The Wedding Challenge (5 page)

Callie nodded and shivered, realizing suddenly how very cold she was. “Yes, I am fine. Thank you. I—” Her breath caught raggedly.

“Here. You are cold.” He untied the cape that hung behind him and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Thank you.” She clutched it to her and looked up at him.

Her eyes were luminous in the faint light, swimming with unshed tears. He sucked in a quick breath.

“You are beautiful. ’Tis no wonder that a cad such as he would try to take advantage of you. You should not let that sort inveigle you outside.”

“I know. I was foolish.” Callie gave him a watery little smile. “I am not so naive as to step outside with a man I hardly know. I was—I was just trying to evade my grandmother, and I acted on impulse.”

“Evade your grandmother?” he asked, his eyes lighting mischievously. “Is she a wicked grandmother?”

“No, just a matchmaking one.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “I understand. Almost as bad as a matchmaking mother.”

Callie smiled. “I am very lucky you came along when you did. I am forever in your debt. Thank you for coming to my rescue.” She held out her hand solemnly to shake his.

He took her hand, his long fingers wrapping warmly around hers, and he raised it to his lips, pressing them softly against the back of her hand. “I am pleased that I was able to help you. But it was not luck. I saw him lead you out the door, and I did not like the look of him.”

“You were watching me?” Callie asked, warmed a little by the thought that he had looked for her just as she had looked for him.

“I had started across the room to ask you for another dance,” he told her. “But then the music stopped, and I realized that it was time for supper. Then he whisked you away.”

“Still, it was good of you to come after us.”

“Any man would have done the same.”

“No,” she demurred with a smile. “Not all.” She glanced down at their joined hands. “You still have my hand, sir.”

“Yes, I know. Do you wish me to give it back?” His voice deepened sensually.

Callie looked up, and her insides quivered at the look in his eyes. “I—no, not really.”

“Good, for neither do I.” Softly his thumb stroked the back of her hand, and though it was only a small movement, Callie felt its effect all through her.

“And now that I have sent that blackguard packing…I think it must be worth a small favor, don’t you?”

“What favor?” Callie asked a little breathlessly. He seemed very near her; she could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint scent of masculine cologne. Her heart hammered in her chest, but it was not from fear as it had been moments earlier. It was anticipation that welled up in her now.

“Your name, my lady.”

“Calandra,” she answered softly.

“Calandra,” he repeated softly, lingering over the syllables. “’Tis a magical name.”

“Not so magical,” she said. “And those who are close to me call me Callie.”

“Callie.” He lifted his other hand and slid his thumb along her jawline. “It suits you.”

“But now we are unequal, for I do not know your name.”

“Bromwell. Those who are close to me call me Brom.”

“Brom,” she breathed. Her flesh tingled where his thumb touched it, sending delicious tendrils of sensation spiraling through her.

“It sounds much lovelier on your lips.” He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, and warmth blossomed deep in Callie’s abdomen. His eyes followed the movement of his thumb, and the light in them sparked higher, his own lips softening.

He leaned closer, and Callie was certain that he intended to kiss her. But she did not hesitate or pull away. Instead, boldly, she stretched up to meet him.

His lips closed on hers, and heat seemed to explode within her. She trembled, every nerve in her body suddenly alive and attuned to the slow, delicious movement of his mouth on hers. She had never felt anything like this before. Though one or two men had dared to steal a kiss from her, none of those kisses had felt like this—so soft and hot, her lips so sensitive to the velvet pressure of his. And none of those men had ever moved his mouth against her, opening her lips to his questing tongue, startling her and sending a wave of intense pleasure through her.

She made a low noise of surprise and eagerness, and her hands slid up instinctively around his neck, holding on to him as his arms wrapped fiercely around her, squeezing her against his long, hard body. The elegant plume of his hat brushed against her cheek, and that touch, too, aroused the sensitive nerves of her skin. He made a noise of hunger and frustration, reaching up to jerk the hat from his head and toss it aside as his lips pressed harder against hers.

Callie’s fingers dug into the rich material of his doublet. She felt as if she were falling, tumbling into some wild maelstrom of hunger and desire, and she was all at once eager and frightened and more vibratingly alive than she had ever been before. She could feel his body surge with heat through the material of his clothes, enveloping her with his warmth.

Suddenly he lifted his head, sucking in a deep breath and staring down at her. Reaching down, he took her half mask between his fingers and pushed it up, revealing her face.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed. Then he reached up and took off his own mask, holding it dangling in his hand.

