The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride (8 page)

“You needn’t take that tone.” Gray eyed his friend in a chastising manner. “It’s not
as if she is a fortune hunter.”

“Does she intend to marry for reasons other than money and social position this time?”

“I really don’t know.” Gray considered the question. “But even as a girl, she was
an extremely practical sort.”

“And the practical thing to do is marry for money and position.”

“You just said this is exactly what properly bred young women are supposed to do.”

Sam shrugged. It shouldn’t matter to him what she did. He scarcely knew her after
all. The idea of Delilah marrying some old man, the Duke of Who Knows What, for his
money and his title shouldn’t be the least bit maddening. It shouldn’t make his stomach
twist and his jaw clench. She had made it perfectly clear in New York that she didn’t
want to ever see him again, that he was nothing more than a momentary adventure. Admittedly,
he hadn’t felt the same but he had agreed to her wishes.

And why not?

He certainly hadn’t expected her to pop into his head at the most inopportune moments.
Hadn’t expected to see a familiar figure on the street and walk a little faster to
approach her before she was out of sight only to discover it wasn’t her. Hadn’t expected
their adventure to linger in his mind and perhaps even in his heart. But wasn’t finding
himself in England in time for Gray’s wedding more than just coincidence?

No, he shouldn’t care what she planned to do. But damn it all, he did.

Not that he would do anything about it. Giving his heart to a woman who wanted him
for his fortune and his status was one mistake he would never make again.

“She’s not like Lenore,” Gray said casually, as if bringing up the name of Sam’s former
fiancée wasn’t at all significant. Which of course it wasn’t.

“And just how is she different?”

“For one thing, Delilah’s plans have nothing to do with whether she’s lost her own
fortune. She’s not acting out of desperation. For another, she is honest about what
she is looking for.” Gray leaned closer and met his friend’s gaze. “She’d never tell
a man she loved him to get him to marry her.”

“Ah, well then, that is different.” Sam tossed back the remainder of his whisky.

“She just knows what she wants, that’s all.”

“My, that is practical.”

Gray laughed. “You seem rather interested for a man who has never met her before.”

“As well as a man the lovely Lady Hargate seems to have taken an instant dislike to.”
He grinned. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone who has disliked me at first sight.
Especially with such ill-concealed vehemence. I must confess, it’s intriguing.”

Gray’s brow rose. “Like a challenge? A gauntlet thrown down?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I’m simply curious.” Still, he had never backed down from
a challenge. “Do you think this heir is legitimate?”

“I don’t know.” Gray shook his head. “Her solicitors are trying to get to the truth
of the matter.”

“Are they any good?”

“Camille says they’re excellent. I hope so. I daresay it’s harder to prove something
isn’t true than to prove it is.”

“I’ve always thought that high-priced legal counsel, while very good at questions
of law, was not nearly as good at ferreting out the truth. Maybe she should consider
hiring a professional investigator.”

“Not a bad idea.” Gray paused. “This might well explain why she was so cross this
afternoon. Understandable how one might be out of sorts with this kind of thing hanging
over their head. Delilah has always been rather private. If there was a benefit to
not being included by her sisters in her youth, it might well be her sense of independence.
She has always kept her own counsel. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Delilah has
any number of secrets she’s never shared.”

“One never knows.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Elliott, Mr. Russell.” The butler appeared in the open doorway.
“Mr. Elliott, Lady Hargate has requested you join her before meeting the others for
dinner. She said to tell you it was a financial matter of some importance.”

“Very well.” Gray glanced at Sam. “She might need your advice as well.”

“Of course.” Sam nodded.

“My apologies, sir,” Clement said. “But Lady Hargate specifically asked that you come
alone. She wants you to meet her in the garden on the far side of the maze.”

“Does she? How odd.” Gray frowned.

Clement lowered his voice in a confidential manner. “I believe, sir, that she wished
to avoid the possibility of being overheard.”

“Ah yes, I should have realized that.” Gray nodded at the butler. “I’ll go in a moment.
Thank you, Clement.”

“She also said, sir, if she was unavoidably delayed, as it is nearly time for dinner,
you shouldn’t wait more than fifteen minutes for her.”

“Thank you, Clement,” Gray said.

The butler nodded and left the room.

“We’re not expected by the ladies for nearly half an hour. We usually meet in the
main parlor before going into dinner. Clement can show you the way.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can find it on my own.” Sam glanced around the room. “Until then,
I think I’ll see what I can find to read.”

