Bartered Bride Romance Collection (85 page)

“Non, non,”
Madame protested. “You use ze pomade to tame ze pouff and is lovely.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” Sarah interrupted. “And a few locks cut shorter around the face to frame her eyes.”

“Exactamente.”
Madame nodded her approval and, at Libby’s hesitant nod, rinsed her hair with a shampoo smelling of lemons. “Zis will lighten ze color,” she promised. Then the woman set to her task with comb, shears, and an almost frightening enthusiasm.

Libby closed her eyes as, with the snip of the scissors, locks of her hair littered the floor.
It’s time I took better care of myself, took more care with my appearance
. She cracked an eye open to see Madame’s gleeful smile and snapped it shut once more.
This will be worth it. It has to be!

As the
Riverrider
pulled into the dock, Gregory argued with himself.

Should he spend the night in his cabin, as he’d done so often over the past six weeks, or go back to Cranberry Hill? Ah, but going back to Cranberry Hill would be perilous enough in the light of day.

Loath though he was to admit it, through much prayer and thought, Gregory had to face the truth. He’d treated Libby horribly. She had every right to flay him with her words the moment he stepped over the threshold. After all, what kind of man deserts his bride directly after their wedding night—twice—before throwing her sister from their parlor?

Granted, Tabitha deserved far worse from him, but Libby did not. When it came right down to the bare bones of the matter, she’d had even less choice about this marriage than he had. He had faced humiliation and a heavy toll on his business image. She’d faced the betrayal of her sister and the financial destruction of her father should she refuse. And, to boot, she was saddled with a negligent, angry groom who disappeared when he should have been seeing to their marriage.

Father, I’ve made a mess of things. Part of me says I should go home immediately and apologize, try to compromise with Libby. The other part of me argues that it would be unfair to arrive at night, expecting her to welcome me when it would shortly be time to go to bed. I cannot expect that of her
.

Ah, but I could sleep in one of the spare bedrooms so as not to pressure her. And it would be so good to be home….

No matter what difficulties lay between them, he knew Libby had made Cranberry Hill the warm, welcoming home he’d always intended it to be. His desire to be home, to begin patching things up with Libby, immediately won over.

A short carriage ride later, he pulled up to a house blazing with lights. He let himself in, drawn up short at the sight of a magnificent chandelier, crystal drops of all different sizes capturing the light over the grand staircase. The sight was breathtaking so as almost to distract him from the sweet notes coming from the music room. Almost.

He followed the sound of the pianoforte and a woman’s breathy soprano to find the music room completely transformed—and filled with guests. He stood in the doorway, staring blankly for a moment as he struggled to process what was going on. Surely Libby wouldn’t entertain without his presence? What wife would open her husband’s home in his absence?

His wife
. There was no denying the truth of what lay before him. Where was she? Libby had some explaining to do. He silently surveyed the crowd of no fewer than twenty people, scanning for the long, honey-brown locks of his wife.

Gregory recognized his mother first, his gaze slipping past the attractive woman seated beside her until a niggle of recognition made him focus more intently on …
Libby?

Chapter 10

L
ibby’s hair, much shorter now, tumbled from a loose knot in riotous curls. A few soft tendrils framed her lovely eyes, drew attention to the generous curve of her smile as she tapped her gloved fingers in time with the music. She easily outshone every other woman in the room—all save her sister. Tabitha reclined only a few seats away.

His good intentions forgotten, Gregory strode down the side of the room until he was level with his wife. He touched her bare shoulder, scarcely registering the softness of her skin as he jerked his head toward the door in silent command. Her eyes wide, she followed him into the hall.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” His hissed question garnered attention from a few of the guests, and Libby ushered him into the study.

For a brief moment, Gregory was nonplussed by his surroundings. A massive mahogany desk stood in one corner of the room, easily large enough for him to draw up a chair. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves adorned two entire walls, filled with rich, leather-bound sets of volumes and folios. Electric lamps sat on thoughtfully placed tables to cast light in every corner.

Squashy chairs and a leather sofa curled near the cozy warmth of the gas fireplace, cushioned by a rug in shades of deep blue and crimson. The room bespoke a woman’s thoughtfulness to meet her man’s needs, evidence of the type of harmony their marriage should enjoy.

Harmony that didn’t exist. Remembering the reason she stood before him now, Gregory nearly choked on his anger. How could the same woman who made Cranberry Hill the home he’d always wanted stand there so blithely after denying him the pleasure of seeing people’s reactions to it? How could she cheat him of his role as master of the house?
How dare she announce to the world that she doesn’t need me?

