It was not an idle threat. And four of the five principal players taking part in the drama at the chapel altar understood that. Rothermere’s arrogance made him slow to comprehend, but he finally recognized the dangerous glint in Alex’s eyes and let go of Liana’s arm.
She glanced down at the damage. Her wrist hurt. There was a circle of angry red finger marks that would turn to big purple bruises before the day was through. Pride kept her from rubbing the aching joints. Liana considered it a small enough price to pay to show the haughty marquess she was not mindless chattel to be bartered away in return for the cancellation of a gaming debt.
In the time she’d been in his company, Liana had realized Lord Rothermere was a bully and she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her. She was a human being. She had value. Another marquess had thought enough of her—and her family—to ask her father for her hand in marriage, negotiate a wedding settlement, and entrust her with his family’s priceless betrothal ring.
“Apologize to the lady for your boorish behavior, Rothermere.” Alex hated displaying his violent side in front of his betrothed, but he despised Felix Rothermere even more and he knew from experience that natural born bullies, like Rothermere, rarely responded to subtlety or restraint. It was best to treat like with like in order to protect the people Rothermere enjoyed abusing—women, children, animals, servants, tradesmen, peers of lesser rank, and all men less fortunate.
Rothermere hesitated, discovered his pinky finger could be made to bend into an even more unnatural angle, and gritted out a patently insincere apology. “I apologize for my boorish behavior, Lady Li—”
Alex cleared his throat. It was bad form for a gentleman to use a lady’s given name in an embarrassing or shameful situation.
Rothermere’s words were filled with venom as he amended his apology. “Miss McElreath.” Turning to the minister, he spoke in a voice loud enough for Lord Tilsbury, the deafest and most ancient of the wedding guests, to hear. “It appears I’ve been deceived. I contracted for a virgin bride. But McElreath brought me Courtland’s paramour instead. Since I’ve no stomach to accept Courtland’s leavings or his bastard—”
Liana was taken aback by the malice in Rothermere’s words and the hatred in his eyes.
Lord McElreath sputtered in impotent fury at having his daughter’s character and her purity questioned on her wedding day.
Ignoring McElreath, Rothermere continued. “Given her shameless pursuit of my affections, I should have suspected the chit had already tasted the pleasures of—” Rothermere squealed like the pig he was as Alex calmly snapped the bone in his finger.
“Oops.” Alex smiled. Rothermere wouldn’t be wrapping his hand around the hilt of a sword or the oak grip of a dueling pistol in the immediate future. Turning first to the cleric, then to the wedding guests, Alex said, “It appears Lord Rothermere’s deep remorse for his detestable utterances impugning the lady’s good name have left him speechless…”
White-faced with pain, Rothermere glared at Liana and bit out a vicious whisper, “Whore!”
Liana moved closer to Alex, lifted her chin a tiny bit higher, and looked down her nose at Rothermere, pinning him with a withering expression. Alex thought that old Queen Charlotte couldn’t have managed a better one. “Better Lord Courtland’s whore than your marchioness.” Felix’s nasty epithet might have wounded Liana, but no one seated in the chapel would be able to tell it.
Alex moved his grip further up Rothermere’s arm and said sotto voice, “That’s right, Rothermere. You enjoy pain. Shall we have a go at your wrist?”
Chapter Seven
“When I’m not thanked at all, I’m thanked enough;
I’ve done my duty, and I’ve done no more.”
—Henry Fielding, 1707-1754
“Alexander.”
Alex lifted his gaze from Rothermere’s face at the sound of the clear, dulcet voice he’d known from birth and searched the crowd for his mother’s face. “Mother?”
“Indeed.” Lady Courtland slipped from her seat on a pew midway between the altar and the entrance to the chapel and walked down the aisle to stand beside her son.
“I thought I heard your voice. What are you doing here?”
“I came to do what you are doing, if for some reason you could not. Now, cease toying with the blackguard. Break his arm and be done with it,” she advised in a tone just loud enough for the minister and the principal members of the wedding party to discern. “We’ve a full morning ahead of us and much to do before it’s over.”