“Good.” Gray rose to his feet. “The way I see it, if you and Delilah have met—”

Sam laughed. “You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you?”

Gray ignored him. “If you had met, then you did something that really offended her.”

Sam gasped. “
I
did something?”

“If you didn’t she thinks you did.”

“Unless of course, as she has said, we have not met.” He shrugged. “And she just doesn’t
like me.”

“So hard to believe,” Gray said and started toward the door.

“I know I’m shocked. I may never get over it.” Sam heaved an overly dramatic sigh.
“Women in particular usually find me charming. And amusing. And not unattractive.”

“You forgot modest.”

“No, I didn’t.” Sam grinned. “I was just being too modest to mention it.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought.” Gray laughed then paused and studied his friend. “Have
you given any consideration at all to the significance of your names?”

“Our names?” Sam drew his brows together in confusion then laughed. “You mean Samuel
and Delilah?”

Gray nodded.

“Need I point out that my name is Samuel not Sampson.”

“You may cling to that minor discrepancy but I doubt it makes much difference.” Gray
shook his head. “Do keep in mind what happened to him at her hands.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Neither was Sampson,” Gray pointed out and left the room.

Sam chuckled and moved to the nearest bookshelf to survey the offerings, noting a
set of several of Mr. Jules Verne’s
Voyages Extraordinaires
novels
.
One couldn’t ask for more in the way of adventure and progress and possibility inherent
in the future than Jules Verne. He pulled out a volume of
Hector Servadac
. He’d read it, of course, but there was nothing better for enjoyable reading than
Verne’s tale of a group of strangers trapped on a comet sailing through the heavens.

“Perhaps you should be.”

Sam bit back a smile and continued paging through the novel. He didn’t need to look
to recognize that voice. “Perhaps I should be what?”

“Worried.”

“What on earth do I have to be worried about?” He cast a casual glance toward the
door.

Delilah stepped into the library looking as if she were ready to do battle. Or more
likely, put him in his place. Either way, it would be fun.

“All sorts of things I would suspect.” She shut the door behind her and moved closer
to him. “But at the moment—me.”

“You?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “As much as that look might
strike fear into the heart of any man, I’m not the least bit worried,
Delilah.
” He snapped the book closed. “Or should I say
Mrs.
Hargate?”

She had the good grace to blush. “That was a mistaken assumption on your part.”

“That’s not how I remember it. I remember you distinctly said you were
Mrs
. Hargate.”

“I might, possibly, have given you the impression . . .”

“There’s no possibly about it.” He replaced the book on the shelf. “If I recall correctly,
and I have an excellent memory, you led me to believe you were someone, or something,
other than who and what you are.”

“No more so than you led me to believe you were someone or something other than who
you are.”

Apparently, Delilah subscribed to the classic philosophy that the best defense was
a good offense. Again, he stifled a smile. The woman might well be just as interesting
when she was annoyed as when she was flirtatious. Although she had been delightful.

“That was indeed a mistake and might I add it was a mistake on your part.” He shook
his head. “I never said I was anyone other than who I am. I’m certainly not to blame
for your incorrect assumption.”

“It seems I made any number of mistakes when I was in New York.” She paused. “I would
prefer to forget them.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, of course, all of them.”

“Then we may have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Whereas you may have made a mistake when last we met, I don’t consider anything that
passed between us a mistake.”

“Come now, Mr. Russell—”

He held up his hand to stop her. “Although admittedly, the moment I realized you thought
I was an employee of Mr. Moore’s and not the other way around, I should have corrected
you.”

“Yes,” she said in a haughty manner. “You most certainly should have.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“I don’t know. It might have, given your friendship with Grayson.” She thought for
a moment then sighed. “But probably not.”

“Another mistake then?”

“A momentary error in judgment,” she said firmly.

“A mistake,” he said just as firmly.

“Yes, yes.” She waved off his comment. “In hindsight, yes. But my intentions were
noble.”

“Pretending to be someone you’re not is noble? Explain that logic to me.”

“It really needs no explanation.” She stared at him as if he were entirely too stupid
to understand. “As I had incorrectly assumed that you were an employee of an associate
of Grayson’s, I thought you might be, well, intimidated—”

He laughed.

She glared. “What do you find so amusing?”

“That you thought I would be intimidated.” He chuckled. “By what? By
Lady
Hargate rather than
Mrs.
Hargate?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You’re a snob, aren’t you,
Lady
Hargate?”

