The Convenient Bride (13 page)

"Clay."

Clayton
kept walking.

"You
might want to prepare for that apology."

Clayton
halted. "Why the devil would I want to do that?"

Jared
turned his back on his brother-in-law and started down the hall. "Oh,
didn't you know? Miss Appleby and Miss Garland will be at Grimstoke's party,
watching you search for a bride."

Briana
sat across from Agatha as the carriage rolled toward Grimstoke Hall. They had
spent part of the afternoon at a posting inn due to trouble with one of the
horses. Two hours later they had started out again in hopes of reaching the
mansion by nightfall.

However,
Briana's mind was not on the mission. It was on Lord Clayton Clearbrook. She
had been blinded by his good looks and sweet-talking ways. He had tricked her
into thinking he was a true gentleman. But at the ball the other night he had
degraded her, killed the last feelings of love she ever had for him.

He was
looking for a marriage of convenience, nothing more. It didn't matter to him
whom he married, just so the lady would bow to his requests. It was an
arrangement many gentlemen of the
ton
preferred.

"You
know, dear, I have been thinking it over," Agatha said, turning her gaze
from the window and tapping her fingers along her parasol, "and I believe
that someone may have caught wind of our little escapade. Mind you, it might be
nothing at all."

Briana
gave her godmother a look of surprise. "You mean someone knows we are on
to them?"

"To
be a bit more precise, someone may be on to me. Some papers were stolen at
Whitehall with my name on them. I obtained this information just before we
left."

"Then
we must go back! You must go back!"

"La,
I have always been a target. More than you will ever be. Whitehall has tried to
keep my name from everything. But precautions are only that—precautions, not
reality."

The lady
shrugged. "Sometimes these things leak out. It may be nothing at all. I
really don't think the enemy has a notion of my interest in their doings, but
since it is your life on the line, I must be frank. You must keep your distance
from me if things get, well, let's just say suspicious. Actually, the more I
think about it, the more I realize you should keep an eye out for anything out
of the ordinary and that's all. I can take it from there."

Briana's
brows fell into a disconcerting frown. The reality of their mission was quickly
beginning to sink in. And Agatha's cavalier attitude was too calm. The lady was
trying to shield Briana with an unemotional, straightforward attitude when in
fact the mission was getting more dangerous by the minute. Agatha obviously
didn't want Briana snooping into anything beyond her own bedchambers. But
Briana wasn't going to fall for Agatha's ploy at all. "I don't like the
entire arrangement."

"I
know, child. But we are talking about the assassination of the Prince Regent. And
although we must follow through with our mission, I must tell you that many at
Whitehall believe there is a strong possibility the perpetrators are in
Bath."

But did
Agatha believe that? Briana wondered. Or did the lady believe the enemy was at
Grimstoke Hall?

Agatha
was becoming so good at this acting game, Briana wasn't sure what she was
thinking anymore. In truth, the only thing Briana did know was that Agatha
would step between her and the enemy if she had to, and that horrid thought
sent an icy finger of dread down Briana's spine. This previously exciting
mission was swiftly turning into a dangerous game of life and death, where
Agatha's calm demeanor only worried her more.

A light
rain began to fall, and the clip-clop of the horses' hooves slowed. "Has
the Regent been told?" Briana asked.

"He's
told what he wants to hear, and he definitely doesn't want to hear about an
attempt on his life. He is not the most popular man in England these days,
squandering money as if it were printed for the sake of him and him
alone."

"I
see." An unwelcome tension enveloped the carriage as Briana stared out the
window. Though Agatha didn't care for the Prince Regent, Briana knew the lady
would do what was necessary for the stability of her country. A country she
loved.

"And
for goodness' sake, keep Kingsdale at a distance, child. You will have to be
firm, and perhaps a bit unpleasant. It is not in your character to give someone
the cut-direct, but it must be done if he keeps bothering you."

Briana
didn't like the thought of Lord Kingsdale's being at the party, but she would
do what she had to do.

She
turned back to Agatha. "I can handle Lord K—"

The
vehicle jolted sideways, cutting off her speech. Her heart jumped to her throat
at the sound of screaming horses.

Agatha threw
out her hand. "Hold on, child!"

Briana
reached for her godmother just as the carriage tipped onto two wheels. Both
ladies shrieked in panic.

Briana’s
gaze shot to the door as the ground came up to meet her. Then her world went
black.

