Scandal Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  Dazedly she let her father pull her beside him, only half-aware of the warmth and comfort of his hand. Tearing her gaze from Lord Wyndham’s face, she dropped her eyes to the floor, her thoughts careening.

  Having observed the effect they had on each other, Sir Edward bit back a smile. A twinkle in his eyes, he patted Nell’s shoulder and said, “I shall leave you two alone for a few minutes…I believe that Lord Wyndham wishes to speak privately with you.”

  With trepidation Nell watched her father leave the room. She did not like this at all. Not the fact that she was being rushed into marriage with a man she barely knew, nor the fact that she found that same man far too attractive for her own good. Resentfully she shot a look at him from between her gold lashes, her heart leaping when she discovered that he was watching her intently.

  Her chin lifted. “What? Why are you staring at me so?”

  He smiled and Nell blinked at the powerful charm in that simple expression. Oh, lud! she thought. Her wits must have fled completely if a mere smile from him could make her feel so bedazzled.

  “Forgive me,” Julian said, amusement in his voice. “I could not help myself—I did not expect you to, er, clean up so well. You are very beautiful—far more beautiful than I remembered.”

  Nell snorted, ignoring the spurt of pleasure his words gave her. “You do not have to court me, my lord,” she muttered. “My father has made it clear that we are to be married on Wednesday next and that nothing short of death will prevent it.”

  Sir Edward had hinted that his daughter was not happy with the situation, but Julian had not quite believed him. Without being vain, he knew he was, after all, quite a catch. Her words and manner, however, made it apparent that Sir Edward had not underestimated the fact that she was singularly unimpressed by him—and his title and wealth. And to think, Julian mused, that instead of this angry-eyed little shrew, he could have found himself a sweet, docile young thing to marry—a fawning creature who would not have caused him a moment’s distress. Fighting back a grin, his gaze swept up and down her form before returning to her face and lingering on the stubborn jaw and willful mouth. His new bride, he decided, was going to be a challenge…and a handful—if the defiant set of her head was anything to go by.

  Aloud, he merely asked, “And would you prefer death to marriage with me?”

  Nell’s lips tightened. How ungentlemanly of him! She shot him a hostile glance. “Of course not—I am not a fool.”

  “Then don’t act like one.”

  Nell started at the crisp tone. Some of her belligerence fading, but not much, she demanded, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, my dear, that we are in this together. Both of our lives have changed in a manner neither one of us could have imagined twenty-four hours ago. Do not forget that you are not the only one being forced into marriage with a stranger. We can either make the best of it, or we can spend our time making ourselves unhappy. The choice is ours. I, for one, do not intend to spend the rest of my life in misery.”

  “But aren’t you angry at what happened? Doesn’t it make you furious that you are compelled to marry a woman you hardly know?” Nell’s lips trembled and she looked down at the floor. Honesty compelled her to add, “You will be marrying a woman who has been branded half-mad by society and, as you may have noticed, a woman who is also a cripple.”

  Julian tipped up her chin, his hand warm against her skin. His eyes gleaming with an emotion she could not name, he demanded softly, “Do you know that I nearly called out one of my best friends for referring to you in those terms?”

  Nell’s eyes widened and her heart banged painfully in her chest. “D-D-Did you?” she managed, her skin tingling where he touched it.

  Julian nodded. “And if I was prepared to fight a duel with him, what should I do with you for daring to say the same thing about the woman I am going to marry, hmmm?”

  Nell couldn’t think. He was too close. She was too aware of his hand beneath her chin, too conscious of his wide-shouldered body and blatant masculinity, to do more than stare, her reaction to him evident.

  Something clenched painfully within him at her wide-eyed expression and, giving into the whim that had been with him since they’d met at the toll keeper’s cottage, his lips captured hers. Her mouth was soft and startled, the taste and texture of it beyond his imagination. He had known that he would enjoy kissing her, had known that her lips would be sweet and warm, but he could never have guessed at the fierce, powerful desire that would twist and knot within him the moment his mouth touched hers.

