A MERRY CHASE

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  Laurel wanted to rail at Royce, to tell him that she wouldn't be the prize in a wager or the finish for any game, but she held firm in her resolve not to give him the upper hand again. As long as she knew his secret, she could counter his moves, but once he knew that she'd learned about the wager, then the entire game would shift once more.

  "If your hope is to win me, I fear your efforts will all be in vain," Laurel murmured, forcing an apologetic note into her voice. "I'm having far too grand of a time entertaining my … options to settle upon one choice so quickly."

  "By options, I assume you mean gentlemen," Royce said dryly.

  "To put it plainly, yes." The look upon Royce's face gave Laurel pause and she began to wonder if she wasn't enjoying this sparring with Royce just a bit too much.

  "Ah, but if I am the most persistent, I can easily wait out the other suitor." His gaze burned with intensity. "I'll persevere and in the end, when all the other gentlemen have given up, I'll claim you for my prize."

  Lifting her chin, Laurel met his challenge. "That will be your downfall, my lord, for I am no man's prize to claim. When and if I settle upon someone to marry, it shall be my choice and mine alone." She waved her hand airily. "So, you see, you would be far better off settling upon some other lady to court."

  Royce drew her in closer. "I've settled upon you."

  The flutter his words caused inside of her angered Laurel. Royce's vow would have thrilled her … if she didn't know about the reason behind his determination to have her for his wife. A man like Royce hated to lose a wager. Laurel was determined not to be taken in by his words. "Perhaps you need to consider other options as well," she suggested softly, feeling a sense of relief as the music finally came to an end. "Thank you for the dance, my lord. I found our conversation most … enlightening." Without giving him a chance to respond, she pulled out of his arms and hurried away.

  Fearful that Royce would follow her, she headed toward the private chamber set aside for the ladies to repair their attire. Laurel breathed a sigh of relief as she entered the crowded room, knowing that even a man as bold as Royce Van Cleef wouldn't dare to enter. Sinking down on a stool, she pressed her gloved hands against her overheated cheeks.

  What was she going to do? Despite her resolve to teach Royce a lesson, it seemed as if every time they were together he would charm her into forgetting his dreadful wager … only for a moment, true, but what if, in time, she began to soften toward him? What if her pain at his betrayal began to lessen? Would she start to trust him again?

  Slowly lowering her hands, Laurel gazed into the mirror and prayed for a way to distract Royce from the chase.

  Just then, the answer to her prayer walked through the retiring room door. "My Maribeth is having a marvelous time this season," announced Lady Pennigrove as she sat down with a huff. "Though I must say there seems to be quite a lot of heiress-hungry rabble sniffing around the marriage mart these days."

  "I know precisely what you mean," agreed Lady Harding, who fluffed her skirts before returning her attention to her companion. "My Emily has been plagued with offers from untitled gentlemen all season."

  Laurel listened with half an ear to their conversation. If only that were her problem, she thought with a sigh. Instead, she had to handle a persistent—

  Her thoughts stumbled to a stop as inspiration struck. Holding back her chuckle, Laurel turned toward the two women. "I believe I can help you," she began in a casual tone, "for I know of one fine, titled gentleman who is currently seeking to marry."

  The two women turned on Laurel, the gleam in their eyes reminding Laurel of two hungry cats stalking a fat, juicy mouse. Or, even better, they reminded her of two determined hunters after a particularly fine fox. Laurel smiled over her last thought, then promptly tossed Royce over to the two eager mothers.

  * * *

  Leaning against the column edging the doorway, Royce waited for Laurel to emerge from the ladies' chamber. He knew he was gaining ground with her and he would do whatever it took until she admitted that he was the man she wanted.

  And then, he'd make her regret ever having taunted him with the thought of her with other men. Luckily for her, he would accept a sweet kiss as an apology.

  The door to the ladies' chamber opened and Royce eagerly looked around the corner to see if Laurel was exiting. No, only Lady Pennigrove and Lady Harding bustled back to the ballroom where they would release their unappealing daughters upon countless unsuspecting young gents.

