Lord Bachelor

by Tammy L. Bailey

  “We?”

  Will shrugged and she tried not to roll her eyes. “Yes. Why?”

  “I’m helping a friend find…someone.”

  Abby blew out a long breath, deciding to leave Will and help Edmund pick up the rest of the records. The last thing she needed now was to discount them due to careless scratches in the vinyl.

  She sank to her knees, the warm and masculine scent of him filling her senses. She made the mistake of gazing into his eyes, his intense stare holding her prisoner until she forgot how to breathe.

  Across the store, an obnoxious ringtone blared, yanking Abby from her trance.

  “I’ll be right back,” Will called, dashing toward the door.

  “What?” Abby and Edmund said, rising in unison in front of one another.

  “Abby Forester, meet Lord Edmund Rushwood. Lord Edmund Rushwood, meet Abby Forester. I’ll be back with your car.”

  “Wait! What am I supposed to do until then?”

  Abby blanched from Lord Edmund What’s-his-name’s tone, trying not to care if he stayed or went. “If you don’t intend on buying anything, you’ll have to go with him.”

  “Don’t worry, Abs…I mean Abby,” Will added over his shoulder. “He’s perfectly harmless.” The man’s words echoed, the door clicking shut behind him.

  Abby let her gaze roam over Edmund, from his attractive features to his starched navy blue jacket to his expensive black shoes. “That’s one opinion,” she mumbled, slicing a glance toward a too-silent Raify, who in the past had chased out more innocent-looking men with her little pinky. With a slight, majestic nod, the woman showed her approval.

  Great. Now even Raify was mesmerized by him, or, at least, curious about him.

  ****

  Edmund didn’t know how to explain Abby Forester. From the very beginning, he found her extremely pretty but unrefined. Her silky hair and clean complexion reminded him of purity and quicksand at the same time. He thought he’d spent too much time observing her when she folded her arms across her chest and inhaled.

  “If you’re expecting me to curtsy or something, it’s not going to happen.”

  Amused and enlightened, he stretched out his arm. “A handshake will suffice for now.”

  He waited with unwavering patience as she unraveled herself and slipped a hesitant palm inside his. Soft and warm, he regretted the moment she pulled away to retreat back to her defensive pose.

  “So, Abby, this is what you do when you’re not pounding men senseless with a beer bottle?”

  She didn’t bite. “Why do you need the research paper?”

  He answered in a detached tone. “To find a wife.”

  Her jaw dropped and her jewel-blue eyes widened. He drew closer, drawn in by her rhythmic breathing and blinking stare. She was shorter than most women he dated, the top of her head only clearing the bottom of his chin.

  “I guess I’m a little confused.”

  He nodded, unsure how much to tell her. “As you know, Will is the host of a dating game show. Since I refuse to bore you with the details, let’s just say that I’ve been…persuaded to go on Love Match and find the woman I will,” he said, pausing at having to say the word aloud, “…marry.”

  “Oh.”

  Edmund wanted to hear disappointment in that one quiet word. When all he heard was curiosity, he moved on. “Will believes your genealogy project will help provide the names of a few contestants he needs.”

  The fake smile she’d presented him…fell. “Wealthy contestants?”

  He didn’t lie. “Preferably.”

  She clicked her tongue, and then rolled her lucid blue eyes at him. “So, you’re going to rifle through my list, pluck out a few beautifully rich women, place them in a line-up, and then choose which one to marry?”

  He smiled. “Something like that.”

  He waited as suspicion played across her enchanting face. “Are you having a hard time finding someone to marry you in England?”

  He bent his head and chuckled, surprised by her forthrightness. Despite the dangers, he found her engaging, so much so that he made himself comfortable in a high-backed chair near the register and stretched one leg in front of him. He liked everything about her, including her changeable facial expressions and the way she’d nibble on only one side of her lip. “On the contrary, Miss Forester, the proposals have been plenty.”

  “Then why are you here? I mean, if you proposed at least once, shouldn’t you have a wife right now?”

