Bewitching the Earl

Chapter 2

2

Lachlan Grant strode into the card room of Berkley’s club, scowling at any man who dared appear to think about getting in his way. The coach ride from Edinburgh had been long and tedious and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with foppish Englishmen preening before one another. He didn’t even wish to be out this evening, but remaining alone one moment longer in his brother’s townhouse would have driven him insane.

No, no longer his brother’s…

Like everything else in the months since his older brother’s death, that residence still felt like William’s. William’s title, William’s home, William’s life. Lachlan had simply stepped into his boots to fill the void.

I never wanted to be the Earl of Huntley.

A bitter taste clung to his tongue and he scowled, his mood blackening further.

Now he was saddled with a bloody title and all the duties and responsibilities that came attached. He had gained a fortune he’d never wanted, and the price had been the brother he’d treasured most.

Lachlan scanned the tables, desperate to join any card game, even though his heart rebelled. He felt reckless, angry, and ready to do something utterly foolish--anything to ease the ache in his chest.

He was the last of the Grant family, for neither he nor William had married. It was one of the reasons they had been so close, only two years apart in age. William had turned thirty a mere six months before he’d passed, and Lachlan had just turned eight and twenty, far too young to lose his brother.

A burst of laughter from a nearby table drew his focus. A group of young bucks leaned around a Faro table, excited by their winnings. He started toward the table, but someone stepped into his path and he stumbled into the man.

“My apologies,” he muttered.

The other man caught him by the shoulders and they both stood back. Lachlan blinked in surprise as he recognized that dark hair and angled chin. “Anthony?” The dark clouds gathering on his inner horizon lifted somewhat.

“My God, Lachlan!” Sir Anthony Heathcoat slapped him on the shoulder in greeting. “How long has it been?”

“At least four months,” Lachlan chuckled.

His friend sighed but his eyes remained warm. “Four months? That long? You’ve been well, I trust?” This question came more carefully and Lachlan knew why. Anthony had been just as close to William as he was to Lachlan, but he’d been out of the country and had missed the funeral. William’s unexpected death had left many of their friends still coping with his loss.

“I admit, I have been better.” Lachlan scrubbed a hand along his jaw. “Never wanted to run Huntley Castle. Not that I have a choice now.”

Anthony nodded, his eyes shadowed. “Come and have a drink. I want your opinion on something.”

Lachlan followed Anthony. Encountering his old friend had softened his reckless mood. They entered a quiet reading room with a crackling fire and thick plush chairs. After settling, Anthony waved a boy over and ordered two glasses of brandy.

Lachlan rested his forearms on his knees and leaned close to Anthony. “What can you possibly need my advice on?”

Anthony met his gaze with a sudden hint of mischief. “I’m holding a marriage auction tomorrow evening. I was hoping you might join us and bid on the bride.”

A bark of laughter escaped Lachlan, but he sobered when his friend frowned. “What the devil is a marriage auction?”

His friend chuckled. “It’s exactly as it sounds. I have a lovely young lady staying at my home and I’m inviting some marriage-minded men to meet her and speak with her for a few minutes. Then you bid upon her. The highest bidder takes her as a bride. The money he bids is placed in a special trust for the lady, to be handled by a third party, a man she trusts and chooses.”

“The women involved are willing participants?”

Anthony drew back. “What do you take me for?”

“A far better man than I just implied. I apologize. So, tell me, what is this actually about?”

“It’s about aiding ladies in distress, women who are desperate for a match. Most men agree to pay a small fortune to secure a bride.”

“And you have men agreeing to purchase a bride?” Lachlan never thought to meet a man willing to give a fortune to a wife when the law allowed husbands to claim their wives’ property. Lachlan wasn’t one to marry for monetary gain, but he knew many men did.

“You’d be surprised. Not every man is as jaded as you about love, old friend. Some are quite happy to find a sweet young woman to marry so that they might make a good life together. Now…” Anthony paused as the boy returned with their brandy on a tray. Once he departed, Anthony said, “Now, would you consider coming and bidding on the woman?”

“Bid on a bride? You want me to buy a woman? God’s teeth, Anthony, I have no wish to marry yet. Besides, I have no need to buy a wife, you know that.” Mere weeks after William’s death, women were seeking invitations to visit him in Scotland. Half of the English ton wanted to traipse across his threshold, invade his life and disturb his grief, all for the chance of leg-shackling the newest Earl of Huntley.

Anthony sipped his brandy, eyeing Lachlan thoughtfully. “I remember all too well your wilder days, but with William gone, a wife might ease some of your burden.”

Lachlan frowned and swirled the contents of his glass.

His friend’s eyes narrowed. “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

They drank in silence for a moment before Anthony shrugged off the tension and smiled. “I thought you might be interested in knowing that the young lady is Daphne Westfall. She’s very beautiful and quite sweet. I was hoping you would at least consider meeting her.”

Westfall...

