Holt Wanton

1. Auflage 2014
ISBN: 978-1-4835-2717-8
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 168 Seiten

CHERYL HOLT delivers another sassy, sexy romp in the second book of her 'Reluctant Brides' trilogy. When love is the key and dowry the bait, who can predict what a woman might do?

Autoren/Hrsg.

Holt, Cheryl

Leseproben

CHAPTER TWO

“Miss Hubbard, we meet at last.”

“Lord Sidwell.”

Amelia curtsied deeply, anxious to show sufficient deference. She’d never been in the presence of such a distinguished person and didn’t want to make any mistakes.

“Sit, sit.” He waved to a nearby chair.

“I will, thank you,” she replied as she slid onto it.

They were in his library, and he was seated behind his desk. It was an imposing swath of mahogany that underscored his position in the world.

An older man, he was probably sixty, balding with muttonchops that covered much of his face. He was short and exceedingly plump from the rich diet his fortune provided, and while his gray eyes seemed alert and keen, he didn’t project an aura of authority or power. She wondered if—beneath the wealth and pomposity—he wasn’t a bit of a bungler.

“I haven’t ordered tea,” he said. “I thought we’d confer, then have our refreshments served in the main parlor.”

“Whatever you wish is fine with me.”

She forced a smile, but could feel it quavering. She was still undone by the raucous spectacle she’d viewed upstairs, and it was difficult to pretend she was calm and composed.

“I was nervous about this betrothal,” he surprised her by admitting, “but now that I’ve seen you, I’m absolutely bowled over.”

“Bowled over?” She chuckled. “Why would you be?”

“You’re quite stunning, Miss Hubbard.”

“Stunning? My goodness. I’m flattered that you would think so.”

“Miss Peabody insisted you were fetching, but people have hedged the truth when arranging a match such as this one.”

“Why would they?”

“Well, a father might have a daughter who’s not exactly winsome, so he’d exaggerate her assets to obtain the union he sought. I’m delighted to note that Miss Peabody was straightforward in her description of you.”

“What else did she say about me?” Amelia wasn’t sure she had the right to inquire, but she was dying to know how the engagement had come about.

“She said you were striking and educated and pleasant.”

“She said all that? I’m flattered again. I always hoped she had a high opinion of me.”

“She had a very high opinion.”

“I have a question that’s been bothering me.”

“I would imagine you have many. Which one is vexing you at the moment?”

“Why did you pick me?” She gestured around the ostentatious room. “Before I arrived, I had no idea your family was so exalted. I’m just an orphan and schoolteacher. I don’t have the antecedents necessary for one of your sons.”

“Don’t be modest, Miss Hubbard,” he haughtily intoned. “Miss Peabody told me all about your parents. Your father was a French count.”

“Yes, he was.”

“And his secret marriage to your mother! I don’t condone that sort of thing, but I understand true love was involved. I’m a romantic myself, so I found the story of such devotion to be charming.”

“Oh.”

So...Miss Peabody had lied. Amelia’s parents hadn’t been wed. Her mother had been a scandalous figure who’d lured her father away from his wife. It might have been the love match Miss Peabody claimed, but it was a sordid and unsavory kind.

Amelia knew she should speak up and correct the misconception, but she was flummoxed. Apparently, Miss Peabody had betrothed her, citing falsities, and Amelia had travelled all the way to Sidwell to carry out her part of the bargain.

If she confessed, would he break the betrothal and toss her out? Then what?

Her head was spinning as she reviewed her options. She had to disclose the error, but was terrified over the ramifications of a confession.

“Have you perused the packet I sent you?” he asked, cutting off her chance to come clean.

“Yes.”

“You’re marrying my second son, Lucas.”

“Yes, I was wondering when I’ll meet him.”

“He’s due to arrive shortly.”

“Marvelous.”

Her pulse raced. Up until this very instant, the entire affair had seemed like a dream. The notion of her having a fiancé might have been a philosophical matter to dither and debate. But he was about to arrive! There was no longer anything imaginary about any of it.