  He quirked a slender finger into the air. “Ah, I didn’t say I was the one proposing.”

  She blinked, unimpressed. “So, how many offers have you rejected?”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions?”

  Without missing a beat, she shook her head and answered him directly. “No.” Then she mocked his pose and brought up a finger to tap gently against her chin. “How much?”

  Her inquiry shift almost knocked him off his seat. “Pardon me?”

  She stepped closer, and he breathed in her lightly lavender-scented skin, never wanting to sample something so bad in his life.

  “How much is a paper with the names of eligible and notable women you may or may not be willing to spend the rest of your life with worth to you, Lord Edward Rushwood?”

  “Edmund,” he said, almost whispering.

  She blushed and cleared her throat. “Okay, Edmund.”

  His heart gave a strange, solid whack at the sound of his name on her lips. Now she was near enough for him to reach out and touch her face, to graze a knuckle across her rounded cheek and cause a swallowed breath or forceful slap. He kept his hands to himself. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “If I can find an eligible bride out of that bloody list you and Will put together,” he said, his voice raised and tight with impatience.

  Hell. He didn’t want the list. He needed the list, and he needed Abby to give it to him without questions or reminders on why he was here.

  “I’ll have you know that bloody list took me three weeks, two of those weeks without any assistance at all, thanks to your detestable friend.”

  “I’m truly sorry about him.” Edmund had not meant to lose his temper. He had a way of saying things to push people away, a defense mechanism he’d inherited from his father. So far, the last few days had been trying, and he never imagined having to marry anyone in this manner, or any manner at all.

  At his silence, her hands dropped to her outer thighs, his gaze lingering there. His eyes closed, his body constricting at the insane thought of making love to her. He’d spent less than an hour in her company, and yet, a jolt of desire pounded in his veins. How could he want her? She was nothing like the women he dated or lusted after. Yet, he wanted to kiss the base of her smooth throat and skim his fingers along the delicate line of her jaw.

  “Oh, shoot. Not now,” she whispered.

  Chapter Four

  Edmund’s eyelids flew open, fearing he’d somehow voiced his thoughts out loud. “What?”

  The bell rang behind him and he heard Abby mumble under her breath. She drew her shoulders back as she fluttered her hand to dismiss him. “Can’t you just go away?”

  Now that was a line he didn’t hear often. He meant to assure her he wasn’t going anywhere when the door closed behind him. He turned, mesmerized by the pair of women sauntering inside, both attractive with fake lashes and expensive Coach bags.

  He assumed they were regular customers until the eldest walked straight past him to the cash register. As she carefully tapped a few squares with her mauve glossy nails, he stole a glance toward Abby. Her breathing had heightened and an adorable vein on the side of her neck began to flutter like the wing of a caged bird.

  The younger girl, who was pretty, tall, and thin, caught his attention. She sensed his interest and swayed closer.

  “Wow, Abs,” the young woman said, her voice smooth like honeyed liquor. “You have a customer.”

  “He’s not a cust
omer, Zella,” said the older woman, half-occupied behind the counter, a few twenty-dollar bills in her hand. “He’s obviously lost.”

  “Umm, I do like them lost, Mother,” the pretty girl said, continuing to shift toward him. He glanced down, noticing how her small breasts jutted through a threadbare vanilla white shirt.

  And he liked them willing; he just didn’t like them blatant.

  “My name is Zella Pendleton, and this is my mother, Kendra.”

  Edmund nodded in their direction. “My name is Edmund Rushwood, and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Oh, Mother, he’s British.” Zella clapped.

  Edmund sliced a glance toward Abby as her gaze lifted to the powdery white plastered ceiling.

  “May we help you? Abs here is terrible with directions.” The woman stopped counting to wave her long fingernails in his direction. “And obviously not doing so well in sales.”

  Edmund tossed his gaze from one female to the other until Abby straightened to her full height, which wasn’t very tall. Oh, but she was a sight to see: shiny honey-blonde hair in a haphazard ponytail, trusting blue eyes, and an hourglass figure that he knew would keep him satisfied all night long.

