Page 58 of Bad Luck Bride

Wilson gave an impatient snort. “Don’t be obtuse, Kay,” he said, turning toward her. “Last night, the minute my back was turned, he made a beeline for you. His own fiancée had to dance with someone else, poor girl.”

“That’s not quite how it was,” she began, but Wilson cut off her attempt to set him straight.

“He’s been doing this sort of thing all weekend. Staring at you through tea, and through dinner, drooling over you, pining away—”

“Pining?” she interrupted, and made a scoffing sound at such ludicrous accusations. It was obvious that Wilson’s innate jealousy was making him imagine things. And yet, as absurd as it was, she nonetheless relished the idea a little. Truth be told, after the years she’d spent in Wales pining over Devlin, she rather liked the notion of the shoe being on the other foot, even if it was all a fantasy concocted in Wilson’s imagination.

“You know he was, Kay. He keeps going out of his way to speak with you at every opportunity.”

“Well, it is a house party, Wilson,” she said. “You know how thesethings work. We are all expected to spend some amount of time speaking with the other guests. It would be rather a sad and dreary house party if we didn’t speak to each other, don’t you think?”

This very reasonable point was ignored.

“The minute we came through to the drawing room after dinner,” Wilson went on, “there he was, by your side, being so solicitous and bringing you champagne. Who does he think he is, the damned butler?”

“Oh, for—” Kay stopped, biting back an impatient retort. “He was pouring champagne for himself and he noticed I didn’t have any,” she said in a more moderate tone. “He knows I’m fond of champagne, so he brought me some. That’s all there was to it.”

“He was panting over you like a dog, and with his own fiancée right there in the room, so don’t make excuses for him, especially when your own conduct hasn’t been much better.”

All Kay’s efforts to regain her equilibrium went to the wall. “My conduct?” she repeated. “My conduct?”

“Yes, Kay. Your conduct. Don’t pretend you don’t bear some responsibility. We agreed you would steer clear of him, and yet, every time I look up, there he is, popping up like a bad penny. And there you are, encouraging him.”

“What?” she cried. The idea was so bizarre that she laughed, even as a cautionary voice inside her head warned her to guard her tongue. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” He glanced down over her. “That gown you’re wearing is hardly meant to keep a man at bay.”

She stared at him, her mother’s words echoing through her head.

Wilson prefers the satin… he told me quite clearly that he wanted to be kept informed of all the wedding plans…

All the misgivings that had been keeping Kay awake at night came roaring back, along with Devlin’s question.

Do you really want to live your life letting a second man dictate to you where you’ll go and what you’ll do?

She forced herself to say something. “This is merely the latest fashion. I’m not wearing it to entice Devlin Sharpe, believe me.”

“No? All weekend, every time I look for you, I see you with him, your heads together, talking, laughing.”

“Laughing?” She stared at him, beginning to think perhaps the man she was about to marry was a bit touched in the head. “What are you saying? That I’m not supposed to laugh, even when a man says something amusing?”

“You know what I mean, Kay. I expect my future bride to behave with some degree of decorum, and that means not flaunting your breasts and cozying up in a corner with the very man who ruined you, laughing at his jokes. What the hell were you thinking?”

“This is becoming ridiculous!” she cried, turning toward him, her own temper fraying at this unjustified and completely unreasonable attack. “Ever since we saw him at the opera supper, you’ve been hovering over me like a hen with one chick. You assume authority over my schedule, my friends, my amusements, and even how I dress. Even my wedding gown needed to be approved by you. Don’t deny it,” she added as he opened his mouth. “My mother already let it slip that she’s keeping you informed of everything I decide. And, as if all that’s not enough control for you, you’re now dictating when I’m allowed to laugh?”

“Stop it, Kay. Now you’re talking like a shrew.”

“Am I?” she countered. “Perhaps that’s because I don’t appreciate being scolded and criticized and told what to do, as if I’m a child.”

“Not a child,” he corrected. “A future wife. And a husband, as you know, is fully entitled to order, and a wife is expected to obey. It’s even in the wedding vows.”

“But as you said, that’s in the future. So I would appreciate it if you would refrain from behaving like a jealous, dictatorial husband until we’re actually married.”

In the light that spilled through the windows onto the terrace, she could see anger rising in his eyes, warning her that she was on very thin ice. When he spoke, his words confirmed the fact.

“Tread lightly, Kay,” he said, his voice low and cold with anger, “or we may not marry at all. And then what will you do? How,” he added as her insides twisted with sudden alarm, “will you pay your family’s debts then?”

Placate him, she thought with a jolt of desperation.Pour oil on the troubled waters. Apologize.

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