“The deadline shall be the Westfield’s ball next year?”
“That will suffice,” Pansy stated. “And you will not be so smug next time we speak.”
Octavia laughed then, the tinkling, delicate sound at odds with her sharp nose and somewhat harsh features. “Oh, no, cousin. I daresay that smug will not even begin to describe my feelings the next time the subject is broached. You might as well be Hercules with a task this gargantuan and impossible for you.”
“Indeed, I might, cousin. Like myself, Hercules was successful!” Pansy snapped, before turning on her heel and marching away.
This novella is part of the Wedding Wager anthology.
CHAPTER1
Bramstone Nightingale stomped from the stables, his booted feet crunching on the stones as he attempted to bring life back to his frozen toes. The air was frigid and still, settling around him like a chilly cloak. Before him loomed Nightingale Hall, the house he had grown up in. The cream stone walls climbed several floors and covered a vast amount of ground. He’d lost count of how many rooms were inside years ago.
He’d run wild and alone over the grounds surrounding it and slid down the banisters inside it when his parents hadn’t been looking.
“Did I miss it though?” Bram studied the large facade and felt a tug of something inside him. Perhaps in a small way he had. Plus there were his nieces and nephews, who he loved very much and had missed desperately.
Bram had been summoned to visit for a house party his mother was hosting on behalf of an old friend. And not just any friend: Lady Pandora Osborne. The woman had been terrifying her way through London society for years. She was a gossip who had no issue with stating whatever thought came into her head. Secretly, Bram admired her, even if she had terrified him upon occasion.
I know you are back in London, Bramstone, and also that you have yet to visit with your family. You will come to my house party,his mother had written in the letter that was awaiting him in his lodgings in London. He’d been there a total of four days when the note arrived.The shame you bring down on this family will stop, even if only for a few days.
She was right, of course; he did bring shame down on the sainted Nightingale family, but only because he would not conform to his mother’s expectations. His sainted brother, however, was all that was gentlemanly and noble. At least, that’s what he wanted people to think. Bram knew better.
Muttering and stomping, he hoped his valet and bed were waiting. It wasn’t overly late, but dark had fallen, and he would be arriving after the guests had eaten and were no doubt enjoying some form of entertainment. Tomorrow would be soon enough to subject himself to them.
Hands in pockets, thoughts centered on his exhaustion, seeing as he had ridden for hours to reach here, he did not see the figure before him until it was too late. Bram collided with her, forcing her to stumble back several steps. Before he could grab her, she’d fallen.
“Christ! Sorry. I mean…” He didn’t know what to add to that, so he simply bent to help her rise. She scrambled back on her hands and feet like a crab, then rose unaided. Bram watched as she slapped down her skirts, then bent to pick up what she’d dropped.
“Excuse me.” She attempted to move, but he blocked her exit.
He hadn’t seen much of her other than slender calves when her skirts were askew. The hood of her cloak still covered her hair and face.
“Forgive me. I was not watching where I was going.” He bowed.
“I won’t tell your employers. It was an accident,” she said. Her tone was clipped, eyes on the ground and not him.
“My employers?” Bram looked down. Did he dress like a servant? His boots were dusty, and there were smears of dirt on his breeches, but his overcoat was of the finest quality. Plus, his voice surely gave him away.
“Excuse me.” She began to walk past him.
“Should you be out here alone?” Bram stepped into her path again.
“I beg your pardon?” Her chin lifted to look at him, and he saw her more clearly. He had a fleeting glimpse of soft, pale skin and big eyes of undetermined color. They widened in recognition as they locked on him. She stumbled back a few steps.
“Do we know each other?” He leaned closer.
“No.” Her small hand reached up to tug the hood of her cloak forward, and she was no longer visible to him.
Her reaction to him would suggest she was lying.
“Should you be out here alone at this time? I see no one accompanying you.” He wondered why he was bothering. Bram never really got involved in anyone else’s business unless it affected him. If she was a guest seeking a liaison with a gentleman, who was he to stop her—or judge, for that matter.
“It’s a house party, not the streets of London, sir. Please excuse me.” She sounded panicked now.
“But still…” He looked around him as if danger lurked in the shadows.
She made a small sound that Bram had no idea how to interpret.
