No Man's Bride

by Shana Galen

  She had never felt a stab of this magnitude before. She knew what it was. She’d experienced it as a child when Elizabeth had been given the cake Catherine had wanted or the doll or had received a kiss from her mother when Catherine had none.

  Jealousy.

  Catherine wanted to rip out her own heart. Anything but this feeling of covetousness for something that belonged to her sister, especially something as worthless as a man.

  Valentine and Elizabeth moved away, but not before Elizabeth turned her head and smirked at Catherine. She always knew when she had something others wanted. The rest of her family moved away as well, and the receiving line dissolved until only Catherine remained.

  She knew Valentine and Elizabeth would begin the dancing soon, and she also knew she would have to lure Valentine into dancing with her, but it was going to take every ounce of courage.

  “Are you well?” Josie asked, coming to stand beside her. “Are all the people making you ill?”

  Catherine shook her head. “No, but I-I don’t want to go through with this.”

  “You can do it, Catie,” Josie said immediately. “I know you’re scared, but—”

  “That’s not it. Well, that’s part of it. I am scared, but I’m also”—she grasped Josie by the elbow and dragged her into a corner—“I’m jealous!” she whispered.

  “Jealous of what?” Josie asked. “Of Elizabeth’s dress? Madeleine’s gowns are the highest quality. I swear you are as pretty as Elizabeth. In fact, she pales beside you.”

  “No, Josie, I’m not jealous of Elizabeth’s looks. I’m-I’m jealous of…” She lowered her voice even further. “I think…I mean, I might feel something for…oh, it’s Valentine. I want him.”

  Josephine threw back her head and laughed. For a moment Catherine thought she truly resembled the popular image of pirates from books and papers. Of course, Josie laughed. The idea of Catherine and a man like Valentine…

  “Who doesn’t want him, Catie?” Josie said. “He’s terribly handsome.” So Josie wanted him too?

  “But, Josie! We’re never going to marry.”

  “What? Because I’m never going to marry means I can’t even look at a man? I never will marry, but when I’m rich as a pirate, I plan to have lots of lovers.”

  “Oh, Lord.”

  “Catie, stop standing here. You and I are going to escape as soon as I find that treasure map. But I need more time. My assignment is to find the map. Yours is to remain unmarried until I do. Now get to it.”

  Catherine felt like saluting, but Josie gave her a little push.

  Catherine entered the ballroom to the sight of Elizabeth and Valentine dancing. She felt another pang of jealousy and a sharper stab of uncertainty. They looked so good together—Valentine’s dark hair and eyes beside Elizabeth’s pale blond beauty. Who was she to part them?

  One, two, three…

  Then she caught Elizabeth’s eye. Her younger sister sneered at her, and then Catherine knew it was up to her to save Valentine and herself. Valentine was not the true target.

  Catherine waited until Elizabeth was dancing with another man before approaching Lord Valentine. She did so overtly, making sure that Elizabeth saw her. As she moved toward him, crossing the ballroom, she received encouraging waves from her three cousins. He was standing by himself for the first time that evening, and Catherine knew this might be her only opportunity. But when she approached him, he barely glanced at her before looking away again. Still, there was something in his look that made her remember she hadn’t yet donned a shawl. She felt almost naked.

  “My lord,” she said, standing beside him, refusing to allow him to make her more nervous than she already was.

  “Miss Fullbright.” His voice was cold, and he obviously had no interest in speaking to her.

  She followed his gaze and saw that he was watching Elizabeth dancing. He did not look jealous. The closer she looked, the more he appeared simply satisfied by what he saw. She narrowed her eyes. Lord, the look on the man’s face was nothing short of proprietary. He looked quite pleased with his newest acquisition.

  Catherine straightened her shoulders. Caveat emptor. “You are still intent on marrying my sister, I see.”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “And you are still intent on persuading me otherwise.”

  She shrugged. “I did try. But now that we are to be brother and sister by marriage, perhaps we should begin anew.”