The name hit him like a blow to the gut...a name carved in blood upon his heart. On the study table near his brother’s body had been a letter that explained the shame and responsibility William felt over his dealings with the notorious counterfeiter Sir Richard Westfall. The Huntley title and lands had survived the fallout from Westfall’s forgeries, but William had never been one to withstand the loss of honor.

“Westfall?” Lachlan’s mouth ran dry at the name. “She wouldn’t happen to be Sir Richard’s daughter, would she? The man convicted of counterfeiting bank notes?”

Anthony gave a slow nod. “Indeed, she is. Do you know her?”

Lachlan had never shared the contents of the letter with anyone, not even his mother.

“No, but I hear she is a nice lass, despite her father’s crimes.”

He’d heard no such thing. Hadn’t even known the old bastard had a child. But the revenge he never thought he’d get for William might now wait within reach.

“So, you’ll come? I promised Miss Westfall I would bring good, decent men to bid on her. She’s fallen on hard times, and a good match would secure her future.”

Lachlan composed his features into a polite show of interest. “Of course. I’d be happy to meet the lass and bid on her.”

Heathcoat grinned. “Marriage will suit you well. I had a feeling it would take only a nudge.”

With a grim smile, Lachlan agreed. Sir Richard was in prison for his crimes, and so would his daughter endure a prison of another sort.

She was going to marry him, and spend the rest of her life paying for her father’s crimes by forgoing the rich trappings that her father’s forgeries had given her. She would learn to live with no frivolity, no joy, no love…nothing.

Just as he was condemned to live without his brother.

We can suffer together.

Daphne felt like an imposter in the blue gown that Anthony had given her. He’d insisted she keep it, but she’d promised she would find a way to return it once she had new clothes of her own. Fear turned her mouth bitter as she tried not to think about her future after tonight, and she reached instinctively for the pearls in the pocket of her new gown.

As she entered the drawing room of Anthony Heathcoat’s townhouse, she reminded herself that this was the safest option remaining. If she secured a husband tonight, she would avoid the brothel and not go hungry again.

A group of seven men stood by the fire, all talking quietly to one another. When she cleared her throat, they turned as one, each instantly assessing her. She folded her hands in front of her to control their shaking as she endured their speculative perusals.

She’d never thought much of how brood mares felt when being sold at Tattersals, but now she felt quite sorry for the creatures.

“Gentlemen, may I present Miss Daphne Westfall?” Anthony approached, lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed her gloved fingers. “Are you all right, my dear?” he whispered.

“Yes, I just feel a little…” Her trembling hand said what she could not. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

“They are good men and will treat you fairly.”

“Thank you,” she said. She meant it. Anthony had saved her from the streets and she would never be able to repay his kindness.

“Good. I will introduce you to each man. They will place their bids in their envelopes. The highest bidder will return and we will sign the contracts. This will secure your monetary assets.”

Daphne’s throat constricted. She still couldn’t believe she was really doing this, meeting with men in hopes that they would want to marry her. How was this different from prostituting herself? At least, she shared her body with only one man, and she didn’t live with the shame of a brothel address.

“Gentlemen, please form a line so I may make your introductions to Miss Westfall.”

The men formed a queue, and one by one she was presented to each. They were all charming, friendly, and genuine. With each introduction, she grew more relieved. She had a minute or two to speak with them and found she liked each one. Anthony had kept his promise.

The last man who approached her was different. She had to tilt her head back to see his face. He was incredibly tall, with broad shoulders. She felt tiny in his presence. He was a little more muscular than the others and a bit intimidating. She almost retreated a step, if only to see his face better.

“Miss Westfall, this is Lachlan Grant, the Earl of Huntley.”

“It is a pleasure,” Lachlan’s deep voice was heavy with a Scottish brogue.

“My Lord,” she replied, staring into his dark blue eyes. They were a lovely deep sapphire, yet a strange gleam flashed in their depths and then vanished behind a polite smile. Had she merely imagined that? Perhaps so. She had heard more than once that Scotsmen tended to be brooding and intense, and it seemed Huntley was no different.

“You’re from Scotland? Whereabouts, if I may ask?”

“The town of Huntley is a half day’s ride north of Edinburgh.” His eyes remained locked on her with an almost predatory gaze. She shivered, trying to think of how to continue their conversation and draw out more of his personality.

“I’ve never been north of Edinburgh. I imagine it must be lovely.”

There it was, a momentary softening of his eyes and mouth. “Aye, ’tis stunning, especially in the spring when the heather blooms.”

“Would we live there most of the year, if your bid is successful?” It was something she asked of each gentleman. She needed a home, a place she could feel safe, a place to escape the judgment of the ton for her father’s crimes.

“We would. I only visit London once or twice a year. Would that suit you?” he asked.

“Yes, whatever you do will be fine for me, I’m quite sure.” A home in the Highlands…she loved the idea, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to marry someone as serious and brooding as the man who stood before her.

“Now,” Anthony smiled at the men. “Place your bids, and then please wait outside.” Several of the men offered Daphne warm, hopeful smiles before writing down their bids and sealing their envelopes.