“He’s your same age of twenty-five.”

“I read that in the file you provided.”

“He’s been in the army for the past decade and enjoyed a...ah... distinguished career.”

For the first time, his gaze slid away, and his cheeks flushed, giving her the distinct impression that Lucas Drake’s army career probably hadn’t been distinguished at all.

She swallowed down a sigh. What had Lucas Drake done? Had he been booted out of the army? Had he resigned rather than be punished for an infraction?

It occurred to her that—in dealing with Lord Sidwell—she was far out of her league. She had no idea how to probe for information about Lucas Drake. She couldn’t even decide what questions she should be asking. In fact, she didn’t know if she was allowed to ask questions.

At that moment, if Miss Peabody had been sitting with them, Amelia would have vented her outrage. How dare Miss Peabody put Amelia in such an untenable position! How dare Miss Peabody immerse Amelia in chaos!

Lord Sidwell tried to muster his aplomb as he said, “There are some details I need to explain.”

“What are they?” Amelia braced, convinced she was about to hear very bad tidings.

But the butler hurried in to interrupt. He bent down and murmured in the earl’s ear. They exchanged several remarks that had the earl raising his brows in shock, then he nodded and the butler slipped out.

“Good news, Miss Hubbard,” he mumbled.

“What is it?”

“Lucas is here. He’s in the parlor, helping himself to our tea and cakes. Shall we join him before he gobbles up all our victuals?”

“Certainly.” If her pulse had been racing previously, it was utterly galloping now.

Suddenly, she was overcome by a thousand panicked thoughts. She wanted to rush up to her bedchamber, to check her hair and clothes. She wished she had a different dress, a pretty gown in a flattering shade that would complement her coloring and figure.

Instead, she would be introduced to Mr. Drake looking to be exactly what she was: a poverty-stricken, spinster schoolteacher. How could he have agreed to such a match? Why would he have had to stoop so low to find a bride?

Lord Sidwell stood and walked out, gesturing for her to accompany him. The butler was loitering, and he hustled on ahead, winding them through the deserted halls to the front of the mansion. He stepped into the parlor and announced them as if they were entering a London ballroom.

“Master Lucas,” he said, “may I present your father, Lord Sidwell?”

“By all means, Mr. Greaves,” Lucas Drake grumbled. “Bring his exalted self inside. I can’t wait.”

“And may I also present his houseguest, Miss Amelia Hubbard?”

“Let me guess, Mr. Greaves, am I meeting another possible bride?”

“I wouldn’t know, Master Lucas,” the butler judiciously replied.

“Show them in for bloody sake,” Mr. Drake griped. “I’m on pins and needles.”

Amelia was hideously embarrassed. In her lengthy journey to Sidwell, she’d had plenty of time to ponder what Mr. Drake would be like. Now, with his first words being spoken, he sounded grouchy and unhappy and even a tad cruel.

What sort of man would blithely insult a woman when she was standing a few feet away? What sort of man would insult his fiancée when she was standing a few feet away?

How many other bridal candidates had there been? Had he refused them all? Would he refuse Amelia? She’d traveled on the promise of a marriage. What if there would be no marriage?

“Let’s go in, Miss Hubbard,” the earl said.

“Yes, let’s do.”

He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t mind him. His bark is worse than his bite.”

“I’m sure it is.”

Forcing her widest, merriest grin, she straightened her spine and waltzed into the room. The earl stomped in behind. She wouldn’t be intimidated or made to feel unworthy. She was the daughter of a French count and had been taught by Miss Peabody how to carry on in even the most trying of situations. If it killed her, she would get through the awkward moment.

Mr. Drake was over by the sideboard, pouring himself a hefty brandy. He downed the liquor in a long swallow, then spun to face them, and if Amelia had been a swooning type of female, she’d have fainted on the spot.

“Oh, my Lord,” she muttered.

It was the roué from the suite upstairs, the one who’d been tumbling the housemaids. When she’d been spying on him, she’d predicted him to be a laborer or...