Five carriages stood in the house’s drive as he approached. With a glance toward the front door, he edged around the side of the house. Several windows opened onto the side garden, and he kept low until he reached a short hedgerow with a stone bench. He’d never been inside the house farther than the morning room, but he guessed he was somewhere outside the library.
His footman had reported his missive delivered to the house, but as for whether Sarala would come out to meet him, he could only guess. However, knowing her natural curiosity as he’d come to over the past days, he would have been willing to wager a considerable amount of money that she would appear.
Behind him someone moved closer to a window. “…a Griffin involved, of course the wedding will be at Westminster Abbey,” a female voice said from inside.
“Oh, do you think the Regent will attend?” He recognized that voice as Lady Hanover’s. So this was the wedding discussion. Interesting.
“I think everyone will attend. It will be the event of the entire Season. After all, Lady Deverill eloped to Scotland, and Lord Zachary apparently insisted on a small ceremony in Shropshire. This is the Griffins’ last and best opportunity to make a splash, if Melbourne’s so uncooperative as to want to remain a widower.”
“But wasn’t Melbourne married at Westminster?”
He recognized that voice, too, and sat straighter. Sarala. That surprised him, considering her stated reluctance to go through with any of this. Unless she had fooled him as Sebastian had suggested—which still didn’t make sense to him. Zachary’s observations made more sense, but he wasn’t going to write anything in stone until he’d satisfied his own curiosity and answered every one of his own questions.
“That was nearly eight years ago, Lady Sarala,” another female responded. “Since Melbourne’s not likely to marry there again, even if some lady does eventually melt his stony heart, this is their last opportunity until his daughter, Penelope, comes of age.”
Oh, good God. Anger swirled under his skin. His family’s tragedies had been reduced to this? How could everyone dismiss what they’d been through—that both their parents had died when Sebastian had been seventeen and he twelve, and Charlotte when Peep was only three? Charlemagne felt thankful that Sebastian hadn’t heard any of this version of their lives.
“I think selecting the church should be up to both families,” Sarala’s voice came again. “And I still think you’re all speaking far too soon.”
“Sarala, that’s enough.”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I just don’t understand why this is a celebration. I erred in my behavior. Shay erred in his. It was nothing serious, there was nothing scandalous or ruinous about it, and I don’t think anything will end up coming of it.” Skirts rustled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a breath of air.”
A door closed. “Don’t fret, Helen,” one of the others said. “She’ll become more enthusiastic. Every girl’s dream is a fine wedding. And this will be the finest.”
Charlemagne stood a moment later as Sarala emerged onto the path. Her head was bare, black hair glinting bronze in the sunlight, her eyes darkening to emeralds as she spotted him.
“Hello,” she said, smiling.
“Shh,” he murmured, and gestured toward the window beyond the hedge. “This way.”
He offered his hand, and after a brief moment she took it, wrapping her fingers around his. Silently he led the way toward the stables, farther from the house. A stack of hay bales rested to one side of the building, and he took a seat there. “Hello,” he returned, still holding her hand.
“How long were you outside the library?” she asked, her cheeks darkening.
“Long enough to hear that we are going to have the finest wedding in the history of weddings.”
“Oh, dear. That was not my suggestion. I don’t even know why Mama wanted me in there. Obviously what we want has nothing to do with the planning.”
She’d said “we,” at least. “Did you get the coin?”
“Yes. Thank you so much. It’s in exquisite condition.”
“It came from a meadow outside of Verulamium about eight years ago.”
“Did you find it yourself?”
His grin deepened. “I got thrown from a friend’s horse and ended up with a mouthful of grass, eye-to-eye with Hadrian under an oak tree.”
Sarala chuckled. “You might have said you dug through ancient ruins for hours to find this one treasure, which you then passed on to me.”
Charlemagne laughed, as well. “I’ll remember that for next time.” Their gazes met, and as lightning ran down his spine, he leaned in to kiss her.
Her bones simply melted. Sarala swept her arms up around his shoulders, pulling herself closer against his chest and flat, muscled abdomen. Attraction and heat. He obviously felt it toward her, and she knew she felt it toward him.
Oh, everything was so complicated. And all she had to do was absolutely nothing, and she would end up married to this remarkable man. But would he be happy with that? If he wasn’t, she certainly wouldn’t be—and she had no intention of spending her life in a state of bitter misery.
Pulling away from him felt like the most difficult thing she’d ever done. “Shay?”
Gray eyes held hers squarely. “Yes?”
“Have you spoken with your brother?”
“Actually, I spoke with Zachary. He said that we’re straightforward and have no imaginations, and saw agreeing to all this as the logical conclusion of events.”
“Well, that’s not very kind.”
“No, it isn’t. And it’s not true. I didn’t kiss you to acquire the silks.”
“Then why did you kiss me? That first time.”
“Because I couldn’t not kiss you.”
