A WICKED WEDDING
Laura Trentham
Also by Laura Trentham
Historical Romance
Spies and Lovers
An Indecent Invitation Book 1
A Brazen Bargain, Book 2
A Reckless Redemption, Book 3
A Sinful Surrender, Book 4
A Wicked Wedding, Book 5
A Daring Deception, Book 6 (Coming Soon)
* * *
Contemporary Romance
Highland, Georgia Novels
A Highlander Walks Into a Bar, Book 1
A Highlander in a Pickup, Book 2
A Highlander is Coming to Town, Book 3
* * *
Heart of a Hero Novels
The Military Wife
An Everyday Hero
* * *
Cottonbloom Novels
Kiss Me That Way, Book 1
Then He Kissed Me, Book 2
Till I Kissed You, Book 3
* * *
Christmas in the Cop Car, Novella 3.5
Light Up the Night, Novella 3.75
* * *
Leave the Night On, Book 4
When the Stars Come Out, Book 5
Set the Night on Fire, Book 6
* * *
Sweet Home Alabama Novels
Slow and Steady Rush, Book 1
Caught Up in the Touch, Book 2
Melting Into You, Book 3
Contents
Also by Laura Trentham
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Also by Laura Trentham
About the Author
Chapter 1
Miss Diana Grambling was well and truly stuck with no plan to extricate herself from her numerous thorny problems. Her immediate difficulty consisted of disentangling herself from a set of brambles and getting in front of a warm fire with hot tea at home. Not that she was likely to be missed. It wasn’t that her family didn’t love her, but there were just so many of them it was difficult for her parents to keep track.
Eight brothers and sisters. She wasn’t the oldest or the youngest—her brother Piers was twenty-five and a solicitor in London, and her sister Maybelle was six. Diana wasn’t even the prettiest. That honor went to Rose, her beautiful, graceful, kind sister with perfect manners. With a dewy complexion and honey-blond hair, Rose was the definition of an English rose.
Unlike Rose, who took after their mother, Diana had inherited her father’s unruly dark red hair. Her face wasn’t displeasing in spite of her light freckles, but her mother was forever reminding her not to smile so widely or laugh so loudly. It wasn’t considered ladylike, as she’d discovered last spring when she and Rose had traveled to London to take in the sights and attend a small number of social functions accompanied by Piers.
The goal had been, of course, to find Rose a suitable husband. Older than Diana by a mere ten months, Rose was the family’s hope of bettering their connections. She might even attract an offer from a man so lofty as a baronet. Diana had acted as a companion-chaperone, and although no one would hurt her feelings by mentioning it, she hadn’t given Rose any competition.
Although bagging some boor to marry was not high on her list of wants, she had hoped to at least meet and socialize with interesting people. Instead, she’d spent her time watching everyone else. Not that she was ready to be courted. Far from it.
Which was part of her next dilemma. Just that afternoon, Mrs. Hambridge, the old vicar’s widow, had thrown her son, Hamish, in Diana’s path in a most obvious way. Groomed from a young age to take over pastoral duties on the Earl of Linley’s estate from his father, Hamish had settled in as vicar and was proving to be popular. The estate provided a well-appointed cottage and a willing flock to guide. All Hamish needed was a wife of good stock.
Good stock. Like a cow or horse. Diana let out a bark of dismay and pulled harder at her cloak, only managing to ensnare the fabric worse. Although it was only late afternoon, the shadows under the copse of hardwoods grew long under winter skies. She set her basket on fallen pine needles, pulled her gloves off, snatched her straw hat from atop her head, and fumbled with her cloak. In her haste to begone from the not-so-subtle hints being dropped by Mrs. Hambridge with regard to a union with her son, she had managed to knot the ties.
If her parents got wind of a potential offer, they’d have her bundled off as soon as the banns were read. She would be well and truly stuck in every sense.
“Bloody hell!” Diana’s voice echoed back to her. It was a wicked thing to think, much less say—never mind yell—but she’d heard Piers and Liam spout enough curses to fill a tome.
“May I be of some assistance, my lady?” A cool, amused voice cut through the noise in her head like a scythe. “Or are you truly a heathen?”
The Earl of Linley. Of course it would be him. Handsome and intelligent and in possession of a Corinthian’s frame, the new earl made his current attire of buckskin breeches, loose shirt, and worn riding coat look as magnificent as his formal evening wear.
Diana propped her hands on her waist and popped her hip. “I may be a heathen, but you are truly a rascal, Cole. Get over here and help free me before I tell my parents you were attempting to seduce me.”
Cole, short for his surname Colewright, raised one eyebrow in a supercilious manner he had been birthed with but moved in her direction. “What have you done to yourself, my girl?”
“Knotted my cloak and snagged myself in the brambles.” She didn’t need a looking glass to tell her that her cheeks were ablaze. In fact, she could imagine a spark igniting the forest floor in a ring of fire around them. It wasn’t from embarrassment though. Or at least not entirely.
