The Next Best Bride
Copyright 2001, 2011 © Kelly McClymer
Excerpt of The Infamous Bride….
The Next Best Bride
by
Kelly McClymer
Copyright 2001, 2011 © Kelly McClymer
Cover Copyright 2011 © Julie Ortolon
First published by Zebra Books, October 2001
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the purchase site and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
Dedication
To Yvonne, Kathy, Sylvie, and Lynn: the most insightful, kind, inspiring ladies I know.
Chapter
One
London, 1849
The dregs of the evening fetched up Rand Mallon, Earl of Dalby, exhausted but flush. His companion, too, had been successful at cards. Indeed, Mr. Roscue Anderlin had the luck of a man playing with an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other.
They sat facing each other now, slumped in their chairs, legs outstretched, a glass of brandy each. If any of the night owls who dotted the darkened corners of the men's club had cared to give them anything other than an incurious glance they would have seen nothing more than a pair of incurable reprobates savoring their victories despite the likelihood of tomorrow's hangover.
Only Rand would likely notice that his companion was as tense as an overtightened harp string and had been less than focused on the game this evening. Six hands and twenty pounds to the good was not shameful for an evening's work. But it should have been nine hands and fifty pounds. It was time to find out what was causing the inattention. He had a feeling he would not like the answer, so he sighed before he demanded, "Spill it."
Uneasily, his companion shifted, fingers combing through one stiff sideburn with nervous energy. But there was no prevarication, no claim of innocence. That was one of the reasons for their friendship. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your bride-to-be is about to run away."
The news gripped him around the middle, like a boxer's hold. For a moment he struggled for breath. "And where would the fair Rosaline be going, if not to the altar with me?"
"To America."
Rand wanted to curse. To shout. To argue. But he did not doubt the truth of the information. He slumped farther into his chair. "I knew I had a poor reputation, but I didn't expect it would send her to another continent." The amber of his brandy glimmered in the forgivingly dim light of the club as it swirled to and fro with his movements.
His companion leaned back into the plush leather of the chair, relaxing now that the fateful news had been delivered. "You can curse me for bearing bad news, if you wish."
Rand stared morosely into the shadows. "Will cursing you deliver my bride to the altar?" The answer to the question was a foregone conclusion, but all the same he had to ask.
The reply was as certain as he had expected. "No. A stinging string of impolite words might, however, ease some of the temper I see brewing in you."
"What temper? I am calm as a monk at prayer." He swigged down the contents of his glass and held it out, whereupon a servant stepped from the shadows and silently supplied a refill.
"The temper that is turning your earlobes red." Sometimes a friend could know one a bit too well, Rand reflected. Which was why he did not have many friends. "Do you begrudge me a few moments of indignation? I was planning to be married in two weeks' time, and now I am told my bride will not join me at the altar. No one will spare a jot of sympathy for Markingham's reprobate heir, will they?"
"Sympathy? Why? You are not marrying for love. You've made no secret of it. You face the parson's mousetrap only to secure an heir and wrest control of your funds from your grandfather's hands."
"Only?" Remembering his traitorous earlobes, Rand spent a moment calming his anger. "The reasons seemed important to me when my grandfather promised me control of my inheritance simply for marrying and providing an heir. Why else go to all the bother to find a woman who'd agree to my terms?"
"Perhaps he will volunteer to give you control of some of your funds when he learns you have been jilted, in compassion for your poor, wounded pride?"
Rand laughed aloud, a sharp bark of laughter that carried the sound of his bitterness through the quiet room. "No. He will not. Not until I am married and produce an heir." Even then the old man might have some trick up his sleeve to try to hold on to his control, but Rand had shared that possibility with no one, not even his best friend. "I wonder what my grandfather will consider a fitting punishment for being jilted?"
"Surely it is the bride who jilts you who deserves punishment?"
"Tell that to my grandfather. He will not rest until I have produced an heir."
"So, you are still determined upon that course? Despite" — said with an apologetic sigh, cut by a wicked half smile —"despite knowing that proper young ladies will be wary of the jilted earl?"
"Wary? They will be eager, the foolish children. What is it about a man with no scruples to speak of, that green girls see him with stars in their eyes?"
"I have never fathomed the secret of such idiocy, myself, despite having so many sisters. Though I don't suppose it hurts that you are devilishly handsome as well as a rake. I believe the combination of green eyes and dark curls is almost guaranteed to make women swoon." They both sighed and spent a moment in silent consideration of such behavior, before Rand's companion lamented, "How unfortunate that you do not wish a green girl."