Callie gazed up at him, realizing with some surprise that his face was even more arresting without the dramatic mask. Sharp, high cheekbones balanced the strong jaw, and the straight dark slashes of his brows accented his wide gray eyes. It was the face of an angel, she thought with a poeticism uncommon to her—not an angel of harps and fluffy clouds, but the fierce sort, standing guard at the gates of heaven with a fiery sword.

“So are you,” she answered him candidly, then blushed at the naive candor of her words.

Something flared in his eyes, and he let out a shaky little chuckle. “My dear Calandra…it is much too dangerous for you to be out here alone with me.”

“Do you think I cannot trust you?” she asked, the tone of her voice making clear her own belief.

“I think ’tis dangerous to trust any man when you look as you look…and feel as you feel.” His voice turned husky on his last words, and he ran his palm down her arm slowly, reluctantly, and pulled his hand away, taking a step backward. “We should go inside.”

He returned her mask, and Callie took it. She hated to turn away from him, away from this moment and the new feelings that were surging through her. Yet at the same time, his urging her to do so only strengthened what she felt for him. She smiled at him.

“Perhaps you would like the rest of my name.”

“’Twould make it easier,” he admitted, grinning. “But, believe me, I will find you anyway.”

“Then you should come to—” Callie broke off, turning, as her brother’s voice sounded from the terrace behind them.

“Callie? Calandra!”

She whirled and looked back up the long terrace. The duke stood just outside the door, looking around. He started forward, scowling, once again calling her name.

“The devil take it!” Callie said under her breath, and her companion’s brows shot up at the unladylike curse.

He smothered a laugh. “Not whom you wanted to see?”

“My brother,” Callie said. “He is sure to fuss. Ah, well, there is no use in waiting. We might as well get it over with.” She started forward with the confidence of one who had never received anything stronger than a scolding.

Her companion shrugged and strode after her, catching up to Callie as she called out, “Here! It is all right, Sinclair. Pray do not bellow.”

Rochford hurried toward them, his face relaxing in relief. “What the devil are you doing out here? Are you all right?”

Beside Callie, as they came forward into the light, she heard her companion suck in a sharp breath and stop dead still. She half turned toward him questioningly, then glanced back at her brother, realizing that he, too, had come to a sudden halt.

Rochford stared at the man standing beside Callie, a black scowl drawing up his features. “You!” he snarled at the Cavalier. “Get away from my sister!”

C
ALLIE GAPED
at her brother, amazed at his uncustomary rudeness. “Sinclair!” She went forward, reaching out a hand to her brother in a calming gesture. “Please, no. You misunderstand the situation.”

“I understand it perfectly well,” Rochford retorted, his eyes never leaving the other man’s face.

“No, you do not,” Callie retorted sharply. “This man did nothing to harm me. He
helped
me.”

She turned back to her companion, who was gazing at the duke with an expression as stony as Rochford’s. Suppressing a sigh at such masculine behavior, Callie said, “Sir, allow me to introduce you to my brother, the Duke of Rochford.”

“Yes,” the Cavalier said coldly. “I know the duke.”

“Oh.” Callie looked from one man to the other, realizing that some other, stronger, undercurrent of feeling lay here, something unrelated to her being on the terrace with a man.

“Lord Bromwell,” Sinclair responded, his manner, if possible, even stiffer than before. Without looking at Callie, he said, “Calandra, go inside.”

“No,” Callie answered. “Sinclair, be reasonable. Let me explain.”

“Callie!” Sinclair’s voice lashed out, sharp as a whip. “You heard me. Go back inside.”

Callie flushed, stung by his peremptory tone. He had spoken to her as if she were a child being sent off to bed.

“Sinclair!” she shot back. “Don’t speak to me that—”

He swung to face her. “I told you—go back inside. Now.”

Callie drew a breath, hurt and anger piercing her with equal sharpness. She started to protest, to take her brother to task for treating her this way, but she realized even as the thought came to her that she simply could not create a scene at Aunt Odelia’s party. Someone might step out of the door at any moment; there could even be someone in the garden now, listening. She had no desire to be caught in a blazing argument with her brother. She was embarrassed enough as it was, having been taken to task in front of this man, whom she barely knew.

Her eyes flashed, but she swallowed her words. She gave a short nod to Lord Bromwell, then whirled and stalked past her brother without a word.

The duke stood, watching the other man in silence, until Calandra had disappeared inside the ballroom. Then he said in a quiet voice as hard as iron, “Leave my sister alone.”

Bromwell looked amused as he crossed his arms and considered the man before him. “How deliciously ironic…to hear the Duke of Rochford so concerned over the honor of a young woman. But, then, I suppose, it is different when the young woman is the
duke
’s sister, is it not?”

