Bedeviled Bride (Regency Historical Romance)

by Knight-Catania, Jerrica

  The Bedeviled Bride

  Jerrica Knight-Catania

  Smashwords Edition

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, locations and events are either a product of the

  author’s imagination, fictitious or used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to any event, locale or person,

  living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The Bedeviled Bride

  Copyright 2011 by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any format.

  Cover design by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  Prologue

  Dearest Chloe,

  How to start this letter eludes me, dear cousin. I am still in shock over the events of the past week and can hardly believe, after months of being betrothed to Andrew, that I am now yoked for life to his conniving brother. I must admit, the news of yours and Andrew’s association wounded me, but I want you to know that I am not angry with you. I cannot fault you for falling in love; however, it may take some time for me to come to terms with the end result. Most of my anger currently lies with Michael, though. He was the one with the most opportunity to tell me the truth, yet he did not.

  We are on our way to his estate in Scotland for an indefinite period of time. I write you from a coaching inn somewhere in the north, though I cannot be sure where exactly. I suppose I could ask, but I am refusing Michael the pleasure of my conversation for the time being.

  Well, it is late and we have been traveling since early this morning. We have several days ahead of us until we reach the highlands, but I promise to keep you abreast of everything once we are there, and you must promise to do the same.

  Your Cousin,

  Lizzie

  My Dear Lizzie,

  Oh, how my heart rejoiced at your letter! The worry has been more than I could bear, for I was sure you would never want to speak with me again. Please accept my sincerest apologies and know that I never set out to deceive you. I cannot speak for Andrew and Michael—it seems their machinations went far beyond my own. But I do know one thing: Michael cares for you deeply. I know you are angry with him now, but perhaps you will find it in your heart to forgive him one day.

  I must go. The baby has started moving around in my belly, especially in the middle of the night. She is quiet now, so I must pounce on the opportunity to sleep!

  With all my love,

  Chloe

  One

  “Are you cold?”

  Elizabeth looked up at her new husband and fixed him with her iciest glare. She was freezing but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. She would brave the highland chill without his help.

  She gave a terse shake of her head and then turned her focus back to the rapidly moving landscape outside.

  “Still not speaking to me?”

  This time she did not even bother to turn her head, but instead simply rolled her eyes in response. She wished he would stop trying to converse with her, or trying to get her to smile. His previous attempts at humor had almost undone her, but she would not allow it. Whenever he tried to say something amusing, she simply remembered his deception and it riled her blood anew.

  How could they have done this to me? No, the real question was how could she have let them? How could she have been so very blind not to realize what was happening right before her very eyes. She should have known when her typically reserved fiancé finally succumbed to her pleas for affection. Andrew had never even kissed her and all of a sudden he was fondling her in the garden.

  No, Michael was fondling her.

  A blush rose to her cheeks at the memory, but she quickly pushed it from her mind.

  She’d always wondered if her husband and his identical twin would attempt a deception. But that was early in her courtship with Andrew. She was certain they must have done so as children, but as they grew closer to the wedding, that concern vanished. She assumed they had grown out of the need for such a childish hoax. Sure, they were known rakehells and it would not have been out of character for them to pull such a prank, but they never had. At least, she didn’t think they had. Not until the eve of their wedding. Not until it was too late for anyone to escape unscathed from such a deception.

  Her heart twisted at the thought, and she bit her lip to keep the tears from spilling onto her cheeks. She wouldn’t give Michael the satisfaction of knowing she was hurt.

  Anger was fine—let him think she was angry all he wanted. Hurt was another story. Hurt indicated that her defenses were lowered, that she was vulnerable, that she needed coddling and reassurances.

  She did need those things now that she was married to the wrong man and being carted halfway across Britain. But she didn’t want them from him. That lying blackguard!

  “It won’t be too much longer now.” Michael’s words pulled her out of her silent stew.

  Reflexively, she almost turned to look at him, but then stopped herself. She had to appear as indifferent as possible.

  “It’s been ages since I’ve been here,” he added. “But I do recognize this area.”

  Why was he rambling so? She didn’t care where they were or what he recognized. She just wanted a bed and privacy...and maybe a bit of chocolate.

  Lizzie wondered how the manor would look and if it was staffed at all. She’d grown up mostly in London, the daughter of an earl, and had never known much outside of her very comfortable existence.

  Visits to her cousin’s cottage in Essex had given her a taste of how the rest of the world lived, but she’d always kept her visits short. Two days without a maid or a water closet was more than enough for her to understand what it would be like to be poor.

  Not that Michael was poor. He too was used to the finer things in life, but he claimed it had been years since he’d been to this particular estate. Did that mean they’d truly be rusticating up here in the highlands?

  The thought made Lizzie uneasy, but she squelched it quickly. She mustn’t show any sign of weakness to her new weasel of a husband.

  “We won’t have to stay for long, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he continued. “I’m sure the scandal will blow over in a few months and then we’ll be safe to return. Until then, well...I hope you like your new home.”