  Without taking his eyes from Elizabeth, he answered, “If that is your wish.”

  And then they stood in silence.

  Four, five, six, seven…

  Catherine sent an appealing look to Josephine across the room. What was she to do now? Valentine had not asked her to dance; and he did not seem at all interested in continuing their conversation. This sort of behavior would only please Lizzy, not tempt her into throwing a tantrum.

  Josephine bit her lip and consulted with Ashley, who was beside her. The two whispered while Catherine shifted from foot to foot, hoping no one came between her and Valentine.

  Eight, nine…

  The ballroom was growing more crowded as the theaters let out, and the late arrivals made their appearance. Catherine watched the crowds and was forced to take a shaky breath. She could not panic now. Breathe, breathe.

  Nine, ten, ten, ten…

  “Are you well, Miss Fullbright?” Valentine said suddenly. She turned, and he was staring at her, concern in those lovely mahogany eyes.

  Her first instinct was to assure him she was quite all right. Her family mocked her fears of crowds and tight places, and the weakness embarrassed her. But now that his eyes were on her, she wanted to keep them there. What would Elizabeth have done in this situation? Catherine had watched her flirt and charm men for years. Elizabeth would have wrapped Valentine around her fingers. She already had.

  Catherine took another shaky breath—quite authentic—and said, “I’m sorry, sir, but I do not feel well at all. I think a bit of air—”

  That was all she need say, and his hand was on the small of her back, and he was assisting her toward the French doors of her uncle William’s ballroom. The doors opened directly onto the lawn, and Catherine had entered through similar doors into other areas of the house often. As soon as she stepped outside, she recognized where she was and remembered the stone bench just a few feet away.

  “If I might sit down for a moment,” she said before Valentine could leave her to fetch one of her cousins or aunts to help her, “I believe it would help.”

  “Of course,” Valentine said, taking her arm and leading her to the bench. He walked stiffly beside her, and Catherine was well aware he did not wish to be there.

  He seated her on the bench, then moved an appropriate distance away, and Catherine had to think quickly to keep him close by. It was imperative her sister find them talking together. The very sight would so anger Elizabeth that she would finally show her true self. Then Valentine wouldn’t possibly wish to marry her, and Catherine would be free of the marriage threat hanging over her head long enough to escape with Josie.

  “Thank you so much for your kindness,” she said softly, so that he was forced to move a step closer to hear her. “I am feeling better already.”

  “Yes, your color is back,” he said, though his eyes were on the house and the activities of the ballroom. No matter. She did not need him to pay attention to her, merely to be by her side rather than Elizabeth’s. But there was something rather exciting about having him all to herself like this. In the semidarkness and shadows, his expressions were a mystery to her. And yet she could feel his presence and smell the scent he wore. She shivered, afraid and intrigued all at once.

  She had not forgotten what men were capable of. She had not forgotten her father’s vicious words and roughness, and so she could not understand why she, who knew what men were, wanted a man to touch her, caress her in that moment. She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of Valentine’s strong hand on the small of her back. The hand had guided
and reassured her, and yet she knew that same hand could hurt.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him, and to her surprise, he was staring at her. He did not look away when their gazes locked. He shifted and then he was closer, his knee brushing hers as he stood over her.

  One, two, three…

  “Are you still intent upon not marrying, Miss Fullbright?” His voice was lower than it had been. It resonated through her.

  “Quite so, sir.”

  He was looking down at her, and she finally had to look away. She was afraid what would happen if one of them did not.

  He reached out and placed a finger on her cheek, turning her face back to his. His finger was warm against her skin, a tantalizing contrast to the cool evening. She shivered.

  “May I ask why?” He did not remove his finger. In fact, he seemed to be moving it closer to her mouth.

  “I-I am not inclined to marry,” she said, though she hardly knew how to speak anymore. “I do-do not wish to be under a man’s thumb.” She had not meant to give so much away, but when the words were out, she glanced quickly up at him.