“Well?” Gregory thundered this time, grinding his teeth. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“It’s good to see you, too, Gregory.” Libby closed the door behind them, shutting out the strains of a lilting melody and ensuring their discussion would remain private. “Good to—” His mouth opened and shut again, giving him an uncanny resemblance to a fish out of water. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m
playing
at nothing.” She said no more. Let it rest on him to dredge up reasons to argue. Libby was tired of it.

“Then what do you call that”—he gestured toward the music room while searching for the word—“spectacle?”

“A dinner party, of course.” Libby watched as her husband pulled a thick cigar from his pocket. “I’ll have to ask you not to light that in here.”

“Excuse me?” As he shook out the flame of his match, the sparks in his eyes glowed. “Last I checked this was my house.”

“And it still is,” Libby agreed pleasantly. “But since last you checked, I did stock and refurbish this library. I won’t allow Papa to smoke in here—it ruins the books, you see. Makes them musty.” She watched as he looked at the room once more, unable to hide his admiration for the luxurious furnishing.

“Very well.” He still managed to sound disgruntled even as he tucked the cigar back into his pocket then returned to the more pressing matter. His eyes narrowed. “A dinner party?”

“Precisely.” She inclined her head. “Albeit one you interrupted. It’s rude to leave one’s guests, you know.”

“It’s rude to throw a party in a man’s house without informing him, much less inviting him.” His rich baritone was silky smooth, a signal of danger she’d come to recognize. “Isn’t it customary for the man of the house to be present at such proceedings?”

“Traditionally.” Libby fought to keep her temper but lost the fight when Gregory’s chest puffed up in triumph, his gaze scornful and dismissive as he began to speak once more. She swiftly cut him off. “Though it is also customary for the man of the house to spend time at said house. With you absent almost continuously for the past two months, it would have been nigh impossible to coordinate a gathering according to your timetable.”

“That would almost prove an acceptable explanation—a worthy argument, even, but for one fact.” He moved forward, effectively trapping her against the end of the sofa. “You disobeyed my wishes. Tabitha is here.”

“Yes.” Libby raised her brows. “My
sister
kindly agreed to support me by attending my first party, even though she’d been unceremoniously ordered away when last she stepped foot in our home.”

“A good wife obeys her husband’s edicts,” he countered.

“Marriage is supposed to be a partnership.” Libby laid a hand on his arm. “We’ll both be stronger when we stand together.”

“Tonight you chose to stand beside your sister.” He pinned her with his gaze. “Will you choose to stand beside me instead?”

“I want to, Gregory.” The tears worked past her defenses at last as she whispered, “You’re my family, but I can’t stand beside you when you’re not here.”

“Do you want me by your side, Libby?” His voice rumbled with doubt.

“Yes.” Her heart hammering in her chest, Libby broached the subject that could well tear apart their newfound trust. “Gregory, I understand if you don’t want Tabitha at Cranberry Hill—it was wrong of me to disregard your wishes and have her here—but I still love my sister.”

“I see.” He stiffened and pulled away his hand.

“I won’t have her here again,” she vowed, snatching his hand with both of hers, willing him to listen. “But I need to be able to see her other places.”

“We’ll see.” His frown softened, and he laid his hand over hers, covering her with warmth. “It’s not right for me to expect your support when I’ve withheld mine for so long.” He cupped her cheek with his other hand. “We’ll do better from now on, yes?”

“I hope so, but I need an answer about Tabitha. I don’t ask you to spend time with her, but I do ask that you let me do so.” She held her breath as she waited.

“I respect that.” He finally agreed. A faint smile replaced his frown now. “But I’m going to have to exact a price, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?” Libby sensed he was being more lighthearted.
Anything you want, Gregory
.

“You’re going to have to follow this one final edict.” His expression turned serious once again, making Libby’s heart plummet.

“What edict?” She somehow dredged up the courage to ask.

“You will never”—he closed the distance between them, taking her into his arms—“under any circumstances, cut your hair without my permission again.”

And as he smoothed his large hand over her curls, gently tugging them to watch as they sprang back into place, Libby could speak again.

“You don’t like it?” She squeaked, full of remorse.

“No.” He threaded his fingers through more of her curls and lowered his mouth to hers. “I love it.” His whisper fanned across her lips as he kissed her. It was a good while before he drew back and touched his forehead to hers. “Do you agree to my terms?”

“Oh.” Libby smiled at him, sliding her arms around his neck. “I think that can be arranged.”

Chapter 11