  "How fortunate that we should meet, Lord Van Cleef," cooed Lady Pennigrove as she came to a full stop directly in front of him. "It's been so long since we've had an opportunity to chat."

  If "so long" meant never, then he'd have to agree with the old biddy. Royce kept that thought to himself and instead accepted her proffered hand. "Far too long indeed."

  Slipping to the side of him, Lady Pennigrove looped her arm through his. "While I'd simply adore to hear all about your recent escapades," she began as she tugged him forward, "we simply must find my daughter so that you can renew your acquaintance with her as well. You remember Maribeth, don't you, my lord?"

  It took all of his concentration not to shudder as the image of Lady Pennigrove's nearsighted, gap-toothed daughter filled his mind. "While I would dearly love to accompany you, my lady, I'm afraid now isn't the proper time."

  "Nonsense," pronounced Lady Pennigrove. "That is the entire function of these affairs."

  Not allowing her to tug him more than two steps, Royce stood firm. He didn't want Laurel to slip away from him unnoticed.

  "I agree completely with Lady Pennigrove," added Lady Harding as she took hold of his other arm. "In fact, I see Maribeth standing across the room with my own daughter, Emily." She smiled brightly at him. "I would be more than happy to introduce you, my lord."

  Lady Pennigrove tightened her grip upon his arm until Royce felt certain he'd have welts in his flesh when she finally released it. "Of course you can introduce him to your daughter, Prudence, but only after he's spent some time with my Maribeth."

  Yanking his arm downward, Lady Harding held on tightly. "But if they're both standing together, Ann, don't you believe we could introduce them at the same time?"

  Royce was perplexed. Whatever was wrong with these two ladies? Why were they suddenly treating him as if he were the rarest treasure on earth? Hearing the door to the ladies' chamber open once more, Royce glanced over his shoulder, hoping Laurel would come to his rescue.

  It was Laurel all right, but from the smug expression she was wearing, he knew no help would come from her quarter. In that instant, he pieced together why these two matrons were fighting over him like a coveted prize.

  Laurel had set them on him.

  Walking past, Laurel sent him a cheery little wave and a victorious smile as she strolled away with a decidedly cocky spring in her step. Royce couldn't help but admire her cunning.

  What a clever little vixen he was after.

  * * *

  "I believe it's time for you to hold another grand affair, Mother," Royce announced as he stepped into the library.

  Snapping her book of poems shut, Elizabeth looked up at him. "I beg your pardon?"

  "I need to speak privately with a certain young lady, and the best way to arrange that is to invite her to our home," Royce replied stiffly, wishing he'd been able to devise a plan that didn't require his mother's cooperation.

  Her eyes grew frosty. "Lady Laurel Simmons?"

  "No," Royce replied, shaking his head. "Her best friend actually, Miss Harriet Nash."

  "Dear Lord, you've gone from bad to worse." Elizabeth laid her book on her lap. "Surely you can't mean to propose to an untitled nobody!"

  "I doubt if Miss Nash would appreciate being called a nobody."

  "Why would her opinion affect—"

  He held up both hands. "Enough, Mother. I have no wish to delve into this conversation." He gave her a steady look. "Will you hold a party and invite Miss Nash?"

  Elizabeth
lifted her chin. "Why should I? You've come into my home these past few days in an adversarial mood and I must tell you, Royce, you've done nothing that makes me want to help you."

  "I'm sorry that you feel that way, Mother, but I'm afraid I shall have to insist you hold a party."

  Her features turned stony. "You insist? Where did I fail in your instruction? You are ever the disappointment to me," she finished.

  Ignoring the scrape of pain, Royce answered calmly, "I've tried in the past to be what you wanted, but only met with failure. I've accepted the fact that I am destined to disappoint you and have learned to live with that knowledge." He braced himself against the mantel. "What I will not accept, however, is your continued disrespect toward me and the title I bear. Whether you like it or not, I am the Earl of Tewksbury and, as such, hold the position of power within this family. While I honor you, Mother, I will not allow you to dictate my actions."

  "You make me sound like a shrew."

