Bride For A Night

Impatiently brushing a stray curl from her forehead, Talia regarded the servant with a faint frown. It was rare for Anderson to enter what he considered the female domain.

“Yes?”

“The Earl of Ashcombe has called,” Anderson informed her in formal tones. “Shall I say you are receiving?”

The bed sheet slipped from her nerveless fingers as she surged to her feet. Lord Ashcombe? Here?

Despite the fact the man had been her fiancé for nearly a week, Talia’s mind struggled to accept that he had actually come to call upon her. No doubt because she had spent the past days assuring herself that the Earl of Ashcombe had no more intention of making her his bride than his younger brother had.

In truth, she had expected every morning to awaken to the announcement in the London Times that Lord Ashcombe had cancelled the absurd wedding, even if it did mean further scandal for his family.

So why was he here?

Had he come in person to cancel the wedding? And if so, why would he bother? It would surely have been easier for all of them if he had sent a message to avoid this unpleasant encounter.

Acutely aware of the silence that had abruptly filled the laundry room, Talia nervously cleared her throat.

“Did you inform him that my father is not at home?”

Anderson dipped his head. “He specifically requested to speak with you, Miss Dobson.”

“I see.” With no choice, Talia tugged off the apron that covered her sprigged muslin gown. “Please show him to the parlor.”

The butler offered a stiff bow. “Very good.”

The servant was stepping through the door when she realized that she had nearly forgotten her duties as a hostess. Odd, considering that they had been drilled into her by her numerous governesses over the years.

Of course, she rarely had an opportunity to display them, had she?

Who would desire to visit Silas Dobson or his awkward daughter? So far as London was concerned they were blights on civilized society.

“Oh, Anderson.”

“Yes?”

“Could you request Mrs. Knight to prepare a tray of refreshments?”

“Certainly.”

Although the butler’s gaunt face remained impassive, there was a suggestion of approval in his faint nod before he disappeared down the short hall.

Talia paused long enough to wash her hands and straighten the sapphire ribbon that was threaded beneath the empire style bodice. Then, she reluctantly followed in the butler’s path.

Her heart was thundering and her palms sweating by the time she reached the formal parlor, but she did not allow herself to pause as she stepped into the room heavily decorated with lacquer furnishings and crimson velvet. The slightest hesitation would allow her cowardice to take hold, and she would be fleeing to her room in terror.

The idea of flight remained a distinct possibility as her gaze landed on the tall, golden-haired man who always managed to make her heart leap with a dreadful excitement.

This morning he was attired in a pale blue jacket and silver waistcoat that was fitted to his body with flawless lines. Standing confidently near the ornately carved chimneypiece, his elegant style only emphasized the gaudy opulence of the gilded ceiling and massive Chinese vases that were arranged about the carpet.

He stiffened at her entrance, his expression unreadable as his gaze ran an unnervingly intimate inspection over her disheveled appearance.

Talia flushed, acutely aware that the lace of her gown was worn and her simple braid was better fitted for a servant than a lady of breeding. She had no notion that the steam from the laundry room had made the thin gown mold provocatively to her feminine curves. Or that the glossy curls that had strayed from her braid only emphasized her earthy beauty that would tempt any man, particularly one jaded by the frigid perfection of most society ladies.

And she most certainly would never have considered that any man could be imagining her spread on a bed of wildflowers as he ripped away her worn dress to reveal the smooth purity of her ivory skin.

She only knew that his unflinching survey made her feel hot and flustered in a manner she did not understand.

Licking her dry lips, she offered a clumsy curtsy. “My lord, I fear I was not expecting you.”

Almost as if her words had jerked him from an unwelcome spell, Lord Ashcombe stepped from the fireplace, a sardonic expression hardening his handsome features.

“I surely do not need an appointment to call upon my fiancée?” he mocked.

Her flush deepened. “Of course not, but I was not prepared to receive visitors. If you do not mind waiting I will change…”

“But I do mind.” He cut short her babbling. “I am a very busy man, Talia.” His lips twisted in a self-derisive smile. “Besides, we both know I was not driven here by the overwhelming urge to catch a glimpse of my beautiful bride-to-be.”

She flinched, wounded by his scorn despite her determination to remain immune to his taunts.

“There is no need to be insulting,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “If you have come to cancel the wedding, then I would appreciate you completing the task so I can return to my duties.”

“What the devil?” His brows snapped together, shocked by her words. “You believe I have come here to cancel the wedding?”

“Why else?”

Something dangerous glittered in the silver eyes. “Has your father decided to end his threat to sue my brother?”

“I…” She gave a shake of her head. “My father has not discussed his intentions with me.”

“And you have no reason to suspect that he has lost his desire to acquire an earl as his son-in-law?”

She hunched a shoulder. “No.”

The prickling threat that had filled the air eased as Gabriel gave an impatient wave of his hand.

“Then, barring a miracle, it would appear the marriage will take place as scheduled.”

She clasped her hands together as she sought to comprehend his odd mood. What was the matter with him? He seemed almost…angered by her mention of canceling the wedding.

Or perhaps he was simply angry that she had reminded him of the distasteful event.

Yes, that was much more likely.

“May I ask why you have come?”

He gave a shake of his head before reaching for the stack of papers he had left on the mantel. With a sharp motion he shoved them into Talia’s hand.

“These must be signed by your father before our wedding.”