Never a Bride (13 page)

Startled, they both turned to see a stern-looking, heavy-set older woman with a lace scarf covering most of her graying hair. Heavy red jewels circled her neck and dangled from her ears. Mirabella recognized her as the wife of the Duke of Highbury.

“Oh, Duchess, come let me present you to Miss Mirabella Whittingham.”

The woman sniffed so hard her nose pinched unattractively. “No, thank you. I hear your husband is looking for you, Countess Glenbrighton. You are to go to him at once.”

Irene looked at Mirabella with stunned embarrassment. The duchess had made her disapproval of the countess talking to Mirabella painfully clear.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. Perhaps the earl is ready to go on to another party.”

Mirabella smiled sweetly at the kindly countess who had offered her friendship. It had felt wonderful. But she had a feeling this was as far as a relationship with Irene would go.

“I understand. Please go to your husband.”

Irene glanced at the duchess then quickly back to Mirabella. “Do watch out for Lady Gwyneth Sackville. She’s the belle of the Season this year and can have her pick of the beaux. Word is that she took one look at Lord Stonehurst when he was at the Worsters’ the other night and set her cap for him. Do not be fooled by her charming smile.”

A stab of jealousy tore through Mirabella at the thought that another young lady had designs on Camden. She tried to blunt the pain by taking a deep breath and saying, “Thank you. I’ll consider myself warned. You can be certain I will watch her with all diligence.”

“I’ll pay you a call one day soon,” Irene said with a smile and turned away.

The duchess lifted her chin and jerked her head around stiffly and marched out of the retiring room behind Irene. Mirabella had never been so royally snubbed in her life.

A chill pricked her skin and the warm smile she had given her new friend faded from her lips. Clearly word of her indiscretions with the young gentlemen in the gardens had made its way to Duchess Highbury, and Mirabella couldn’t help but wonder how many other ladies of the
ton
.

Mirabella plopped down on the bench and took another deep breath. She had given up all hope of a life with Camden weeks ago when she began her search for Sarah’s seducer. She couldn’t start thinking she had any claim on him now that he had returned.

What did it matter what the old
ton
thought about her? It didn’t. Camden already knew about her indiscretions and was willing to continue acting as her betrothed. His and her father’s opinions of her were the only two she worried about. They were the only two important people in her life.

The sting of the duchess’s affront jabbed Mirabella anew. It was difficult to hold the doubts at bay. Were she and Camden only fooling themselves in thinking her reputation could be salvaged so she could finish this Season unblemished?

Mirabella feared this slight was only the beginning.

***

Candles had burned low and early morning was on the rise when Camden shrugged off the group of gentlemen he was with and walked outside for fresh air. As soon as Mirabella returned he would suggest they leave. By all accounts, it appeared from the way she had been received by everyone they talked to that the evening had been a complete success. Mirabella had been delightful all night, a fiancée any man would want to have by his side.

Camden looked up at the early morning sky. He welcomed the chill in the air and let out a long deep sigh of discontent. How long had it been since he found delight in a woman? Correction. In a lady. Many women of the evening and a few wealthy widows had pleased him in America over the years he was there.

Tonight, Mirabella had pleased him more than he had expected. He hadn’t planned on being smitten by her, but after dancing with her, holding her, touching her, he found he didn’t want the evening to end—even though it was past four in the morning.

Still, there were lingering doubts about her that he couldn’t shake. What had made her allow gentlemen to take her into the gardens and kiss her? Was it only that she wanted to be kissed or was there more as he suspected? Had she only kissed one or two, or had there been more gentlemen? Would he ever know?

Blast her, she was right when she said one was enough to ruin her name. The number didn’t matter. That she kissed one man was unbelievable, inexcusable and unforgivable, but the problem was that she was unforgettable. Mirabella had intrigued him the first night they had met and that hadn’t changed. In fact, he feared he was even more intrigued by her. And, like it or not, she had become a part of his life and would be for the next several months. And that pleased him greatly.