Chapter Twelve

I
t was raining heavily as Clayton
pulled back on the leather reins of his horse, coming to a halt. He noted what
looked like an abandoned cottage in the distance. Weeds and brush surrounded
the small dwelling, but it would do. He could wait out the storm there.

Spurring
his horse into a gallop, he turned the bend just as another blast of thunder
boomed above him. His horse reared back.

"Easy,
Belle." The animal whinnied and he patted her mane. "That's it. Easy
now."

Something
caught his attention and he squinted past the sheets of rain. What the devil?
An overturned carriage?

Belle
snorted as if sensing the distressed cries of the downed horses farther along
the road. Clayton gripped his reins tighter.

Some
idiot driver nipping at the spirits, he thought with a scowl. By heaven, he
would like to whip the man.

Setting
his teeth, Clayton hurried toward the accident. A man stood beside the vehicle
waving to him.

"What
the devil happened?" Clayton shouted, dismounting.

"My
lord!" the man cried, bending toward the carriage. "It's a miracle
you appeared.... Broken axle ... threw us sideways ... horses tumbled. Harry
here got caught beneath the wheel."

Clayton
started forward and his heart stumbled.  It was old James talking to him. His
gaze jerked to the Earl of Stonebridge's crest. Emily? Gabrielle? No, he had
just left them this morning.  Dear Lord, he thought, instantly praying things
were alright.

He had a
sinking sensation in his belly as he recalled Jared's words.
Oh, didn't you
know? Miss Appleby and Miss Garland will be at Grimstoke's party, watching you
search for a bride.

Rain
continued to pour from the sky as Clayton grabbed the overturned wheel and
helped lift it a couple of inches, giving Harry enough clearance to climb out
from beneath the carriage. The man hadn't suffered any terrible injuries, only
a bruised leg.

Clayton
turned to James. "The ladies?" he asked hurriedly. Certainly they
were not in the carriage.

"Inside,
my lord. Haven't heard a peep since we tipped. Scared, I think. Had to get to
Harry. Horses are lame, though. Whinnying like babies. We'll have to shoot
them. Pistols are in the box over there."

"Forget
the deuced horses! Follow me!"

Clayton
had already moved around the carriage. James was still in shock and shaking
from the accident, but devil a bit, Clayton needed him.

"Miss
Appleby? Miss Garland?" Clayton's voice roared over the hammering rain.

No
answer. He climbed on top of the tilted carriage and peered inside. He gripped
the frame, his fingers digging into the opening. "Briana," he said
breathlessly.

He
hadn't meant to say her name, but sheer terror swept through him at the sight
of her limp body. Her face was as white as his neckcloth and her forehead was
streaked with blood. Agatha was beneath her, looking like a corpse.

The horses
began to wiggle, shaking the vehicle. He glanced up. "James!"

"The
horses, my lord?" the man asked, his body shivering.

"Shoot
the poor devils! Then help me get these women out!"

Clayton
carefully slipped inside the carriage, making his way to Briana first. He felt
for a pulse. "Briana, sweetheart, speak to me."

His
heart gave a little kick. She was alive. He lifted Agatha's hand and felt a
pulse as well. He dropped his head against his chest and took a deep, agonizing
breath. "Thank God."

There
was a boom and then another. The horses were dead.

"Can
you lift them?" James asked.

Clayton
nodded. "It will be tricky, but we can do it."

The two
women were pulled carefully from the carriage and placed on the grassy knoll
beside the vehicle, where a carriage blanket had been thrown to keep them
partially dry.

With
some rope, Clayton secured another blanket over the tilted carriage and tied
the other end to a nearby tree. He told James to take his horse and ride on
ahead to obtain a doctor and another mode of transportation for the ladies and
Harry, who was resting in the shelter of some trees.

Inwardly
thanking the earl for his emergency thinking, Clayton found a small medicine
box in the carriage, which he used to attend to the ladies' injuries. He had
seen worse in the war, but the sight of their blood had terrified him.

Miss
Garland had a head wound, a small gash behind her ear. Agatha had a large bump
on the back of her head and some small cuts. Both of the women were still
unconscious. Clayton knew he had done all he could for the ladies. He had
finished cleaning Miss Garland's injury when she started coming around.

As those
beautiful green eyes gazed up at his face, a tidal wave of relief swept through
him. What was it about this woman that tied his stomach into knots whenever he
saw her?

He took
hold of her hand. "It's all right, sweetheart. You've had an
accident." He managed a smile. "It was a good thing I came along when
I did."

"Agatha,"
she whispered hoarsely.