  He took his hand away. “Ah, so that is the reason for this streak of independence. Surely you realize that by not marrying, you merely remain under your father’s thumb.”

  “The devil you know…” she whispered, but she did not think he heard. And if Valentine would only play his part, she wouldn’t be in her father’s house much longer.

  Valentine took the place beside her and stared out over the lawns. He did not speak, but his knee touched hers. Catherine’s breathing hitched. The feel of him beside her made her shake. She wanted to lean into his solid warmth, feel him put his arms around her. Equally strong was the impulse to run, to escape this man and all men.

  “You’re trembling, Miss Fullbright,” Valentine said, voice so low it was barely a rumble through her bones. “Shall I give you my coat, or are you well enough to return inside?”

  Catherine looked at him, and this close she could see his face very well. His gaze was admiring, his focus on her lips, and under the heat of that look, she could not answer. Why on earth was he looking at her that way? Men never looked at her like this.

  “I thought I told you to put on a shawl.”

  “You did, but—”

  “Too late.” He placed a finger over her lips. “I can’t resist you now.”

  She tried to protest, but instead, to her astonishment, she found herself surrendering, closing her eyes and feeling his hand come around her waist.

  One heartbeat, two…

  “Quint, there you are!” a shrill voice called across the lawns. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Catherine opened her eyes and turned to see Elizabeth rushing toward them. As recognition dawned, Elizabeth’s movements changed from graceful to jerky. Catherine stiffened, ready for the full force of her sister’s wrath, knowing it was inevitable and also that it was necessary.

  Valentine stood and stepped away from the bench. “Elizabeth, dear, I’m sorry to have left you. Your sister felt unwell.”

  Catherine saw the angry retort on Elizabeth’s lips and willed her to say it, willed her sister to show Valentine what she truly was. Elizabeth glanced at her, and Catherine knew her sister saw the expectation on her face, and quite suddenly, as though Elizabeth had seen through the entire ploy, her face relaxed and then transformed into a mask of concern.

  “Oh, my! Catie, are you well? Would you like me to fetch Mother?”

  Catherine glared at her. Where were the accusations, the tantrums? Had she not seen Catherine sitting with Valentine? Had she not seen that his arm had been wound about her? One more heartbeat and she would have been kissing him!

  But Elizabeth was all worry and distress. She took Valentine’s place beside Catherine and put her hand on her arm. “Oh, dear, not again. Poor, Catie.”

  Catherine almost laughed. Poor Catie? When had those words ever escaped her sister’s lips?

  “It’s silly, really,” she said, looking at her fiancé. “Catie is terribly afraid of crowds. She can barely attend a ball without dissolving into a fit of hysterics.”

  Catherine jerked at the exaggeration, and Elizabeth dug her nails into Catherine’s arm.

  “We usually have to take her home and put her to bed. Quint, would you be a dear and fetch my mother? I don’t want to leave Catie in this state.”

  He bowed. “Of course. I shall send her right out.” He started for the house, and Elizabeth’s face transformed, the full force of her fury focused on Catherine.

  Just as quickly it dissolved when Valentine slowed, looked back, and said, “Good night, Miss Fullbright. I do hope you recover quickly.”

  “Thank you,” Catherine managed before the pain from Elizabeth’s nails digging into her arm made her gasp. She tugged her arm away and stared at the half-moons of blood welling up. “Lizzy, that hurt!”

  She glanced up in time to see Lizzy’s hand coming toward her, but not in enough time to avoid the slap. Her sister’s hand cracked across her cheek with enough force to snap Catherine’s head back. She cried out and leaned forward in an attempt to keep her balance on the bench, but Elizabeth merely used the opportunity to try and backhand her. Catherine caught her wrist and pushed back, but she was off-balance and went sprawling.