“Stonehurst, over here.”

Damnation. It was Albert, whom Camden had successfully avoided all evening, calling and motioning to Camden to join him and none other than Mr. Farthingdale, the young man who was with Mirabella in the garden a few nights ago.

Obviously Albert had been avoiding Camden, too. It was no wonder considering all the things he’d said about Mirabella that day at the club. Camden had felt that he had left Albert feeling thoroughly shamed. No doubt Albert had heard that he and Mirabella were a smashing success tonight, and this was Albert’s way of getting back at him.

Camden suddenly had the feeling there was going to be a bad ending to an otherwise pleasant party.

There was nothing to do but walk over and act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened with either of the two men. It was clear to them that Camden had seen them so there was no getting out of this meeting.

“Stonehurst, you’re still here. Good. Somehow, I’ve been missing you all evening.”

Camden and Farthingdale barely nodded a greeting to each other.

“I assume you two know each other,” Albert said.

“Yes, we met briefly,” Farthingdale said, a nervous edge to his voice.

“Very briefly,” Camden answered tightly.

“Seems you two have a lot in common.”

“Is that right?” Camden’s words got tighter.

“Both of you full of lust, don’t you know.”

Farthingdale’s mouth gaped. His face paled at Albert’s choice of words. “What do you mean?”

Camden glared at his friend, hoping Albert would stop this foolishness before Camden had to put a stop to it. Obviously Albert knew of Mirabella’s liaison with Farthingdale in the Worsters’ garden, and he wanted to have a little fun. Camden was in no mood to be the brunt of Albert’s game.

“Wanderlust, that is.” Albert laughed but didn’t seem to notice that neither Farthingdale nor Camden cracked so much as a smile.

“Farthingdale was just telling me how he hopes to visit America one day,” Albert continued, seeming oblivious to the strained atmosphere surrounding the two men standing with him. “Tell him, Farthingdale.”

“Yes, it is true that I would like to travel there one day,” the man said with an uncomfortable edge still in his voice.

Camden’s gaze bored into Farthingdale’s, hoping the man could see how much strength it was taking for Camden to keep his anger under control and make a hasty retreat. “Let me suggest that this is an excellent time of year to travel the seas and the land. Do plan to stay for a long time. There’s so much to see.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Albert said. “There goes the Duke of Highbury. I need to speak to him. I must hurry.”

Albert rushed away, leaving Camden feeling as if his friend had staged this undesirable meeting with the man who had so recently kissed Mirabella’s lips. Suddenly Camden didn’t know who he wanted to strangle more—Albert or Farthingdale.

“Farthingdale, I’m glad I caught up with you.” A handsome young gentleman with a fair complexion came running up to them before either had the opportunity to take their leave. “I must ask if you were able to steal a kiss from Miss Whittingham the other night.”

“Ah—no. No,” he choked out. “She was a perfect lady. Perfect. I must introduce—”

“Do say?” the man interrupted, clearly not interested in who Camden was at the moment. “When I was in the garden with her she purred like a kitten in my arms.”

Camden saw red.

Hell and damnation! How many men had Mirabella been with?

“Stephenson, stop. Please,” Farthingdale said in a squeaky voice, his gaze jumping wildly from his friend to Camden. “I don’t believe you’ve heard Miss Whittingham’s fiancé is back in Town.”

“And standing right beside you,” Camden ground out, unable to hold on to his anger any longer.

In one fluid motion Camden grabbed Stephenson by the shoulders, pushed him backward, and then shoved him up against the side of the stone house. Without conscious thought, he rammed his forearm against the man’s throat.

Stephenson’s eyes bulged as his head smacked against the wall. With trembling hands and grasping fingers, he tried to rip Camden’s arm away from his neck. Camden pressed harder with his arm.

“I don’t believe anyone wants to hear anything you have to say about Miss Whittingham. Not now. Not ever,” Camden said in a growling voice. “Do I make myself clear?”