“I would do better to dispatch him altogether,” Alex replied in an equally low tone of voice. “And rid the world of his particular brand of evil.”
“S-Sir, I protest… You c-cannot…” the clergyman sputtered.
Lady Courtland pinned the minister with a sharp look. “You, sir, have no say in the matter. You were about to wed this young lady to a man like Rothermere for the promise of money.” She glared at the vicar. “This wedding is over. We’ve no more need of you. You’re dismissed.”
“Madam…” the vicar began.
Lady Courland ignored him, focusing her attention on Alex. “While I agree he wants killing and that the world would undoubtedly be better off without this particular marquess, we are in a chapel—” She wrinkled her nose in contempt. “Of sorts. And in the presence of a goodly number of peers—most of whom share Rothermere’s character, if not his predilections. As much as I would love to end the animosity between our families once and for all, I would not be doing my duty as your only parent if I allowed you to end it in that fashion.”
Recognizing the wisdom of his mother’s words, Alex nodded.
“That’s settled, then,” Lady Courtland pronounced, before turning to the large man dressed in Courtland livery who had arrived at the chapel with Lady McElreath and her younger daughter. “Stallings, take what men you need and see that Lord Rothermere is removed from here, comfortably settled into a Courtland coach and taken to my country house at once. Then send for my personal physician.”
Alex looked at his mother as if she’d taken leave of her senses.
And perhaps she had for when his mother spoke, she did so in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.
“But, my dearest boy, Lord Rothermere simply cannot stay at his house unattended. I insist he come with me to our country house so that he might recuperate in the peace and quiet of the countryside where the fresh air will help his recovery and where I will be able to personally supervise his care.”
Rothermere let out a whine. If there was anyone on earth who despised him more than Alexander Courtland and had no reason to wish him a speedy recovery from the injury her son had inflicted, it was Alexander Courtland’s mother, Eleanor. Oh, she appeared to be all goodness and light. She gave every appearance of being a paragon of virtue and kindness, a woman everyone in the ton looked up to and admired, but Felix knew better.
The Dowager Marchioness of Courtland was as cunning and devious as any man he’d ever met. Maybe more so. And absolutely relentless. She was worse than a plague of locusts eating away at his well-being, attempting to lay bare everything he had worked so hard to conceal. Eleanor wouldn’t rest until she destroyed him. Felix knew that if his fate rested in her dainty little hands, nothing short of divine intervention could save him. And his sins were too myriad for that. God would surely turn a deaf ear to Felix Rothermere’s pleas for help.
“See?” Lady Courtland added in a manner that would win her a host of accolades were she to take her talent to the boards. “The poor fellow is in excruciating pain. As your mother, it is my responsibility to atone for the injuries you inflicted by tending to them. And I promise to see he has the same kind of care he afforded our darling Felicity…”
Alex didn’t think it was possible for a human being to lose so much color and still retain sufficient quantities of blood, but at the mention of Felicity’s name, Felix Rothermere proved him wrong. Alex grinned. He’d always known his moth
er was a clever and resourceful woman, but Alex hadn’t realized she was a bloody genius until now.
“I see that we’re in accord….” Lady Courtland turned back to the footman Stallings and made a little shooing gesture with her hands. “Take Lord Rothermere and run along now, so that we might be on our way. Canterbury is waiting… Oh, good…” She paused. “Here are Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex and Lady St. Germaine, just in time…”
Alex bit back a groan. The moment he entered the chapel he’d known how his intervention in Lady Liana McElreath’s wedding would ultimately end. But he hadn’t counted on his genius mother finding out about his participation in it or her making a grand production out of it…
“Canterbury?” Appearing completely bemused by the rapid turn of events, Liana blinked up at him. “You’re leaving for Canterbury?”