She realized her hands were still clutching his lapels. Clearing her throat, she smoothed the fine material. His declaration sounded good, but considering that until yesterday she’d owned his silks, he could clearly be taken advantage of, even if he hadn’t done so to her. “So you can honestly say that when you kissed me yesterday in your sister’s morning room, you did so with the intention that we would soon be married.”
“No, I couldn’t say that. I know I probably would have been sitting here with you today, regardless.”
He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, and she shivered. “And I’d probably be sitting here with you. You do kiss very well, Shay.”
His responding chuckle reverberated through his chest and up through her palms to her heart. “Then what’s your complaint, princess?”
Sarala frowned, pulling completely away from him. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? When I first saw you I thought you looked like an Indian princess.”
“But I’m not Indian. I’m English. And I’m certainly not a princess.”
Shay’s brow furrowed. “Perhaps not a literal princess, but what—”
“You are going to talk to the duke, aren’t you?”
For a long moment he sat silently beside her. She knew the answer then, before he spoke. Sarala wanted to hear the words from him, though, the way he said them. That would speak as strongly as the actual sounds of the sentences.
“No, I’m not going to ask Sebastian to help us avoid a marriage,” he finally said in a quiet voice.
“Why not? You promised me!”
“For two reasons. Firstly, we were caught kissing—not just kissing, but grabbing on to each other and knocking things onto the floor. Whatever I said or Melbourne said or you said, you would be ruined, Sarala.”
“I could accept—”
“No. I couldn’t accept that. It would make me…an animal.”
“You’ve kissed women before and haven’t married them. I’ve kissed men before and haven’t married them.”
She thought for a brief moment that his expression darkened. “There’s a difference,” he returned, his voice still quiet, but less cool. “Those previous encounters were mutually discreet. None of those women were exposed, none of
them were ruined. Everyone knows what happened at Corbett House.”
“I don’t care!”
“Yes, you do. I’ve seen women be ruined, Sarala. It’s…unimaginable that if anyone could prevent it they would allow it to happen.”
The anger in his voice wasn’t aimed at her, but it gave her pause, nonetheless. This was a man who could buy and sell people, estates, countries, even. And the knowledge of what he’d seen, of what might have happened to her if he or Melbourne hadn’t stepped in and done what they considered to be their gentlemanly duty, infuriated him. “So you think we have to get married,” she said slowly, her heart pounding so hard and so fast he could most likely hear it.
“Yes, I do. There are much worse things than a forced marriage, Sarala. And scandal is one of them.”
“Then what is your second reason? Why did you bother to come up with one? Your first reason was…compelling enough, don’t you think?” Her voice broke, but she didn’t try to cover it, or the tears that she felt gathering in her eyes. He would know how she felt.
“Maybe it was, but it isn’t the only reason I didn’t talk to Melbourne. And I wanted you to know there was a second reason.” He lifted a hand toward her again, then hesitated and lowered it. “You have to let me begin and finish, though, because it doesn’t sound very well at the start.”
For the first time since she’d read his note an hour ago, a glimmer of amusement touched her. She nodded. “I’ll let you finish.”
“Very well.” Charlemagne looked down for a moment, clearing his throat. “I like you. A great deal. I have met…a fair number of women in my life, and none of them…tempted me. I mean to say, I have—I’m not—I have experience, but I had a good idea that I would remain unmarried. Melbourne could use the assistance, and my other siblings seemed to enjoy domesticity enough for the rest of us.”
Sarala sat and listened to him. He’d said he would begin badly, but the “I like you” had certainly claimed her attention. Whatever followed was obviously meant to ease her mind, but so many thoughts roiled through her skull that she didn’t think anything would help.
He cleared his throat again. “At any rate, you interest me more than any woman I’ve ever met. We are betrothed, but we aren’t yet married. And I won’t marry you—not until you become as fond of me as I am of you.”
Very well, she’d been wrong. That did help.
Chapter 14
“So we could be permanently engaged,” Sarala said skeptically, standing to pace back and forth in front of him.
Charlemagne nodded. He was sweating; he’d half expected her to slap him for saying that he wouldn’t let her out of the engagement, or for implying that he liked her against his better judgment. He had no idea how to explain everything to her, but from the way she continued to listen, he mustn’t have done too badly. “I don’t intend that we should be, though.”
“Ah. You’re going to convince me to care for you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“First will you answer one question of mine?”
“Of course.”
Sarala sat again, taking his left hand between hers. “I’ve seen how much you enjoy business, and how well you conduct business when you want to.”
He furrowed his brow. “Are you suggesting that I didn’t want to conduct business well when I was dealing with you and the silks?”
“Come now. It took you a week and a threat from China to convince you to make me a reasonable offer for them. Anyway, let me finish.”
“Very well. Dazzle me.”
“My question is, is wooing me or whatever you’re planning going to be another negotiation, Shay? Am I five hundred bolts of silk, now? I know the difference between business and pleasure. Which one is this going to be?”