Farthingdale drew in close to the two but didn’t attempt to stop Camden. “I tried to warn you, you ninny. May I present Viscount Stonehurst, Miss Whittingham’s fiancé, just back from the wild new land across the sea.”

“This is—not the time for proper—introductions, Farthing—dale,” Stephenson managed to say between gasps of much-needed air. “Help me, you jackass.”

“Damnation, Lord Stonehurst,” Farthingdale said. “This has gone far enough. Be done with it and let him go. You are choking him.”

“That is my intention,” Camden answered Farthingdale but kept his gaze on Stephenson. “Maybe he’d rather I call him out?”

“No, no.” Stephenson shook his head, strangling with fear and pain and unable to speak more than a mumble.

“Dueling is against the law, and you know it,” Farthingdale said.

“That doesn’t keep it from happening to ill-mannered oafs who try to sabotage the reputations of properly brought up young ladies.”

Camden moved his face closer to Stephenson’s. “If you have anything to say about Miss Whittingham, say it now. I am the only one who wants to hear it.”

“He will not say anything else,” Farthingdale offered. “He doesn’t have a death wish. Neither of us do.”

“Good. So I can assume you will not mention her name again to anyone in public or private?”

Stephenson nodded, clearly in pain.

“And should anyone mention her name to you, you will only have very nice, very
appropriate
things to say, is that not right?”

Stephenson nodded again.

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”

Camden turned to Farthingdale. “Do you and I understand each other?”

Farthingdale swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord.”

Camden let go of Stephenson and backed away.

The man grabbed his throat and coughed as he moved away from Camden. Between broken gasps he said, “You… sir, are no gentle… man.”

“Remember that.”

“I couldn’t breathe, you bastard. You almost killed me.”

“I still might. You would do good to remember that as well.”

“You wouldn’t dare harm me.”

The man obviously didn’t know when he had gotten off easy. Camden took a step toward him and Stephenson backed up like the scared rabbit he was.

“Would you like to make a bet on that?” Camden said as coldly as he felt. “Make no mistake, Stephenson, I don’t want to hear another unkind word about Miss Whittingham’s reputation. If this talk about her doesn’t stop immediately, I’ll find you the next time you’re walking past a narrow alley, riding alone in the dark, or so deep in your ale that you can’t see straight. I will come for you and I will get you.”

“You’re a madman,” he hissed.

“Then you are a brave man to test me.”

“You are completely uncivilized.”

“Some might say that. But make no mistake about this. I will not have you breathing an unkind word about Miss Whittingham again. I will do whatever I must for her. Are we clear on this?”

“Perfectly,” Farthingdale said. “We’re perfectly clear, aren’t we, Stephenson?”

Stephenson wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and waited. He looked at Farthingdale, then back to Camden as if trying to decide what he wanted to say, how he wanted to react, and whether he had the courage to take Camden on again.

At last he said, “Miss Whittingham was a perfect lady when we met, Lord Stonehurst. I shall be happy to tell anyone who asks about her.”

“Remember that when the poison-pen Society writers speak to you about Miss Whittingham. She is mine, and I will not have her reputation in tatters because of a couple of loose-tongued gabble-grinders.”

Farthingdale and Stephenson backed away from him a few steps before turning and hurrying away. Camden took a deep breath. What the hell had gotten into him? He hadn’t been this out of control when Hortense had been caught kissing that chap in front of half the
ton.

Camden raked both hands through his hair. He knew the answer. Mirabella was different.

He felt differently about her. He sensed something was going on with her that she didn’t want him to know about. He now knew she had kissed at least two men, yet she seemed so innocent.

He simply should be trying to save her reputation and buy himself time to get his money from America. Instead, he was drawn to her, and he didn’t know what he was going to do about it.