"Beyond unfortunate. Where I shall find a woman who is as agreeable as Miss Rosaline Fenster to living her own life and leaving me to my own disreputable one is a puzzle I do not enjoy having to solve — again," he grumbled, almost completely resigned to the fact now. Amazing how amenable a few glasses of brandy could make him. Tomorrow he'd pay with the devil of a headache.
"Perhaps this time you will just have to settle for the next best alternative."
"And what would that be?"
"Compromise one of the young women who has begun to think she will never find a husband. Perhaps her gratitude will keep her from complaining when you do not reform."
"Such an act would be in keeping with my reputation, I suppose. Do I sound fastidious if I say the idea repels me?"
"Why? You need a wife. Isn't seduction a time honored way for a rake to acquire one?" There was a faint bitterness beneath the words that made Rand's ears prick up.
"The work involved seems excessive. Wooing and seducing a young virgin only to have to deal with her tears before and after the wedding. I much prefer the straightforward bargain that Rosaline and I made."
His companion shifted in the leather chair, as if trying to find a comfortable position, before leaning forward to offer in a casual tone, "Perhaps I have the answer for you."
Rand braced himself for a joke, then noticed his companion once again vibrated with the tension he had noticed earlier this evening. "Let me guess. Myra Wirthsham — squinty eyes, elephant ears, and all."
Instead of an answering grin at his witticism, he received a sharp rebuke. "Miss Wirthsham is too good for the likes of you."
"I am sorry for the offense. Your news has unsettled me." Belatedly, Rand remembered that his friend disliked anyone making fun of the less-than-beautiful young women who were forced to compete with those nature had blessed. "Which young woman do you fancy would have me?"
"Helena Fenster."
Rand would have laughed, but for the pair of serious blue eyes focused on him. There was not a hint of a smile, and he knew the subtle signs of humor in his best friend too well to doubt that he had just been made a legitimate offer. "Impossible."
The only answer to his rejection of the idea was silence. Rand thought of Helena, Rosaline's twin. Though they were identical in appearance, they were immensely different in behavior. He imagined putting the same bargain before the prim Helena as he had before Rosaline. The very idea was absurd.
He ticked off the reasons on his fingers, allowing them to be absorbed into the silent and dimly lit gravity of the club's dark-paneled walls. "She is Rosaline's sister, she is impossibly proper, and she has made no secret of her utter disregard for my rather questionable morals."
"Not as impossible as you think." Reluctantly, his friend added, "She has a secret that makes her vulnerable to an offer from you right now."
The only type of secret he could imagine was a scandalous indiscretion. He could not imagine such a thing in context with Helena, however, try as he might. "What has she done? Allowed a man to kiss her in the gazebo? What young miss worth her salt has not?"
"She took a lover, expecting a formal bid for her hand, but he proved to be a cad."
Rand had thought himself incapable of being shocked anymore. The idea of Helena Fenster with a lover was so farfetched he'd have believed no one else who told him such a thing. "I hope, for her sake, he did not prove as clumsy with her pleasure as he did with her heart."
His comment was rewarded with a flush of color upon his friend's cheeks, to his great satisfaction. "I believed this might put your suit in a new light. I did not intend to spread gossip that might hurt the young lady."
"If no one knows, her reputation is secure. If she marries me, her reputation has a permanent blemish. Ros accepted that."
"Relished it would be more accurate."
"Her sister—"
"She is not so conventional as she appears."
"I will take your word for it. Certainly she has chided me for my drinking and gambling both."
"You are to marry her twin. It is understandable that she be concerned."
"And now you suggest that I exchange one sister for the other at the altar?"
"Exactly."
Rand considered the idea. "Am I expected to blackmail the girl into marriage?" He found the idea distasteful.
"Of course not. You will make the same bargain with her as you made with her sister — in addition, you will promise never to bring up her indiscretion in the future."
"I can see the advantage for me," Rand said slowly. "But for Helena? What does she gain married to a unrepentant rake? Wouldn't she be better off chasing down her lover and forcing him to marry her? Surely the duke has the necessary power."
"Helena is not a fool. She has the sense to see marriage to a willing husband as preferable to being shackled to an unwilling coward. Which benefits you, in that she understands too well how futile it is to attempt to change a man's true nature."
Rand's curiosity rose at the contempt that shaded his companion's words. "Just who was able to breach Helena's formidable propriety?"
"That information is not for me to divulge." A curt, sharp warning that Rand was close to trespass.
His curiosity grew stronger. He wheedled, "If I am to approach the girl to strike a bargain —" "Let me manage that. Simply decide whether this exchange of brides will suit you."