"She's
had a good whack to her head, but she'll be fine once we get her to Grimstoke
Hall."

"Must...
stay with her."

Clayton
ran a hand over Briana's pale skin. "Don't worry."

"M-must
be with her."

Clayton's
brow creased at the fear he saw in the lady's eyes. "I'll stay with her. I
promise. Now rest."

A tear
rolled down the lady's cheek as she closed her fairy eyes. "Th-thank
you."

He
frowned and placed a kiss upon her forehead as if she were his. He didn't want
to leave her side. What kind of spell had she cast upon him?

The
entourage arrived at Grimstoke Hall late that night.  Miss Garland was resting
comfortably in the adjacent bedchamber. She had not complained once during the
journey in the dilapidated carriage they had obtained from a nearby vicar a few
miles from the accident. Though the bumps had made her wince, she had been
alert, avoiding any glances his way.

He knew
she had been remembering his offer of marriage, but her only concern had been
for her godmother. Clayton had assured Miss Garland—who needed sleep
herself—that he would personally look after the older lady.

Miss
Appleby, on the other hand, had awakened inside the vehicle and had told him
exactly how she felt with a lump the size of three eggs on the back of her
head.

Although
Miss Appleby was now abed, the doctor had told Clayton that the lady also had a
badly sprained ankle and should not be up and about for days, and because of
her head injury, she was not to sleep during the night. Though it seemed an
unusual demand, Clayton had heard of similar requests regarding such head injuries
during the war.

Yet it
was devilish hard trying to keep Miss Appleby up most the night. She was in
excruciating pain, but Clayton soon realized that telling her stories of the
war—something she seemed most interested in—seemed to work. She knew she had to
stay awake, but she didn't like it.

Lord
Grimstoke had been all assistance, even providing a personal maid outside
Agatha's door. The door was left open an inch for propriety's sake, Grimstoke
had announced, giving Clayton a curt glance. It was the first time Agatha had
smiled since the accident. Clearly embarrassed, Clayton wasn't about to go back
on his promise to Miss Garland, so he endured Agatha's laughing gray eyes and
settled in a chair beside her bed for the night.

If Jared
and his brothers could see him now.

With a
frown, Clayton regarded Miss Appleby's plump, pale form swallowed up by a mound
of pillows and covers. Her lids were slowly sliding over her eyes while he was
in the middle of one of his battles. "Miss Appleby," he said a little
louder than usual, "am I boring you?"

Her eyes
flickered open. "Yes ... yes, you are."

His eyes
twinkled. "Good. It's the least I could do after that attack with your
parasol."

For a
second her lips twitched, and then her eyes closed.

Clayton
cleared his throat, trying to wake her. Nothing. A branch of candles flickered
at the end of the bed, providing more than enough light for the room, but
obviously not enough to keep the lady awake. He glanced at the door. What to
do? Should he lean over the bed and shake her?

"I
am still awake, my lord. Don't look so scared. No one is going to demand that
you marry me."

Clayton
flinched, his gaze shooting back to the lady. "Miss Appleby, you do enjoy
torturing me, do you not?"

"No,
not really." She yawned and winced. "I'm too tired to torture you.
But if you want me to stay awake, why don't you tell me something
interesting?"

His
brows lifted in surprise. "Madam, I thought I was telling you something
interesting." There was an amusing edge to his voice that cut through the
formality of the situation.

A smile
lifted the corners of her mouth. "Well," she drawled, "since we
are on such good terms and only a good story will keep my mind conscious, why
don't you tell me about Lady Serena?"

For a
full minute he could only stare at her.

"Don't
sit there like some wide mouth bass with your jaw hanging on every word I
say," she said unapologetically. "Entertain me, my lord."

"I
fail to see what my past has to do with anything."

"You
told me about the war. Now tell me about your heart." Her gaze was firm,
making him feel about six years old.

Who the
devil had she been talking to? Emily? "I don't think it wise," he
said stiffly.

"Pffff.
Hearts are made to love, my lord. And before you open your mouth again, let me
tell you a story."

A chubby
hand rose from beneath the linens. "No, not a word. This is my story, my
lord. A story of how I found love, lost love, and never loved again."

The sun
had begun to peek through the sides of the curtains when Clayton realized the
lady had kept him captive for a rather long time herself.

Wordlessly,
he had sat glued to his chair, listening to this extraordinary woman tell her
story of how she had met a handsome naval officer, had fallen in love, and had
lost him at Trafalgar. He was younger than she, and feeling pressure from
Society, she had refused his proposal of marriage. She regretted it as soon as
he had left, but it was too late. He had died during the battle.

