Bedeviled Bride (Regency Historical Romance) Read online

Lizzie looked back down the hall and shivered. How could she be so sure a window had not come ajar? She was about to ask when the woman flung wide the doors, revealing a room that Lizzie would never have imagined in this dank house.

  It was clean, for one thing. And light. Lizzie had to blink several times to adjust her eyes. When the black spots finally disappeared, she was able to take in the scene properly.

  “Oh, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed as she crossed into the room. She ran her fingers along the pale blue velvet curtains that hung around the bed, which looked lush and inviting, piled high with pillows in shades of blue and cream.

  Her sitting area was large and nestled around a crackling fireplace. But it was the cleanliness of the place that shocked and pleased her the most. She would never be able to sleep in a dusty room for her nose and throat simply would not be able to take it.

  Enamored of her new quarters, she hardly noticed when Mrs. Kerr left the room. Instead, she continued to investigate.

  “What’s in here?” she mumbled to herself as she pushed through a panel at the far end of the room. “Oh!”

  Lizzie couldn’t move. She couldn’t even think, as Michael stood there, in his own chamber, naked to the waist. He turned to her, unalarmed by her presence, and raised his brow.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “Ah, no...that is, I was exploring and...I didn’t—”

  Michael laughed—actually laughed—as she stood there, a stuttering ninny. Suddenly enraged, and reminded of the fact that she wasn’t speaking to him, she gave him her evilest eye, stuck her nose in the air and spun to leave the room.

  “Wait,” she heard him say, but she was already through the door and slamming it behind her.

  Lizzie leaned against the panel and put her head in her hand, trying to calm her racing heart. Good heavens, he was a fine specimen.

  “Argh!”

  In the blink of an eye, Lizzie found herself prostrate on the floor of her chamber, having been knocked down by her husband’s forceful hand on the door.

  “Oh, God, Elizabeth,” Michael said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  Amusement? He’d just knocked his fuming wife to the ground and he was laughing?

  “Are you all right? I didn’t think you’d linger by the door.”

  “Did it ever occur to you to knock?” she asked acerbically, turning herself over on the rug, which proved to be a huge mistake.

  She came face to face with Michael’s...area. She craned her neck to look higher, but met with a tanned and muscular frame that proved just as disconcerting. Finally choosing to avert her gaze altogether, she gathered her skirts in her hands and attempted to stand.

  “Here, let me help,” Michael offered, reaching down to take her arm.

  Lizzie jerked and pulled away. “I’m fine by myself, thank you. Now, if you will kindly make your way back to your own room, I am going to take a nap.”

  Michael’s lips twitched again. What was the matter with him? Was he trying to provoke her?

  “Why are you laughing at me?” she demanded, all at once feeling a little hurt by his attitude, though she couldn’t really explain why.

  “I’m not,” he smirked. “I’m sorry, it’s just that...never mind.”

  Michael turned on his heel and strode back through the wooden panel adjoining their rooms. Lizzie stared after him as he closed the door, fighting the urge to rip one of the sconces off the wall to throw at him. But before she could get to her feet, Mrs. Kerr burst through the main door again.

  “Here we are, milady. A cuppa chocolate will help ya get a nice rest.” Mrs. Kerr placed a tray on the table in the sitting area, complete with a steaming mug and a pile of biscuits.

  Lizzie rushed to the sofa and plopped down as her stomach growled, reminding her how very hungry she was. “Thank you, Mrs. Kerr. That will be all.”

  With a pleasant smile and a nod, the woman quit the room, leaving Lizzie alone to eat and rest. She reached forward, picked up a biscuit and nearly melted as she took a bite. Goodness, Mrs. Kerr certainly understood the art of biscuit making. The chocolate proved to be just as delicious and Lizzie snuggled further down on the sofa, grateful for the peace and quiet. She was just about to take another bite of her biscuit when a strained baritone voice wafted from the other side of her door.

  “‘La ci darem la mano, la la la la la la la la.’”