He stopped so close that she had to tilt her head back to meet his dark gray eyes. It was his eyes that set him apart from any other man she’d ever met. They danced with emotion, whether it was anger or merriment. Lately they’d been darkened with a grief she could do nothing to ease even as she itched to hug him.
Cole had grown up in a veritable castle on the Devon coast less than a mile from the Gramblings’ cramped manor house. The same age as Liam, he’d been a fixture at their house for as long as Diana could remember.
He was the youngest of three brothers and the only one still living. His eldest brother had died of fever two years earlier, along with his sister-in-law and nephew. The middle Colewright brother had died in a riding accident six months earlier, and their father had followed mere weeks after. Diana supposed the cause of the old earl’s death was a broken heart. That left Cole to assume the mantle of Earl of Linley. A title and responsibility he’d never expected.
He tutted and brushed her hands aside. “For the record, there would be no attempt at seduction, Diana. If I were of a mind to seduce you, I would succeed.”
“Are you an experienced seducer then? How many innocents have you lured behind potted plants at balls in order to have your wicked way with them?”
He rumbled a laugh. It was good to hear he remembered how. Piers had mentioned how serious and distracted Cole had been since the tragedies had befallen his family.
“I make it a general rule to avoid innocents altogether. And if you must know, exercising my wicked ways requires more privacy and leverage than a potted plant.”
As he worked at the knot, she blinked up at him, her mind racing through a maze of possibilities. “Leverage? Like a stick or a wall? Why would you need a wall?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “I forgot how rampant your imagination is.”
“My imagination wouldn’t have to rampag
e if I were given more information. Girls aren’t told anything interesting.”
“What do you want to know?” His hands stilled on her ties, shifting to lie on her shoulders, his thumbs on her collarbones.
“What does a seduction consist of?” When Cole’s mouth opened to dissuade her question, she put her finger against his lips and continued. “I’m supposed to be protecting Rose against cads and ne’er-do-wells. How am I to identify one in its natural habitat?”
Cole’s lips spread into a smile under her finger. They were softer than she’d supposed, and it was a shock to note that despite their years growing up together, she’d never touched him so intimately. Instead of snatching her hand away like she ought to, she let her finger slide lower until it plucked his bottom lip and dipped along his chin. His slight whiskers tickled. While he still wore a smile, the laughter was gone from his eyes.
“Seducers reside in darkened gardens and deserted rooms and—” Cole shifted his gaze left and right and the tenor of his voice changed to a husky whisper, “—secluded woods. Gentle, innocent maidens must beware.”
Her breathing hitched. His thumb pressed into the base of her throat where her pulse jumped like a skipping stone across water. Her lips parted, and she wrapped a hand around his wrist. The moment felt charged, like the air after a lightning strike on the moor.
She wanted to ask him for a demonstration of his wicked ways. Beg him if need be.
But sanity prevailed, and she dropped her hand and her gaze. “Can you cut me out of the blasted cloak?”
“No need. I’ve got it.”
Even as the ties loosened, her throat remained tight. Cole was a handful of years older than her nineteen and had spent their formative years teasing her much like her two older brothers, Piers and Liam. She had seen less of him when he left Devon for Cambridge. As a third son, he should have read divinity, but his interest was in the natural world, not the divine, and he’d studied mathematics and science before war had prompted him to buy a commission and do his duty.
He’d maintained his comradery with her brothers in London, but he hadn’t spent much time at his family home in recent years. That didn’t stop their mother from entertaining visions of a match between Cole and Rose, but since his ascension to the earldom, he was out of reach for a respectable but not well-connected family like theirs. Diana could never determine how Rose felt about Cole or vice versa. Not that it seemed to matter how women felt about their potential mates.
Diana shrugged out of her cloak and squatted to work it free of the brambles. “Are you coming to dinner?”
“I came to pay my respects. I’d never presume I was invited for dinner.”
She cast a look at him with a wry smile. “Since when have you required an invitation?”
“Yes. Well. Things are different now.”
“Not with us.” Even as she said it, she wondered if it were true. Freeing her cloak, she shook it out and examined the rents and picked fabric with a groan. “You must at least stay to watch Mother sacrifice me to the sea gorgon. That’s entertainment you won’t get in a London ballroom.”
His laugh was again rusty but welcome. “I don’t know. I’ve run across some matrons who might qualify. Speaking of, how did you enjoy your taste of London?”
Diana draped her cloak over her arm while Cole retrieved her basket, gloves, and hat. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, trailing pins, but it didn’t matter. Cole had seen her in worse straits.
“I loved the Royal Academies. Oh, and the parks. I didn’t expect to find such wild places in the middle of London.”
“What about the balls and the dancing and the young men?” His teasing prodded a sore point.
“I was only asked to dance one time. And that was by you,” she said dryly.
Piers had escorted Diana and Rose to the Linleys’ London house. The old earl had hosted a ball to introduce Cole’s older brother as the new earl. No one could have foreseen that in a few short weeks, he too would be dead.