Camden felt stiff as he walked with Mirabella and her uncle out the front door of the grand ballroom and down the stone steps to where the drivers waited for their employers’ evening to end. He saw his driver and Mr. Hornbeck’s take off running to fetch their carriages.

While Camden helped Mirabella put on her satin-lined pelisse, he said to Mr. Hornbeck, “I would like for Mirabella to ride with me. Do you mind following in your carriage?”

“Yes, I do, my lord. It’s not appropriate. If you want her to ride with you, I shall also so she can be properly chaperoned. My driver can follow us.”

Camden was not going to let this short, untitled man set the rules tonight. “Nonsense, we are engaged, soon to be married. She should be allowed more freedoms. I believe it’s perfectly acceptable.”

“No, no. We are not having any of that. Too risky under the circumstances.”

How much worse did he think her reputation could get!

“I give my word as a gentleman that Miss Whittingham will not be harmed or compromised by riding in a closed carriage with me tonight.”

Mr. Hornbeck snorted. “Mirabella has trod the fringes of respectability more than once. Every day I expect her father to call me in and give me a dressing down for not properly watching over her.”

“I take full responsibility for her, Mr. Hornbeck,” Camden said in a tone that really left no room for argument. “And should her father insist I would marry her within the week.”

Mr. Hornbeck looked at Mirabella and blew out his breath loudly. “Very well,” he said. “I’ve done all I can do to protect her. I can’t do more. I’m most happy to give her over to your care, Lord Stonehurst. But remember, I’ll be right behind you in my hack.”

“I expect it.”

Camden’s hired carriage pulled up. The driver jumped down and opened the door for them. Camden helped Mirabella inside, then turned back to his driver and spoke softly so Mr. Hornbeck wouldn’t overhear, “Take the long way to Miss Whittingham’s home, and take it slowly.”

Mirabella’s uncle was going to be upset about that, but it would be too late to change course by the time he realized it. Blast it, Camden didn’t really care what the old chap thought. After the disastrous debacle with Stephenson and Farthingdale, he needed to spend some time alone with Mirabella. He needed to know that he wasn’t losing his mind in defending her. Maybe he should have just called Mr. Farthingdale out that night in the garden and been done with it quickly.

But no, he’d done that last time and had ended up sour with himself over what he’d done. And, afterward, he had realized Hortense hadn’t been worth his honor. The poor man he challenged had been a mere eighteen and scared out of his trousers. He made it to the dueling site, but before it began, he threw down his weapon and ran. Camden was told he left for France that day and, as far as Camden knew, he’d never returned.

While he’d been abroad, his mother wrote and told him that Hortense had married a knight whose wife had died. He had been left with three small children. Shortly after the ceremony, they moved up to the North Country.

Camden shook off remnants of the past and climbed in after Mirabella, taking the seat opposite her. The driver shut the door soundly behind them. Seconds later, they started the jostling ride to her house. Faded yellow light from the outside lanterns streamed in through the cloudy windows on each door. The closed coach smelled of worn leather and clippings of evergreen twigs the driver must have thrown inside to freshen the small compartment.

Mirabella looked flushed. From dancing or something else? Damnation, would he always wonder with her? The gentle rocking of the carriage soothed him. In the dim light, he studied Mirabella as she settled her skirts and wrap about her legs. There was something intimately charging about being alone with her.

Her lips were full and a delicate shade of pink he found very tempting. Her eyes were wide and luminous, sparkling more than the jewels around her porcelain-looking neck. He liked the way her soft auburn curls fell out from under her ribbon hairpiece and framed her heart-shaped face.

It was a damnable thing, but he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Maybe he was a madman as Stephenson had suggested. He thought back to his altercation with the bachelors. Why had he bothered terrorizing the hell out of those worked up dandies? Was it simply a jealous binge because Mirabella was his fiancée, or was it more? Was it because he desired her?

That was why he’d wanted her to ride with him. He wanted to kiss her, make love to her, and make her forget any other man whose lips might have touched hers.

She is a temptress. A very desirable temptress.

