Virginia Heath - Miss Bradshaw's Bought Betrothal

‘Are you drunk, Fergus?’

‘I am not Fergus.’

‘Of course you are and this silly game is not at all funny.’

As Evie said those words she began to feel uncomfortable. The more she looked at the man staring at her in the doorway, the more convinced she became that he might, indeed, not be Fergus.

Although he was the spitting image of Fergus.

Except his features were not as soft. The dark hair similar, but the style different. Fergus’s locks were always ruthlessly pomaded to maintain the fashionable à la Brutus style that was favoured by the majority of the ton. There was no evidence of pomade in this man’s hair and, now that she thought about it, it was longer. It flopped over one eye quite rakishly and had a windswept quality that Fergus would never allow. Dark stubble covered his chin. Another thing that Fergus would never be seen dead with. Even in the worst state of inebriation Fergus still managed to shave. The clothes were all wrong as well. Her fiancé was a bit of a dandy and had a tendency to wear lace and intricately folded knots at his collar. This man’s clothing was more austere with a distinct absence of any froth. And his eyes were slightly darker, his body slightly larger, his posture more commanding. But his gaze was equally as cold. Filling the doorway in his billowing greatcoat, he looked positively menacing.

‘If you are not Fergus, who are you?’ Her voice was pathetically small and uncertain once again.

‘I am his brother. His twin brother. Finnegan.’

Fergus had mentioned in passing he had a married brother, but he had neglected to tell her that he was one of twins. He had also apparently neglected to tell his brother about their visit, hence his unexpected appearance in the middle of the night. ‘Although this is quite unorthodox, Lord Finnegan, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I am Miss Evelyn Bradshaw, Fergus’s fiancée.’

His eyebrows lifted and his eyes insolently swept slowly from her face down her body. They lingered on her chest blatantly for a second before they travelled back up to her eyes again. ‘You are not his type.’

As far as Evie was aware, she was not anyone’s type, but that was by the by. She was not going to get into that sort of discussion with a stranger. ‘I can assure that we are engaged to be married, Lord Finnegan. And as such, for the duration of my stay here and for the sake of propriety, Fergus has taken residence in the local inn.’

His features remained deadpan, but his arms folded across his chest. ‘Has he?’

Evie smiled in a vain attempt to soften the blow she was about to deliver. She did find it very difficult to be assertive, but in this instance she had to do it. ‘I hate to inconvenience you after your late journey, but for the sake of propriety I must insist that you also take yourself directly to the inn as well. My great-aunt and I will be staying here in Stanford House.’

Nerves made her voice wobble and she had the overwhelming urge to curl up into a ball, but, remembering that she was resolved never to be Invisible Evelyn again, she pulled her shoulders back proudly and forced herself to meet his gaze. Several awkward seconds ticked by.

‘He didn’t tell you, did he?’

‘Tell me what?’ Fergus’s double now appeared to be amused and shook his dark head as he stared up at the ceiling, as if he were seeking strength from the lord.

‘This is not Stanford House. This is Matlock House.’ He folded his arms over his impressively broad chest. ‘My house.’

Lost for words, Evie gaped back at him. When she found her voice it came out in a squeak. ‘I have been led to believe that this is my fiancé’s house! He brought me here this very evening and made no mention of the fact that this was your house.’

‘Yes. Well, in my experience, Fergus’s relationship with the truth has always been rather tenuous. He probably brought you here because Stanford House in is no fit state to be inhabited. No doubt he will have constructed a perfectly reasonable-sounding explanation when I confront him about it in the morning. However, right now I am going to bed.’

He turned and, to her utter chagrin, headed directly for the stairs, clutching his boots. ‘You cannot mean to stay here!’ Now the squeak was so high pitched that she sounded like a mouse.

Evie watched him drop the boots loudly and spin slowly to face her as he walked back into the library, his expression part confusion, part outrage. ‘This is my house, madam.’

‘But for propriety’s sake you cannot stay under the same roof as me!’

His hands came up to rest on his hips this time and his dark head tilted to one side insolently. The combative stance made him seem bigger. ‘Why ever not?’

Unsure of how to explain why his presence was outrageous, she managed to stutter something incoherent while he glared at her as if she was mad. In the end the best she could manage was one word.

‘Because!’

‘Because what? Are you afraid that at some point during the night my manly urges might get the better of me? Do you fear that I might hammer down your door and ravish you, Miss Bradshaw?’ Evie nodded weakly, painfully aware of the ferocious blush that had now swamped her face and chest. To her complete mortification he laughed bitterly at the implication. ‘If I was a man prone to being unable to control his urges, madam, I doubt I would wait until later to act on them. Especially since the firelight is doing a wonderful job of turning your nightdress transparent and giving me a perfectly unencumbered view of your naked body beneath.’ Automatically, she used her arms to cover herself and her mouth hung slack in shock. He, on the other hand, regarded her with polite indifference.

‘I am dead on my feet and I have absolutely no intention of leaving my house now or at any time in the future. Goodnight Miss Bradshaw. Don’t bother locking your door. Your precious virtue is perfectly safe with me.’

* * *

‘As he is not your fiancé, is already married and there are plenty of servants here as well as me, I do not think that there is any danger of your stay here being misconstrued as improper. In fact, it rather legitimises you staying here in the first place.’ Aunt Winnie nibbled on the tiny triangle of toast that she had procured from the extensive breakfast buffet laid out on the sideboard. Evie stared down at her matching toast mournfully and tried to ignore the tempting aroma of bacon wafting towards her nose.

‘That is as maybe, but now I am gravely concerned that Fergus has lied to me. His brother stated that Stanford House was uninhabitable and I have no intention of staying here for the duration.’ Although the house was quite lovely, she had hoped that she would be all alone. Being a guest rather put a dampener on things, especially as their unexpected host appeared to be quite rude. Seeking alternative accommodation that quickly was not something that she had planned for, not that she really had a plan.

‘We will make the best of it my dear. And think about it this way—if he has been fibbing it gives you another believable reason to call off your engagement when the time comes.’

Aunt Winnie did make a valid point, she supposed. Her sham betrothal to Fergus was only a temporary means to an end. She got her freedom and he got five thousand pounds for the year she anticipated they would need to maintain their charade. The important thing was Fergus had agreed to those terms. In the grand scheme of things, she would have still made the bargain if she had known that his house was uninhabitable—only she would have instructed her attorney to find a suitable cottage for herself and Aunt Winnie immediately before announcing her engagement to Hyacinth. In many ways, if Stanford House was a complete wreck, then it stood to reason that it would take ages before it was in a fit state to hold a wedding. Evie could delay telling Hyacinth the truth for years—pathetic coward that she was.