It had been a magical night. The hundreds of candles, the orchestra, the beautiful people of the ton. Her dance with Cole had been the highlight. While their banter had been reminiscent of their youth, a new quality had sparked between them. She thought it might have qualified as flirting, although later she acknowledged the possibility her imagination had embellished their interaction.
His smile disappeared. “That’s impossible.”
“I assure you, it’s very possible.” The number of functions she’d attended and sat against the wall numbered in the dozens. Diana waved her hand dismissively and forced an evenness she didn’t feel into her voice. “Playing second fiddle to Rose is hardly new to me. Not surprisingly, she was quite popular. Although no offers were forthcoming.”
His expression remained pensive, and Diana couldn’t tell if the news relieved him or tormented him. Did he pine for Rose?
“Did Piers take you riding?” he asked.
She smiled. “We went several times in Hyde Park before he left for the office. The morning mists were dewy and magical. Not like the ones here along the cliff’s edge.”
“I wish I’d been able to ride with you.” He cleared his throat. “Piers too, of course.”
“Of course.” She looked at him from the corner of her eye as they strolled toward Grambling Manor. “I suppose you sold your commission?”
“I had no choice after John died. My duty lies with the estate now.”
The family had attended the internment services at the Linleys’ chapel, but Diana had only been able to offer him the most formal and proper of sympathies. She slipped her hand through his arm and gave it a squeeze. His muscles were taut with a static energy. “I’m so sorry about John. And your father too.”
“Thank you, Diana.”
Her words felt inadequate, yet she had nothing else to offer.
After a spate of silence, he said, “You’ll accompany Rose when she returns to London for the spring season, I assume? Perhaps we can share another dance or even a ride?”
Her stomach crimped with something resembling fear or worry. The visit with Mrs. Hambridge had unsettled her. “Yes. Perhaps. I hope so.”
He stopped and took her arm. They were standing at the edge of the copse. Grambling Manor was visible across the field, its solid stone front and the smoke wafting into the damp winter air inviting.
“Surely you don’t mean to cloister yourself here as a nursemaid to your siblings. You deserve more.” His vehemence surprised her.
“Do I?” She let out a long sigh and let her gaze drift to the treetops. “I took tea with Mrs. Hambridge today.”
“And?”
“And she strongly hinted Hamish and I might suit.”
“Your parents would never agree.”
“Not agree? They’d post the banns next Sunday, thrilled to see me settled.”
“With Hamish Hambridge? Are they daft? He’s… He’s…” He released her arm to take off his hat and slap it against his leg before jamming it home. “He’s not your equal in any way.”
“Granted, he’s not every girl’s dream, but he is the Linley vicar. It’s a good living, as well you know. I might even see you every Sunday service.” She pasted on a smile. Putting her looming future into words was only making her sicker to her stomach.
“Hambridge will make you happy?”
Her smile turned brittle before crumbling. “No. I don’t know. I suppose he’s a decent enough fellow who won’t beat me.”
“Won’t beat you?” Cole stalked three paces away and spun around. “That’s all you expect from a husband?”
“Of course not, but I don’t possess a singular beauty, and Father can’t provide a dowry ample enough to attract a man like you.” Why had she said that? “Not that I’m trying to attract a man like you. Far from it.”
Cole dropped her basket and closed the distance between them. She shuffled backward until a tree halted her retreat, the rough bark biting through her dress. Suddenly he wasn’t Cole,
but Lord Linley, and Diana barely stopped an apology for speaking so familiarly to him.
“Have you kissed him? Have you kissed anyone?”
“No. Of course not. When would I have the chance? Now you’re being the daft one.” She fisted her cloak and drew it between them, unsure what protection the wool would offer.
“No gentleman lured you onto a terrace and stole a kiss all season?”
“I just informed you, no other gentleman claimed my hand in a dance, much less for a rendezvous behind a potted plant. Anyway, a real gentleman would never steal a kiss.”
“Oh really?” His tone was half amused and half taunting. He propped a hand above her head on the trunk of the tree and leaned even closer.
Dear Lord, was Cole, Lord Linley, going to kiss her?
She could easily duck under his arm and make a run for Grambling Manor, yet she merely tilted her head back to hold his gaze. Gray clouds scooted across the sky, portending the coming dusk and casting a shadow across his face. Was Cole playing a jest? Would he laugh about how simple and gullible she was to Piers and Liam later?
The moment stretched into minutes, hours, days. His mouth inched toward hers with the inexorableness of the tide sweeping along the shore. At some point, she let go of the cloak and grasped the soft lawn fabric where his shirt parted, revealing his collarbones and a sprinkling of dark hair. He was wearing a hardy green waistcoat but no collar or neckcloth.
“This is terribly ill-advised, Cole.” While the words stuttered out of her, her hand remained firmly entangled in his shirt.
“Terribly.” His mouth moved within the flutter of a butterfly’s wings from hers.
“I don’t require a pity kiss from you.”
He retreated slightly, and she found herself following. “Pity is not the emotion I’m battling at the moment.”
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