  Michael pointed to the opposite window, and Lizzie’s curiosity won out over her desire to appear indifferent. She shimmied slightly, keeping her face in a menacing scowl as she did so, and peered through the windowpane.

  Her breath caught on a gasp as she beheld her new home. Situated beside a sparkling lake, and surrounded by hills and lush greenery, sat a picturesque manor of stone and brick.

  Lizzie ignored the fact that it was probably the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen and sat back against the squabs with a shrug. Michael was staring at her, and she looked back defiantly.

  “You don’t like it?”

  Like it? She loved it. But she’d be damned if she was going to tell him that. For the first time in days she spoke to her husband. “It will do.”

  ***

  It will do? Michael gaped at his wife, then gaped at the enchanting scene before turning once again to Elizabeth. It was bloody amazing and all she could say was “it will do?”

  Spoiled wench.

  Michael shook his head and chastised himself for thinking such things about his new wife. In truth, he deserved her ire, but it still made him angry. He’d tried for the last five days to talk to her, to make her laugh...anything to alleviate the heavy silence that hung between them.

  But the worst had been their wedding nigh
t when she insisted on separate rooms and then locked him out. Locked him out! The man who paid for the room and the man who’d said “I will” to her that morning at St. George’s. She was his by right, damn it, and she’d locked him out.

  Furthermore, she'd been given a choice. He and Andrew had given her two days to get used to the idea of marrying him—she had a chance to back out and she'd not taken it. And damn her, she was going to make him pay for her decision.

  He took a breath, trying to calm his pulse. It wouldn’t do to get upset—she was already upset enough for the both of them. She would come around eventually and then they’d work things out.

  For the time being, he just needed to be patient. To give her space and allow her time to heal. She’d been through quite an ordeal, after all, and he didn’t want to make it any worse for her. Or him.

  “Well, good,” he finally responded. “At least you don’t hate the place.”

  When she said nothing, he continued. “Mr. and Mrs. Kerr have kept watch over the manor in my family's absence. Once we assess our needs, we can hire more servants. I’m sure you’ll require a lady’s maid and such...”

  He waited for Elizabeth to respond, but still nothing. She kept her face turned to the window and her jaw tight. Not even a glimmer of interest flashed in her ice blue eyes.

  Michael decided to give up. No sense talking to someone who wouldn’t talk back. She could learn about the estate on her own for all he cared. Right now he just wanted to be alone with a stiff brandy. Maybe then the stiffness in his pants would abate.

  Despite his anger towards her, the woman still roused his desires fiercely. She’d deliberately let her riding cloak fall open at the top so he would be forced to stare at her assets all day, every day, for the last week, knowing he wasn’t permitted to touch. That didn’t stop him imagining that he was touching, though.

  He remembered well what they felt like from their garden encounter several months ago, and that was enough to make him painfully hard.

  Michael bit the inside of his cheek to keep from swearing. The last seven days had tested him to his limit, and it wouldn’t be long before he claimed his wife and officially made her his. He just had to figure out how to make her want it.

  The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the manor, and Michael leaned forward to open the door. He caught Elizabeth’s eye as he did so, and something flickered there. What was it? Remorse? Fear? He couldn’t tell. But it wasn’t the same hardened look she’d worn since their wedding, and somehow that gave him hope for their future.

  ***

  Lizzie took Michael’s hand and begrudgingly allowed him to help her from the carriage. She hated to accept his assistance, but they’d been riding for hours and she didn’t trust her legs to keep her upright.

  When their hands met, her mind flashed once again to the masquerade ball when he’d led her into the garden and kissed her. Though he wasn’t the man she was originally intended to marry, she had shared rather intimate moments with him. Her body seemed to remember his touch of its own accord. Heat traveled from her toes until a blush once more infused her cheeks. Even worse, she felt a tingling that reached to her core—it was almost as strong as when he’d actually touched his hand to her breast—

  Dear Lord, what was she thinking? This man was a liar and blackguard and she couldn’t allow her memories to interfere with the present. She couldn’t forget—would not ever forget—his deception.

  “You’re welcome,” he said flatly when she failed to thank him.

  A tiny stab of guilt surfaced. She hated to appear ungrateful, even to him. But she just couldn’t bring herself to say anything that even bordered on pleasant. She didn’t want him getting the wrong idea.

  Thankfully, she was saved from the uncomfortable silence by a portly couple that hurried from the door and down the front steps.

  “Oh, Lord Michael, look at ye!” the old woman blathered as she bustled to them. “Why, I haven’t seen ye since ye were a wee thing! Oh, Angus, look! Can ye believe how much he’s grown? Handsome as ever, aren’t ye?”

  Lizzie watched in fascination as the woman gathered him in her arms and pulled him close against her breast. She stifled a giggle at his astonished expression and schooled her features back to their impassive state. But it was difficult. His eyes were round as saucers and a hint of pink came to his cheeks. She wasn’t sure if he was a man of six and twenty or a twelve-year-old boy in that moment.

