always be friends.”

  Hughmont sighed and took her sign of friendship. “I would have married you, if it had been real, you know. Why should that surprise you? My marriage proposals were true, my dear girl. You care for people and animals, and the love in your heart is genuine. Not many ladies like that, you know. But I finally came to the conclusion that you loved Lord Marcus.”

  “You did?”

  He shrugged. “I should have recognized it that night in London in the duke’s library when Marcus looked primed for battle. You were meant to be together. Be happy, Millicent.” He bent down to kiss her cheek when Marcus came marching their way.

  “Your time is up!”

  Milli rolled her eyes. “Marcus, please—”

  Marcus slipped his hand about her waist. “You don’t have any more time with him.” He grinned in triumph as Hughmont turned down the aisle and departed from the Abbey.

  “Now, little princess, let us go back home and discuss our wedding.”

  They walked outside, followed by a mute duchess, a wide-eyed Lizzie, and a smiling Stephen.

  “Do you want to marry here or in London?” Milli asked, her heart in her eyes.

  “Here,” Marcus said gently. “I want you to be my Bath bride.”

  “I don’t mind—”

  He kissed her, stopping her speech. “We will marry tomorrow or the next, while everyone is here. And that’s all there is to it. A special license and that’s that.”

  She looked up at him. “Very well.”

  Worry filled his gaze. “I can see that you are going to be a very meek wife.”

  She burst out laughing. “Of course dear. Anything you say.” She kissed him with all the pent-up passion she had been holding on for years.

  He swallowed and pulled at his cravat. “Do you think the vicar could perform the ceremony today?”

  Milli blinked. “Uh, you need the special license and that may take two days at least. Besides, I think the vicar is off to the races.”

  “He gambles?”

  Milli smiled. “Vicars are human too, you know.”

  Marcus looked skeptical. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Milli batted her lids. She could not wait to marry this man. “I love you, Marcus.” She took her finger and traced it over his lips.

  He swallowed, looking at the Abbey. “We have to leave. Now. Thunderation, I cannot make love to you beside a church.”

  Her lips fell into a wide smile. “Not until we are married, dearest.”

  “Blast it all. I aim to have that special license by tomorrow!”

  True to his word, by some miracle, Lord Marcus Clearbrook married Miss Millicent Shelby at Bath Abbey the following day. Every member of Society in Bath attended the ceremony.

  “I think you should buy her a hat,” Gabby commented as Milli and Marcus exited the church, heading in the direction of their carriage for their honeymoon.

  Marcus had decided that they would have a large wedding reception after their trip to Italy and France. Milli didn’t mind at all. She was just happy that her entire family had been in church, watching her marry the man she loved. Elizabeth and Stephen, Lady and Lord Bringston, the duke and duchess, Clayton, Briana, baby Victoria, Emily, Stonebridge, little Richard and of course, Gabby, were all overjoyed to be there.

  Marcus playfully pinched Gabby’s cheek. “I will buy my wife all the hats in the world.”

  Milli bent down and hugged Gabby. “I think I will buy a pink bonnet just like yours.”

  Gabby clapped her hands in glee. “Then, we can be sisters! Did you see the lady in church with the purple hat? She was with that prince that came to see you.”

  Marcus stopped a foot before the carriage and glanced over his shoulder at the little girl, his brows dipping into a scowl. “What prince?”

  “Prince Hughpont!” Gabby shouted, loving the attention.

  “Hughmont?” Marcus asked, glancing at Milli. “I didn’t know he would be there.”

  Milli avoided her husband’s penetrating gaze as she entered the carriage. “I, uh—”

  Marcus leapt in after her. “Milli?”

  Gabby ran up the carriage steps and tugged on Marcus’s jacket. “And there was another man too. He was talking to Hughpont about Milli getting married yesterday,” she said excitedly, noting the widening of Marcus’s eyes.

  Milli scooted further into the carriage, grabbing her husband’s hand. “Marcus?”

  He shifted his interested gaze toward her, then back to Gabby.

  Gabby’s blue eyes grew with excitement when she realized she had Marcus’s undivided attention. “I knew you would not like that. There is only one prince for the princess. And your princess didn’t get married yesterday, she got wedded to you today. You saved her from the most evil dragon!”

  Marcus’s silver eyes danced. “Indeed. The most evil dragon I have ever seen.” He sank back in his seat.

  Gabby’s jaw dropped in awe.

  Milli let out a sigh of relief.

  But she jumped when the little girl vaulted into the carriage and tugged on Marcus’s sleeve once again. Gabby’s innocent blond curls danced about her head like a halo.

  “Uncle Marcus, do you know what a fake vicar is?” Gabby asked, her eyes wide with delight.

  Marcus stiffened and stared at Milli whose face became red as a rose.

