One Wicked Wish by Anna Campbell
Chapter 20
Halston here? To propose to Imogen?
Stella felt all the blood drain from her face. The room receded down a long, black tunnel. She couldn’t breathe.
A sharp sting wrenched her back to the present, and she dragged air into her starved lungs. Dazed eyes glanced down to see bloodied crescent marks on her skin.
Imogen had dug her fingernails into Stella’s hand to remind her that she couldn’t break down. She was grateful. If she’d fainted at such news, even a man as blind to emotional undercurrents as her uncle would ask questions.
Imogen must have guessed that she was in control of herself because she released her hand. “Papa, are you sure?”
Stella ignored the worried glance that Imogen cast her. She’d regained her composure, even if beneath her surface calmness, she felt like she was dying.
Oh, Gray…
She stamped down the memory of all they’d been to each other, because it turned out that everything had been a lie. Just as when he’d disclaimed any interest in her cousin, he’d lied.
The hurt cut too deep to comprehend yet. Too deep for anger. Too deep for tears, which was lucky given her uncle was only a few feet away. Although she was grimly aware that when she contemplated Gray’s last betrayal, her agony would make the misery of these past two weeks seem like a stroll in Hyde Park.
Lord Deerforth was in such a lather that he couldn’t stand still. “Of course I’m sure, girl. Don’t dawdle down here talking nonsense. Once his lordship has obtained my consent, he’ll want to talk to you. You’re to be looking your best and back in this drawing room in twenty minutes.”
“Papa…” Imogen began, but her father spoke over her as he targeted Stella with a hostile glance.
“You, go up with Imogen and make sure she’s ready.”
Her uncle always avoided addressing her by name when he could. For once, Stella was too preoccupied to resent the clumsy slight.
“But I’m not…” Imogen began.
Again Deerforth ignored her. “For God’s sake, I’ve spoken. I expect you to obey.”
Marching forward, he hauled Imogen to her feet. A ruthless hand steered her toward the open door and down the corridor.
Stella rose and, feeling like lead weighted her feet, followed. What else could she do?
When they entered the large front hall, Gray was passing his hat to the butler. He was always dressed comme il faut, but today he was like a plate from a fashion magazine, with his crisp white linen and his dark blue coat that fitted him to the inch. Stella’s heart gave an agonized thump, as she strove to discern some outer sign of the corruption in his soul. If a man who played this heinous trick on her could even own a soul.
It had been a game to describe him as satanic. She hadn’t known how right she was.
As the butler left, Gray looked up. His gaze went straight to Stella.
She felt like someone hit her with a club. Her fists clenched so tight at her sides that the nails dug into her palms. After today, her hands would be in shreds.
Those green eyes had stared into hers when he was so deep inside her that she felt like she and Gray became one person. They still seemed to promise allegiance. What a fool she was. He was a rake. She’d always known that. If she’d stopped to think, she should have run a hundred miles before going to his bed.
Imogen dropped into a polite curtsy as Deerforth released her, trying not to look as though he’d had to drag his daughter here. Stella couldn’t call up the will to curtsy. She was lucky that her uncle was so fixed on Gray, he didn’t notice her rudeness.
“My dear Halston, I’m delighted to see you,” he said with overly hearty good humor that had Gray wincing. How was it that Stella could read him with such ease, when it turned out she’d misjudged him so disastrously this whole time?
“Deerforth,” he said with a coldness that surprised her. He’d have to curb his dislike for Imogen’s father if he intended to make her his bride. He made a brief bow. “Can you spare me a few minutes? I have something important I wish to discuss with you.”
“Ho ho,” Deerforth said with such bonhomie that this time Stella wanted to wince. “It’s about this little minx, my daughter, I have no doubt. Dear Imogen wants to go upstairs and primp before you pay your addresses. But she’ll be waiting in the drawing room, once you and I settle the details.”
If Stella had been capable of laughter at that moment, she’d have laughed. Imogen and Gray’s faces both froze in horror. Aghast, they stared at Deerforth.
“Papa…” Imogen started.
“My lord, you mistake me.” Gray’s voice turned even colder. “Your daughter is very charming, and I’m sure she’ll make some fortunate fellow a wonderful wife. But that fortunate fellow isn’t me. I’m here to request your niece’s hand in marriage.”
For the second time that day, Stella’s head started to swim. Through the mists in her head, she felt Imogen’s hand curl around her arm to keep her upright.
Thank heaven. Her legs threatened to fold beneath her. When she read about heroines in books collapsing in a heap from shock, it always seemed unrealistic. But at this moment, she felt just as ready to faint as any gormless maiden in a romantic story.
The smugness leached from Deerforth’s face, leaving bafflement in its place. He goggled at Gray as if his words made no sense. “My niece?”
“Yes, your niece.” Gray cast Stella another quick glance, but she was too shaken by the sudden switch from absolute devastation to burgeoning hope. She couldn’t summon a response. “I’m going to ask Miss Faulkner to marry me. As you’ve been her guardian since her parents passed away and she lives in your house, I felt it only polite to inform you of my intentions.”
Surprise cracked the jovial mask that Deerforth wore in public. He flushed bright red as his temper erupted. “What bloody twaddle is this? You’ve been courting my daughter since you were introduced at the Lumsden ball. You called. You sent flowers. What about inviting her to that damned house party? You made your intentions clear then.”