  Since when had Michael taken up singing? Annoyed, she stood to go bang on the door and tell him to be quiet, but the singing stopped by the time she reached the panel. Satisfied he was finished vocalizing, Lizzie flounced back to her sofa and nestled in again.

  She raised her cup of chocolate to her lips and then jumped when another round of La ci darem resounded. The dark liquid sloshed onto her gown, leaving an ugly spot right at her navel.

  That devil! She stood, clanking her cup in its saucer, and marched to the door. This time she did not hesitate to bang.

  “La la la la la—”

  Lizzie waited for him to call out and ask what was the matter. Nothing. She stared at the door, befuddled by his silence. She leaned in and placed her ear against the panel to see if she could detect any movement, when out of nowhere the door slammed into her cheek.

  “Argh!” she screamed for the second time that afternoon.

  “Why in hell do you keep standing so close to the door?” Michael asked, his expression one of great perplexity.

  Clearly he thought she was the most foolish of all women.

  “I was waiting for you to answer my knock...with a vocal response, not by barging into my room.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Can you please not sing? I’m trying to rest and…What?”

  “Where did you get those?”

  Lizzie followed Michael’s gaze to the coffee table where the rest of her repast awaited her. She smiled slowly. “You mean the biscuits and the chocolate? Oh, Mrs. Kerr brought them to me. Why? She didn’t bring you any?”

  Michael scowled at her. “No, she didn’t. Though I suppose she assumed we would share.” He started to walk towards the table, but Lizzie stood in his way.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” she exclaimed, trying to protect her goodies like a lioness protecting her cubs. “Those are mine and you can’t have any.”

  Another one of his blasted amused grins broke out on his lips and Lizzie fought the urge to smack him. How dare he make light of this?

  “I think you may have forgotten, wife, that this is my house and those are my biscuits. Now, if you can’t play nicely, I’ll have to take them by force.”

  She knew it was ridiculous to try and keep him from the biscuits. They were just biscuits, after all, and Mrs. Kerr would bring her more if she asked. But it was the principle of the matter: he had deceived her and deserved to be punished by any and all means possible. If that meant denying him a biscuit, then so be it, no matter how irrational it seemed, even to her own self.

  “Then you will have to force me,” she shouted, as if she were Joan of Arc announcing she would rather die than surrender.

  Michael’s lips twitched, and for a moment she thought he would give up and go back to his own room. But in a flash, he had her hands behind her back and was dragging her across the room toward the bed.

  “What are you doing? Let me go!”

  “I don’t think so,” he said casually. “Not before I get a biscuit.”

  “Over my dead body!”

  A choked sort of laughter came from her husband’s mouth. “Death in exchange for a biscuit? A little extreme for my taste, sweetheart. No, this will do just fine.”

  “What will—” Lizzie tugged at her hands only to realize they’d been fastened to the bedpost with the ropes that held the curtains. “You bastard!”

  “Now, that isn’t very nice, Elizabeth.” He sauntered to the coffee table and picked up a biscuit with a satisfied smirk. He took a bite and closed his eyes as he savored the flavor. “After all, it’s only a biscuit.”


  Three

  Michael watched his wife wiggle and squirm against the bedpost, wishing he didn’t find her so damned attractive. Even after her ridiculous display of childishness, he wished to throw her down on the pale blue comforter and claim her as his wife. But he was above tupping women who didn’t wish to be tupped. He would have to wait for her to come to him.

  He just hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

  “Stop eating my food and untie these ropes immediately!”

  The look on Elizabeth’s face was murderous to say the least. He’d never seen her like this. In the ballrooms of London she’d been the perfect picture of a gently bred lady. Who knew this harridan lurked under the surface?

  Michael took another slow bite of biscuit and chased it with a sip of chocolate. “Good God, this is delicious!”

  “I know it is, you beast!” His wife strained against the ropes so fiercely, he wondered if she’d drag the four-poster across the floor.

