Miss Bradshaw's Bought Betrothal

Underneath all of that awkward exterior, Miss Bradshaw had some gumption. It was obvious that she was not usually a person who took someone to task. Throughout the whole exchange her voice shook nervously and her neck bloomed with angry red blotches, but she persevered. Once she got started, there had been no stopping her. Most people just tolerated his brusqueness nowadays.

Poor Finn Matlock. All bitter and twisted. Even his wife could not stand to live with him.

It was quite refreshing to have been called on it for once. He actually admired her determination to stay at Stanford House just to spite him, although Finn doubted she would be quite so determined once she saw the place.

He swung himself back on to Horatio and nudged the beast to wander slowly in Miss Bradshaw’s irate footsteps, while he watched her delectable, wet, rounded bottom sway as she stomped purposefully ahead a few yards away, resolutely pretending that he no longer existed at all. He doubted she would be quite so enamoured of the idea of marrying his dissolute brother when she saw his home. The only thing that would make Stanford House habitable would be to raze it to the ground and start again. Once she saw it, she would have to back down and return whence she came, and that actually did make him smile. Would she be all indignant and blotchy or would the squeaky, nervous Miss Bradshaw return? Either way, it would be entertaining to watch. For the first time in a very long time, Finn found himself actually looking forward to something.

Chapter Four (#ulink_90f5da4f-3a9e-5688-92cd-38236e013f29)

Evie had gone to bed feeling very proud of herself and then slept like the dead. The other Matlock, with his cutting words and his brooding, insolent eyes, had brought out a side to her character that she never knew that she possessed. For the first time in her life, she had stood up to someone and it had felt marvellous. He had made it plain that she was unwelcome in his house and she had made it equally as plain that she had no intentions of staying there or of being shipped back to Hyacinth and her malicious daughters. The very last place she would ever want to stay was with another obnoxious and nasty person who underestimated her and undermined her at every opportunity. Not after she had spent ten long years living with Hyacinth, having every ounce of joy and confidence gradually chiselled away until there was nothing left but the doormat she hated.

Of course she was angry at Fergus. The shoddy behaviour of that vile wastrel was beyond the pale—however, it was not wholly unexpected. Not really. Not when one considered his weak character and intrinsically selfish nature—the two character traits that she had needed him to possess in order for her escape plan to work. She had not expected him to stay long in Yorkshire and in all honesty would have been glad to see the back of him had it not been for the fact that he had left her in the lurch as an unexpected and unwelcome guest of his brother.

But she had not anticipated that he would bolt within a few hours of her handing over the first instalment of his payment. Fortunately, she had had the good sense not to give him the entire five thousand pounds in one go—the rest of the money was safely stored in a locked box amongst her small things in her trunk—although he had become quite unreasonable when she had explained this to him. In fact, just before he had left for the inn he had thrown quite a tantrum, but Evie had held firm. Two staggering examples of new-found assertiveness in less than twenty-four hours! Who’d have thought it? But one thing that she had learned from her stern father, and his many years of business, was that you never paid up front for goods or services you had not yet received. While Fergus might well have delivered her to the north, he still had to uphold the rest of their bargain. That meant, from time to time, he had to play the role of her fiancé for as long as she deemed it necessary.

His curt letter had given her an address where she could reach him in York as well as a reassurance that he would go nowhere near London until Evie was satisfied that he could return without raising too much suspicion about their engagement. He made no apology for disappearing nor for failing to appraise her of the fact that he had left her at the wrong house, but he had been adamant that ‘good old Finn’ would look after her in his stead until he returned, which just went to show how little Fergus actually knew about anything.

‘Good old Finn’ could not wait to see the back of her and that feeling was quite mutual. The man was viler than his brother, but for completely different reasons. The fact that Fergus had apparently declined to tell his own brother the truth about their situation had given her pause and stopped her from sharing the contents of the letter. If Fergus did not wish his brother to know about their arrangement, there was probably a very good reason. It was obvious his twin was no fool, nor did he strike her as the type to suffer fools like Evie gladly. She sincerely doubted such an outspoken man would have a great deal of sympathy for her inability to stand up for herself in her own house. Selfishly, Evie had kept quiet because she had feared that she would be cast out on her ear if ‘good old Finn’ realised that the engagement was a sham and it was obvious he had little time for his wastrel brother.

He had said that he and Fergus were as different as chalk and cheese. Now that she had some experience of both of them that really was a very apt description. Like chalk, Fergus Matlock was weak and slowly eroding away, while Finnegan definitely left a sour taste in the mouth, just like rancid cheese. What gave him the right to say such hurtful things to her anyway?

‘You do not look like a woman who could survive on one piece of toast...’

‘Scraping the matrimonial barrel...’

‘Your precious virtue is perfectly safe with me.’

