Defiant Angel (22 page)

As they walked, Lady Markham kept up the conversation with Tiffany.

"I tell you, Diana, Chad should have prevented that riffraff from being here."

"Oh, now, don't you get into a tizzy about it, Babs," Diana said, shifting her eyes toward Tiffany in warning to Barbara.

Barbara smiled evilly and continued once they were seated, "Oh, I am sorry, Lady Courtland, I didn't mean to upset you."

At Tiffany's perplexed look, Barbara sought to enlighten her. "Surely, dear, you know who I refer to, Clinton's mistress." She pointed her finger at the redhead who now entered the salon, the one who moments ago had been laughing with Clinton. Gauging Tiffany's response, Barbara smiled and continued, "Well, it seems Monique bet Clive at strip poker, you know that American game. Well, she has the nerve to boast about it!"

Turning to Diana, she added, "Why anyone would want to remove their clothes one piece at a time instead of wagering money, I'll never know."

Tiffany was shocked into silence. Her mind registered two facts: one, Clinton's mistress, and two, the game that was off limits to her! Taking one's clothes off, indeed!

The footmen appeared with trays of champagne, then departed, closing the double doors of the salon behind them. Tiffany was still trying to digest the information when she was interrupted again by Barbara's voice.

"Why in heaven's name they put us through this, I'll never know." As she fanned herself furiously, Barbara's brown eyes narrowed and gleamed wickedly. "Vicky, dear, did you arrive by carriage with any of the contenders?"

"Babs, you know perfectly well I arrived with Diana."

"Oh, yes, how remiss of me. Of course, Lady Courtland, you traveled with His Grace.!' Tiffany smiled weakly, a sense of anxiety turning her stomach in knots.

Unable to bear the smirk affixed to Barbara's face, Tiffany asked, "Why are we closeted in here?"

Raising winged brows, Barbara mockingly asked, "Really, His Grace has put you at quite a disadvantage, what with his mistress and now this." Shaking her head, she awarded Tiffany with a look filled with pity.

"Oh, really Babs, you make too much of it. I'm sure Lady Courtland isn't interested in men and their wagers. Especially this one. It's as old as time itself," Victoria quickly said, hoping to prevent Barbara from telling it all. Victoria was well aware of Clinton's power and preferred to remain on the good side of it.

Tiffany could not help herself; something inside her head said, Let it be, while another side, her curiosity, needed to know. "Please, I would know what this is all about."

Barbara tore her eyes away from Monique, who sat across the room watching the four women, and proceeded to explain, "Did you not hear the tolling of bells when you arrived?" At Tiffany's nod, she continued. "You are not that young not to know what a man may try in a carriage ride." At Tiffany's blush, Barbara smiled and rushed on. "It seems the roaming rogues were all quite efficient in the art of seduction in a carriage and devised a game they could wager on to see who was the master of the craft. The crux of the issue was how to determine if the man amused himself during the ride. Surely no proper woman would confirm her ravishment. So it was decided a five-bell warning would be given alerting the man his destination drew near. So when the carriage drew up and the occupants alighted, they would be judged by the degree of the woman's dishevelment and the lack of the man's." Fanning herself, she watched Tiffany's face, inordinately pleased by her reaction.

"So you see, Lady Courtland, at this moment the men are being advised as to the winner, and the wagers are being paid off." Barbara turned, catching Monique's eyes. A moment of silence passed before Barbara turned back to Tiffany. "Now, why they bother, God only knows! Clinton has always won, and by the look on your face, dear, it appears he has again."

The doors of the salon were thrown open and the roar of men's voices cheering and yelling could be heard, as they exited the study. Clinton stood amongst his peers, being slapped on the back while money exchanged hands. It was obvious to all he had won again.

The women began to rise to join the men, and Tiffany quickly stood, wanting nothing more than to escape, and headed through the ballroom, out the French doors leading to the terraced gardens.

Monique, who had watched Clinton's fiancee since her arrival, waited discreetly until Barbara was abreast of her. "Spreading your poison, Barbara?"

Looking down her nose at Monique, Barbara haughtily replied, "Not that it's any concern of yours, I was just enlightening the future duchess on some of. His Grace's habits." A sneer crossed her face when she asked, "How does it feel to have been one of his 'has-beens,' Monique?"