Obviously from her confusion about the reason for his kisses, she didn’t know everything she thought she did. Even so, there were times, Charlemagne had begun to realize, that conversation with a brilliant woman could be both taxing and a bit dodgy. And her question definitely had merit. He did feel some of that familiar rush through his veins at the prospect of winning her heart—though that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Still, how to answer without putting himself into a hole?
“Well?” she prompted.
He grinned. “Come here,” he murmured, drawing her closer and taking her mouth again. Warm, soft lips, the faint scent of cinnamon—business or pleasure, he wouldn’t have traded the sensation of her pressing against him for anything.
Heat pulsed through him, heavy and arousing. He was trying to be patient, sensitive both to her reservations and to her virginity, but however long their betrothal might last, he was not going to wait forever to make love to her. That had not been part of any agreement or negotiation. And when she’d said that she’d kissed other men—his first impulse had been to demand their names, hunt them down, and pummel all of them. The fact that they all probably resided in India didn’t lessen his motivation one damned bit.
Finally when neither of them could breathe any longer, he backed off an inch or two, resting his forehead against hers. “Tomorrow night is the Wexton masked ball,” he said. “We always dine together before we go. You and your parents should join us.”
“We weren’t invited to the Wexton masked ball,” she returned, her eyes still focused on his mouth.
“You are now. I’ll send your father over a note in the morning.”
“But I don’t have anything to wear. And you didn’t answer my question.”
He grinned, rising and slowly pulling her to her feet beside him. If he’d answered her question about his motives any more thoroughly, they would both be naked. Silently he led her back to the stone bench, the closest he could get to the house without risking being seen from the library. “You’ll think of something to wear to the ball. And yes, I did answer your question. Just to clarify, though, this isn’t a negotiation, Sarala. It’s a seduction.”
“Oh,” she whispered, and leaned up to kiss him again.
Divided loyalties, possible international scandals, all of it faded away at the sweet, heady taste of her. Disciplined and logic-driven as he considered himself, it took every ounce of self-control to keep from pulling her to the ground and using his body to convince her that they belonged together. If this was an illness, he didn’t want to find a cure.
“You’d best go,” he finally murmured, kissing her throat.
Sarala visibly drew herself together again. “Yes. It was nice of you to come by and explain your reasoning.” She smiled, touching his cheek. “Quite considerate of you.”
“I try to be reasonable and considerate.” With one last swift kiss he wrenched himself away from her and slipped back out of the garden without looking back. If he had, he would have fallen to quoting Romeo and Juliet about the sweet sorrow of parting. Yes, something had definitely happened to him, and while he was in Sarala’s company, all he could think was that it was about damned time.
The nearer he came to Griffin House, however, the more the rest of the world returned. That sensation deepened as Stanton pulled open the front door, and he stepped into the foyer to see Sebastian there pulling on his gloves.
“Where the devil were you?” the duke asked, his tone short.
“I went to see Sarala. What’s wrong?”
Melbourne snorted. “What’s wrong? Just a few minor potholes—you know, Chinese swordsmen who want my brother imprisoned in China, things like that.”
The duke remained angry and distant, as he had since he’d barged into Nell’s library to see him and Sarala kissing. Charlemagne needed to settle things with Sebastian; obviously they couldn’t continue as they were, and yet he had a few other pressing matters on his own plate. “Then where are you off to?” he asked.
“To Carlton House. I thought I’d best inform Prinny and Liverpool about the silk fiasco, to at least prepare them for the idea of making amends or reparations. If you’re not too involved with socializing, I thought you might wish to attend.”
> “Of course I’ll attend.” He took back his hat from Stanton.
“Uncle Shay?”
He looked up toward the first floor railing. “Yes, Peep?”
She stood on tiptoe looking down at him, dark ringlets of hair framing her face. “I heard a rumor from someone I can’t name that you are getting married.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Why wasn’t I directly informed, then?”
“I beg your pardon, Peep. Things have been a bit mad over the past few days.”
“Yes, but I haven’t even met her.”
He forced a smile, very aware of Sebastian’s restless stirring at his back. “She and her family will be joining us for dinner tomorrow night, before the Wexton soiree. You will meet her then.”
“All right. I have some questions about her, however. When you return, we should have a meeting.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” the babe’s father murmured.
“When I return then, Peep.”
Brushing past his brother, Charlemagne headed for the coach waiting outside and climbed in. A moment later Sebastian joined him, and the coach rumbled off down the drive.
“What did you say to Peep?” he asked after a moment of silence. “I assume you were the source she won’t divulge.”
The duke shrugged, his gaze out the small window. “She asked me what all the commotion was this morning. I said we were in negotiations over your betrothed.”
“That’s all you said?”
“That’s all I said. Why do you ask?”
“Because if Sarala is going to join this family, which I intend she should do, I don’t want Peep already disposed to look down on her or dislike her because you aren’t pleased with the circumstances.”
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