  Nell gasped, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as his lips caught hers. His mouth was firm and knowing as it slid across hers, the roiling emotions it left in its wake like none she had ever experienced. Her blood raced and warmth bloomed within her, her entire body responding to the caress of his lips like a bud to the April sun. Instinctively she arched nearer, her mouth eager for him to continue the kiss.

  The effect of her nearness on him was no less dramatic for Julian, but while he had never felt such explosive desire before, he recognized the signs…and the danger. If he did not bring a halt to this sweet dalliance now, within minutes, he would have that charming gown up around her waist and he would be securely notched between her legs. With an effort, he tore his lips from hers and set her away from him.

  “That,” he said in a thickened tone, “was not why your father left us alone together.”

  Fighting off the giddiness his kiss engendered, she asked with credible command, “Why did he leave us alone?”

  “To allow me to formally ask for your hand.” A faint smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “We both thought that you might like to receive a proper offer.”

  Her resentment returned and turning away from him, she said, “My lord, you are wasting your time. I will be honest: I do not wish to wed—you or any other man. And having you formally request my hand is not going to change my mind.”

  He turned her back to face him. “Are you so very certain that you don’t wish to marry me? Do you find me so very distasteful?”

  “I could name several gentlemen that I do not find distasteful,” she hedged, “but that does not mean that I wish to marry them.”

  Julian grimaced. Aware of his worth and used to being much courted and petted by the opposite sex, he did not know whether to be amused or insulted by her refusal to fall in with his wishes. One thing he did know: he wanted her, and her rejection of him roused the hunter within him. Having her resist him was a novel occurrence for him. He could not remember a time when he had cast out his lures and a woman had made it so plain that his advances were not desired. He smiled, anticipation curling through him. He was going to have to work hard at wooing his reluctant bride…and he rather thought that he was going to enjoy it…immensely.

  Chapter 6

  The days after the scene in the library with Julian passed in a terrifying blur for Nell. The news of the engagement created the furor that the earl and Anslowe family had assumed it would. In the time before her wedding, at the few social functions she attended, Nell was stared at and pointed out as the future bride of the Earl of Wyndham. Conversation stopped when she entered a room and she was aware of the whispers that followed her. Of course, she knew they were speculating about the reasons behind the sudden wedding and she knew that all the old gossip about her and Bethune had been disinterred. With every passing moment Nell began to understand why the earl had been so adamant about a quick wedding. He was, damn him, correct: the sooner they wed, the sooner the storm would pass.

  Not all of the interest in the coming nuptials was unkind. Friends of the baronet’s family, and there were many, flooded the Anslowe townhouse, their delight in her having made such a grand match sincere—if astonished. At the townhouse of the Earl of Wyndham, grand and titled friends of the earl also came to call and they, too, seemed pleased that Julian had finally chosen a bride. And if they were mystified about his choice, who could blame them? Wyndham could have looked as high as he
pleased for a bride, and after years of being the despair of every matchmaking mama in England, without warning he had offered his hand to the daughter of a mere baronet, albeit a wealthy, respected one.

  There were, Nell supposed, some compensations for being handed over in marriage to the earl. Her father never stopped smiling and even her brothers seem to think that she had accomplished some impressive task for having snared Wyndham. Nell did not know whether to laugh or scream. She had never suspected that her father—or her brothers, for that matter—had lusted after a higher position amongst the ton, but to see them basking in the earl’s aura of power and influence revised her opinion. I seem to be the only one, she thought sourly, not ready to fall down and worship at his boots. Which wasn’t to say, she admitted, that she did not find him attractive…too attractive for her own liking. She was determined not to fall under his charm and she was having a hard time of it—especially when he smiled at her in that certain way…Damning herself for a fool she looked forward to her approaching wedding day with all the enthusiasm of sleeping naked in a nettle patch.

