Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) by Michelle McMaster Page B

about? Am I to play Petruchio to your Katharina? Or Lucentio to your Bianca?”
    “I cannot say,” Isobel replied, “for those that you mention are both pairs of lovers. And as you have said, ours is a marriage only of convenience.”
    He stepped closer to her, his penetrating blue eyes holding her gaze. “You are right, of course. That is what we both wanted. Is it not?”
    “It is what we agreed upon.”
    “So it is,” Beckett replied, finally. “I shall be off to the solicitors’ again this afternoon. Don’t wait up for me, hmm?”
    Isobel watched him walk across the lawn to the doorway without so much as a look back at her. Slowly, she packed up her drawing leads and papers, trying to quiet the thudding of her heart. She wanted nothing more than to retire to her room where she could be alone.
    Doubts swirled in her head, as dark and brittle as a whirlwind of autumn leaves.
    Who was this man that she’d married so hastily? He seemed such a contradiction—one day insisting that he wanted a marriage of convenience, and the next, teasing her about lovers and wedding nights.
    But as strange as this marriage was, it was necessary for her survival. She would make sense of it somehow. If Katharina and Petruchio could make their marriage work, then so could she and Beckett.
    Surely most of the women in London would trade their best bonnet for a true marriage with a man who was so attractive. And he was an earl, to boot. A very wealthy earl.
    As she entered her room, Isobel found herself remembering the softness of Beckett’s lips on hers yesterday in the church, and then last night so chastely upon her forehead.
    She sighed and plopped herself down on the bed, lying upon her back and staring up at the ceiling.
    Did he intend to honor their arrangement? His behavior in the garden had been most puzzling. She could have sworn he’d been flirting with her.
    If Beckett decided he wanted her in his bed, she would have no right to refuse him. And what was more worrisome, she knew she would have no intention of doing so.

Chapter 6

    Beckett stood in front of the mirror and arranged his ivory silk neck cloth. Unfortunately, Hartley’s talents in this regard were sorely lacking, and Beckett himself had been forced to learn how to tie a proper knot or risk looking like an uncultured oaf. He pulled on the bow to make it puff. There. Much better.
    Tonight he and his wife were making their first public appearance since their wedding two days ago. By all accounts, their attendance at the Whitcomb Ball was the talk of London. It seemed everyone wanted a glimpse of the new Earl and Countess of Ravenwood.
    Word was that Cordelia would be there, presumably with talons sharpened. According to Alfred, Cordelia had been campaigning to win support from some of the old guard—the Marchioness of Colborne, the Countess of Linfield and last but not least, the Duchess of Rowley.
    No doubt, Cordelia was trying to discredit Beckett and his new bride, not that he cared what any of those old crones thought. He adjusted his cuffs and took one last look in the glass. It would do.
    He trotted down the staircase with Monty on his heels, then stood near the bottom to await his wife. He felt the dog’s hot breath on his pant leg and moved away. The beast scooted closer, so that he was exactly the same distance from Beckett’s leg as he had been before.
    “Monty, I’ve already applied my cologne for the evening, thank you very much. Go on, now,” Beckett said, pointing.
    Monty looked up at him with happy brown eyes and continued to steam Beckett’s trousers.
    “Monty, go lay down,” he said firmly.
    The dog raised sad eyes to his master and obeyed.
    A flapping of feathers whooshed through the air and Caesar flew out of the salon, landing on his favorite perch: Beckett’s head.
    “Oh, Caesar—get off!” Beckett reached up to disengage the parrot from his head.
    “ Get off…get off, ahhkk !” The bird flapped its wings enthusiastically, and