“I most certainly . . .” Her lips curved upward in a superior smile. “I simply know
my place in the world. Do you?”

“
I
always have,” he said in a mild manner he suspected might drive her mad. Her smile
wavered a bit. He was right. “I don’t need a title to prove it. We don’t have titles
in America.”

She sniffed. “Pity.”

He laughed again.

“This is not why I’m here,” she said through clenched teeth then drew a deep breath.
“I simply thought it would be more, oh, democratic to introduce myself as Mrs. Hargate
rather than Lady Hargate as you were so very . . .” She squared her shoulders as if
the admission was difficult for her. “Well,
friendly
and I will admit I was enjoying our encounter.”

“I see.” He circled around her, retrieved his glass from the table where he had left
it, and moved to the desk. “Would you care for something?”

“I never drink hard spirits.” She shrugged off the offer and stepped closer. “And
then the second time we met, well, it was embarrassing to admit that I had not been
entirely honest.”

He filled his glass then filled a second. “Not entirely, no.”

“I don’t know what came over me really,” she said more to herself than to him. “There
are standards to be maintained and I have never veered from them. A certain model
of behavior is expected and I do adhere to it. As should we all. I can’t imagine what
might happen if people didn’t. If everyone went their own merry way without a thought
as to honesty and principles and moral behavior.”

“Anarchy I suspect.” He handed her the glass and she sipped absently.

“The very thought is appalling.” She sighed. “I do pride myself on my honesty, you
know. Why, I never dissemble or prevaricate. And I’ve never been one to deal in falsehoods,
no matter how minor, even when it might have made things a great deal easier.”

“Then you are indeed meeting Gray near the maze even as we speak?” He cast her an
innocent smile.

She stared at him for a moment. “Obviously not. But that was for a greater good and
as such can be overlooked.”

“I suspect there are any number of deceptions that are well meaning at the start.”
He studied her over the rim of his glass. “And what greater good is that?”

“Speaking to you privately of course.” She raised her chin. “I wish to apologize to
you.”

“For which part?”

“What do you mean—which part?”

“For deceiving me in New York about who you really were or having your way with me
and then throwing me out into the cold.”

She gasped. “Mr. Russell!”

“Sam.”

“
Mr. Russell.
” She glared, anger sparking in her eyes. He noted how very similar it was to passion
of another kind. “Please be so good as to watch what you say.” Delilah shot a quick
glance at the door, then stepped closer and lowered her voice. “The last thing I want
is to be overheard. Goodness.” She tossed back at least half of her drink. “I would
think after this afternoon you would understand that.”

“It was hard to miss.”

“And that is what I wish to apologize for. My manner this afternoon was unacceptable.
I was very nearly rude and I am never rude.” She sighed in surrender. “My purpose
in not being entirely forthright about my name really was well intentioned. But you
do have my apologies for misleading you. As for the rest of it . . .” Her gaze hardened.
“I did not have my way with you or at least no more so than you had your way with
me.”

He nodded slowly. “I can agree with that.”

“Furthermore, I did not throw you out into the cold as, if I recall, we were in your
room.”

He shrugged. “A minor point.”

“And . . .” She drew herself up in a haughty manner. “It was June and not the least
bit cold.”

He chuckled. “You have me there.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

Her jaw tightened. “Do you accept my apology or not?”

“For your less than gracious behavior this afternoon?” He nodded. “It was understandable,
really, given my unexpected appearance. It does tend to be uncomfortable when one’s
adventure appears without warning on one’s doorstep. So yes, I do accept your apology.
As for the rest of it . . .” He sipped his drink. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“There’s nothing to decide.”

“It also seems to me that, as neither of us were completely honest when we first met,
one deception cancels the other.”

She studied him suspiciously then nodded. “That’s fair enough, I suppose.”

He laughed. “I never realized an apology was subject to negotiation.”

“Neither did I.” She paused. “Why are you here anyway?”

“I’m here for the wedding, of course. And I have business to attend to. And I met
a charming woman in New York, who looked vaguely like you—”

She scoffed.

“That I did want to see again.”

Her brow rose. “In spite of the fact that she did not want to see you again?”

“Or possibly because she was so vehement about not seeing me again.” He grinned. “Her
protestations didn’t ring quite true to me. I think thou dost protest too much, you
know.”