With a sardonic look at Rochford, he started to walk around him, but the duke reached out and caught his arm. Bromwell went still, his gray eyes icing over. He looked down at the other man’s hand on his arm, then up at the duke’s face.

“Have a care, Rochford,” he said softly. “I am not the boy I was fifteen years ago.”

“Indeed?” Rochford asked, letting his hand fall to his side. “You were a fool then, but you’re ten times a fool now if you think I will allow you to harm my sister in any way.”

“I believe Lady Calandra is a woman grown, Rochford. And you are the fool if you think that you can keep her heart from going where it chooses.”

An unholy fire lit the duke’s dark eyes. “Damn it, Bromwell. I am telling you—stay away from my sister.”

Lord Bromwell gazed back at him, his expression unyielding, then turned without a word and walked away.

C
ALLIE WAS FURIOUS
. She could not remember when she had been so angry with her brother—indeed, so angry with anyone—as she was now.
How dare he speak to her as if he were her father? And in front of another person! A stranger!

Her throat was tight, and tears pricked at her eyelids. But she refused to cry. She would not let him see, would not let anyone see, how Sinclair’s words had affected her.

She walked through the ballroom, looking neither left nor right, not even sure what she intended to do, only walking as fast as she could away from what had happened on the terrace. Through the red haze of her anger, she noticed that the ballroom was virtually empty and that the musicians were absent from their positions on the small stage at one end of the room.

Supper.
The guests were all at the casual midnight buffet in the small ballroom across the hall. Callie started toward it, remembering at the last second that she still wore Lord Bromwell’s Cavalier cloak around her shoulders. She reached up and untied it, hastily folding it into a compact pad of material as she entered the small ballroom and looked around.

She saw her grandmother at last, sitting at a small table with Aunt Odelia and another elderly woman, their plates of delicacies still on the table before them. Lady Odelia, of course, was holding forth. The duchess listened politely, spine as straight as ever, not touching the back of her chair, and her eyes blank with boredom.

Callie walked over to the table, and her grandmother turned, seeing her. “Calandra! There you are. Where have you been? I could not find you anywhere. I sent Rochford to look for you.”

“Yes, he found me,” Callie answered shortly. She glanced at the other two women with the duchess. “Grandmother, I would like to leave now, if you don’t mind.”

“Why, of course.” The duchess looked, frankly, relieved, and immediately started to rise. “Are you all right?”

“I—I have a headache, I’m afraid.” Callie turned to her great-aunt, forcing a smile. “I am sorry, Aunt Odelia. It is a wonderful party, but I am not, I’m afraid, feeling at all the thing.”

“Well, of course. All the excitement, no doubt,” the old lady responded, a trifle smugly. She turned toward her companion, giving a decided nod that caused her orange wig to slip a bit. “Girls these days just don’t have the stamina we did, I find.” She swung her attention back to Callie. “Run along, then, child.”

“I will send a footman to find Rochford and tell him we wish to leave,” the duchess told Callie, turning and gesturing imperiously to one of the servants.

“No! I mean…can we not just go?” Callie asked. “My head is throbbing. And I am sure that Rochford will be well able to find his way home on his own.”

“Why, yes, I suppose.” The duchess looked concerned and came around the table to peer into Callie’s face. “You
do
look a bit flushed. Perhaps you are coming down with a fever.”

“I am sure Lady Odelia is right. It is simply too much excitement,” Callie replied. “All the dancing and the noise…”

“Come along, then,” the duchess said, nodding in farewell to her companions and starting for the hall. She glanced down at Callie’s hand. “Whatever are you carrying, child?”

“What? Oh. This.” Callie glanced down at the folded cape in her hand, and her fingers clenched more tightly upon it. “It’s nothing. I was holding it for someone. It doesn’t matter.”

Her grandmother looked at her oddly but said nothing more as they continued toward the cloakroom. As they passed the wide double doorway into the main ballroom, they heard Rochford’s voice. “Grandmother, wait.”

The duchess turned, smiling. “Rochford, how fortunate that we met you.”

“Yes,” he replied shortly. He no longer looked quite so thunderous, Callie noted, but his face was set and devoid of expression. He glanced toward her, and she looked away from him without speaking. “It is time to go.”

“So now we are to leave just because you say so?” Callie flared up.

The duchess gave her granddaughter a curious look and said, “But, Callie, dear, you just told me that you wished to go home.”

“I should certainly think so,” Rochford put in with a sharp glance at his sister.