  He didn't deign to respond to her observation. Instead, he said, "Let's not allow this conversation to degenerate into insults. Please ask your secretary to arrange for the party, Mother."

  "And if I refuse?"

  Looking at his mother, he wished futilely that things could be different between them. "Then I shall be forced to think twice about paying the extravagant bill I just received from your dress-maker.

  Her lips tightened. "Very well, Royce. You shall have your party."

  "Thank you," Royce murmured. "I do appreciate your assistance."

  "What option did I have?" she asked bitterly.

  "What option indeed," Royce returned, regretting that she'd forced his hand.

  * * *

  "I am so honored that you invited me to your party, my lady," gushed Miss Harriet Nash, as she took in the elegance of the room.

  Sending a glance over at Royce, who stood a few feet away, Elizabeth responded smoothly. "The honor is mine, Miss Nash."

  "You are too kind."

  "May I get you some refreshment?" Pressing a hand to her throat, his mother added, "I vow I am parched."

  "No, thank you," Harriet replied with a shake of her head.

  "Then please excuse me while I fetch myself a nice cup of tea." Elizabeth took one step away, before stopping. "Oh, but I shouldn't leave you alone. You are, after all, my guest."

  "I shall be perfectly fine, my lady."

  "Nonsense," Elizabeth replied, waving him forward. "My son shall keep you company. I believe you met him earlier—Royce Van Cleef, the Earl of Tewksbury."

  Royce joined them before Harriet had a chance to respond. Bowing to both ladies, he murmured. "Miss Nash. Mother. How may I be of assistance?"

  "Would you mind entertaining Miss Nash while I get some refreshment?"

  Ignoring the sarcastic edge to his mother's voice, Royce smiled politely. "Would you like me to get it for you, Mother?"

  "No, thank you," she said in perfectly polite tones. "What young lady wouldn't prefer the company of a young gentleman?"

  With a smirk at him, his mother moved off before anyone could reply. The moment his mother left their little group, Harriet stiffened and her expression grew stony.

  Perhaps he'd been wrong. Perhaps Harriet wouldn't be able to explain Laurel's coolness of late. "Good evening, Miss Nash."

  "My lord."

  Ouch. The frost in her tone could maim him if he weren't careful. "I'm pleased that you could come to my mother's affair. We haven't had a chance to converse in quite some time," he added, taking a page out of Lady Pennigrove's book of untruths.

  But Harriet wasn't impressed. "We have never conversed, my lord."

  Flinching at the tart reply, Royce decided to plunge on. "Alas, that is true, but perhaps we can remedy that today," he said, applying his charm in full measure. "I'd very much like to become better acquainted with you, Miss Nash."

  Though he would have thought it impossible, her expression grew even stonier.

  Her lack of response answered clearly for her. Releasing his breath in a huff, Royce decided to try a different tact. "You don't like me very much, do you?" he asked in brutal honesty, knowing he was tossing aside all the rules of polite conservation.

  Shock reflected for a brief moment in Harriet's gaze, before her eyes narrowed once more. "Not particularly, if you must know."

  Finally they were getting somewhere. Eagerly, Royce leaned closer. "Why? We don't even know each other."

  "Perhaps your reputation precedes you," she said briskly.

  Furrowing his brow, Royce shook his head. "That's it? Because you've heard a bit of gossip about me, you've now concluded that I'm a horrid person?"

  "It wasn't gossip," she retorted, her voice ringing with conviction. "The things I know about you came from a most reliable source."

  "Precisely what do you know, Miss Nash?" He was beginning to get a sickening feeling that this had something to do with Laurel.

  "Nothing I care to repeat, my lord." Harriet lifted her chin in a movement that reminded him of Laurel. "Though I will tell you that in the future you should consider a lady's tender feelings far more closely before you begin any childish games."

  It was about Laurel. "I don't know what—"

  "Good evening, Lord Van Cleef," Harriet declared, effectively cutting him off at the knees. As she strode away, she hit him with one parting blow. "Happy hunting."