  Milli inwardly groaned, wondering if this was God’s way of telling her He was constantly watching her, and that truth would win out all the time.

  Without a word, Milli picked up the girl, walked her out of the carriage and deposited the little darling beside Lady Emily and Lord Stonebridge who stood watching with curious eyes.

  “We have to move along, dear,” Milli said, laughing. “Good bye, Gabby.”

  Gabby waved, then played with her pink bonnet, which was slipping off her head. “Bye! Don’t worry, Uncle Marcus. I will ask my papa about a fake vicar!” She turned to Lord Stonebridge. “Is that like a bishop, Papa?”

  Stonebridge caught Marcus’s eyes and win
ked. “Not quite, poppet.”

  When the carriage door closed, Marcus turned toward Milli, his steady gaze making her squirm. “What the devil is a fake vicar? Some play you acted in?”

  Milli licked her lips and looked up at him with big gray eyes. “Did I tell you about the school for young women that I want us to purchase? I found the perfect place—”

  “Save that information for later.” Marcus yanked her onto his lap, his gaze glittering with mischief. “Now, tell me about this fake vicar, dear wife. I am simply agog with curiosity as I await your answer.”

  Milli batted her eyelashes, hoping her flirting would work.

  He raised his brows. “I am waiting.”

  She burst out laughing when she detected the smirk in his eyes. So much for talking about the school for young women. “Oh, very well.” She curled her hands around his neck and leaned closer. “If you must know, I believe I will have to start from the beginning with the fake fiancé.”

  He jerked. “Fake fiancé?”

  She tipped her head, waiting for him to figure it out.

  It took him three seconds. His face contorted. “Are you telling me, Lord Hughmont faked the wedding?

  “Well, you see . . .”

  “And that the vicar was fake as well?”

  ”Actually . . .”

  He clasped her waist with two strong hands. “Why, you little actress!”

  She looked up through suggestive eyes. “I am, am I not? ‘Though she be but little, she is fierce!’ ”

  “A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with mirth.

  She leaned back and surveyed him with a scrutinizing gaze. “Why, sir. You are more educated in Shakespeare than I had thought.”

  His mouth curved into a dangerous smile. “I am educated in many more things, wife.”

  Her gaze locked with his. “You do love me, do you not?”

  He leaned his head against the seat, closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath. He sighed, muttered something, and slapped a hand over his lids.

  “Marcus?” She peeled his hand off his face. Was he regretting their wedding?

  His eyes opened and he stared at her. She bit her lip when she saw two pools of silver laughing back at her.

  “You little mischief maker. What the devil am I going to do with you?’

  She leaned into him. “Kiss me?”

  He laid her along the seat, gazing down at her. “I shall do more than that my mischievous bride.”

  “Marcus,” she squeaked, trying to sit up. “It’s the middle of the day. We are on the road, in a carriage, for goodness sakes.”

  He gently pushed her back against the seat. “I’m going to kiss you, then I’m going to make love to you.”

  Milli burst into tears.

  “Milli,” he said worriedly, dragging her into his arms. “I didn’t mean to bully you. If you don’t want—”

  With a heart-rending sob, she wrapped her hands tightly about his chest, not letting him go.

  He froze. “I never meant to push you. If you don’t want me—”

  “Y-you silly man,” she sobbed. “I want you. I want you. I want you. And only you.”

  He finally pulled back and wiped the tears from her face. “Then why are you crying?”

  She looked up at him with blurry eyes. “I’m crying, b-because I love you.” She gulped back another sob. “And because you love me. Is that not the silliest thing you’ve ever heard?”

  He groaned and slowly lowered her against the seat, kissing her long and hard. When he finally took a breath, he lifted his head, his charming smile spearing her very soul.

  “Silly?” he said huskily. “No, my little princess. Love is not silly at all. Because if it is, I’m the silliest man in the world.”

  Her heart burst with happiness as he held her lovingly in his arms. “Oh, Marcus. You are the prince I always wanted.” Tears of happiness slid down her cheeks.

  He kissed her face. “I didn’t think loving you would make you cry. Should I recite poetry instead?” he asked with a lopsided grin. “I’ll do anything you want, sweetheart.”

  She let out another happy sob. She never dreamed it would be like this. “I don’t need poetry. I just need you. You silly, silly man!”

  “But,” he said huskily, kissing the tips of her ears. “I admit, you have found me out.”

  Alarm skittered along her spine as she stared at him. “W-what do you mean?”

  He brushed a warm kiss upon her neck. “Ah, you have discovered I am not the boring gentleman at all. You see, I am the silliest man in the world. My wife. My life. My love. And I am going to prove it to you right now.”

  “But–”

  He put a finger to her lips, his eyes glowing with tenderness. “Shhhh, my sweet.”