Callie would have liked to protest his tone, as well as his peremptory order that they leave the ball, but she could scarcely do either without looking foolish, she knew, so she merely inclined her head and turned away without another word.

“I am sorry, Sinclair,” her grandmother apologized for her. “I fear she is not feeling herself.”

“Clearly,” the duke replied in a sardonic tone.

A footman brought them their cloaks, and they went down to their carriage. On the way home, the duchess and Rochford exchanged a few remarks about the party, but Callie did not join in the conversation. Her grandmother cast her a puzzled look now and then. Her brother, on the other hand, looked at her as little as she looked at him.

Callie knew that she was behaving childishly, refusing to speak to Rochford or meet his eyes, but she could not bring herself to act as if everything were all right. And she was not sure she could say anything to him about the feelings that roiled inside her chest without bursting into tears of anger—and she refused to do that. Far better, she thought, to seem childish or foolish than to let him think that she was crying because he had hurt her.

When they reached the house, Rochford sprang lithely down from the carriage and reached up to help the duchess, then Callie, who ignored his hand and walked past him into the house. She heard her brother sigh behind her, then turn and follow her up the steps into the foyer. He paused to hand his hat and gloves to the footman as Callie headed for the wide staircase leading up to the next floor, her grandmother moving more slowly behind her.

Rochford started down the hall in the direction of the study, then stopped and turned. “Callie.”

She did not turn around, merely took the first step up the stairs.

“Callie, stop!” His voice rang out more sharply, echoing a little in the vast empty space of the large entryway. As if the sound of his own voice had startled even him a little, he continued in a more modulated tone, “Calandra, please. This is ridiculous. I want to talk to you.”

She turned and looked down at him from her place on the stairs. “I am going up to bed,” she told him coldly.

“Not until we have talked,” he replied. “Come back here. We shall go to my study.”

Callie’s dark eyes, so like her brother’s, flashed with the temper she had been keeping tamped down for the past half hour or more. “What? Now I cannot even go to my bedchamber without your permission? We must obey you in every detail of our lives?”

“Damn it, Callie, you know that is not the case!” Rochford burst out, scowling.

“No? That is all you have done for the last hour—order me about.”

“Callie!” The duchess looked from one to the other, astonished. “Rochford! What is this about? What has happened?”

“It is nothing to be concerned about,” Rochford told her shortly.

“No, nothing except that my brother has suddenly become a tyrant,” Callie lashed out.

Rochford sighed and ran his hand back through his dark hair. “The devil take it, Callie, you know I am not a tyrant. When have I ever been?”

“Never until now,” she retorted, blinking away the tears that filled her eyes.

It was, indeed, Rochford’s past history of kindness and laxity that made his present actions so much harder to bear. He had always been the most loving and easygoing of brothers, and she had treasured their relationship all the more whenever she heard other girls talk about their brothers or fathers, who issued orders and expected obedience.

“I am sorry, Callie, if I offended you tonight,” he said stiffly, with an expression of patience and reasonableness that only served to grate on his sister’s nerves. “I apologize if I was too abrupt.”

“Abrupt?” She let out a short, unamused laugh. “Is that what you call your behavior this evening? Abrupt? I would have called it high-handed. Or perhaps dictatorial.”

The duke grimaced. “I can see that you have taken it amiss, but I must remind you that I am here to protect you. I am your brother. It is my responsibility to take care of you.”

“I am not a child anymore!” Callie exclaimed. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“Not that I can see,” he snapped back. “Given that I found you alone in the garden with a strange man.”

The duchess sucked in a shocked breath. “No! Callie!”

Callie flushed. “I was not in the garden. We were on the terrace, and there was nothing wrong. Bromwell was a perfect gentleman. Indeed, he helped me. He sent another fellow on his way who had not been a gentleman at all.”

“Oh!” Callie’s grandmother raised a hand to her heart, her mouth dropping open in astonishment. “Callie! You were alone with two different men in the garden?”

“It wasn’t the garden!”

“That makes little difference,” Rochford replied.

“I may faint,” the duchess said weakly, but, of course, she did not. Instead, she marched forward a few steps so that she stood right below Callie, between her and her brother.

“I cannot believe what I have heard,” she told Callie. “How could you have done something so scandalous? Have you no care for me? For your family? Sinclair is right. Of course he has responsibility for you. He is your brother and the head of this family. He has every right to tell you what you should do, and you should do as he says. What possessed you to go out onto the terrace with a man tonight? What if someone had seen you? You should be grateful that your brother was there to rescue you. I shudder to think what might have happened if he had not been.”