Alex waited until his footman had Rothermere in hand before he released his grip on Felix’s arm. Rothermere groaned and began demanding that they summon his own physician as Stallings and two of Lady Courtland’s coachmen took hold of him and led him out of the chapel.
As the chapel doors closed behind Rothermere, Alex smiled down at Liana and shook his head. “She isn’t talking about Canterbury the place,” he explained. “She’s talking about her uncle, the archbishop.”
Liana shifted her gaze to the marchioness with an expression of awe on her face. “The Archbishop of Canterbury is your uncle?”
“Of course, my dear,” Lady Courtland said. “If you’re well versed in your Debrett’s, you will likely recollect that his wife is my mother’s younger sister.” She smiled at Liana. “And since he and Aunt Mary are cousins, we are also cousins. Of course, Uncle Charles holds the highest position in the Church, but he was born the younger son of a younger son…”
“A younger son whose grandfather happened to be the Duke of Rutland,” Alex murmured, finding irony and humor in his mother’s attempt to downplay her family’s noble origins so she wouldn’t overshadow the Earl of McElreath’s noble name and title.
“A lucky accident of birth, to be sure,” Lady Courtland confirmed. “As was yours, Alexander, and mine and your father’s. The thing I wish Lady Liana to understand is that to us, Canterbury is simply Uncle Charles. A lovely gentleman we are fortunate to call family.”
Liana hid her dismay at failing to recall her lessons on Debrett’s peerage. After making her curtsey twice and participating in an equal number of seasons, she was supposed to be well versed in the jumble of family relations that made up the British aristocracy. Every young lady should know how a prospective bridegroom fitted into the nobility and how well connected he was within the small circle of London society.
Although she knew it was her duty to marry well, Liana had always dreamed of marrying for love rather than a fortune and title. Her family was poor, but she thought it rather romantic, that despite her father’s serious shortcomings, her parents had taken their vows to love one another for better or worse to heart. Knowing such devotion was possible—even in the worst possible situations—had given Liana reason to hope that someday she might have a husband who would love her enough to overlook her shortcomings and her family’s shortcomings as well. She knew romantic love was rare. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t dream of it or wish on falling stars or tuck pieces of other girls’ wedding cakes beneath her pillow.
What was so wrong with wanting to be loved for oneself? Liana wanted what her parents had. She wanted what her brother, Colin, and his wife, Gillian, shared. Which was why she’d found the prospect of marriage to Lord Rothermere so terrifying. She hadn’t had to meet him to know she could never love him. A man who would blackmail her father the way the Marquess of Rothermere had done was not the kind of man for whom she could ever have tender feelings.
“As my son appears lacking in the manners in which he was so rigorously schooled, I shall introduce myself, my dear,” Lady Courtland continued, offering her hand in greeting. “I’m Alexander’s mother, Lady Michael Courtland, Dowager Marchioness of Courtland.”
Liana managed a graceful curtsey, then carefully clasped fingers with the marchioness. “I’m Liana, ma’am. Lady Liana McElreath. I am honored to make your acquaintance, Lady Courtland.”
Lady Courtland ushered Liana to her feet. “As am I, Liana,” she said. “You must call me Eleanor. It’s my Christian name.” She looked over at Liana’s mother. “And these must be your parents…”
“Yes, ma’am,” Liana said. “Lord Donald and Lady Donald McElreath, and my sister, Lady Caroline.”
Lord McElreath acknowledged the marchioness with a polite bow. Lady McElreath and Caroline curtseyed.
“Colette,” Lady McElreath said. “My baptismal name is Colette.”
Lady Courtland gave Lady McElreath a warm smile. “Now, that we are about to become family, you must call me Eleanor as well. I am very pleased to meet you, Colette. And you, Caroline.”
“Family?” Liana frowned. “Oh, but, Lady Courtland, you don’t understand… I’m not…” She glanced over at Alex, silently imploring him to come to her aid once again. “He isn’t… We’re not…”
“You most certainly are.” Lady Courtland stopped Liana’s flood of words by lifting Liana’s hand and examining the Courtland betrothal ring—the ring she had worn until the night her husband died and their son became the second Marquess of Courtland. “This is the proof.”