  Julian viewed his coming wedding with an anticipation and impatience that surprised him. He told himself that it was only because he wanted the hubble-bubble surrounding his marriage behind him, but he knew that he was deluding himself. Every time he saw Nell, as he thought of her these days, or touched her hand, every time their glances caught and held, he’d swear that the air smelled of orange blossoms and that he’d developed an unsettling tendency to float across the room. It didn’t matter that they’d never shared another private moment or that their meetings were always public. He had only to see her across the length of a room for his heart to leap and his step to lighten. He was not pleased with his reaction to her, particularly since he had set himself out to be at his most winning and the lady continued to treat him with cool resignation. But he was willing to bide his time—after all, they were going to be married for a very long time. The earl was a confident man, not a vain one, but occasionally he did wonder if he was being vain in assuming that he could win the heart of his lady. She certainly, he admitted wryly, seemed impervious to the lures he threw her way. He grinned. And her very imperviousness only whetted his appetite.

  Not everyone was thrilled with the announcement of the earl’s engagement to Miss Anslowe. Lady Wyndham tottered to her bed with her vinaigrette, convinced that Miss Anslowe was an ogre, and determined to wrest Julian’s affections from her and her daughter. The coming wedding filled her with dread and when she could be pried from her bed and vinaigrette, she went about with such a lachrymose expression that most people assumed that the earl had indeed kept his interest in Miss Anslowe quiet because of his father’s widow.

  Elizabeth, of a far less dramatic mind than her mother, wasn’t exactly displeased with the coming addition to the family, but she was aware that the life she and her mother had shared with Julian was changing forever and she suffered the occasional worry about the future.

  Talcott, too, had reservations about the impending marriage, but on the whole, having met Miss Anslowe at a private dinner at the earl’s residence on Thursday evening, found himself unexpectedly charmed by her. He was inclined to think that if his friend had to be married, the Anslowe baggage might do him very well. Considering her firm little chin and the intelligence gleaming in her fine eyes, she would certainly, he conceded with a smile, lead Julian a merry dance.

  It took a while, but even a few of the earl’s friends and relatives who had already left London for their country estates or snug hunting boxes returned to town to see for themselves the little minx who had finally brought Julian to his knees. A week after the announcement had appeared in the newspaper, Marcus Sherbrook was shown into the library. Finding Julian alone, sprawled in a chair near the fire apparently lost in a brown study, he murmured, “Regretting it already, Cousin? And the wedding not two days away!”

  A glad smile broke across Julian’s dark features and he started to his feet. “Marcus! I had not thought to see you in town again so soon.”

  “What? And miss what bodes to be the most talked-about event of the year? Good God, do you take me for a flat?”

  They met in the middle of the room, two tall, dark-haired men, their liking for each other obvious. Grinning at Marcus as he shook his hand, Julian said, “I’ll wager you never thought this day would come.”

  Amusement gleaming in his cool gray eyes, Marcus admitted, “I’m afraid you have me there. I own that I can hardly wait to meet this paragon who has captured the one man I thought for sure would never stick his head in the parson’s mousetrap again.”

  Showing him to a seat near the fire, Julian shrugged. “There are moments that I have trouble believing it myself, but when you meet her…” A wry smile crossed his mouth. “When you meet her you will either think me mad or curse me for finding her first.”

  Settling himself with careless elegance across from Julian, Marcus studied him, seeking for any hidden meaning in his words. He knew Julian well and what he saw must have satisfied him for he relaxed into the comfort of the overstuffed chair and stretched his long legs before him.