  Perhaps he should let her go. The ropes were sure to chafe her lovely wrists if she didn’t calm down. What had started as an amusing prank didn’t seem so amusing anymore.

  But when she spat out, “I hate you,” Michael wasn’t sure he was ready to release her. This was the first time in days that she’d spoken to him. Regardless of the fact her words were less than desirable, they were at least communicating.

  “Do you really, Beth?”

  She stopped her squirming and leveled a contemptuous glare at him. “Beth?” she repeated.

  “Yes,” Michael replied, leaning back against the chair to study her, very aware that her eyes kept shifting to admire his bare chest. “I’ll need a pet name for you, don’t you agree? Your family calls you Lizzie, so I thought I’d try out Beth. What do you think?”

  Her eyes blinked several times in succession. “A pet name?”

  “Well, yes.” He leaned forward in his chair and furrowed his brow. “You have several for me, why shouldn’t I have at least one for you?”

  “I don’t have any such thing for you!” she cried indignantly.

  “Of course you do. Let’s see, there’s bastard, blackguard, scoundrel, and my personal favorite, dungonmyshoe.” Michael had to stuff another biscuit in his mouth to keep from laughing.

  Apparently Beth didn’t find him to be nearly as amusing as he found himself.

  “I hate it.”

  “What? Beth?”

  “Yes. And besides, I don’t want you to call me anything other than Elizabeth.”

  “But Elizabeth is so long.” Michael stretched his legs out and propped them on the coffee table. Putting his hands behind his head, he let out a contemplative breath. “Liz?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Liza?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  He was running out of options.

  “Eli?”

  His wife cast him an annoyed look and rolled her eyes. “You may call me Elizabeth and that is the end of it. Now, will you please untie me?”

  “What is your middle name?” He knew he should untie her, but he didn’t want to. She was calmer now, and they were finally speaking. Was tying her up the only way to get her to be civil? Dammed, insufferable woman.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because, perhaps I can come up with a pet name from that.”

  “Impossible. I hate my middle name.” She sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh.

  Michael nearly lost his powers of speech. In her position, with her shoulders pulled taught around the post, her breasts pushed forward and nearly spilled over the edge of her gown. He’d been so close to releasing her, but now...

  Dear God, if he went anywhere near her while she looked like that, he would not be responsible for his actions.

  “Wh-what is it?” he stuttered, refocusing his attention on the biscuits and chocolate.

  “Prudence,” she finally admitted. “After my mother.”

  Michael grimaced. He certainly didn’t want to be reminded of Elizabeth’s overbearing mother when he finally took her to his bed.

  “You’re right, that won’t do.”

  Silence reigned over the room, and Michael wondered what his wife was thinking about. Her blue gaze was suddenly very far away. He would have asked her to share her thoughts, but he knew she wouldn’t, and he didn’t care to suffer any more of her rejection. After five days of silence, he was tired of trying to figure out what his wife was thinking.

  Ready to end the game so they both could get some rest, he rose from his position by the fire and walked to the bed. Without a word, he untied the cords and pulled them free.

  Elizabeth winced as she brought her hands around, and Michael realized that her wrists had indeed chafed in the short time she’d been bound.

  “Oh, Lord, Lizzie,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.” He reached for her to inspect the damage, but she pulled away with a jerk.

  “You may leave now,” she said tartly.

  Michael nodded and turned to go. Just as he was about to shut the door, his wife shouted, “And be sure to knock next time!”

  ***

  After a much-needed nap and a warm bath, Lizzie dressed in a comfortable day dress and pulled a book from her still unpacked trunk. Mrs. Kerr would bring her dinner soon and for that Lizzie was exceedingly grateful. Her blackguard husband had eaten most of her afternoon repast and she’d been starving ever since.

  She scowled at her book. Why was she thinking of him? She was finally rid of him, rid of being cooped up in a carriage with him for days on end, rid of his taunting smile and sultry dark eyes.

  Sultry? His eyes weren’t sultry! They were infuriating—always revealing his amusement at her discomfort or frustration.

