Page 5 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl (Marriage Mart Scandals #2)

Andrew gazed out the window of his coach. It had been two days since he had called on Lord Bradwood, and even though he had tried, he could not stop the visit from preying on his thoughts. The green eyes of Miss Amelia’s cousin had scalded him with a fire of anger that he could not forget. The two young ladies he had met played through his mind almost constantly. He could not forget the tragic gaze of Miss Amelia as she stared at him, her eyes wide as though she was about to cry. She was beautiful, beyond doubt, with her big dark eyes and fine-boned oval face. But she was also terrified.

He had to admit that her cousin had made an impression on him too, and he found himself recalling her. She was neither tall nor short, and her figure was slim, not particularly curvaceous. Her hair, loose from its bonds, fell like warm fire on her shoulders. Her eyes held his stare and looking into them was like a slap...it woke him up, calling him out of his numbness and making him gaze back. Her green eyes burned him. They were beautiful like a hunting creature’s; wild and unbound.

He had spoken with Neville soon after his return, and his friend had tried to convince him that there was no reason to feel ashamed or to change his mind. It did not help him. He had never seen such absolute fear before, and he had never thought to see it on the face of someone looking at him.

“You just need to tell her the truth,” Neville told him firmly. “It is these ridiculous rumours that are scaring her.”

“I don’t think that will help, old chap,” Andrew said carefully. “It sounds unconvincing to walk up to someone and say: “I’m not a murderer.” It’s rather like what a murderer would say, don’t you reckon?”

Neville just sighed. “It’s not true. It should be easy to convince people of the truth.”

“It probably should be,” Andrew said slowly.

He knew well enough that things could be much more complicated than they ought to be, and so he had dismissed Neville’s simple advice of telling Miss Amelia. She was terrified, that was for certain. But Lord Bradwood had said she was very shy. Mayhap that was just her immense shyness. Maybe it was not terror, and he was just overly sensitive .

The coach jolted along, and Andrew cursed as they rattled over a particularly rough section of road. He was nervous enough as it was. He didn’t need a tense coach ride as well.

“I’m being a fool,” he muttered in the empty coach.

He was being a fool because he had decided to follow Neville’s advice. He was going to tell Lord Bradwood he agreed.

He was going to marry Miss Amelia.

He gazed out at the landscape as it jolted past, his stomach twisting with tension. Trees and bushes moved past quickly, the occasional stretch of green meadow showing in between the leafy green trees. The landscape around London was richly provided with both farmland and stretches of forest.

He stared out and tried to imagine what it would be like to have Miss Amelia in the coach with him.

“I cannot do it,” he murmured into the empty air.

Miss Amelia was too frightened. He couldn’t bear to have to force her to sit with him in the coach, couldn’t even begin to impose on her. How could he kiss her, when she was so scared that she could not even lift her gaze to his?

He leaned back, feeling dejected. The face of Miss Amelia’s cousin flashed into his mind again without him consciously thinking of her. He had not caught her name, but he recalled how fiercely her green eyes glared at him. Her auburn hair had been fiery, seeming alight with the rage she was directing at him. His lips lifted with a slight smile. It would not be so difficult to wed her—anger was at least something he could reason with. There was something to work with there. But blatant fear was much harder, and so much more upsetting to bear.

The coach turned and Andrew tensed, knowing they were almost in the city. He sat straighter and stared out at the forest as it rolled by, trying to gather the words he would need to say in his mind.

“Lord Bradwood, I have considered your suggestion, and...”

He said it aloud, trying to see how it sounded. His throat was tight, and he could barely force the words out.

He shook his head at himself, feeling worried. How was he going to do this if he could barely even say it? An image of Grandma drifted into his mind. Her forehead was painted with greenish-yellow bruising, her one eye partly swollen shut. He recalled how she had smiled at him, her beautiful smile lifting his heart .

“That’s grand,” she’d murmured when he had told her what he had decided.

He could not disappoint Grandma.

The coach approached the city gate, and Andrew let out a relieved sigh. He stared out at the landscape, trying to distract himself from the knot of fear that tightened in his stomach. There was commonage on his right—grazing land that belonged to several owners who grazed livestock or collected fuel there. He narrowed his eyes. There were sheep grazing, but something was moving swiftly at the back, and he tensed at first, thinking that some predating animal was racing down towards the sheep.