"I
have never told anyone the true story," she said, her eyes misty,
"but it seemed appropriate, since you had the gallantry to sit by an old
maid and succumb to the embarrassment of Lord Grimstoke's servant guarding my
virtue."

He
chuckled. "I can see why a man would want you, Miss Appleby. I give
Grimstoke credit for guarding you."

The lady
gave him a light swat on his wrist. "What the ladies say is true, then.
You are a charmer. I have been warned, and so has my godchild."

At the
mention of Miss Garland, all playfulness fell from his face. Had Miss Appleby
been told about his proposal? "I see."

"You
had better see, my lord, or another whack from my parasol will be the least I
do."

Clayton
sank back in his seat and gaped at the older lady. Devil take it. There had
always been a certain mystery about Miss Agatha Appleby, and he didn't doubt her
in the least.

"And
another thing," Agatha said. "If I ever catch you proposing to that
wonderful girl again without some feeling behind your words, I will—well, I
will send word to the duke himself."

Clayton's
face went grim. More the reason for me to marry and gain that deuced castle! He
loved his brother Roderick, but he didn't need the duke's interference in his
life.

There
was a knock on the door. The maid entered, crossing the room to drawn open the
curtains, and mentioning something about an early breakfast. It took all
Clayton's willpower not to follow the servant out the door. The duke was one of
the very reasons he wanted that castle. To him, it meant freedom from Roderick,
who thought to run everyone's life, including Clayton's.

Clayton
poured a drink of water for Agatha and handed it to her. "My brother has
no say in what I do, madam."

The
lady's gray eyes peered over the cup as she sipped. "I declare, you do get
your back up. But depend upon it, one word from my mouth on your conduct toward
my godchild, and the duke will cut off your quarterly payments."

Would he
indeed? Clayton stared at the lady as an adversary would study his opponent.
Undeniably, Miss Agatha Appleby was more than she appeared. He took her cup and
set it down on the table. "I have other means of supporting myself."

Her
sharp gaze narrowed. "Do you now? Since you lost everything in that
ridiculous tobacco venture, I suppose you mean that old goat's castle."

Clayton
had started to rise, the chair scraping against the floor, and he caught
himself midway. Who the devil had told her about that?

"I
am not as blind as you think," she said, waving her hand toward the door.
"But that is neither here nor there. Since I cannot be by my godchild's
side, I want you to do it for me."

Clayton
stood and adjusted his jacket, halting at her words.

He
leaned against the bedpost, struggling to maintain a serene appearance.
"First, you tell me to stay away from the lady, and now you want me to
stick to her like a paid companion. I believe that lump on your head has done
more damage than the doctor thought."

She rose
on her elbows, her sleepy gaze searching the room. "I am as sane as you
are, if that is any measure."

He
laughed, but the wheels starting turning in his mind. Was she mad? Why would
she want him to keep an eye on Miss Garland, the very person he had been warned
to stay away from?

Was it
because of the carriage accident? He intended to investigate that entire
incident. The footman had mentioned a broken axle. Had it been sheared on
purpose? Or had it purely been worn and Stonebridge's servants missed it? What
the devil was going on here?

"Where
in the blue blazes is my parasol?" she snapped.

"The
last time I saw your weapon, madam, it was squished between the door and the
seat of the tipped carriage. Broken like Napoleon's blasted empire."

She
huffed. "Never compare any of my effects to that man, if you please."

It was
hard for Clayton not to laugh. He pulled out his pocket watch. Five o'clock.

The
doctor had said that if she stayed awake until five in the morning, it would be
quite all right to let her sleep the day away.

Clayton
had already decided that he would leave when the maid brought in the breakfast
tray. It was odd, but he was beginning to feel a strange urge to look after
Miss Appleby, and it had nothing to do with duty or his sister's attachment to
the lady, let alone that she was Stonebridge's aunt.

"You
need your rest, Miss Appleby. I made a promise to your precious goddaughter
that I would stay by your side during the night. I believe I have done my
duty."

The
lady's head sank into her pillow. "I thank you for that, my lord. But a
maid would have sufficed."

"Forgive
me for being blunt, madam, but you would have had the maid in tears and running
from the room in thirty minutes. And besides Miss Garland, my sister would
never have forgiven me if something had happened to you, and neither would my
brother-in-law. So sleep the day away and rest that sore head and injured
ankle. Oh, and be secure in the thought that nothing will happen to your
goddaughter, for I have no intention of proposing to her again."

