Always the Bridesmaid Read online

  His gaze remained on the bridesmaid. She appeared to be singing most studiously, but Richard had been seducing women for years now. He knew that slightly uncomfortable look, the delicate way she held herself perfectly still so as not to attract attention.

  Prey frozen in the gaze of its predator.

  “And her name?”

  Charlotte murmured, “Miss Tabitha Chesworth, if you must know.”

  Just hearing her name sent a chill down Richard’s spine. What power did this strange woman hold over him that he’d be captivated from just one look?

  “Miss Tabitha Chesworth,” he repeated.

  “Shh!”

  The St. Maur siblings turned to stare at the elderly woman who had so violently shushed them from her pew, he in surprise that anyone should shush him, and Charlotte in embarrassment.

  “I am sorry, madam,” she rushed in a sotto voce voice. “I—”

  “Shh!” The elderly woman brought a finger to her lips this time, and Richard chuckled as he turned his mortified and blushing sister around.

  Miss Chesworth was still stoically facing forward, and Richard grinned. Yes, he may be utterly captivated by her, but it appeared the interest was entirely mutual.

  It would not be too difficult for him to speak with Miss Chesworth, together with Charlotte at first, and then alone at the reception for the happy couple. Conversation would be light in general, even vague, then specific, intimate, and personal. How difficult would it be to tempt her away to a more secluded place to continue that conversation?

  A conversation that would hardly need words at that point, though Richard’s tongue could still do all the talking. A chance to…get to know each other better.

  A sharp dig in the ribs made him cry out. “Ouch, Charlotte, that hurt!”

  “Shh!”

  “No, Richard, I forbid it,” Charlotte whispered fiercely this time, completely ignoring the old woman behind them who found their conversation so offensive.

  Richard raised an eyebrow. “You do not even know what I am planning yet!”

  His sister raised an eyebrow in turn, and he smiled wickedly.

  “Well, perhaps you do,” he admitted in a low voice, “but I have not even asked to be introduced yet. You could not have possibly guessed I would ask that favor of you.”

  Charlotte glared. “Richard, I know you far too well. Miss Chesworth is undoubtedly seeking marriage, not a sordid liaison.”

  Richard licked his lips. It was impossible not to undress Miss Tabitha Chesworth with his mind, now that he knew her name. The gentle folds of her gown brushed what promised to be a delightful curve of the hips, and her waist…

  “I mean it, Richard,” his sister warned. “She will want to be wedded not bedded.”

  But her words were easy to ignore. “I will not be traipsed down the aisle by a young miss looking to add a title to her name, but I will have Miss Tabitha Chesworth for my own.”

  “Be quiet, sir! Who do you think you are?”

  Richard was not accustomed to being ordered about, and after the third time, his always short temper finally burst.

  Turning around and drawing himself up to his not inconsiderable height, he glared at the elderly woman with a look of righteous judgement and affixed her with his most impressive, nobleman’s glare.

  “I am St. Maur, the sixteenth Duke of Axwick, and this is my sister, Lady Charlotte,” Richard hissed in a whisper that nonetheless carried the length and breadth of the church, “and if I wish to speak with her, then I will!”

  Not for the first time in his life, scandalized gasps echoed around him as the organ finished its last note.

  The congregation and the St. Maur siblings with them, sat.

  “You cannot just take what you want all of the time,” Charlotte said close to his ear, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  Richard was barely listening. His eyes had remained on Miss Chesworth, and they were not disappointed. She turned, and her blush crept delightfully toward her breasts.

  Something in his throat growled. “Yes, I can.”

  Chapter Three

  “…and you must be absolutely thrilled!”

  “Yes, how proud you must be!”

  “I mean, to be asked once is such an honor, but to be asked to be a bridesmaid for the third time…”

  Tabitha’s face ached from the false smile she’d held for the last half an hour. A cluck of old biddies had surrounded her as soon as they had entered the home of Lieutenant Perry’s father, telling her just how fortunate she should consider herself to have walked down the aisle multiple times.