It was a horse, though, not a predator, and it was carrying someone on its back. His eyes widened and he stared in surprise.

The someone was a woman—she was wearing a long brown riding dress and over it a swathing brown cloak. The cloak had no hood and the woman’s hair streamed out freely behind her as she rode. It was bright auburn, sparkling like flame.

Andrew’s heart twisted painfully. The woman looked so free, so untamed. She was beautiful—though she could be physically ugly, he couldn’t see over the distance, her spirit was beautiful. He could see that straight away. She rode with complete trust and untamed delight, galloping across the commonage. Just seeing such freedom was inspiring, and for a moment he wished he could be as free and careless as that woman, whoever she was.

I can’t, he reminded himself firmly. I am an earl and I have duties to fulfil.

Grandma needed him. The manor needed him. Every member of the staff needed him, and even the craftsmen and traders to whom he owed a debt needed him to do this.

“Bradwood House, my lord,” the coachman called, rousing Andrew from a daydream of riding over the moorland.

“Thank you,” Andrew murmured, jumping down. “Return for me in an hour, please.” His throat was tight, and he could barely get words out.

“Very good, my lord.”

Andrew strode up the stairs and knocked at the door, swallowing hard. His hands were damp, his mouth dry. He was a brave man, but this scared him. This was an immense decision. It had immense consequences, too—he would either break someone’s heart, or break his own. He became aware that he was twisting the cuff of his shirt between his fingers and made himself stop.

“My lord?” The butler appeared, frowning. He seemed to recognise Andrew.

“I would like to speak with Lord Bradwood. Alone, if you please.” His tone was hard and brooked no argument. He was trying not to show his discomfort.

Andrew walked in and waited in the hallway, hanging his top hat on the stand beside the door. He glanced down at his jacket. He had chosen a dark grey one and his best new shirt, and he studied the jacket thoughtfully, focusing on the velvet. Was it really new enough to look respectable? Would someone notice the pulled threads here and there? He tensed his spine. He was an earl. They should not care about a few pulled threads in his jacket when his pedigree was at least equal to theirs.

“His lordship is ready to see you. Pray, allow me to escort you upstairs.”

Andrew followed the butler upstairs, looking down at his own boots. The carpet on the stairs was rich and colourful and his heart twisted. Miss Amelia was used to luxuries. Bradwood House was small but well-furnished. She would be terrified at Rilendale, where the house was falling apart and there was little comfort to be had. Guilt twisted in his belly.

“My lord,” Lord Bradwood greeted him formally from the doorway to the study, interrupting his thoughts. “Grand to see you. Come in. Come in.”

Andrew followed Lord Bradwood to the big desk.

“What brings you to call on me?” Lord Bradwood asked. His blue eyes sparkled, and Andrew guessed that he must have understood the reason for the unannounced visit.

“I think you are in no doubt, my lord,” Andrew said coolly. He did not have any need to flatter or lighten his tone.

“Oh! Oh. Of course, my lord. I had thought that...” Lord Bradwood began, his round, peaceful face furrowed with a frown.

“You had thought that I might wish to wed your daughter. Yes, that is the reason for my visit,” Andrew interrupted.

“My lord?” Lord Bradwood blinked. Perhaps he had not guessed after all, Andrew thought impatiently.

“I do wish to marry your daughter. If you could arrange it as soon as possible?” he asked lightly .

“My lord!” Lord Bradwood exclaimed, his voice rising in shock. The lack of decorum, the absence of any prior understanding or proper courtship—It was nothing short of irregular. The abruptness of Andrew’s proposal had left him floundering for a response.

Andrew drew a breath, about to explain that they needed no fuss to be made, that his grandmother could not travel from Rilendale to attend the ceremony in any case and that something simple would suit him. He was just straightening out the words in his mind when the door burst open.

“My lord!” a red-haired woman shouted. It was Amelia’s cousin—he recognised her instantly. She was wearing a brown dress and brown riding cloak, her hood cast back. Her long hair was loose about her shoulders and hung down to her waist like careless fire. “My lord! You cannot do this.”

Andrew gaped in astonishment as she fell on her knees before Lord Bradwood.