“I think our first evening together as an engaged couple went very well,” he finally said when he realized he couldn’t continue to watch her and brood without saying anything to her.

“So do I, my lord. The party was a smashing hit.”

She smiled at him and Camden felt his chest and his lower body tighten. “Do you really think so?”

Her gaze swept up and down his face before holding steady on his eyes. “Yes.”

He chose his words carefully when he asked, “So no one said anything out of the ordinary to you?”

Her eyebrows rose a little. “Why do you ask? Did someone say something out of line to you?”

“To me? I was concerned about you.”

“You needn’t have been,” she answered, keeping her gaze locked on his. “Nothing was said tonight that I couldn’t handle.”

Camden tensed. “So someone did say something beyond the line. Something happened. What?”

“Many things happened, sir. I danced until my feet hurt. I ate until there was no room left to breathe. I drank two glasses of champagne and felt dizzy. I met and talked with many nice people.”

He sighed. “And some not so nice?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. You have cleverly avoided answering my question, Mirabella.”

“So have you avoided mine.”

Fighting twinges of guilt, he hesitated, but finally said, “Then I suppose that is the way we want it.”

“Yes. I believe it is.”

“So much for the complete honesty we vowed would be between us just a few days ago.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. I am not being dishonest in what I say. Are you?”

“Certainly not. But I take it you are not telling me everything that you could tell me about the subject.”

“I get that same feeling from you.”

Camden nodded. He certainly didn’t want her knowing how he’d roughed up Stephenson like he was a cheating drunkard in a gentlemen’s card game. But he did want to know who had the gall to corner Mirabella, and he wanted to know what had been said to her. This protectiveness he had for her astonished him, and it confused him. But the fact that he felt it was indisputable.

Without reason, she reached over and laid her gloved hand upon his. “You look strained, Camden.”

He was.

Camden wanted to grasp her hand and close it in his but resisted for fear that if he held her hand, he wouldn’t turn her loose until he had kissed her, too. His breathing came faster. Suddenly it grew warm inside the carriage. His hand tingled where she touched him. Her nearness overwhelmed him and threatened his control over his natural urgings.

Her eyes never left his. She held him captive with her feminine concern.

The moment passed and Mirabella slowly removed her hand and leaned back in her seat. “All in all, it was a wonderful evening, my lord,” she said when he continued to watch her again without speaking. “You dance very well.”

Her voice was soft and alluring. The compliment surprised him. He had no idea why such a little thing made him feel good, warm inside. And, like her, he was happy to change the subject. It was getting too damn hot in the carriage.

“So do you, Mirabella. I’m happy to know I didn’t forget everything I was taught during the years I spent in America. I did very little dancing while I was there.”

“It doesn’t show. From all I saw and heard tonight, the
ton
is happy to have you home.” She looked right into his eyes and said, “I noticed that Miss Milhouse, Miss Clayton and Lady Gwyneth watched every move you made, and the Duchess of Westmorely was standing close to you whispering in your ear on more than one occasion.”

“She’s a charming lady, difficult to get away from.”

“No doubt she was extolling the virtues of some new debutante she’s supporting. Perhaps one of the young ladies I mentioned?”

Camden took note and gave Mirabella a slight grin. “Perhaps.”

Had Mirabella really noticed all that? He had been bored with all the attention he’d been given by the eligible ladies, and their mamas nudging him at the end of every dance. He had no idea that Mirabella had been so aware of what was happening. He had thought her too busy with all the young beaux after her for a dance.

“No doubt you were delighted with all the attention you were receiving from so many beautiful ladies tonight.”

What happened with Farthingdale and Stephenson faded from his mind as calmly as clouds passed over the moon. He was only aware of Mirabella.

“Careful, Miss Whittingham. I do believe those could be considered jealous remarks.”

A slow smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Oh, I think you should take them that way.”

He returned her smile. “Then I will.”