  She blinked. There had been a lull in the noise, and the three elderly ladies were staring at her expectantly.

  Tabitha nodded graciously. “’Tis indeed a remarkable honor.”

  The ladies relaxed, and one of them nodded. “Ah, yes, such an honor. And it says so much about you, too, dear.”

  With that, they wandered off.

  “It does indeed,” Tabitha breathed, the false smile cracking at the corners. “It says I am useful, never considered for marriage itself, but a rather nice part of the decorations.”

  It was impossible to ignore the boiling of her blood. Would she always be a pleasant part of the day but never the reason for it? How many more weddings would she endure? Even if she was never a bridesmaid again, she would be forevermore the eternal bridesmaid.

  “Are you feeling quite well, Tabitha?”

  The innocent question forced her back to her senses, and it was a natural smile as she stretched her hands to the bride.

  “I could not be happier,” she lied, and the new Mrs. Perry beamed at her.

  “It truly has been a wonderful day, has it not?” her cousin breathed, smiling at the throng of well-wishers who were evidently waiting respectfully for her to finish their conversation before rushing forward to give her their felicitations. “I could not even dream Lady Romeril would attend, but we sent an invitation out of courtesy, and I am beyond grateful we did. And the flowers in the church, so elegantly arranged, I would not have thought it within Mrs. Howarth’s powers to…”

  Tabitha allowed the happiness to wash over her and squeezed her cousin’s hand gently. It was not Mabel’s fault. To be passed over for marriage at her age, a cruel four and twenty… But there it was. Perhaps it was not so old, but most of her peers were confined with their second child. Every year fresh young ladies came out for their first season, prettier and more accomplished than every season before them.

  “My love, come and enjoy the festivities!” Lieutenant Perry rushed into the room to draw his bride to his side. “Major Bowden is at the pianoforte and is threatening to sing a duet with my mother!”

  His voice matched his jovial spirit, and Tabitha smiled as her cousin scampered away with a laugh, hand in hand with her husband.

  Her heart ached. What wouldn’t she give for someone she loved to look at her like that and seek her out in a crowded room? For a man to pause and wait for her because nothing else mattered but to hear her opinion.

  Fires filled every grate in the room, and candles added to the heat haze around the walls. Everyone of note in Bath had been invited to the Perry wedding, and plenty had deemed it worthy enough to descend from London, too.

  Tabitha sighed. There was not a single person who she would love to talk to, to hear laugh, to jest with. There was no one seeking her out, desperate for her opinion on the latest play, or interested to hear her thoughts on the latest scandalous activity of Lord Byron.

  “Champagne?”

  Tabitha jumped as a servant appeared at her side, offering a flute of champagne—a real treat with the troubles in France. Uncle Reed must have broken the bank for his daughter’s nuptials.

  “Thank you,” she said mechanically, taking one from the silver platter offered to her. Everyone had come together here today to celebrate the wedding—as they should be—and all she was doing was standing, feeling bitter and selfish.

  “Miss Chesworth? Miss T
abitha Chesworth?”

  A voice had called out her name, a voice she did not recognize. Tabitha turned her head to see a woman walking toward her with an anxious smile. She was tall, had probably once been quite beautiful, but was past the bloom of youth and was walking arm in arm with a gentleman that was not.

  He was the most handsome and striking man she had ever seen. Tall, dark, with a jaw that could cut ice, and fierce eyes staring at her as though she were a fox in a hunt.

  Tabitha felt her cheeks flush. It was the gentleman from the church, the one near the back who had watched her so carefully.

  Heat blossomed from her heart, and she was glad of the cold champagne glass cooling her as the couple approached, recognizing the lady as a friend of her cousin’s. What could she possibly want with her?

  They reached her, and the lady inclined her head in the respectable courtesies expected of polite society. Tabitha followed suit but could not help noticing the gentleman did not take his eyes from her, nor did he bow.

  The room was too hot, and her corset had been tied too tightly that morning.