Daphne’s gaze was drawn to Lachlan as he scratched his numbers on the bit of paper he held. His eyes met hers and a bolt of shock ran through her as if she were owned by him in that instant. The sensation frightened her and yet she couldn’t look away from him even as he placed his envelope on Anthony’s palm and strode from the room.

The final men handed their envelopes to Anthony before leaving the room. After the last man left, Anthony and his manservant, Finchley, opened the bids. Daphne watched them rearrange the pieces of paper in order as the higher bids moved to the top. Her heart pounded so hard against her ribs that she had trouble breathing. Which of the strangers was to be her husband?

“Ahh, here we are.” Anthony glanced her way. “We have our winner. I shall thank the others and send them home.” Anthony exited the room. The click of the door sounded far too loud in the awkward silence. Daphne clutched the edge of a chair for support, her nails digging into the floral pattern of the fabric as she struggled to calm herself.

The door opened and Daphne sucked in a breath. Sir Anthony entered, followed by the Earl of Huntley. Once again, she became the focus of that brooding gaze. Wasn’t he pleased to have been the highest bidder? The tight purse of his lips suggested otherwise. A pit formed in her stomach and she struggled to breathe. She was to marry him…the man who spoke of Highland heather in the spring, but who looked like a wolf about to devour her. Which was his true nature? Perhaps he was a man torn between his duality of nature. Perhaps she might never know the real Lachlan Grant.

Anthony approached her while Huntley waited inside the door, hands folded behind his back like a military general.

Oh dear…

“Miss Westfall, Lord Huntley was by far the highest bidder at fifteen thousand pounds, which he has agreed to place into an account where the trustee of your choice will oversee the funds for you.”

Daphne barely listened. Instead, she stared at Huntley and he at her. A slow smile curved his lips. It was not a cruel smile, no, but it warned her that she was pledging herself to a wolf. She was tempted to look away, to yield to that dominating stare, but she held her ground and lifted her chin.

Yet her instincts warned her to run far and fast from Lord Huntley.

“Sir… Anthony, may I have a minute to speak with you?” she asked, her voice wavering. Huntley shared a look with Anthony before he nodded and left the room.

Anthony approached, concern in his eyes. “You’re trembling. Are you all right?”

“Lord Huntley, is he a good man? You promise that I’m safe with him?”

“I promise,” Anthony vowed. “Huntley is a long-time friend. I would trust him with my life. He’s rich and has excellent lands—”

“I don’t care about that. I care about him. Is he the sort of man to care for his wife? Not…harm her?” She bravely forced the question out, even knowing it was not polite to speak of such matters.

“He’s never harmed a woman. If he seems a bit cold, it’s because his older brother, William, died only two months ago. He was close to William. His brother’s death changed him, hardened him in some ways. But I promise you, he is a good man.”

She saw only honesty in Anthony’s eyes and she trusted that more than anything else. “Very well then, I agree to marry him.”

“Good.” Anthony then called for Huntley, who reentered the room. They assembled about the card table, where Finchley laid out several documents.

“Here’s the trust agreement, Huntley. I filled out the forms with the amount you bid. All you need do is sign, as will Miss Westfall. Finchley and I will witness the contracts to assure they are binding.”

Daphne watched Huntley bend over the table and scrawl his name before he straightened and held the quill out to her. She accepted it, her gloved fingers brushing his. A spark of heat flared between them, and just as quickly vanished. Huntley’s eyes darted away as he stepped back. She leaned over the table and penned her own name.

“Excellent. Huntley, you can collect Miss Westfall tomorrow after you have procured a special license.”

“Actually, I would like to marry in Scotland, unless the lady objects.” Huntley looked to Daphne.

“Marry in Scotland?” Daphne had to force strength into her voice. She hadn’t expected to leave so soon.

There’s nothing to tie you here, not anymore.

“Aye, there’s a little church not far from Huntley Castle. It’s tradition for the men of the Grant family to marry there.”

“Oh… I suppose that would be all right.” She had no friends left in London, none that would be seen with her. She had no real reason to stay here. In fact, it was quite possible that if word got out about her wedding, the victims of her father would come to the church and make trouble on her wedding day.

“We are agreed then?” Huntley asked. His blue eyes seemed to swallow her whole.

“Yes.” With that single word, she felt she sealed a bargain with the devil. A most handsome, intimidating devil...

“The paperwork is all in order,” Anthony said. “Anyone care for a glass of sherry to celebrate?”

Huntley shook his head. “Not tonight, old friend. I have a wedding to prepare for.”

Anthony turned to Daphne. “What about you? Sherry, my dear?”

“Yes, please,” she whispered. She needed a drink.

Huntley approached, grasped her hand and raised it to his lips. Their eyes met and held once again.

“Tomorrow,” he promised softly.

“Tomorrow,” she echoed. Then with a kiss to her knuckles that left her body burning with a strange sensation, he left the room.

Daphne watched him go, wondering if what she had agreed to would save her or damn her.