All she had spent was a few scant minutes in his company and already she wanted to kick him. He made her so nervous. During each of their brief, tense exchanges, her heart had positively hammered against her ribs and her mouth had filled with cotton wool. His twin did not have that effect on her. With Fergus, Evie felt in control. But then she held all of the cards. He was a means to an end and theirs was a business transaction. While Finnegan looked almost exactly like Fergus, she certainly did not react to his presence in the same way. The man was so vexing and disagreeable. And unfortunately, he possessed all of the intelligence that Fergus lacked. She got the distinct impression that those mesmerising dark eyes saw right through her and her veil of lies. Under those circumstances, it was actually a good thing that he wanted her out of his house.

This morning, Evie intended to move into Stanford House whether there were servants there or not. As if living in less than luxury would bother her! She who had slept for more hours than she cared to remember in a chair at an invalid’s bedside, doing all of those intensely personal and demeaning tasks that one did in a sickroom in order to spare her parents the indignity of being attended to by a servant. No, indeed, she would happily attend to both her own and Aunt Winnie’s needs for as long as it took to find some staff and she would even enjoy it. For too many years Evie had dreamed of escaping the shackles of her old life and, now that she had, she was damned if she was going to let either one of the Matlock twins spoil it for her. Especially not the one who wore his breeches better, or who had floppy dark hair and soulful, insightful, mesmerising, dark eyes.

To that end, she was already up and dressed and it was barely past dawn. The first thing she was going to do was take herself to Stanford House and prepare a couple of bedchambers for herself and Aunt Winnie. Once that was done, later this morning she would oversee the removal of their luggage from Lord Finnegan’s fine house and would never darken the man’s door again.

Charity!

Hah! He could go to hell.

Feeling empowered and invincible, Evie stomped downstairs in her most sensible gown and walking boots.

‘Good morning Miss Bradshaw! Are you looking forward to your move?’

He was leaning against the doorframe of the breakfast room with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. Smiling. As Evie had never seen him smile, she was not fully prepared for the effect it would have on her. Those dark eyes were dancing with mischief, one of them slightly hidden behind a lock of hair that her fingers wanted to push back, and just like the first time she had seen him his chin bore the evidence of fresh stubble. But that smile did funny things to her insides and made her suddenly twitchy and self-conscious. She felt every inch the fat, frumpy, plain spinster she was up against his artless attractiveness. It was intimidating. However, the new improved Evie Bradshaw would not invert with shyness, no matter how much she wanted to. No, indeed! The foundations of their acquaintance had already been laid and this morning she was invincible.

‘It is a good morning, Lord Finnegan. I find myself quite delighted to be leaving.’ Her heart practically skipped a beat and her palms grew hot, but she managed to look directly at him as she spoke. Unfortunately, her voice wavered a little on the ‘Lord Finnegan’ and his clever eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he heard it. Almost as if he were looking forward to seeing her falter and he was just waiting, like a predator, to pounce.

‘But not before breakfast, I hope. You can hardly ready an uninhabitable house on an empty stomach.’ The forced joviality worried her. He was definitely up to something, she was certain. But then the inevitable insults came out and they forced her to put some steel in her spine. ‘My cook has ensured that there is plenty of that delicious bacon that you were eyeing so covetously yesterday. I know you don’t eat much, but I am sure you can choke down a few bites in the spirit of politeness. And I am quite I sure that you would hate to offend my cook by only partaking of toast when she has organised a breakfast banquet in your honour.’

Evie had hoped to be eating alone. Now he had stepped out of the doorway and was welcoming her into the room with his outstretched arm.

‘Stowers, would you be so good as to bring Miss Bradshaw a hot beverage? Is it tea or coffee you prefer?’

The little devil inside her spoke up. ‘I prefer chocolate in the mornings, Lord Finnegan. If it is not too much of an inconvenience.’ Reluctantly she entered the lion’s den and sat down primly as far away as it was possible to sit from the master’s chair. To her horror, he began filling a plate for her. Eggs, bacon, sausage, more bacon and finally a piece of toast formed a mountain on the plate which he put it before her with great ceremony. Then he did the same for himself and sat next to her rather than at the head of the table. Just to intimidate her further.

‘I thought I would accompany you this morning, in the spirit of being a good host.’

Evie’s spirits sank. ‘There really is no need, Lord Finnegan, I am sure that you have much better things to do with your day.’ The smell of bacon was making her mouth water and reminded her that she was ravenous. Demurely, she cut off a tiny piece and popped it into her mouth and tried not to sigh at the sublime savoury taste.

‘Oh, I insist, Miss Bradshaw. In fact, I am rather looking forward to it. Do you ride, Miss Bradshaw?’

‘I do not, Lord Finnegan, I intend to walk.’