  “How do you expect me to keep money in the register when you drop by at least once a day to take it out?”

  The woman was quick to defend her motives. “It still does not excuse how much you lose on this store. I mean, who buys records anymore? You’d do better to sell your mother’s painting on the wall over there.”

  Edmund glanced back to where the woman pointed next to the staircase. The paintings she pointed out were indeed beautiful and original, and he believed the two pieces might actually fare well at one of the many auctions to which he’d escorted his mother’s friend, Dowager Hemsley.

  “You know, if you keep this up, Abs, I’m going to have to buy you out and turn this into something more profitable. Like a hair or nail salon.”

  From Edmund’s peripheral vision, he saw no surprise in Abby’s demeanor. He supposed she’d heard the threat before.

  “Come on, Mother. We’re going to be late to Crumwell’s party.”

  Edmund watched as the mention of the person’s name now caused Abby’s eyes to flash and her face to turn a color of his mother’s prized red roses. He inched closer, curious as to her strong reaction to the person and why.

  Kendra also noticed, seizing the opportunity to poke at her. “Oh, Abs, don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about Derek. Since you’ve dumped him, he’s become, like, one of the richest unmarried men in Oregon.”

  The younger woman harrumphed with an exaggerated shrug. “He’s fair game now, though, Mother.”

  Edmund observed the conversation with further interest, awaiting Abby’s reply. A few moments later, he wasn’t disappointed.

  “Derek Crumwell is a boy trapped in a man’s body. The only thing he cares about is himself and his next lay, so he’s all yours.”

  Zella sucked in so much breath, Edmund feared she might choke. As for the girl’s mother, he wondered how often Abby projected her thoughts instead of holding them inside. From the look on the woman’s face, he believed not often.

  “If you’re done taking the last of this month’s rent, I would like for you to leave, Kendra. Whether you wish it or not, I still have a customer…who is looking to purchase…something.”

  Edmund’s attention flitted from the older woman and then to Abby. He remained a quiet bystander as Kendra and Zella stared at him for the truth.

  “Yes, I was…uh, told I could find a rare ‘Meet the Beatles’ album here.”

  Abby’s lips parted in grateful relief.

  “Did you come all the way from England for it?” Zella asked in a serious tone.

  “Yes,” he answered, smiling.

  For about five seconds, everyone glanced at everyone else, until Kendra broke the awkward moment. “It doesn’t matter. We need to get going,” she said as she shuffled her daughter out the front door.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, Edmund expected Abby to turn and thank him. Instead, she checked the door and then pivoted to a woman in the back of the store. He didn’t know how he’d missed noticing her. Her hat alone was unnerving and enough to cause a traffic accident. However, she sat sipping from a small cup and gazing at him as if she was privy to a secret no one else knew.

  “Do you mind, Raify, if I turn in for the night?” Abby asked her.

  “Not at all, dear. I’ll see myself out,” she said, rising from the rose-patterned loveseat and stopping to give Abby a quick peck on her rounded cheek.

  He assumed he was not important enough for introductions, and so moved back out of the woman’s way. He’d settled against a rounded pillar in the middle of the store when she stopped before him.

  She had a tranquil way about her, graceful, but observant. “You watch yourself, Lord Edmund Rushwood,” she warned, tapping her palm against his chest.

  Unable to form a coherent word, he just nodded and let the older woman waddle outside, the door seeming to unlock and lock without her lifting a finger. Not used to witnessing such drama unless he was in the middle of it, he wanted to leave. Damn his father, Will’s ridiculous idea, and Abby’s paper. Only he couldn’t make his feet move, and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut long enough to make a clean exit.

  “Who were they?” He didn’t need to explain who “they” were.

  “A thorn in my side,” Abby said, opening her cash register to count her drawer and then stuff the few dollars left into a thick gray pouch. She made him turn while she fiddled with a miniature safe, him unable to resist stealing a glance over his right shoulder when she wasn’t paying attention.

