Kasey Michaels - A Most Unsuitable Groom

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BEWARE THE BRIDEGROOM… Hot-blooded Spencer Becket went off to war in America, full of passion and young ideals, only to return older, wiser and with part of his memory missing. BEWARE THE BRIDE… Fiery Mariah Rutledge arrived at Becket Hall one stormy night, heavy with child and more than willing to refresh Spencer's lost memory.BEWARE THE BATTLE…Forced to the altar, Spencer and Mariah have little time to explore their attraction before they uncover a plot to restore the recently vanquished Napoleon to power in a most unusual –and deadly –way.Bound by the secrets that keep the Beckets safe from harm, Spencer and Mariah must battle the world and their own devils in order to prevent a tragedy…but what will be the price of their victory?

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Mariah would have thought that everyone would just lie about, doing nothing, yet Becket Hall was pristine, beautifully organized. And the maids, if they had to be given a title, sang as they worked.

Callie descended the wide, curving staircase slowly, looking back at Mariah every few steps, as if she might faint and topple on her, but then they were crossing the wide foyer and Callie’s slim shoulders seemed to relax.

“Papa is in his study most days at this time, reading all of the London newspapers that he has shipped to him, and everyone else is out and about somewhere—and Spence is probably hiding his head somewhere in shame. Do you want to see the drawing room first?”

“You seem to be enjoying your brother’s discomfort,” Mariah pointed out, smiling.

“Oh, yes, definitely. It’s lovely to not be the one Odette will be giving the hairy eyeball for this once. That’s what Rian calls the way Odette looks at us—the hairy eyeball. I have no idea what that means. Well, here’s the drawing room. You probably didn’t notice much of anything the night you arrived here.”

The furniture in the main drawing room was massive, much of it, Mariah believed, Spanish—she’d once seen a book of drawings on such things. The ceilings soared, the windows rose from the floor to nearly touch those high ceilings and the fabrics that covered those windows and the multitude of furniture in the drawing room were of sumptuous silks and vibrant brocades. She strained to take in the fine artwork hanging on pale, stuccoed walls and to count all the many vases of exotic flowers and acres of fine Turkish carpets spread out over gleaming wooden floors the color of dried cherries.

“All these flowers,” she said, cupping one perfect pink bloom in her palm.

Callie nodded. “We have a conservatory and Papa is always adding new flowers and plants he has shipped here. But it’s Jacko who cares for them. I’ll show it to you later, if Jacko says it’s all right. He’s very possessive of his babies. Not that he calls the flowers his babies, but that’s what Rian says.”

“Then I’ll wait for his permission,” Mariah said, continuing her examination of the large room.

None of the four immense crystal chandeliers, each hanging from a different coffered area of the ornate ceiling, had been lit, as all the draperies had been thrown back so that only sheer ivory silk panels with fleur-de-lis woven into them covered the windows that poured with sunlight.

One enormous glass-fronted cabinet placed between two of the windows displayed a collection of jade that was probably worth a king’s ransom. The far wall—it was very far away in this large room—actually had a highly ornamental black metal grille hanging on it, the entire piece nearly the size of a barn door. And yet it didn’t overpower the other furnishings. Little could.

“It’s humble,” Mariah said cheekily, “but I imagine that, to you, it’s simply home.”

Callie frowned at her, not understanding, and Mariah wanted to slap herself for speaking so plainly. This was a fine home and she should be on her best behavior…and she would be, if she knew what that was. But she was a quartermaster’s motherless daughter, brought up in some rather rough-and-tumble locations, and she was probably both more unsophisticated and more blunt than most young English ladies.

The paintings on the walls were magnificent: landscapes, seascapes. And, when she walked toward a fireplace that could probably comfortably roast an ox on a spit, it was to see something else she had missed that first night—the nearly life-size portrait of one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. Her hair was a mass of dark curls, her smile lit up the room and her striped, full-skirted gown was bright, colorful. Exotic.

“Mama,” Callie said as Mariah walked closer for a better look. “Her name was Isabella. I don’t remember her and I don’t look like her. Everyone says I do, but I’m not half so…so vibrant. I’m the pale English version, I suppose. Papa bought most everything in this room and many of the others while he lived in the islands and had it all shipped here on his boats, for years and years, to be stored until we found Becket Hall. Oh, and I meant ships. Jacko winces if I don’t say ships.”

“Jacko again.” Mariah returned her attention to Callie, who could prove to be a fountain of information—if she could only find the correct way to ask her questions, that is. “I don’t recall that name in the list of Becket siblings. But he is a Becket?”

“Jacko? Oh, no, he’s not a Becket. Jacko is Papa’s business partner. Most everyone came here with Papa when he decided it was time to return to England. Why, they even broke up the ships and used the lumber to build the village. We’re very self-sustaining, Papa calls it.”

“And quite isolated,” Mariah said, now heading for the hallway again. “This room seems to be at the front of the house. I want to see the water. I don’t know why, as I saw much too much water for six long weeks. I think I’m simply attempting to get my bearings and I’m all turned about at the moment. Which way would I go?”

“This way,” Callie said, leading the way down another wide hallway, Mariah following slowly, taking time to peak into several other large rooms, all of them furnished in equal grandeur. The Beckets were obviously not worried where the pennies for their next meal might come from. She stopped at one doorway, leaning a hand against the jamb. “A piano! Oh, and a harp! Do you have musical evenings, Callie?”

Callie backtracked to look into the room done all in golds and reds, just as if she’d never seen it before this moment. “The music room. The piano is mine. Papa gave it to me one Christmas, as soon as he learned of the invention. What sort of present comes with an obligation for daily practice? Elly plays much better than I could ever aspire to do. And Spencer sings. But never ask Court to sing. He will, most willingly, but he’s not very good. Now come on. We can’t be safe for much longer before someone will see us and—oh, good morning, Jacko.”

Mariah turned around to see a huge man standing in front of her. Not that he was overly tall, but he was, as her father would have said, a door-full of man. Broad, with a hard, rounded stomach that she felt certain she could bounce coins off, if she dared. He was dressed simply in white shirt and tan breeches, his muscular calves straining at white hose. His dark hair had begun to thin atop a huge head and he had a smile that seemed to be full of amusement and a joy for life.

Until, that is, she looked more closely. Because that’s what he was doing—looking more closely at her, his head forward on his neck, his heavy, slightly hunched shoulders hinting at an aggression his smile would put the lie to only for anyone who wished to believe in fairy tales.

This was the man who had grown all those beautiful flowers? The idea seemed incomprehensible, as he looked more like the ogre who would invade a town, frighten all the children and stomp on all the pretty posies.

Mariah fought the urge to step back a pace and instead lifted her chin even as she dropped into a slight curtsey. “Mr. Jacko, I am Mariah Rutledge. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Jacko reached up his right hand to scratch beneath his left ear, a curious gesture, but one that now had his head tilted to the right, so that he seemed to be looking at her now out of the corners of his bean-black eyes. “Just Jacko. There’s no mister about it. So, you’re the one who gave us that fine boy upstairs. I haven’t laughed so long or hard in a long time.”

Mariah lifted her chin even higher. “You find my son amusing, Jacko?”

Now he tipped his head from side to side, as if weighing how he would answer. A fascinating man, but perhaps fascinating in the way a North American rattlesnake could be fascinating. “No, Mariah, girl. I find the fix Spencer’s in amusing. You’ve just tied him fast to Becket Hall, didn’t you now? Tied him hard and fast, when we couldn’t find a way to make him stay. The Cap’n’s over the moon, though he’d never say so. He likes to know where his chicks are.”

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