Page 45 of The Wager and the Wedding

Lord James’s eyes narrowed. “You know, she isn’t truly your bride until you consummate. Another man might steal her away.”

Isabella stared fixedly at the floor. She must have spoken with him, and as Martin feared, his rival was interested. The mere idea of her surrendering herself to that man filled him with blinding rage.

Martin clenched his fist again, and Isabella glance quickly at him, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. She didn’t want him to fight. Of course, she didn’t. She’d achieved what she wanted—to marry Lord James. The thought made him want tograb the nearest weapon and carve the earl to pieces, but he held back for her sake.

Wide-eyed, Lord Christopher barked an incredulous laugh. “Surely, no one is going to attempt to steal Lord Martin’s bride from him. They’ve already declared their union before God.”

Lord James shrugged. “Perhaps God has other plans for Lady Isabella, grander plans.”

Taking several threatening steps toward Martin, Lord James towered over him. Martin met his gaze and let the man see the full force of his fury.

Lord James blinked and took a step back, then laughed. “It was a jest, my lord. No need to look at me like that. No one is going to steal your wife.”

“Ha! Of course! A jest.” Lord Christopher’s forced guffaw was accompanied by a nervous, darting glance between the two men. “He meant nothing by it, Lord Martin. Have no fear. Your lady is safe beneath my roof.”

“Although she could hardly be blamed for keeping her options open, eh?” Lord James clapped Martin on the shoulder and squeezed painfully. “That awful mustache of yours certainly isn’t doing you any favors, is it, my lady?” he said, releasing Martin and turning to Isabella.

“I think it suits him.”

Pride bloomed in Martin’s heart, despite the tension in the room. She liked his mustache! Nobody liked his mustache, not even his own mother. He’d seen a man in Venice wearing one and thought it a very fine fashion indeed. Unfortunately, no one seemed to agree with him. Until his wife.

“Yes, I suppose it distracts from the rest of him, which is, perhaps, for the best.”

A weak and uninspired insult if he ever heard one.

“I am as God made me. If you think to prick my pride, you need to work harder. I have been called a boiled-leather cuirass,a goat turd, a lump of putrid cheese, a rampallian, a puke stocking… And that’s just by my little sister. I’d tell you what my brother says about me, but I don’t wish to offend Lady Isabella’s ears.”

Isabella turned toward him, eyebrows raised. “Your sister said all that about you?”

Martin shrugged. “In her defense, she was eight, and I’d just dropped her favorite doll in a dung heap playing keep-away with my brother. I deserved every word.”

Isabella laughed, and some of the tension left his body. As long as she found him funny and charming, all hope was not lost.

“So, my lord,” Martin said, turning to Lord James. “Can you do better than an eight-year-old girl? Sharpen your wit and do your worst.”

Lord James narrowed his eyes. “This is absurd. I don’t have time to play your childish games.”

“A pity. I was rather looking forward to hearing what novel insults you would heap upon my head. But perhaps your wit is not up to the task.” Martin ought not to goad the man, but anger still simmered beneath his skin over his rival’s inroads with Isabella, not to mention whatever the man had said to make her cry.

“Shut your face, you pathetic fool.” The earl took a threatening step toward him.

“Peace, my lords! Peace!” Lord Christopher rose and hurried to stand between them. “This jesting has gone too far. Perhaps we should go our separate ways until supper. I have a lovely garden that Lady Isabella might enjoy. Lord Martin, perhaps you could take your wife for a walk there? Lord James and I have some business to attend to.”

Martin forced himself to release the breath he’d been holding and turned his gaze from the loathsome toad trying to steal hiswife to Lord Christopher. “That sounds lovely, my lord. Isabella, will you accompany me?”

He held out his arm, and she took it. They left the great hall swiftly, without another word.

The garden was not at its finest, given the season. There was little alive aside from cabbages and conifers, but Martin was hardly going to complain about the surroundings when he finally had a moment of privacy with his wife. He led her to a stone bench and sat beside her.

“Isabella, what happened with Lord James? It looks like you’ve been crying. Did he threaten you or hurt you?”

She shook her head.

Thank God! But still, something had brought her to tears, and he wanted very badly to know what it was.

Isabella turned her gaze to him before he could form a question. “Is it true that you went to him before I did and told him you would release me if I chose it?”

“Yes.” He searched her face for some sign that he’d done the right thing. Her eyes welled with tears that she blinked back. Perhaps he’d gotten it all wrong. “Would you rather that I hadn’t?”

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