Gray retained his urbanity. The angrier Deerforth became, the more the power in the room seemed to flow toward Gray. “I’m sorry for any misunderstanding.” He didn’t sound at all sorry. “I’ve never courted your daughter. I’ve been courting your niece. The house party was designed to further my suit with Miss Faulkner. As she and Lady Imogen are so close, it was natural to include her in the invitation.”
Stella saw her uncle struggle to make sense of what was happening. “Look here, Halston, this joke has gone far enough.”
“This is no joke, sir.” Gray didn’t smile. In fact, Stella had returned to herself enough to see that he battled with anger of his own. “I’m here to propose to Miss Faulkner. As she’s of age, obtaining your consent to the union is a mere formality. Miss Faulkner’s acceptance is all I require.”
Deerforth was too incensed to hide his reaction. A deep rumble of rage emerged as he whirled on Stella. His meaty fist bunched with unmistakable intent. “You sneaky little bitch.”
“Papa, don’t!” Imogen cried out, darting in front of Stella.
“Get out of the way, girl!” Deerforth snarled, shoving his daughter aside.
Stella recoiled and closed her eyes as she waited for the blow to land.
Nothing happened.
When she dared to look, Gray grasped Deerforth’s wrist in an unrelenting hold. “My lord, if you lay one finger on Miss Faulkner, I’ll ignore the fact that you’re older than I am and not in fighting shape, and I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
Stella sucked in a relieved breath as she straightened. Now that her terror subsided, she felt the beginnings of elation. Gray was here to take her away and to make her his wife. She could hardly believe it.
Deerforth’s bulk, usually so menacing, looked like weakness compared to Gray’s whipcord strength. Nobody in this room could doubt how any scuffle would finish.
“Unhand me, sir,” Deerforth snarled.
“Not until I have your word as a gentleman…” Gray snapped off the word with savage irony “…that you will control yourself.”
For a horrid moment, Stella wondered if Deerforth’s rage would win out against wisdom. She had no doubt of the depth of her uncle’s fury. Even worse, he was a man very sensitive of his dignity, and everyone in the hall knew that he’d made a complete fool of himself in making assumptions about Gray’s purpose in calling.
Imogen edged toward Stella as if she remained unsure of the outcome, too.
After a bristling silence, the madness receded from Deerforth’s face, if not the anger. He jerked his hand out of Gray’s hold and glared at Stella as though he hated her.
He’d always hated her, she realized with weary acceptance. Her mother had turned her back on her family and brought scandal to the Ridley name. Now that her mother was gone, Deerforth transferred all his bitter resentment to the only part of her mother that remained, her daughter.
“Get out of my house, you traitorous cow. I curse you and this cobbled-together match. Not that I need to wish you ill fortune. You’re wedding a swine whose name is synonymous with lechery. He’s a disgrace to his title, and if you imagine he’ll change once a ring is on your finger, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought.”
Stella’s eyes met Gray’s, and she gave an imperceptible shake of her head. There was no point mentioning that until a few minutes ago, Deerforth had been beside himself with glee at the prospect of entrusting his only daughter to Gray’s care.
“My lord, I’ll take my leave,” Gray said with a politeness that was an insult in itself. “You appear indisposed.”
“Yes, go. To hell for all I care,” Deerforth snarled. “And take your whore with you. Because I’ve no doubt she’s already crawled into your bed. She’s a harlot just like her mother.”
Gray went white, and that muscle kicked in his cheek. Stella had no doubt that he was an inch away from making good on his threats. For her part, her uncle’s insults had lost their power the moment she realized she no longer needed to stay under his control.
“Lord Deerforth, I’d button my lip, if I were you,” Gray snapped. “Or I’ll be obliged to meet you on the field of honor. I’d regret starting my married life with putting a bullet into my wife’s uncle, no matter how unworthy you are of that title.”
Deerforth went back to goggling, although this time there was fear as well as rage in his reaction. Gray was famous as a crack shot, while Stella had long ago recognized that her uncle was a coward. She stepped forward to place one hand on Gray’s arm, to remind him that violence at this juncture would do more harm than good.
“There’s nothing to be gained from staying.” It was the first time she’d touched him in a week and despite this horrid scene, something troubled and uncertain inside her settled at the contact. “I’d count myself privileged to come with you, Gray.”
“I’ll help you pack, Stella,” Imogen said.
Deerforth’s eyes glittered with spite. “The slut came to me with nothing. By God, she’ll leave me with nothing.”
Stella saw that Imogen wanted to protest at this last unworthy act of vengeance. Again she shook her head.
“Goodbye, Imogen.” She thought back to that terrifying moment when she’d waited for her uncle’s fist to smash into her and how Imogen had placed herself in the way. “You make me proud to be your cousin.”
“You’ll have nothing more to do with this woman, Imogen.” Deerforth’s pomposity revived, now he realized he’d escaped a duel with Gray. “As far as this family’s concerned, she’s dead.”
Again, Stella sent Imogen a warning glance to stay silent. Then she looked up at Gray and found it in her to smile. Because however disagreeable this confrontation had been, one truth remained paramount. She was going to spend the rest of her life with the man she loved.
“Gray, take me away and make me your wife.”
When he smiled back, the glow in his eyes made her heart expand with love. He was the man for her. Whatever happened now, they’d always be together. She’d live in his house, she’d bear his children, she’d carry his name.
It was more than she’d ever dreamed of.
“With pleasure, my darling.”
Ignoring a livid, wheezing Deerforth, Gray took her arm and escorted her from her uncle’s house. She went with a light step that echoed the joy filling her heart.
Stella had wondered how she’d live without Gray. Now she didn’t have to.