Steel
gray eyes captured his, but there was a weariness in Miss Appleby's expression
that told him she was losing her edge. "That isn't what I meant."

They
both turned their heads as the maid entered again with the breakfast tray.
"I know it's early, but his lordship wanted a tray sent to your chambers
as well, my lord," the girl said, setting the food beside Agatha.

It
seemed Grimstoke had insisted on sending the servant to be at Miss Appleby's
side by the appointed time. Clayton needed his sleep, and now that he knew the
older lady would be fine, he had to address his own problems, namely finding a
bride.

Miss
Appleby looked drained, but she managed to raise her forefinger and curl it,
summoning Clayton to her side.

He
nodded for the maid to wait outside the door, then he leaned his ear toward the
lady, his lips twitching. "I am at your command, madam."

"Do
not leave her alone."

Clayton's
brows creased. Before he could answer, she grabbed hold of his sleeve.
"Kingsdale ..."

Clayton
stiffened. Kingsdale here?

"Promise
me... my lord." The lady was fighting with everything she had to stay
awake. "Keep her away from him. Don't ... like the man."

"I
will give her fair warning about the man, Miss Appleby. But Miss Garland will
have to make up her mind about him, not me."

Another
frown flitted across the lady's face. "Other things ... danger ... must
watch her."

The lady
started to rise, and Clayton put a gentle hand to her shoulder. "Upon my
word, you are going to kill yourself if you think to get up with that cursed
ankle."

"Must
warn her." The lady's eyes were mere slits.

"I
believe your godchild is resting comfortably. No need to concern
yourself."

The lady
fell against her pillow, thoroughly exhausted. The next moment a deep sigh
passed her lips and she was fast asleep. Clayton walked to the door and called
for the maid. He took a step into the hall.

"Keep
her in bed. You can send another tray to her room when she awakens. I, as well
as the doctor, will be checking on her. As long as she passed the night without
complications, the doctor mentioned a few drops of laudanum in her drink or her
food. Once she opens those eyes, she'll demand to get up. She must stay
immobile until she heals."

"I
have seen to many ladies, your lordship. She be like my own mum."

Clayton
left, feeling quite satisfied that Miss Appleby was in the best of hands. He
would have a little food and then rest. But as soon as he entered his
bedchambers and discarded his jacket, the image of Miss Garland and Kingsdale
stood out in his mind. Did she know anything about the man's past and his
treatment of women?

His
conscience would not let it go. He would have to warn her. He told himself it
was his duty as a gentleman and as a friend of the family. After that task was
done, he would search for a bride.

Frowning,
he pulled out his list. Instead of Miss Cherrie Black, all he could see was a
head of rich auburn hair, two sensuous green eyes, and a pert little nose
sprinkled with adorable freckles. No, he thought, smiling. Not freckles.
Feckles!

He
raised his hand to the bridge of his nose and gave it a pinch. Hell and
spitfire. For the life of him he couldn't remember what Miss Cherrie Black
looked like at all. He blamed it on his loss of sleep. That was it. It had
nothing to do with feelings for Miss Garland. Nothing at all.

In her
chamber down the hall, Briana peeked through a crack in her door and overheard
Clayton spouting orders to the maid outside Agatha's room. His voice was low
but still audible to her ears. The man was an enigma. He cared for Agatha as if
she were his own mother.

When
they had arrived at Grimstoke Hall, Briana had wanted to stay at her
godmother's side, but both the doctor and Lord Clayton had insisted she rest.
Lord Clayton had promised to stay with Agatha during the night.

Knowing
the stubborn man was probably the only one who could stand up to the headstrong
lady, Briana had agreed, and it seemed he had kept his promise to the last
detail.

His
coldness toward marriage bothered her, yet when he thought others were not
looking, he showed a heart of gold. Oh, for a few short minutes during the
night, Briana had tiptoed down the hall and spied on him and Agatha, listening
to their conversation—not that they ever knew she was there. The two were so
wrapped up in Lord Clayton's war stories, they didn't even flinch at the snores
coming from the maid posted in the hall.

Frowning,
Briana slowly closed her door and went back to bed. She pulled the covers up to
her neck and stared at the ceiling. While it was true that Grimstoke's servant
was certainly no guard dog, Briana wished with all her might that someone or
something existed in this grand house that would guard her against Lord
Clayton's charms.