  Milli shut her mouth as he framed her face with two powerful hands, sending shivers of passion flowing through her. Her blood surged with emotion as flames of love burned between them.

  For the first time in her life, Milli was completely speechless, for the serious and sensible Lord Marcus Clearbrook quickly began to show her just how silly he was.

  An hour later, Milli stared at him. His handsome profile nearly broke her heart she was so happy. He was hers until death do they part.

  “I was wrong, Marcus,” she said shyly.

  The clatter of wheels and rattle of horses’ hooves filled the carriage. Marcus turned with a frown. “Wrong about what, my sweet.”

  Her gray eyes danced as she flung herself at him. She giggled into his ear. “Why, Lord Marcus Clearbrook, you silly, silly husband. You are an actor after all.”

  “You think that was acting?”

  She eased her way onto his lap and kissed him long and hard. “No, silly man. But you are correct. You are not boring at all! In fact, I find you breathtaking.”

  His laugh was warm and rich, sending a rush of emotion through her veins.

  “And do you know what else?” she asked.

  He circled his hands about her tiny waist, his silver eyes glistening with delight. “What my mischievous bride?”

  “Well, dear husband, I have to admit, I was wrong.”

  A black brow lifted in question. “About what?”

  “You are definitely no frog!”

  He exploded with laughter. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I am going to show you more than silly, wife.” He thumped his other hand against the trap door above him, raising the attention of the driver. “James, stop at the next inn.”

  Milli’s eyes widened. “But our honeymoon in Italy?”

  His expression turned wicked. “Italy can wait. This silly husband of yours can’t.”

  And for the next few days, Milli found herself locked in a room, at a quaint little inn, with the silliest man in England.

  She smiled to herself. Even though she hadn’t been the best behaved female in the world, God was still watching over her after all.

  TO MARRY A MARQUESS

  Excerpt, Copyright © Teresa McCarthy, 2004

  All rights reserved

  Chapter One

  Lady Victoria, daughter to the late Earl of Wendover, sank into the leather chair beside the rosewood writing desk, gripping her aunt's accounting ledger in her hands.

  No, this couldn't be true.

  An uneasy chill spread down her back as she flipped through the marked pages of credits and debits. The expenditures of the past year were all itemized. Invoices and bills were totaled. Family jewels and silver had been sold. The quaint cottage in Yorkshire had been mortgaged. Taxes were due in two months.

  Debts and more debts. The columns showed continuous losses. It was all there for her to read.

  "Oh, Aunt Phoebe." Victoria slouched forward, tucked a strand of mahogany hair behind her ear, and closed her eyes in anguish.

  Leaning her elbow on the desk, she brought a shaky hand to her brow, breathing in the bouquet of lavender that still lingered in the air. It was Phoebe's scent. Her aunt must have lef
t the library only minutes ago.

  Victoria swallowed past the lump in her throat and opened her eyes, turning back to today's date. The numbers in the right-hand column of the page were smudged with fresh tears.

  Sickened, Victoria shifted a blank gaze toward the library window. A moaning wind blew hard about Hanover Square, sending dust and grime swirling in the air, mimicking the tumultuous emotions clouding her mind. The trees outside the Chester townhouse resisted against the mighty force of nature, but they eventually bowed, not able to combat the storm hovering in the distance.

  Wiping a hand across her eyes, Victoria turned her attention back to the ledger. The storm would come. It was inevitable. Her wonderful aunt would be all but penniless in a few months. Victoria's chest tightened in dread at the thought of Phoebe in debtor's prison.

  No, her heart answered with a stab of pain. Not Phoebe. Not the lady who had been her guardian angel, taking her in at the age of twelve, as if she were her very own child, after Victoria's parents had died.

  Victoria's lips trembled and her nose started to sting. She had never planned on peeking at her aunt's books, but curiosity had taken hold of her like a demon in the night. One minute she was fiddling inside the crammed drawer, searching for an ink well and an extra quill for William, her aunt's six-year-old son, and the next minute she was staring at the accounting ledger that had literally fallen into her lap. Impulsively, she had opened the book without ever thinking that she would be invading her aunt's private domain.

  It had been wrong of her to look in the book, but she was glad she had done it. Aunt Phoebe, her father's sister, was all that was good. Beautiful, poised, and without a hateful bone in her body, Phoebe moved about London, conveying such an easy grace that once she had actually caught the Prince Regent's eye at a masquerade ball.

  After that episode, Victoria vividly remembered Uncle Henry refusing to be present at anything the Regent was attending, unless it was ordered by royal decree. And if Henry did not attend, Phoebe refused to go either.

  No, Henry Chester had loved Aunt Phoebe with an all-consuming passion, and she had loved him back. When Henry died, Phoebe had been heartbroken, but she moved on, trying to make a good life for Victoria, William, and Sarah, Phoebe's niece on Henry's side.