Bride For A Night

“Yes.” She shivered beneath his brooding gaze. “I know it is difficult to believe, but I am just as appalled as you by this farce of a marriage.”

“I do not find it difficult, Miss Dobson, I find it impossible,” he countered, assuring himself that his stab of ire was at her continued charade and not at her horror at the thought of marrying him. “I am all too familiar with women like you.”

“Women like me?”

“Vulgar females who are willing to use whatever tactics necessary to acquire a husband.” He deliberately lowered his gaze to take in the soft curves modestly hidden beneath her silver gown. Had she been bold enough to display her charming wares she might have had more success on the marriage mart. “Of course, their tactics are usually more—”

“Attractive?” she said, an unexpected hint of bitterness shimmering in the emerald eyes.

“Polished,” he corrected.

“Forgive me for being a disappointment. It seems to be my lot in life,” she said, her voice so low he could barely catch the words. “But in my defense, I never desired a husband enough to polish my tactics.”

He frowned. So, there was a hint of spirit beneath that mousey demeanor.

“That would be a good deal more convincing if you had not offered my brother an embarrassing sum of money to take you as his bride, even knowing he had no desire to be tied to you.”

“It was my father—” She bit off her words, giving a resigned shake of her head. “What does it matter?”

“It does not.” He grasped her chin, peering deep into the eyes that held such remarkable innocence. “Even if I were idiotic enough to accept you are nothing more than a victim of your father’s machinations, it does not make the thought of having you as my bride any less unpalatable.”

He felt her quiver, her thick tangle of lashes lowering to hide the pain that flared through her eyes. Gabriel gritted his teeth against the sensation that was perilously close to regret tugging at his heart.

Dammit. He had nothing to regret.

“You have made your point, my lord,” she said. “Why are you here?”

“Obviously we must discuss our…” He struggled to force out the word. “Wedding.”

“Why?” She hunched a shoulder. “It is obvious that you and my father are capable of planning my future without bothering to consult me.”

His grasp tightened on her chin. “Do not press my temper, Miss Dobson. Not today.”

Her lips thinned but with a resigned obedience. She pulled free of his grasp and waved a hand toward a nearby chair.

“Will you have a seat?”

“No, this will not take long.”

She gave a slow nod, her face pale but composed. “Very well.”

“On Monday I will request a Special License from the Archbishop of Canterbury. He is a personal friend, so there should be no difficulty.”

Her lips twisted. “Of course not.”

“The ceremony will be held in the private chapel at my townhouse,” he continued. “I will arrange for the rector as well as two servants to serve as witnesses.”

It took her a moment to comprehend the meaning of his words. At last her eyes widened. “My father…”

“Is not invited.” His expression warned he would not compromise. “Nor will you include any other guests.”

“Do you intend to keep our marriage a secret?”

“A futile wish, unfortunately, but I am determined that it will not become a ridiculous farce.” He glanced toward the window where he could view the guests still taking full pleasure in the current scandal. “For the next week you will remain silent and away from society. You may also warn your father that any boasting that he has captured an earl as his son-in-law will greatly displease me.”

Her expression remained suitably chastened, but she couldn’t disguise the pulse that hammered at the base of her throat. Inwardly she was no doubt seething with the urge to slap him.

“And after the ceremony?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Am I to remain hidden from society?”

“Not hidden, but you will be enjoying an extended visit to my estate in Devonshire.”

She blinked at his frigid explanation. “I am to be banished to the country?”

“If my terms of marriage do not suit you, Miss Dobson, then perhaps you should devote the next few days to convincing your father to blackmail some other fool into becoming your husband.”

With an abrupt movement she turned on her heel, staring down at her unwelcome guests with a haunted expression.

“If I had the ability to sway my father I would never have been forced to wed your brother and we would not be in this mess.”

Gabriel stiffened in anger as another twinge of pity threatened to undermine his resolve.

Bloody hell. Was it not hideous enough to be coerced into marrying Silas Dobson’s daughter without offering her the opportunity to play him a fool?

“Then it would seem that we must both resign ourselves to the inevitable,” he bit out, turning on his heel to head toward the door.

“So it would seem,” she whispered behind him.

Halting on the threshold, Gabriel glanced over his shoulder.

“Oh, Miss Dobson.”

“Yes?”

“I would prefer you refrain from smothering yourself in such a gaudy display of jewels.” He flicked a disdainful glance toward the massive diamonds draped around her neck. “The Countess of Ashcombe does not need to make an exhibit of herself.”

His parting shot delivered, Gabriel continued out of the room and down the hall, wondering why the devil he didn’t feel the least satisfied.

TALIA WAS IN the laundry room sorting through the linens that needed to be mended when her father’s butler appeared in the doorway.

As always, she was struck by the sight of the slender, gray-haired servant attired in an immaculate black uniform. He carried himself with a regal dignity that his employer could never hope to emulate.

The irony of the situation was not lost on Silas Dobson, who found it a source of coarse amusement to taunt his prim and proper butler. Anderson, on the other hand, was careful to keep his own opinion hidden behind his facade of frigid efficiency.

Hardly surprising. For all of her father’s faults, he was a shrewd businessman who was willing to pay his employees a generous salary that instilled far more loyalty than any amount of personal charm.