Liana turned to Alex Courtland. “Lord Courtland, I cannot thank you enough for risking your life and your reputation in order to save me this way. I am forever in your debt, but there’s no need for you to sacrifice your freedom for me. Please, explain to your mother. Tell her how I came to have this ring.”
“No explanation is necessary,” Alex replied. “She knows I gave you the ring as a token of my esteem, to seal the deal on our betrothal, and to celebrate our upcoming nuptials.” He looked down and met her green-eyed gaze.
Liana grabbed a fistful of fabric on the front of his coat and shook her head, showering his sleeve with dozens of tiny, fragrant orange blossoms from the garland he’d left on her bed. “Lord Courtland, please…”
“Alex,” he interrupted softly.
Liana blinked.
“Alex,” he repeated, giving her a crooked little half-smile. “Not Lord Courtland. My name is Alex and under the circumstances, I think it would be better for you to call me by my given name rather than my title.
“The circumstances? Oh, but, Lord Cou…Alex…The circumstances are what concerns me. Lady Courtland is your mother. And as such, she deserves to know the truth. Tell her that you only gave me the ring to prevent my wedding to Lord Rothermere.”
Alex smiled. Liana McElreath was too honest and courageous for her own good. If left to her own devices, she would gladly throw herself to the wolves of the ton, facing the scandal and vicious gossip that would certainly destroy what remained of her tattered reputation in order to protect his. Alex recognized the traits. She shared them with her brother, Colin. He hadn’t intended to seek a bride or to marry until his work for the League was done, but Alex realized he couldn’t ask for a better bride than Liana McElreath.
“Your concern for my mother is most admirable, Liana, but quite unnecessary. The truth is quite simple. I gave you the Courtland betrothal ring because you are the only woman I want for my wife and for my marchioness.” It wasn’t a declaration of undying love or love of any sort, and as such, Alex realized it probably wasn’t what Liana hoped to hear, so he did the only thing he could think to do and brushed his lips against the baby soft skin of her cheek.
Liana’s heart began to pound. Her breath grew shallow. Her head began to spin. Unable to control the tumultuous emotions swirling about her a second longer, Liana closed her eyes and felt the floor rising up to meet her.
Alex reacted swiftly. Catching her before her knees hit the unforgiving stone, he swung Liana up into his arms. Cradling her against his chest, Alex carried her down the aisle, out of the chapel, and into the waitin
g coach.
To her second wedding of the day.
Chapter Eight
“Love is often the fruit of marriage.”
—Moliere, 1622-1673
Liana came awake with a start as the coach bounced along a notoriously rough section of cobblestones.
“Easy,” Alex soothed, automatically tightening his arms around her to keep her from sliding off his lap. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”
Liana blinked up at him.
He glanced down, saw her eyes were open, and gave her a reassuring smile. “We’re nearly there.”
She relaxed, heard the steady thump of his heart beating beneath her ear and realized she was lying against him, her face pillowed against the soft black superfine of the morning coat covering his broad chest. The dream that had become a nightmare had become a dream once again. A most pleasant dream where she was warm, safe, and prized. “Where?”
“St. Michael’s.”
“What’s at St. Michael’s?”
Alex frowned. He wasn’t surprised by her momentarily loss of consciousness or the tiny gap in her memory. He’d seen it happen before. Had experienced it himself as the body reacted to the abrupt change from a heightened state of nerves to profound relief at having survived a dangerous situation. He had never swooned, but he’d come close. Alex had suffered lightheadedness and wobbly knees at the conclusion of a perilous mission enough times to recognize the signs in Liana. Once she got her bearings, Liana would be fine. In the meantime, it was best to reassure her and answer her questions. “St. Michael’s is the church where I was baptized. It’s where Uncle Charles, the Archbishop of Canterbury, is waiting for us.”
A Bachelor Still Page 8