  She did not fall far or hard, but the indignity of it hurt quite enough. “That was for what you did to me at the Beaufort ball.” Slowly, Elizabeth rose and stood over her, treading on the hem of Maddie’s gown. “You stupid bitch. What were you trying to do out here? Lure him away from me?”

  Catherine didn’t answer. Instead, she stared at the dark smudge Lizzy’s dainty ball slipper had left on Maddie’s silk gown.

  “As though a man like Quint Childers would be interested in an old hag like you. Stick with what you are good at, spinster, and stay out of my way. If I catch you near him again, I’ll kill you.”

  “Elizabeth!” Both girls jumped and swiveled to see their father striding toward them. “Get inside now before you make a scene and ruin everything.”

  “But, Daddy, she—”

  “Get inside,” he growled. “The Duke of Chawton has just arrived, and when I return, you had better be dancing with him.”

  Elizabeth spared one last glance at Catie and then rushed toward the house. From the ground, Catherine looked up at her father, wondering if there was any point in attempting to defend herself when he would side with Lizzy anyway.

  But she would not sit still and wait for him to strike. She stared at her father’s shoes and knew if he tried to hit her, she would throw everything she had back at him. Even if she had to scrub chamber pots for a week, he would be the one sorry tonight.

  And then suddenly his shoes were gone. She looked up, almost afraid it was a trick, but all she saw was his back. He was walking away, returning to the house and the ball.

  Catherine tried to rise and then saw the drops of blood near the mark from Elizabeth’s slipper. Maddie’s dress was ruined. If she returned to the ball now, Elizabeth would tell everyone she’d tripped or had a nosebleed. Valentine would pity her. Elizabeth was on her guard now. Catherine knew she’d never get close to him again.

  She was doomed to whatever her father had in store.

  Chapter 7

  Quint paced his bedroom, listening to the clock chime four. It was the day of his wedding, early morning, and he could not sleep. Back and forth he paced, his bare feet sinking into the thick burgundy-and-blue Turkish rugs covering the hardwood floors. His bedroom was his sanctuary in an otherwise unimpressive town house in Mayfair. He’d bought the house because he did not want to live in his parents’ residence in Grosvernor Square. He’d wanted his own space. His house boasted a small dining room and study on the ground floor; a large drawing room and smaller ladies’ parlor on the first floor; and two adjoining bedrooms on the second floor, along with several smaller bedchambers.

  Quint supposed those were intended for the residents’ children. But he d
id not plan to live here long with his wife. As soon as he and Elizabeth married, they would begin to search for a new house that would suit them both.

  With that intention in mind from the start, Quint had not taken much time or effort to furnish the house in style. His wife could have charge of that duty. The one exception was his own bedroom. He’d commissioned a large full tester bed with Chinese silk hangings in dark blue and matching bedclothes. The furnishings in the room were tulipwood of the best quality. His favorite piece was his large mahogany desk with lion’s paws for feet. He had an identical piece in the small study downstairs and another in his office in Westminster. Quint liked consistency, and he arranged each of the desks in the same manner, with matching pens and inkwells. In this manner, wherever he chose to work, he was at home.

  He paced to his desk now and opened a folder on a new investment proposal he was researching for the prime minister. The government and Mr. Perceval would thank him if he recommended the proposal and England prospered. Likewise, if he recommended the proposal, and it turned out to be a swindle, his name would be vilified. He could not afford to make a mistake, in this or any area of his life.

  He stared at the pages before him until the words blurred. Standing, he began pacing again. He was restless and impatient, and he didn’t understand why. He wanted to marry, and he knew the woman he had selected would make an excellent wife. She was a bit young at seventeen, but he was no old man at thirty, and a young bride meant a malleable bride.

  Still, he felt a niggling prickle of unease on the back of his neck, just at the hairline. It was not an unfamiliar sensation. He’d felt it often before a vote on a bill in the House. Usually when things would not go his way.

  Why the ominous prickle should appear right before his wedding was a mystery, but he’d felt it the last week or more—ever since the betrothal ball his fiancée’s family had given.