  Happy hunting? What the devil did she mean by that? And what was that muck about considering a lady's feelings before beginning childish games? What could—

  Dear God. Laurel knew about the wager. All the pieces fell into place, every exchange, every sentence uttered over the past few days. Somehow, some way, she'd found out the truth … and was furious about it.

  The way she'd taunted him with tales of a thousand kisses and thrown Lady Pennigrove and Lady Harding at him, it all made sense to him now.

  Of course. It all seemed so obvious he couldn't imagine why he hadn't reasoned it all out before. But how had she learned the truth?

  Like a bolt of lightning, he knew who had informed Laurel about the wager. Steven. That wily bastard. His first instinct was to confront Steven, but common sense prevailed.

  A smart man, one who applied strategy to accomplish his goals, would use the knowledge he'd just gained for his own purpose. After all, if Steven were secretly handing information to Laurel, it might prove interesting to see just how well it would work if he gave Steven false information.

  Royce almost laughed aloud at the thoughts dancing in his head. The adventure of claiming his bride kept getting better and better.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  Lining up her shot, Laurel swung her croquet mallet just as a raspy whisper caught her attention, causing her to knock her ball in the opposite direction.

  "Laurel."

  Glancing around, Laurel tried to see who had whispered her name. Everyone appeared to be engrossed in the game of croquet that Lady Needham had organized at her garden party. Deciding it must have been her imagination, Laurel went to retrieve her ball.

  Swinging back, she hit the ball back toward the playing field just as she heard the demanding whisper once again.

  "Laurel! Over here."

  She frowned as her ball went careening off to the left coming to rest far from the wicket. Turning around, fully prepared to rail at the person who broke her concentration, Laurel found herself facing nothing but a hedgerow.

  "Over here!"

  Automatically, she glanced toward the sound. "Royce?" Taking a step closer, she could now see him clearly. "What are you doing back there?"

  In response, Royce simply reached out and pulled her through the break in the bushes, whisking her skirts away from the clawing branches.

  Amused, Laurel glanced around the secluded arbor. "Now that you have me in your lair, what do you intend to do?" The moment the teasing question left her mouth, Laurel wished she could take it back. Perhaps she had been flirting far too much lately. />
  "Now there's an interesting question," Royce murmured, his eyes gleaming. "What should I do with you? After all, it's your fault that I'm stuck hiding behind these blasted bushes."

  "My fault?" Laurel squeaked, taking a step backward.

  "Indeed." Advancing on her, Royce narrowed his eyes. "Do you realize that I can't attend any social functions without being surrounded by a horde of anxious mamas and eager chits? Now that you've made it common knowledge that I'm seeking a bride, I've received more introductions to giggling females and more questions about my background, my habits, and even my wealth, then ever before."

  A giggle escaped her. She couldn't help it. The look of vexation upon Royce's face tickled her.

  Grasping her by the shoulders, Royce drew her closer. "To my way of thinking, there is only one way out of this mess you've created, Laurel."

  Trying to ignore the sudden racing of her heart at his touch, she stood still beneath his hands. "And how is that?"

  "Marry me."

  Two words. Two little words that brushed against her very soul, making her yearn to say yes, to accept what he offered. But she had far too much pride to sell herself so cheaply. Instead, she lifted a hand, patting it over her yawning mouth. "Don't be tedious, Royce. We've already discussed this."

  "Very well," he agreed without argument.

  The ease with which he gave up made Laurel suspicious. It was a very un-Royce-like thing for him to do.

  "But I would then ask you to assist me in dissuading these persistent ladies."

  Ah, here was the angle. She'd known he wouldn't defer so easily. "And just what would you like me to do?"

  "Spread vicious rumors about me."

  Her mouth dropped open. Of all the things she'd expected him to say, this wasn't one of them. If he'd said that they needed to pretend to be engaged or that she should stay at his side to give the impression that they had reached an understanding, then she wouldn't have flinched. But this? Laurel fought to apply logic to his request. "Why on earth would you ask something like that of me?"

  "Because it's the most expeditious manner in which to dissuade my ardent admirers," Royce pointed out calmly. "No one will consider me marriage material if there are nasty murmurings rumbling around about me."