  Shaking her head, she pushed all thoughts of her husband from her mind and refocused on the book before her. After several pages, she stopped, realizing she had no idea what she’d just read. Rather, she’d been thinking about that afternoon and being tied to the blasted bedpost.

  What must he have been thinking to do such a thing to her? She glanced at her wrists, still pink from the ropes. Lizzie’s ire grew to an alarming level at the sight. How dare he?

  Well, one thing was for certain: he would never do it again. As a matter of fact, she hoped to remain out of his company completely. It shouldn’t be hard. The house was huge and the grounds expansive.

  If only his bedroom wasn’t just on the other side of that blasted panel.

  A soft knock sounded on the door, startling Lizzie from the errant thoughts of her husband.

  “Enter,” she called out and the door swung open to reveal the plump housekeeper. “Oh, thank heavens! I’m famished.”

  Lizzie stood as the woman stepped into the room and noticed the problem immediately. “Where is my meal?”

  “Actually, milady, I’ve been forbidden from bringing you any dinner tonight.”

  “Forbidden?” Lizzie crossed the room, her brow knitting together in frustration. So now he meant to starve her? “Why ever would you be forbidden to do such a thing?”

  A sheepish look passed over the woman’s features. Clearly she didn’t care to be caught up in their marital problems, and Lizzie couldn’t blame her. She didn’t want to be caught up in them either.

  “Mrs. Kerr, I order you to bring my dinner, regardless of what my husband has dictated.”

  Mrs. Kerr nodded, worry evident in her pale, gray eyes. “You see, I can’t, milady. His lordship has declared that if I bring you anything, I’ll be dismissed from the household...my husband too. He says I’m to convince you to come down for dinner or to pack my things.”

  Lizzie gasped, confounded that her husband could be so heartless. Though she despised him for what he had done to her, she’d never actually thought of him as a bad person. As a matter of fact, he’d always been kind and thoughtful with an even temperament. He wasn’t one to brood or scowl, and he certainly wasn’t one to threaten dismissal to a poor, old couple who were in no way responsible for their matrim
onial woes.

  Well, she would show him. If he wanted her for dinner, he was going to get her for dinner. She wasn’t about to be responsible for the dismissal of Mr. and Mrs. Kerr, but she was happy to be responsible for Michael’s discomfort.

  “Although I do not agree with my husband’s tactics in getting me to join him for dinner, I do not wish to see you dismissed from the household. Tell him I will be down shortly.”

  The woman released a relieved breath. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Of course.” Lizzie gave her a warm smile and then shut the door. “It is my pleasure entirely, Mrs. Kerr.”

  Four

  Michael turned abruptly when he heard the door to his study slide open. He looked up to see Mrs. Kerr standing before him, a wide smile on her face.

  “It worked, milord,” she said in a hushed voice. “She’ll be meeting you for dinner in just a bit.”

  Michael’s lips spread into a satisfied grin. She’d fallen for it. He had to laugh at his wife’s gullibility. Did she really think him so heartless as to threaten Mrs. Kerr with dismissal if she didn’t bring her down for dinner?

  Well, let her think it. Maybe that way she’ll stop behaving like a bloody child.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Kerr. You’ve done well.”

  The woman bobbed a curtsy and then disappeared to go and tend to final dinner preparations. And thank God, too. Those biscuits and chocolate had done little to keep his stomach satisfied through the afternoon.

  After a few more minutes looking over some household papers, Michael made his way to the drawing room and poured himself a drink. He glanced around the room while he waited for his blushing bride. It looked much the same as it had when he’d been there as a boy—cavernous and cold. He swiped his finger across the top of the mantle and pulled back a cake of grime. Perhaps a bit dustier than I remembered.

  He sighed, knowing he would have to start interviewing staff immediately to make the place livable for Beth and himself. Beth. Why did he continue to think of her by that name? He rather liked it, actually.

  And a decorator, he thought, trying to shift his wife from his mind. I will definitely need to hire a decorator for this cave.