A smile lifting the corners of her mouth, Monique replied, "Better than never having been, Barbara." She began to walk away and stopped to turn her head once again at Barbara. "And now you never will be."

Brent saw Lady Markham through the salon windows he passed, and decided he would turn around and enter through the gardens to avoid a confrontation with the clinging vine. When he turned and headed back, he stopped, seeing the exquisite creature sitting next to her in a confection of blue silk. Who is she? He had never seen her before and wondered what the elegant raven-tressed lady was doing here. When she lifted her hand, he noticed the ring and knew instantly her identity. He smiled devilishly. No wonder Clinton had moved heaven and earth to secure her; spent a fortune to obtain the rights to her.

Brent had no doubt he'd have done the same. Whistling, he headed to the gardens.

Tiffany, once she gained the cover of night, entered the first level of the garden, giving in to the boiling rage. Her steps quickened and her anger singed the corners of her control. How dare he! How dare he seduce me, and so thoroughly, for a wager! I hate him! Loathe him! So absorbed in her anger was she, she failed to hear her name called. She snapped her head up and peered in the darkness where the sound originated from. Climbing the steps, heading toward her, was none other than her betrothed. Hah! She couldn't miss him. Dressed impeccably in black, appropriately so, the blackguard! She saw the devastating smile cross his face, and the bright, even teeth as he approached.

Brent crossed the distance between them, his arms open in greeting at the figure rushing forward. "Tiffany?" he asked, seeing the silver threads of the blue silk. What he didn't see, though, was her hand raised, and only felt the sharp crack against his cheek when they came face-to- face. "Bet you didn't wager on that!" she cried as she flew down the steps to the second level.

Brent raised his hand to his face, a perplexed look crossing it. What in the hell was that for? She's right, he thought, he had wagered on a friendlier introduction, not on being slapped. He stood unable to move, unable to decide what to do.

Go after her? Find Clinton? What? Hell, he didn't know.

Clinton had seen Tiffany disappear from the salon. He searched the upper ballroom, dining room, and lower ballroom. He was waylaid by Chad and Charles in the library. When he finally left them, he decided Tiffany must have gone to the gardens for some air, for it was a devilishly warm evening for June. He walked through the ballroom and out onto the terrace, where he found a much-befuddled Brent.

Tiffany had flown down to the third level, negotiating the dark stone steps surprisingly fast. Her anger had reached a pinnacle where it was consuming her. Her mind kept thinking of all the terrible names she could call him, and when she ran out of them, she thought of all the terrible things she'd love to see happen to him. So enmeshed in thought was she, she ran headlong into a form ascending the steps, causing her to tumble forward. Strong arms pulled her up against a rock-hard chest. His movements were swift, saving her from falling, and a protective arm pressed her closer as she regained her balance. "What's this? Manna from heaven." A velvet-edged, strong voice broke the quiet night.

Tiffany looked up at a ruggedly handsome face of varying planes. For an instant it looked vaguely familiar. Gray eyes like summer lightning, sharp and assessing, regarded her. He held her away so his eyes could freely roam over her form, then lifted his eyes to sweep her face.

Tiffany detected a gleam of laughter in those gray assessing orbs and knew it to be true when his face split into a wolfish grin. His voice lifted with a trace of amusement. "You're a fine piece of fluff. Perhaps you're the prize for the latecomer? Or perhaps I won the wager ..."

The word "wager" did it. Her eyes narrowed, fury clearly in them. "Move aside, I'm done with you!" She struggled against his iron-clad hold.

He laughed at her futile attempts, saying, "Why, sweetheart, I've only just begun," and pulled her to him. Tiffany pushed her hands between them, pummeling his chest. Her attack caused him to laugh, his laugh causing her to kick. He was undaunted by her kick and grabbed her wrists, replying, "You're a lively vixen. I lay odds you'd be the first woman to exhaust me before the night's through."

"You're as bad as he," she spat. "Ooooh, if I were but a man, what I'd do!" At her words, his laughter ceased, and in the velvet-toned voice, edged with steel, he stated, "Tell me, my beauty, who has angered you, and I will kill him."

"And commit fratricide?" A voice broke the night.

