Read Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) for Free Online Page B

ordeal.”
    “I owe you a great debt, Lord Weston,” Isobel said. “I can only thank you and Lord Thornby for helping me. I’m afraid most people would have left such a bedraggled-looking creature to her fate.”
    “It is the duty of all gentlemen to protect the fairer sex,” he insisted. “I am only thankful that we happened along when we did.”
    “I am glad to see that the gown fits you,” Lord Thornby said. “We borrowed it from Alfred’s sister-in-law until I could properly fit you with your own trousseau.”
    Isobel replied, “You are very generous, my lord—”
    “Nonsense, Miss Hampton,” Beckett insisted. “I have Madame de Florette coming within the hour. She’ll bring a selection of ready-made dresses that she and her seamstresses will alter for you here. They will have to do for the time being, I’m afraid.”
    “Really, there is no need.”
    Lord Thornby quirked a brow. “You intend to marry me in that, then?”
    Isobel looked down at her borrowed dress. It was totally unsuitable for a wedding. But it wasn’t as if this would be a real wedding, anyway. How extravagant could the ceremony be with such short notice?
    Why was it so impossible to look away from this man’s gaze, she wondered?
    He took her hand in his and kissed it, saying, “It is my wish that you be beautifully dressed for our wedding, my dear.”
    Isobel felt tingles skip over her skin at his touch, his words, and the intensity of his eyes.
    This man would be her husband. And she would be his wife, for better or for worse.
    As Beckett had promised, Madame de Florette arrived not thirty minutes later. The diminutive, dark-haired Frenchwoman hurried Isobel into Lord Thornby’s chamber and began flinging dresses out of a trunk and onto the bed. Her two assistants stood with needles poised, like soldiers ready for battle.
    The women spoke in rapid French as Isobel was fitted for a multitude of dresses. And though Isobel spoke the language fluently, Madame de Florette never asked for Isobel’s opinion on any of the gowns—in English or in French.
    But when Madame de Florette presented the last dress, she gave Isobel a brilliant smile. “Your wedding dress, ma belle. I had been making it for the Marquess of Salisbury’s daughter, but apparently, she has called it off. The groom was caught with not one but two other women in zee Marquess’s own bed.” She wagged a finger and said, “Tsk, tsk tsk! But zis dress should not go to waste. For you, ma chere, I’ll put more bagatelles, a different trim, and no one will know ze difference!”
    Isobel held her arms out as Madame de Florette slipped the dress over her shoulders. The women fluttered around her like sparrows—pinning, stitching bows and trims, and Isobel felt a huge sadness wash over her like a cold ocean wave.
    This was her wedding dress. So many times as a girl, she had dreamed of her wedding. Of marrying a dashing, gallant man—a handsome hero who had won her heart. She had never dreamed of a marriage of convenience to a man she barely knew. Obviously, such girlish wishes of love no longer had a place in her life. Not with Sir Harry as such a threat.
    Now, there was only duty—to her future husband. And to Hampton Park. If Isobel didn’t become Lord Thornby’s bride, Hampton Park would be lost forever.
    The thought of Sir Harry clouded her vision and made her stomach swirl with loathing. After tomorrow, she would be safe from the foul monster. He would never put his threatening hands on her again. He would never take such liberties with a countess.
    “There, ma petite. C’est finil” Madame de Florette waved her hand dramatically. Her assistants agreed, making last-minute adjustments to the flounces and bows.
    The dress was beautiful, but Isobel felt nothing for it. She forced herself to smile as Madame de Florette placed the veil on her head.
    Isobel just wanted the ceremony to be over. Then she would feel safe. And she would be that much closer to starting