  “We met last week at Mabel’s—Mrs. Perry’s, I mean—home as she prepared for today,” the lady was saying to her. “Lady Charlotte St. Maur. What a truly wonderful wedding it was.”

  Tabitha swallowed, her throat dry and eyes drawn to the silent gentleman beside Lady Charlotte. Her brother? Her betrothed? “Yes, yes it was.”

  Hardly aware what she was agreeing to, hardly comprehending what was happening in the rest of the room, her eyes could not leave the gentleman who had, as yet, said nothing. His gaze still had not left hers, and she felt the presence of him.

  Lady Charlotte nodded. “May I have the pleasure of introducing you to my brother, Miss Chesworth?” Without waiting for a response, as though she had decided Tabitha was to meet him and there was nothing else for it. “Miss Chesworth, Richard St. Maur, sixteenth Duke of Axwick.”

  Now the gentleman bowed, but what a bow: short, sharp, as though he had rarely been forced to bow to anyone in his life. Tabitha was so stunned by his attractive countenance, she completely forgot to curtsy.

  “You look very beautiful, Miss Chesworth.” His voice was deep, dark even, more serious than any other.

  Tabitha wished she had not been close to the fire when they had advanced on her, for it felt like an attack, this barrage of brother and sister.

  “Thank you, your grace,” she managed to say quietly, heart fluttering and hands clasped around the stem of the champagne glass rather than drift awkwardly at her sides.

  The Duke chuckled, his eyes not wavering from her. “Now then, I do not hold with such niceties created by pompous old ladies and gentlemen who never actually meet each other. I would much prefer it if you called me Richard.”

  It was all Tabitha could do to prevent her jaw from dropping at this risqué way of speaking, and they had only just met! But there was a warmth to the Duke of Axwick that none could ignore, and she smiled despite herself.

  “And I would prefer it,” she said, her smile unwavering under the intensity of his own, “if I called you Axwick.”

  “Perhaps we can compromise,” the duke countered, his lip curling. “May I be St. Maur?”

  Tabitha laughed. Well, he was charming, and she could not deny it was pleasant to exchange witticisms with a man so handsome, drawing so many admiring looks from other ladies.

  Lady Charlotte was staring first at her and then at her brother, surprise on her face.

  Tabitha swallowed. She was not going to be beaten by this man, even if he was the sixteenth of his line. She may just be Miss Tabitha Chesworth, but she could take on a duke.

  “You would prefer St. Maur?” she asked sweetly. “Axwick it is, then.”

  The duke threw back his head and laughed, and it was his first genuine laugh that she had heard. It was rich like brandy butter, smooth and delicious, and one that sparked something hot that had nothing to do with the fire behind her.

  “Lady Charlotte!”

  A young lady in a light blue gown and drenched in diamonds poked her head around a doorframe and was gesturing wildly to their group by the fire. “Lady Charlotte, may we borrow you?”

  Tabitha saw a flicker of annoyance pass over Lady Charlotte’s face before she adjusted her features.

  “You must excuse me,” she said, curtseying low.

  Tabitha barely had time to return the curtsy before she realized she was alone with the Duke of Axwick. The crowded room had been forgotten, and Charlotte had felt like their chaperone, as for all intents and purposes, but now they were alone by the fire.

  Panic rose in her throat and dried out her mouth. The duke was such a man, he was more man than anyone she had ever met, and she was standing with him. His very presence reminded her she was naught but a gentlewoman, and he one of the nobility of England and Ireland.

  People like them simply did not mix. A duke and a Chesworth? Her father would have laughed to even think it, and he had been a most mild-mannered man.

  And yet…there was something warming about Richard’s company. She must not falter and start to adopt signs of familiarity. Where would that lead?

  “You are not easily convinced, then,” he said with a shake of his head. “Ah, Miss Chesworth, I wish you could call me Richard. Then I, you see, could call you Tabitha.”

  The way his tongue caressed her name made her overwhelmingly hot. Typically, flirtation only happened between members of the same class. Dukes did not decide to say such things to her!

