The Bride Thief. Susan Paul Spencer
such a step might become easier for her to take. After all, you were chosen for each other by the duke and your brother, the earl of Siere. It is understandable that any maid, under such like circumstances, would question the sincerity of her betrothed’s feelings.”
“I have come every day to ask Lady Evelyn to become my wife,” Justin told him. “If, after twenty-seven proposals, my desire to wed her is not evident, I cannot think that a hundred more would make the matter clearer.”
“But you would not be making such proposals if ‘twere not for the duke’s command,” Sir Myles argued, while Lady Evelyn blushed prettily. “If there were some way that you might make your own feelings in the matter more sincere, I’m certain Evelyn would feel secure in becoming your wife.”
Justin’s eyebrows rose. “More sincere?”
“Certainly,” Sir Myles said pleasantly, setting his wine goblet aside. “If you truly desire to make Evelyn your wife, could you not prove it by perhaps gifting her with some evidence of that desire? The dowry she brings to her marriage will be exceptional. A suitable marriage gift from you, in turn, would be proof of your consideration for her as a bride.”
“Father, please,” Lady Evelyn protested. “You make it sound like the veriest extortion. I’ll not be bought, nor bargained for. I want only to be certain of Sir Justin’s honest hope to wed with me, nothing more. Is it too much to ask, when we are to be bound together for life?”
“Nay, of course not,” Justin assured her, praying that he sounded fully sincere. He had never been good at plotting and deception, but if he failed in this, all would be lost.
“Perhaps,” Christian said gently, putting his own wine goblet down, “we should leave Lady Evelyn and Sir Justin to discuss the matter more privately.” He turned to Sir Myles. “I’ve been fascinated by the architecture of your fine home, my lord. Would you be so kind as to let me examine it more closely? There are a good many improvements here that I should like to have made at Briarstone, and I would very much appreciate it if you could explain the workings of some of them.”
With a bow, Sir Myles acquiesced. “A wise consideration, my lord. Indeed, perhaps Sir Justin and my daughter will be able to find their way more readily without company present. I will, of course, leave Isabelle.”
“Father, nay,” Lady Evelyn said quickly. “We have no need of an attendant.”
Sir Myles gave her a wry smile. “Haven’t you, my dear?” To Justin he said, “We will leave you for half an hour’s time. No more.”
“I am grateful,” Justin replied. “Thank you, my lord. You will have no cause for worry. I vow it on my honor as a knight of the realm.”
The baron was apparently reassured, and shortly left the chamber with Christian following behind. Justin waited until they had gone before turning his attention to Lady Evelyn, who, with a smile, had taken the liberty of refilling his wine goblet.
Don’t trust her, my lord, Isabelle thought from her chair, keeping her eyes firmly on the page before her. Don’t trust either of them. ‘Tis only your land they want, only the power and influence they might gain by wedding themselves to your family.
With all the strength she possessed, Isabelle willed him to heed her silent plea.
“More wine, my lord?” Evelyn offered in the beguiling manner that never failed to charm.
“Nay, I thank you,” Sir Justin replied, and Isabelle whispered a sigh of thanks. Evelyn was captivating enough without the aid of wine, and Sir Justin would need every faculty undimmed if he was to avoid the neat trap that Sir Myles and his daughter had set for him.
He was different from the other men who courted her cousin. Entirely, wonderfully, different. Not only in his splendid physical frame, so tall and muscular, or in his face, which was by far the most handsome Isabelle had ever seen, but in his manner. Where other men praised Evelyn’s beauty with gallant words and poetry, Sir Justin spoke his admirations plainly, simply. Where other men hid behind masks of elegance and propriety, Sir Justin was open and honest, as clear as a bright day.
The next moment, she heard him add, “Will you not offer some to your cousin, who labors so greatly?” and, as Isabelle stiffened with panic and dread, he continued, even more gently, “Indeed, never once have I seen Lady Isabelle when she has not been busy with your father’s accounts. What wonderful diligence.”
Drawing in a breath through parted lips, Isabelle lifted her head, already knowing that he was looking at her. His kindness, though well-meant, was a torture for her. When her uncle and cousin had finally finished toying with him, when Evelyn at last agreed to be his wife, Isabelle knew she wouldn’t be able to bear it any longer—seeing him, suffering his gentle manners and kind ways, his pity. He was simply staring at her, she saw. Not smiling, not frowning. Simply looking into her eyes from across the room.
“Your father,” he said slowly, holding her gaze, “is most blessed to have such a considerate niece.”
“You speak truly,” Evelyn replied with the sweetness she generally reserved for such public displays. “I don’t know what we would do without cousin Isabelle. She’s an angel in every way. She knows very well that Father expects nothing from her in turn for his care of her and Senet, yet she insists upon relieving him of the most tedious duties.” She strolled toward Isabelle carrying a goblet, the tight smile on her lips giving full warning of what Isabelle had in store as soon as Sir Justin departed. “You’ve spoiled us terribly, Isabelle, dear,” she said, setting the goblet with slow care before the pile of books. “And you’ve been working so hard. Wouldn’t you enjoy a rest? Perhaps a walk in the gardens?”
Oh, no, Isabelle thought. She couldn’t save Sir Justin Baldwin entirely from her uncle and cousin, but one thing she could do was not leave him alone to battle Evelyn’s deft machinations. A few minutes alone under the heat of Evelyn’s seductive persuasions and his marriage to her would be as good as done.
“Thank you, Cousin,” she said, dipping her quill in the inkpot and bending over her work again, “but I’ll just finish this first.”
Isabelle didn’t need to see Evelyn’s fury. She could feel the heat of it where she sat.
“Leave your cousin to her work,” Sir Justin suggested in a voice filled with surprising tenderness. It was the first time Isabelle had heard him use a lover’s tone on Evelyn. “Come and sit with me, my lady. We have much to discuss.”
From the corner of her eye, Isabelle could see him touch Evelyn’s elbow, could see Evelyn turn, smiling, toward him.
“You speak truly, my lord,” Evelyn agreed with open pleasure. “There is nothing I should like more.”
Tucking her hand beneath his arm, he led her a distance away, to a couch at the opposite side of the chamber, so that Isabelle heard very little of their conversation. Making the best pretense she could of concentrating on the figures before her, Isabelle watched them—him—fleetingly, moment to moment, as she dared. She had never seen Sir Justin behave in such a way before, with such deference and charm, and the sight made her heart sink. He had fallen under Evelyn’s spell, just as every other man who courted her had. Evelyn, for her part, was masterful; shy, smiling, daintily colored with maidenly blushes.
At last, after what seemed an eternity, Sir Justin stood and pulled Evelyn to her feet. “I’m grateful for your candor, my lady, although I realize how difficult it must have been for you to speak of such matters. But have no care for that, I beg you. Now that I fully understand what you require to be made comfortable regarding the question of our marriage, I shall be able to proceed accordingly.”
“You have gladdened me beyond words, my lord,” Evelyn murmured, her eyes shining. “If I can believe that the man who would be my husband