She stared in disbelief. “Are you trying to quote Shakespeare?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Well, you’re not doing it right. The quote is . . .” Her brows drew together and
she thought for a moment. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, I can’t remember it now. Any other
time it would spring to mind immediately.”

He took another sip of his drink and tried not to laugh.

“It’s simply not correct, that’s all. And I did not protest too much. I daresay, I
did not protest enough.”

“You didn’t want to be rude.”

“I am never rude.”

“Of course not.”

“Admittedly, it is hard to be polite when you are trying to tell someone you never
want to see them again.”

“Without actually coming out and saying I never want to see you again.”

“Yet another mistake on my part, although I thought I was quite clear. I should have
simply said it.” Her eyes narrowed. “I never wanted to see you again.”

“Yes, that’s probably what you should have said but what you did say was—oh, how did
you put it?” He thought for a moment. “Ah yes, you said it would be
best
if we never saw each other again.”

“It’s the same thing.” She fairly spit the words.

“No, it’s not.” He swirled the whisky in his glass. “What you said implied a mutual
benefit on both sides. I saw absolutely no benefit to never seeing you again. I didn’t
think it would be the least bit
best.
”

She glared.

“Although I can certainly see why it might be of benefit to you.”

“Can you?” Suspicion colored her words.

“I understand you’re looking for a new husband. It wouldn’t do for any potential candidate
to know you were the sort of woman to indulge in scandalous affairs at the drop of
a hat.”

She gasped in horror. “I am not!”

“Although I suppose it’s not scandalous if no one knows about it,” he said thoughtfully.
“The scandal lies more in the telling and retelling and gossip and—”

“I have not told anyone!”

“Neither have I.” He smiled.

She studied him closely. “Do you intend to?”

“Now
that
is rude, Delilah.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “Even in our short acquaintance,
have I done anything to make you think that I am the kind of man who brags about something
like this?”

A blush washed up her face. “No, you haven’t.”

“That I am not an honorable sort?”

“No, you were quite—”

“Gentlemen are not confined to England, you know.”

“Of course, I didn’t—”

“I might well be insulted.”

“Well I didn’t—”

“No, on second thought, I
am
insulted.” He pinned her with the sort of hard look he usually reserved for business.
“And offended.”

She sighed. “Then apparently I owe you yet another apology.”

“They are mounting up.” He set his glass on a table, his tone as casual as his manner.
“What do you intend to do about it?”

“Nothing.” Her brow furrowed in annoyance. “I have apologized, more than once. What
more would you have me do?”

“I’m not sure.” He shook his head. “Perhaps if you sounded more sincere.”

“Good Lord, you are an annoying beast.” She downed the rest of her drink and set her
glass down beside his with a thunk. “Very well then.” She counted the points off on
her fingers. “One, you have my heartfelt and sincere apologies for my rudeness this
afternoon. Two, I apologize for not being completely honest with you in New York.
And three, I am deeply sorry if I cast any aspersions as to the honorable nature of
your character. There.” She cast him an overly polite smile. “I do hope that was sincere
enough for you.”

“It wasn’t bad.” He shrugged. “It could use some practice. You’re not used to apologizing,
are you?”

“I rarely do anything that requires an apology.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He turned away from her and wandered around the perimeter
of the room, stopping to study a large portrait of a woman and three young girls.
He didn’t need to look at Delilah to know she was debating whether to ignore his comment
or take up the gauntlet. He’d bet on the latter.

A long moment drifted by in silence. Was he wrong?

“I’ll have you know, I am usually quite pleasant.”

It was all he could do to keep from laughing. Of course he wasn’t wrong, he was rarely
wrong.

“And amusing,” she continued. “I’m excellent at conversing on any number of topics.
People find me quite clever. And I’m polite, unfailingly polite. And I am never—”

“Rude,” he said absently, bending closer to the painting to read the artist’s signature.
“You said that.”

“Obviously, it bears repeating.”

“You probably can’t say that you’re never rude often enough.”

“Apparently!”

“One should always be clear about that sort of thing.” He glanced at her. “As one
should always be clear about never seeing someone again.”

“I thought I was clear.”

“And yet, here I am.” He smiled. “And here I intend to stay.”

“No doubt.” She considered him for a moment. “It might be frightfully dull for you
here, though.”

He chuckled. “I can’t imagine that.”

“And it does seem a shame, since you have never really seen anything outside of London,
for you to be trapped here,” she said, a sly note in her voice. “When you could be
enjoying a bit of travel. Brighton is lovely this time of year.”