  “When Will comes back for you, just buzz me from the outside. I’ll come down and lock up.” She scooted past him and switched the lights off, leaving him standing in between Dusty Springfield and Bruce Springsteen, the room submerged in partial darkness. His eyes narrowed, shocked how quickly she chose to abandon him. He thought she might be teasing until she continued to climb the mahogany steps without bothering to look back.

  Edmund wasn’t ready to let her go. “Wait!”

  ****

  Exhaustion, physical and emotional, weaved through Abby’s body. All she wanted to do was relax in her claw-foot bathtub and forget about literature, Kendra, Zella, and the Englishman. Upon hearing his direct and authoritative command, however, she swung around, finding his eyes looking straight into hers. Despite his virile energy pulling her to him, she braced her hands on the railing and pretended indifference.

  “I said you—”

  He dared one more step, forcing her to tilt her head back.

  “I said you can wait down there,” she continued, her heart drumming so fast she was afraid he might hear.

  He nodded his understanding before smiling. “And be without your charming company?” He paused to lift his hand and stroke away a piece of hair that had fallen into her eyelashes. “Besides, I think you owe me.”

  “Owe you for what?” she squeaked, realizing he’d managed to save her twice in one night; first in the bar and then again with Kendra.

  He smiled. “Just say thank you, and we’ll call it even.”

  For a long moment, she stared at him, mouth agape, not sure if this was some sort of British humor she didn’t understand. Well, she supposed it didn’t cost her anything to give him what he wanted. “Thank you.”

  His smile widened. “I thought American girls were all about, uhm,” he paused, his gaze sliding to her slightly parted lips, “…affectionate forms of appreciation.”

  Abby exhaled. Did he really expect her to kiss him? Well, she wasn’t going to, no matter how many times her gaze wandered to his mouth. “I don’t know you, and you certainly don’t know me, Mr.—”

  “Lord,” he corrected her with the slightest conceited bow. “Lord Rushwood.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Pardon me. Lord Rushwood.”

  “You may still call
me Edmund.”

  This time she brought her hands to her face, ready to let out a frustrated scream. He didn’t move as she parted her fingers and peeked through them. Growing more annoyed, she dropped her hands to her sides and squared her shoulders. “I have thanked you…Edmund, so I will not be wrapping my arms around your neck and inviting you up for a night of, whatever you call it in England—”

  “Rogering? Shagging?”

  She closed her eyes and brought in a therapeutic breath. “Never mind,” she replied, trying to extinguish the blush spreading like a wildfire into her face. “I should just throw you out for not being a paying customer.”

  He nodded as if he understood and then lifted his manicured finger in front of her. “Wait here.”

  She stood stunned as he ambled down the stairway and up again, carrying something tucked underneath his left arm. “How much for the ‘Meet the Beatles’ album?”

  Her mouth twisted as her mind conjured up a price. “One hundred and fifty,” she finally said.

  He arched one eyebrow. “Pounds or dollars?”

  She smiled. “Whichever one puts more money in my pocket.” She really didn’t want to sell the record. It had been one her father’s favorite albums. She thought with the steep price, he’d call her insane and stomp away.

  “Well, it’s highway robbery either way.”

  Abby shrugged. “Not really. You see, if you wouldn’t have distracted me, I might have been able to prevent Kendra from getting in and taking the money from my cash register.”

  His eyes narrowed before he reached back to retrieve his wallet. Did he actually intend to give her the money without protesting? When he pulled out three hundred crisp dollar bills and displayed them just out of arm’s reach, she knew he didn’t intend to give in so easily. She wondered how much more he had in there and what bank he’d robbed to get it. Or was he really that rich?

  Nevertheless, she tried to grab for what he offered, upending herself in the process. It was a tricky place to lose one’s balance, halfway up a flight of stairs. The ceiling swirled above as steely arms wrapped around her chest, the hardness of his body comparable to the set of wooden stairs. When she opened her eyes, she was sitting in his lap, her side held against his solid form.