  “A strapping man you’ve turned out to be,” Angus agreed with his wife. “’Tis good to have ye home, milaird.”

  “Thank you.” Michael extracted himself from the still blubbering Mrs. Kerr. “May I present my wife, Lady Elizabeth Wetherby.”

  He turned to look at her and she quickly looked away. She didn’t want him to know she’d been watching the scene with interest. Instead, she pasted on a bright smile and addressed Mr. and Mrs. Kerr.

  “I have heard so much about you,” she lied as she stepped forward to shake their hands.

  But Mrs. Kerr was having none of it. She ignored Lizzie’s hand and moved in for a tight squeeze. Not wanting to be rude, Lizzie squeezed back. As she did, she looked up over the woman’s shoulder to find Michael red with mirth. How rude. At least she’d had the decency to hide her amusement from him.

  “Are ye hungry, my dear?”

  Lizzie looked up and realized the woman had been speaking all the while, but what about, she didn’t know. She’d only caught that last bit, thanks to her husband.

  “Ah, yes, I suppose I am,” she replied.

  The portly housekeeper clapped her hands and gave a squeal that would have sounded more appropriate coming from a pig. “Come along then,” she urged, taking Lizzie by the hand and ushering her to the stairs. “We’ll get ye some warm biscuits and a nice cuppa chocolate...”

  Lizzie looked back over her shoulder to see Michael standing dumbfounded on the drive with Angus, and for the first time in days, she allowed a smile to grace her lips.

  Two

  Lizzie followed the housekeeper through the front doors of the exquisite façade, anxious to see what splendor the inside held. She was sure it must be equal in glory to the outside.

  “Well, here we are. Lemme take your cloak, dearie.”

  Certain she must have stepped into some kind of nightmare, Lizzie came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the dust-coated foyer. Her disbelieving eyes adjusted to the gloom to take in the sight before her. Dust, inches thick, layered every surface, including the marble stairs straight ahead. Cobwebs hung from every corner and from the massive chandelier above them.

  The heavy drapes that covered the windows on either side of the oak door were drawn tightly, leaving only the fanlight above to shed light into the space. Lizzie promptly marched to the windows, ignoring Mrs. Kerr’s gasp of alarm, and flung them open. Dust exploded into the air and Lizzie dissolved into a fit of coughing.

  “Oh, dear,” she heard the older woman mutter as she bustled to her side. “Are ye all right, milady?”

  Lizzie nodded as the woman patted her back with a tender hand. She wiped the tears away that had formed in reaction to the dust. Good heavens, what had the Kerr’s been doing, if not seeing to the cleanliness of the house?

  “Come, move away from there,” Mrs. Kerr instructed, leading Lizzie to the other side of the foyer. “I’m so sorry, milady. We didn’t get much notice you were coming. We had time enough to prepare only the rooms in which you might spend a great deal of time. The mister and I live in the servant’s quarters, so the main house hasn’t seen much attention, I’m afraid.”

  “So, then—” she paused to choke back the tickle in her throat “—what is it you and Mr. Kerr have been paid to do all this time?”

  The woman seemed taken aback by Lizzie’s abrupt question, but she had to know if they’d been partaking of the Eastleigh coffers without doing their jobs. Supposedly, the family hadn’t been there in years, but surely the Kerrs were meant to keep the house in living order, just
in case.

  “I assure you our salary is just enough to see to a few personal items every month, but we agreed to it in order to keep a roof over our heads.” She looked around the room. “Lord knows we wouldn’t be able to fix this place up ourselves, anyway. I suppose that’s why we’ve left it alone.”

  For the first time, Lizzie took a good look at the woman before her. Her hands were frail and brittle looking, and her back hunched with the weight of many years. Of course they wouldn’t be able to maintain this place alone. “I see,” Lizzie said, softening her tone. “Perhaps you can show me to my room then?”

  A smile broke out on Mrs. Kerr’s lips, plumping her cheeks even more than they already were. She turned on her sensibly-booted foot and began the ascension to the first floor.

  "The ballroom and the drawing room are on the main floor, though I admit they aren't fit for living. There's a great deal of restoration to be done before they'll be acceptable for parties and such."

  Lizzie followed silently, trying not to slip on the dusty marble stairs. When they reached the first floor landing, Mrs. Kerr began to point out rooms of interest, which she claimed were livable—the parlor, the study, the library—before they climbed to the second floor to the bedchambers.

  Lizzie continued to follow Mrs. Kerr down the darkened hallway, her skin prickling as a cool breeze washed over her. She looked about, trying to see if she could detect a draft coming from under one of the doors. She couldn’t tell, so she decided to alert the housekeeper to the matter.

  “Mrs. Kerr, I do believe there must be a window open in one of those rooms back there. Did you not feel that breeze as we walked by?”

  The woman stopped in front of the double oak doors at the end of the hallway. “’Tis not a window, milady,” she said. “But don’t worry. No drafts will get you in this room.”