Still holding her wrists, he made the mistake of looking up, giving Tiffany the opportunity she needed. Just as Clinton's warning came, Tiffany sunk her teeth into the flesh of his hand.

"She bites, Austin."

Laughing and still holding her wrists, in spite of his injury, Austin called out, "A bit late, brother. The deed's done."

Clinton appeared out of the dark, coming to stand at Tiffany's side. Austin looked, noticing the Wentworth ring for the first time. A knowing smile broke his face. "So this is my future sister-in-law? I congratulate you, brother, on your exquisite taste."

"Thank you, Austin. I suggest you release her wrists. As you know firsthand, she has a tendency to bite."

"Best you bind them as well," called out Brent, who walked out from the shadows. "She has a solid right as well."

Tiffany felt her wrists released, but her mind could not register what her eyes beheld. She stood in the middle of three large, handsome men who all resembled one another, from the tops of their dark coffee heads to their gray eyes, which varied only in shade, to the devastating smile each presented her as she turned to regard them. Her hand itched to smack those smiles clear off each and every face!

"Beauty, spirit, and courage, an explosive combination, Clinton. Where did you find her?" Austin asked, amusement lighting his deep voice.

Clinton's voice broke into her anger. "Tiffany, as you no doubt guessed, these are my brothers." His hand rode her back as he turned to Brent. "Tiffany this is Brent Barencourte, third son." Brent bowed to her.

Tiffany thought, He is the one I slapped, thinking him Clinton. She realized he did indeed resemble Clinton, save his eyes were more blue-gray, not smoky. He appeared to be more reserved than the other two, not quite as dangerous, more charming. She felt remorseful she had struck him, for he appeared to be more the gentleman.

"And this is Austin, the second son." Now, this one, she thought, I'd never mistake for Clinton. He was brawny, broad, and solid. His arms were heavily muscled, his face ruggedly handsome. His eyes were a lighter shade of gray and reflected a dangerous glint. She imagined in the affairs of the heart, if he had a heart, he would be quite a dangerous adversary. For some unknown reason, she attributed a quick temper to him. She smiled at him, feeling no remorse for biting him!

"And this, gentlemen, is the future duchess of Wentworth, Tiffany Courtland," Clinton stated.

"Well, I can see why you've rushed the wedding date, brother. I certainly couldn't wait to claim her as my own," Austin replied, easily smiling down at Tiffany.

Tiffany seethed and stiffened her spine. It did not go unnoticed by Clinton. Brent saw the effect Austin's words had on her and shook his head, placing odds she wouldn't let his remark go unanswered.

Tiffany did not disappoint Brent and blurted out, "And you'd be unsuccessful as he, for there'll be no wedding. For in spite of my forced presence and your brother's forced company, I have absolutely no intention of marrying him, now or later." Crossing her arms over her breasts, blocking Austin's view, she tapped her foot impatiently.

"What say you of this, Clinton?" Austin asked, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he lifted his eyes to Tiffany's face.

Brent knew as well as Austin what Clinton's response would be and was not surprised when Clinton answered in a tone that brooked no argument, "She will."

Tiffany spun to face Clinton. "I will not!" she said, stamping her foot. "I will not say the vows!"

Austin pursed his lips, stifling the smile that threatened to split his face. He thought her a ravishing creature, finding her fury seductive, her anger passionate, imagining it channeled in another direction.

Brent was taken by her spirit as well, thinking her to be quite alluring and vibrant.

Clinton smiled down at her. "Ah, I see. Since you leave me no alternative, Princess, why wait! I'll have my manservant make ready the carriage." He grabbed her wrist, explaining, "We leave for Scotland to a drafty castle I have in the Highlands." He paused, looking to Brent. "We still own it, don't we, Brent?"

Brent nodded affirmatively, smiling at the wide-eyed Tiffany.

Looking at Tiffany, Clinton began to pull her along, explaining, "There I
will
compromise you. No pretense this time, Princess. It's compromised in truth and nothing short of the truth." He paused, as if thinking, then asked Austin, "I'll need a witness to confirm it's not pretense. Is your carriage available and have you the time?"

Before Austin could answer, Tiffany cried out, her eyes wide in disbelief and astonishment, "You wouldn't!"