“I’m certain you were flirting with Lady Gwyneth at one point this evening.”

“Certain, are you?”

Mirabella folded her gloved hands demurely in her silk lap and said, “Very much so. Were you not flirting?”

“Friends of the family catching up. That’s all.”

“And what about Miss Milhouse?”

“What about her?”

“Really, Camden. She is lovely, but I would think you are too old and too wise to succumb to machinations as simple as a young lady dropping her handkerchief to gain your attention.”

His brow furrowed into an elaborate, fake frown. “Too wise, yes, but old? You wound me, Mirabella.”

“Yes, well, only you know whether or not that is true, my lord.”

She smiled again, and Camden knew why he was captivated by her. She was not only beautiful, she was downright charming. He was beginning to believe that the reason he wanted to continue with this pretend engagement had very little to do with the fact that his money wasn’t yet available to repay her father the dowry and help his family.

Mirabella enchanted him.

Camden settled more comfortably on the too small seat and laughed, enjoying their tête-à-tête. “I wouldn’t have been a gentleman had I not stopped and picked up the handkerchief for the clumsy Miss Milhouse.”

“Clumsy, is she? I’d call her clever. Her tactics worked. You must have talked to her for five minutes before handing back her lace handkerchief.”

He laughed softly. “Counting the minutes, were you?”

“Every one. But only because she was so obviously trying to steal you away from me.”

“You can be assured that I made everyone I met aware my affections for you are true and without reservation. I have no desire to desert you and elope with a young lady making her debut.”

“And the doubting Duchess of Westmorely?”

“She’s quite a pusher once her mind is made up. I had to be firm on the matter.”

Mirabella lay her head back against the seat and laughed gently, though she didn’t take her eyes off him. And Camden couldn’t stop watching her. He liked the way her lips parted slightly when she smiled. He especially liked the way he felt contented with her.

“That was delightful, my lord. Did I play the part of the jealous fiancée convincingly?”

Camden’s breath halted in his throat. “Very well.”
Too well.
He was eating up her comments like a street urchin with a handful of sweet bread.

What was he thinking, falling victim to her charms? Of course she was teasing him, flirting about her possessiveness. How could he have forgotten they were only acting a part?

“Your popularity this evening made it easy. Surely, Lord Stonehurst, you will not want for a proper match when our liaison is finished.”

She spoke softly, seductively and truthfully, he realized. Was she as strong and capable as she always appeared, or was there a vulnerable spot inside her that he had seen hints of but hadn’t yet discovered?

“Nor will you. Which I believe is part of our plan.”

“Yes, our plan.”

Mirabella didn’t want their repartee to end but knew it must. She had been captivated by Camden all evening. This teasing and flirting side of him was very attractive.

At the back of her mind, she had been waiting all night for the right time to question Camden about his brother. She would rather continue with their playful witticisms, but knew they would be arriving at her door soon. Duty called her to change the course of the conversation.

“Tell me, Camden, your brother, Lord Hudson, is he about six or eight years younger than you?”

“Eight.”

“That’s quite an age difference.”

He shrugged. “There were other babies between the two of us, but none that lived. Why do you ask?”

For the first time since they climbed into the carriage, she didn’t look him in the eye. She didn’t want him to see the importance of his answers to these questions. “I want to know more about your family. Was he a hellion in his early years, getting in fights or trouble at school?”

“My brother? Certainly not, just the opposite.”

She appreciated the fervor with which he defended Hudson. “A lover, then?”

“A lover?” Camden leaned forward. The frown returned to his brow, but this time it wasn’t in jest. “What kind of question is that for you to ask? Does my brother interest you so?”

“Not overly much,” she hedged. “He’s quite handsome, as you are. I wondered if he was considered a man of pleasure like poets enjoy writing about.”

“Poets? Your imagination works overtime, Mirabella. Hudson is handsome. I’m sure he has attracted a few ladies in his time. Though this isn’t a subject I intend to discuss with you.”