‘How splendid. A brisk walk across the parkland will be most invigorating. Perhaps we could take the time to get to know each other a little better? I feel as though we have got off on the wrong foot. In fact, perhaps we should start now?’

In answer, Evie shoved an enormous piece of sausage into her mouth that prevented any further conversation and took for ever chewing it. She had no desire to know Finnegan Matlock any better than she did his dissolute brother. She followed the sausage with a healthy chunk of bacon. After the second forkful, he got the message and concentrated on his own breakfast, but he did it so smugly that she found herself frowning. He probably thought that she would faint dead away at the sight of Fergus’s dilapidated house. Frankly, she did not care if it was overrun with vermin and as damp as Scotland in winter. At least she would be on her own, aside from Aunt Winnie, of course, and then she could set about starting again. Tomorrow she would visit the attorney that her own solicitor had recommended and instruct him to begin searching for suitable properties immediately. The sooner she found her own house, the sooner she could end the charade with Fergus and live the sort of life she had always dreamed of. Free. Happy. Not a doormat. What was the point of having a fortune if you never got to enjoy it?

* * *

Miss Bradshaw remained stubbornly mute for the duration of the meal, which Finn found surprisingly amusing. Even more amusing was the way she closed her eyes in sheer bliss every time she put a new morsel of food into her mouth when she assumed that he was concentrating on his breakfast. This was a woman who enjoyed her sensual pleasures. Splashing water, joyous singing, hot, crisp bacon...everything she did when she thought nobody was looking, she did with such passion. It made him wonder what she would be like in the full throes of it, until he ruthlessly dismissed the errant thought when the usual guilt began to niggle. He had no right to be thinking such things. Not after Olivia.

Except he had been thinking them. Suddenly he could not stop thinking about them. For two nights now, he had lain awake not thinking about his darling wife, but about the woman who had suddenly invaded his quiet life. It was difficult to get the image of her silhouetted body in that oh-so-proper nightgown out of his head. Or the way the firelight and sunlight had made the copper strands in her thick chestnut hair glow. Or the earthy beauty of her voice as she had sung in the stream. Even in her current shapeless dress, there was something about his brother’s fiancée that intrigued him and called beneath the dead exterior he shuffled around in, to the remnants of the man that still, miraculously, lurked beneath the surface.

* * *

Once the meal was finished, she did her best to dissuade him from accompanying her. ‘There is no need for you to come. I would prefer to go alone.’ The pink blotches creeping up her neck bore witness to the effort it took her to be impolite. Instead of making Finn feeling awful, her discomfort spurred him on.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Bradshaw. For the moment, at least, you are still my guest and I do feel responsible for you.’

‘Then perhaps you should ride to Stanford House later. I am certain that you will find the walk with me dull.’

No, he wouldn’t. There was nothing dull about her, aside from the dreadful dress. Finn had never seen quite so much fabric in one garment in his life. It must weigh a ton. ‘Nonsense. We are to be brother and sister, Miss Bradshaw. I am keen to further our acquaintance, aren’t you?’ Because he knew that it would vex her, Finn held out his arm. For a few seconds, she simply stared at it as if it were something distasteful, until her innate good manners forced her to take it. But she stared resolutely ahead as they set off towards his childhood home and she made no attempt at making conversation.

It was probably just as well. The moment they set off, Finn became painfully aware of her hips. They seemed to undulate as she walked, in a graceful figure of eight, and with each alternate step they lightly brushed his thigh. After a few yards, it was torture, so he stopped to pretend to check the time just so that he could sever the contact.

Chapter Five (#ulink_aa0bf662-e405-594f-af19-9b6559e6a8ee)

Taking Finnegan Matlock’s arm was not to be recommended. The moment she had threaded her own through his, Evie quickly learned two things. Firstly, he had the body of a man who spent a great deal of time outdoors. Not that she had a great wealth of experience of the male form to draw upon, but he certainly did not feel anything like her occasional dance partners or her fiancé, whose arms were quite soft in comparison to his irritating brother’s. And secondly, and perhaps more importantly, just the feel of that solid, muscled, male appendage did funny things to her.

Instantly, Evie felt warm, her heart began to flutter in her chest and her fingers desperately wanted to run themselves all over the muscles to trace every intriguing plane and bulge. She was excessively grateful when he checked his pocket watch and then failed to offer out the offending arm again.

‘Stanford House is about a mile away,’ he said without any trace of his usual sarcasm or surliness. ‘Just over that hill.’

The gently rolling landscape of the Dales was spread out before her and Evie could not help smiling at the sight. ‘It is beautiful here.’

‘I have always thought so. Quite a change from London, I suppose?’

Good grief—were they actually exchanging pleasantries? ‘Indeed, Lord Finnegan, the only opportunity to see nature at all is in the parks and they are always so crowded.’

‘I cannot imagine that. I find York stifling enough.’