Seven

Hunter

I had no doubt that Lady Gwendolyn Bissett was one of the most beautiful women I had ever beheld. Her fashionably styled dark brown hair contrasted perfectly with a set of deeply captivating green eyes framed by long black eyelashes. Eyes that attempted to appear innocent, but from my war experience, I knew, in fact, they were not. Though I had been away from the practice of seeing past veiled appearances for nearly a year, my skills were as proficient now as they were then.

The woman most certainly concealed something.

After our brief introduction and visit, I said my goodbyes and retrieved my coat and hat from the butler. Lord Langley's townhome bore all the fashionable qualities of a family in high society. A stunning beauty for a daughter, secure finances, and Langley's work in the Lords was hailed as innovative—according to the inquiry I pursued in the last few hours—so why must we keep to the unnatural alliance? Surely, one might believe they preferred a fresh start away from the family that caused them so much heartache.

I stepped outside to the temperate winter air, which, in contrast to the frigidity inside, felt duly welcomed. I could not deny that the woman's wit sparked interest and, as I entered the coach, I replayed the little spar we engaged in. Lady Gwendolyn undoubtedly fascinated me.

Peering out the carriage window as we lurched into motion, I glimpsed the woman watching me from behind her sheer drapes. Though she didn't smile, I imagined her lips curved upward in a smirk.

I could not deny my captivation with the few intelligent remarks she slipped into the conversation between her father and me. Our conversation had strayed into civic matters and Lady Gwendolyn's comments were on point before her mother swiftly redirected her daughter out of the discussion and toward menial service such as pouring another cup of tea or offering a biscuit. I disagreed with this practice. By all means, let the woman speak. Matters of state extend beyond the men of England and I was curious to know where she stood on topics of Napoleon, the Frame Breaking Act, or the poor.

By the end of our visit, she said nothing more and truthfully, by all accounts, the nickname Ice Princess held true. I nearly froze from the chill that emanated from her.

How could I live with someone so unapproachable? And how odd it felt to greet the woman I am to wed while she wore a black gown, mourning my dead brother. I rubbed my chin and continued to watch the landscape pass by in a blur. Josiah's death must have crushed her far greater than we believed.

My fists tightened and released upon my knees. The more I contemplated this irrational plan, the more vexation I felt. My parents undoubtedly showed a propensity for madness when they devised such a scheme. Oh, we lost the Chilton heir, how dreadful, but do not despair, we have a spare.

How could I imagine trying to build a home with this woman and, worse… produce an heir? The attraction to her certainly wasn't an issue, but I always envisioned that process occurring with a woman I adored. One I couldn't live without. One that occupied my every waking thought and one that, as ridiculous as this may sound, might love me in return.

This was not to be one of those situations and my father's suggestion about living in separate homes echoed loudly in my mind. Then my mother's comment surfaced… She is not what they say. She indeed lived up to everything I'd seen so far.

I rapped the ceiling with my knuckles, signaling Jeremy to stop the team. I needed to get out of this smothering contraption and walk. Regardless of the fresh air and a momentary change of scenery, haunting thoughts whirled chaotically within my mind. How well did Josiah know his betrothed? Did he find her wit and intelligence invigorating? Or did he only seek her companionship, her physical allure? Had Josiah and Lady Gwendolyn engaged in intimacy? I ran my hand through my hair and tugged out my ribbon, letting my strands fall wildly to the sides of my face. If I focused on all the reasons she loved him, I would go mad. Josiah's charisma, for one, far outweighed mine. He charmed and danced his way into women's hearts most skillfully… I excelled in sports.

Was it even possible that Lady Gwendolyn and I could become friends? She certainly seemed capable of a lively debate. Is it conceivable we might, at the very least, engage in spirited conversation?

I found my way to Brooks's and slumped in the usual corner, brooding darkly. The waiter swiftly approached.

"Port, please."

With a nod, he left just as quickly.

"You look as though you are being led to the guillotine, my dear man."

At least it offered a swift end to one's misery.

My head raised at the familiar voice of my friend, Lord Lucas. I jumped to my feet, ignoring the shocking truth of his words. I had not seen him since the morning we parted my father's mews in search of Jaxon eight months ago. If I had not felt compelled to search for Jaxon, I would have been present for my noble friend's difficult dilemma, which somehow, over time, ended in marriage.

As I embraced him warmly, he cringed slightly. I had forgotten the wound on his back. He had finally made the war injury known to me in the same letter announcing his engagement.

"Forgive me, Walsh, I have forgotten how to behave around gentlemen."

He sat down beside me. "You have a standing forgiveness. We are friends first. Besides, you might not believe me, but my injury is healing."

"No doubt from the tender touch of a fairer sex?"

He chuckled. "That definitely has a healing power of its own." Motioning for the waiter, he turned to ask, "What are we drinking?"

"Port, though I suspect it will graduate to something stronger before the day is through."