  Only two years separated their ages, with Julian being the eldest. Marcus was the son of the eldest sister of the previous earl and it could be said that the cousins had known each other almost since the hour of their birth. Lady Barbara Weston had married Mr. Sherbrook, a very wealthy country gentleman of impeccable lineage whose estates lay not thirty miles from Wyndham Manor, and Marcus and Julian had grown up together. They’d shared the terrors of Eaton together, the joys of Oxford and holidays in the country, both equally comfortable in each other’s homes. Beyond their dark hair and tall, athletic physiques, they shared few features in common, although there was a faint family resemblance about the eyes and nose.

  Julian rang for his butler and conversation was desultory until after Dibble had brought in a decanter of brandy and two snifters and departed. Pouring his cousin a drink, Julian said, “I assume you read the notice in the newspaper.”

  Swirling the brandy around and letting the delicate fumes rise in the air, Marcus said, “Actually, no. The news came from one of our esteemed cousins.” He made a face. “Charles appeared on my doorstep a few days ago—he had read the announcement in the newspaper.”

  “Hopefully Charles will use a little of the sense I know he possesses and not assume that I am marrying to spite him,” Julian muttered. He shook his head, his expression rueful. “If only my uncle had not got a maggot in his head that my father had somehow cheated him out of the title and poisoned Charles’s mind there would not be this bitterness between us.”

  “To put paid to any of Charles’s lingering delusions, let us hope that your bride proves to be most fertile and that this time next year we are toasting the birth of your son,” Marcus said. Raising his snifter, he smiled and added, “The first of many, I trust.”

  Julian raised his own glass. “As you said—we can hope.”

  The toast drunk, Marcus said, “So, tell me of this young woman—and your rapid courtship. I’ve racked my brains trying to recall if I have ever met her and, do you know, I cannot place her.”

  Julian laid out the same story that he had trotted out for Talcott and only by a sardonically lifted brow did Marcus betray that he thought it all hum. “What a rapper!” Marcus said when Julian had finished. “And too smoky by half, Cousin. Now tell me the truth and not this Canterbury tale.”

  Julian laughed. “I fear my lips are sealed, but know that I am not unhappy with the turn of events and that I think you will like Miss Anslowe—and her family. Sir Edward is an affable gentleman, and her three brothers the same. Their breeding and fortune are above reproach and they don’t appear to have any loose-fish lurking in the background.” His mouth twisted. “Unlike our side of the family. One thing I can be sure of, knowing their worth, I’ll not have them hanging on my purse strings. The Anslowes appear to be a nice, respectable family—far more respectable than certain members of our
s.”

  “Ah, so the lady comes from a long line of paragons of virtue?”

  Julian grinned. “Of course. Would the Earl of Wyndham expect any less?”

  Marcus returned the grin. “And the lovely widgeon, your dear stepmama? How does she take this turn of events?”

  “Oh, gad! I have been subjected to tears and spasms such as you never imagined. Diana is positive that Miss Anslowe intends to cast her and Lizzie onto the street with barely the clothes on their backs.”

  “Does she?” Marcus asked, with a cocked brow.

  “I seriously doubt it. Miss Anslowe doesn’t strike me as stupid or cruel.” Julian made a face. “I’m sure that there will be a few, uh, changes that she will institute, but I see no major upsets.”

  “And here I thought that you were a downy one!” Marcus exclaimed, laughter gleaming in his eyes. “Might as well throw the cat amongst the pigeons. I don’t envy you the domestic wars you’re about to face.”

  Julian shrugged. “You may be right, but since Diana and Elizabeth have elected to remain here in town indefinitely, when they do return to Wyndham Manor, Nell should be well established as mistress of the house.”

  “And in the meantime? I assume that you will bring your bride here at least for a day or two before leaving for Wyndham Manor. Won’t that be a trifle tricky considering Lady Diana’s attitude?”

  “That’s already been taken care of—immediately following the wedding breakfast at her father’s townhouse, my bride and I will be leaving for a week in the country,” Julian said. “Talcott very kindly offered me, us, that little place of his in Surrey. If I’m lucky, Diana and my wife won’t have a chance to come to fisticuffs for several weeks—if not months.”