  But she managed to smile. “I have always known my own mind on things, and I see no reason to compromise now.”

  “What is on your mind at this wedding?” The duke stretched out his hands to indicate the merriment.

  “It was a lovely day with a beautiful bride. We could not have hoped for better weather.”

  She had expected him to jump at the mediocre topic, a casual and, most importantly, neutral topic that could see them through until his sister, Lady Charlotte, returned.

  He chuckled, throwing his head back again. “My dear, Miss Chesworth, your reply is so perfect that it is practically rehearsed!” He took a step forward, closing the gap between them. “Now, tell me. What do you really think?”

  She hesitated. There was something about him, duke or no, that confused her. His eyes went through her, right to the core of who she really was, not who she would like to be. There was a fierce intelligence in his eyes, eyes directed firmly at her.

  No, she was all he was interested in, and it frightened her as much as it thrilled her.

  “It is my true opinion,” she began, but he interrupted her.

  “Do not lie to me, Miss Chesworth.” His voice was so low she could barely catch it over the rabble of the revelry, and he took another step forward. They were standing so close now that if she wanted to, she could have allowed her right hand to fall to her side and it would have brushed his own. “You do not need to hide anything from me. We need not have secrets from each other, we barely know each other.”

  “And that is precisely why I shall not pour my heart out to you,” Tabitha managed to counter in a friendly voice, her heart fluttering.

  He shrugged. “Such things have never stopped me.”

  Tabitha laughed at what she presumed to be a jest and took a sip of her champagne. The bubbles tickled her nose as she took a large mouthful, but the bubbles and alcohol were nothing to the giddiness that Richard, Duke of Axwick, was creating.

  “You do not believe me.” His words were not accusatory, merely factual.

  She shook her head. “I think you tease me, your grace.”

  His smile was broad as he replied, “Most likely. I tease my sister, Charlotte, something terrible. But you are not like her, I think.”

  She will be mistress of herself. She will not allow this gentleman’s charming words to overwhelm her. “You think so?”

  How was it possible that this man had sought her out? Tabitha took a steadying breath.

&n
bsp; “I know so.” The duke’s gaze had not left her face. “I have always considered myself a just judge of character, and I believe I have all I need to distinguish your characteristics.”

  Tabitha laughed. “My, you speak very decidedly. After five minutes of conversation, you believe you have worked me out?”

  “Certainly. You are proud, but careful not to show it. Proud of your family, your beliefs. That is something you have worked hard on, and yet it means that few people see the real Miss Tabitha Chesworth underneath all the layers of decorum and control.”

  Her mouth fell open. The duke’s brown eyes were bright, but not mischievous. He was smiling, but not joking.

  How did he know all that? As though he had looked into her very soul?

  “I am sure you say that to all young ladies you seek to flatter,” she said airily.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Maybe I am the first gentleman to see you precisely for who you are.”

  The room was not exactly spinning, but Tabitha’s feet were unsteady.

  “And yet I know very little about you,” she managed to say.

  “True, but I am sure you can guess. Try me.”

  The duke spread his hands out wide to give her full view of him and waited for her to speak.

  Tabitha swallowed. This was not how she had expected their conversation to develop, and now she was being asked to speak to a gentleman’s character—a duke’s! This was not the time to step away fearfully. What did she have to lose?

  “You, sir, like to tease everyone,” she said, a little shocked at her own daring. The duke’s eyebrows raised as she continued, “You mock because it is better than serious conversation. With serious conversation, you would be forced to give your true opinion, and then you could be held to it. Far easier to never give one.”

  She held her breath as the words sunk in, but despite her brazen observations, he smiled.

  “Well said, Miss Chesworth. You are not like the other young ladies I have encountered, but then, three times the bridesmaid, you must have unending wisdom.”

  Pain shot through her stomach like a knife. Just as their flirtation was gaining pace, he had to throw those words in her face. But then, the Duke of Axwick did not appear to realize his sentence had pained her. He was still looking at her with an appreciative look, his gaze taking in more than just her face.