"I'm sorry to hear about Josiah's death." He peered up at the waiter. "Same for me, please." Then he glanced back at me. "I can't imagine what you are going through with the death and now tasked as your father's heir."

I mumbled, "Yes, I can't imagine it either."

"Do you wish to speak of it?"

I lifted the glass to my lips. I rarely drank enough to get foxed, but I had a yearning to do such a thing at this moment. When Lucas' drink arrived, I lifted mine in a false toast.

"Drink to my good fortune, my friend…" I bemoaned. "I'm to be wed."

"Pardon?" Lucas choked on the first sip he took, provoking a fit of coughing so violent one might have thought he'd attempted to consume the entire contents in a single draught.

I tossed a handkerchief in his direction.

When he composed himself, he spat out two words. "Married? When?"

I wondered at that moment if it was wise to seek Lucas' counsel; he'd been fortunate to make a love match and might not understand the gravity of such a forced obligation to a woman who could barely look at me without seeing her dead fiancé.

However, I knew that once Zachary arrived from France his counsel would fare no better since he had sworn off women entirely after the only woman he had ever loved married another while he engaged in the war against Napoleon. Though to her defense… he never told her of his love. Blasted fool.

"Why are you so surprised?" I grumbled. "The dukedom must have an heir."

Lucas placed his glass down and stared hard. "But who is the fortunate… or should I say unfortunate, bride?" A wrinkle appeared above his nose.

"Are you saying I'm not a catch?" I arched a single brow.

Lucas chuckled. "You, by far, would be the supreme catch of the coming Season with all the fresh marriage-minded mamas, but you do know… the general way of things begins with socializing, courting, and then proposing. It seems you've simply skipped to the end, mate."

I ran a hand down my face and tugged on my cravat. "I have no choice in the matter."

"Of course you do," Lucas said. "You've only just become Devon. The title affords you limitless options…" He smiled widely. "Believe me when I say, the moment you find her… prepare to have your life turned upside down." He chuckled. "In the best of ways."

The man was insufferable.

My hand slipped from the knot in my cravat and hit the table with a dull thud. I had wracked my brain for two days now trying to unravel some way out of the mess I found myself in, and nothing came to mind.

"I'm telling you, Walsh. The contract is final, and I can assure you that my life is already turned upside down in the most dreadful of ways."

Lucas frowned. "Then tell me, who is the lady?"

I took a deep breath and let the air slip slowly out of my cheeks through my lips. "Josiah's betrothed," I confessed. Just saying those words left a blasted sickening taste on my tongue.

"You cannot be serious," Lucas coughed.

"Though I spoke those very same words, I must ask in reverse, do I look as though I am jesting?"

Luke stared with an open mouth and wide eyes then instantly waved for the waiter. "We need something stronger than this," he said, holding up his glass. Turning to me, he whispered, "How in heaven's name did you get yourself tangled up in such an arrangement?"

"Chilton." I took a long sip. "Need I say more?"

"He forced your hand?"

"Yes… and no. Lady Gwendolyn Bissett is to marry the Marquess of Devon, the heir to the Duke of Chilton. And since my cad of a brother found himself at the wrong end of a pistol in a duel over none other than his dratted lover… I am now the one and only this contract pertains to." I exhaled loudly. "The wedding will be in the coming months. The bride's family will select the date."

The silence between us amplified. Lucas surely needed the time to absorb the entire thing. I still hadn't come to terms with it, despite having known for two days.

"What do you know of her?" He glanced around the room before he spoke. There was wisdom in keeping our voices low. Gentlemen who frequented these clubs yearned to wage a bet on anything, and I wasn't quite ready to see the stakes over my impending marriage become the most enthusiastic talk in Town.

"Nothing other than her nickname, which I can attest now to some truth of it."

"Which is?" he asked.

"Ice Princess."

"Blast! That's right." Lucas tapped a finger against his lips. "We spoke of her once at the Drake Soiree. You said if your brother didn't correct his wayward behavior, she might kill him in his sleep."

"Yes," I breathed through my nose. "That's her, and now I'm to be her next victim."

The mood at the table grew somber.

Within minutes, the waiter brought a bottle of whiskey and readied to pour into our glasses when Lucas reached up and grabbed the bottle. "We'll need all of it."

I chuckled ominously.

"Come now, I've seen the lady in question. I caught a glimpse of her in Hyde Park once." Lucas poured. "She's a diamond of the first water."

Nodding, I recalled her long eyelashes as they fluttered over a pair of emerald eyes, the porcelain appearance of her skin, and the gentle curve of her neck as she turned away from me. I shook my head to remove the intrusion. "I fear her beauty might be all that is attractive."

Lucas took a nice, long sip. "What can I do?"

"Pray for my welfare, wish me luck, and stand up with me on the day of my wedding and hope, beyond hope, I survive the wedding night, should it even come to pass."