Ruin Me Please

by Nichole Matthews

  Freya laughed a light and airy sound.

  “I was scared,” he admitted. “I thought it was easier to be thought of as a wastrel.” He grimaced. “But not if it causes you to look upon me in contempt,” Durham meekly acknowledged. “I would rather die a thousand deaths, than see that look in your eyes again. Please say you will forgive me?” His eyes overflowed with grief. “I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”

  “Your anguish is no more than you deserved after the pain you caused.”

  “I agree.”

  Breathless and dizzy, Freya’s eyes glittered with unshed tears, then she froze with a shocked look. “Are you proposing to me, Durham?”

  Dropping to one knee, he gripped both of Freya’s hands. “I am not asking, I am begging. Begging you to put me out of my misery, I love you.”

  She fell to her knees and threw her arms around Durham with a joyous cry.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She punctuated each word with a kiss to his face. “I love you, too.”

  Rounding the corner, Poppy almost stumbled upon her two guests in a somewhat compromising position.

  Quietly backing around the corner, she tried unsuccessfully to mask the amusement in her voice when she called, “Freya, are you out here?”

  ***

  Not more than an hour later the women were seated beneath the large gazebo in the garden under the pretense of a rehearsal, their reading from Shakespeare scheduled as the after dinner entertainment that night occupying their minds.

  “Miss Harris,” Chloe inquired, “Are you sure we should not read from Othello?” Gently she chewed on her bottom lip.

  Miss Harris looked up from her needlework. “I think you should read whichever you prefer, dears.” A dreamy smile appeared. “But, I must admit that I love Romeo and Juliet though, so romantic.”

  Adele snorted. “Why does everyone find a story about two lovers that kill themselves so romantic?”

  Chloe responded, “I think it does lesson some of the romance.”

  Freya hesitantly piped in, “I have something to tell everyone.” Nervously she gazed around afraid of what her friends might think. “Durham has just asked me to marry him and I have said yes.”

  Shocked, they all jumped up hugging Freya close and congratulating her.

  Chloe still holding on to her friend, with a bemused look on her face stared at Freya. “So you are in love with Durham?” She tilted her head in confusion.

  “I know,” Poppy agreed. “Durham? But you were adamant that he was an unrepentant, cynical rake?”

  “Yes I love him. Umm…” she stammered a little. “Well, I-I was mad at him.” She smiled sheepishly. “He kissed me and then I saw him kissing Collette. I was furious; I thought he was playing loose with my feelings.” Freya cringed. “He told me most adamantly that Collette cornered him and kissed him. Hussy that she is, I should have known. He told me that had I but stayed a moment longer I would have seen him push her away in disgust.”

  “So this whole time you were just mad?” Chloe let out a puzzled chuckle.

  Adele chimed in once again, “Familiarity breeds contempt.”

  “That’s correct.” Miss Harris agreed.

  Poppy wrinkled her nose.

  “I for one think it is wonderful.” Piper smiled. “You have been lucky enough to find your true love.”

  “I thought you did not care about love? I thought you were content with being unmarried and reading your dusty tomes and pamphlets?” Poppy teased her twin. “I am extremely glad if I have been wrong.”

  “I am happy reading my dusty tomes and pamphlets as you call them, but if I fell in love I would be even happier,” Piper said frankly. “I don’t want to marry just to marry.” She smiled contentedly. “I would rather wander around Rosebriar a dried up old maid.”

  “You will never be a dried up old maid. But we better rehearse or we will bore everyone to tears including your affianced,” Poppy said, as she pursed her lips making kissing noises at Freya.

  “Girls,” Miss Harris cautioned as Freya swatted Poppy on the arm.

  “Ladies, I wanted to mention that we are going to plan a festival for the girl’s school. I had hoped all you would agree to assist with the festivities.”

  “Oh, how fun,” Chloe smiled. “I would love to help.”

  “Yes, me too,” Freya agreed.

  Poppy grinned and nodded. “We are going to have much more than tea.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The courses of true love never

  did run smooth.

  A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  *William Shakespeare

  Even though they were laughing hysterically, each girl tried their very best to put on a brilliant performance, or as close to it as their talents allowed. Apparently, they did a poor job, if the multitude of boos and groans coming from their intimate audience were any indicator, Seymour being the most vocal of the group. Poppy was certain that if the men had possession of rotten fruit, they would have surely hurled it quite vigorously in their direction.

  It all seemed so trivial anyway. She was not in the best of moods. Declan did not show for dinner or for their performance. She hoped Parker had not sent him away, frowning worriedly, she continued to watch the door, distracted. The show must go on, or so she had heard.

  “I think the world of you, Freya, my dear. It is prodigious luck that you needn’t make a living as an actress. You would starve,” Durham said his tone filled with amusement as he blew her a kiss. Freya blushed attractively, still grinning.

  Chloe read the part of Juliet with as much drama as she could muster.

  “No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries as are behoveful for our state to-morrow”

  “Boo! Boo! Boo!” Seymour chanted in the middle of Chloe’s speech.

  Chloe frowned at him as she continued. “So please you, let me now be left alone, and let the nurse this night sit up with you; for, I am sure, you have your hands full all, in this so sudden business.”

  No one could have portrayed Lady Capulet in a more monotonous tone than Freya.

  “Good night: Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.”

  Chloe threw her hand across her forehead in a most dramatic fashion.

  “Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me: Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial.”

  Seymour held up his hands as if to protect himself from Chloe’s impending ire. “Oh, for God’s sake, Ash,” he grumbled rolling his eyes, flicking a non-existent piece of lint from his sleeve. “Must we subject our ears to this torturous lack of talent much longer? I fear I will have indigestion.”

  Piper poked her head from around the curtain on the makeshift stage, “Seymour!”

  “Oh hush Seymour,” Chloe wailed, plopping down on the red velvet settee with a huff of vexation. “I am almost done; quit being such a pompous buffoon.”

  “Cease your talentless prattle,” Seymour retorted. “I believe I have made my views on your acting ability abundantly clear,” he said with laughter in his voice.

  “I’ve never seen such puerile behavior from you before,” Piper said sardonically.

  Poppy quickly stepped forward and patted Chloe on the back in an attempt to calm her nerves. “Fine, fine, ladies and gentlemen,” Poppy interrupted the escalating chatter, her voice coming out a bit high-pitched. “The conclusion to Romeo and Juliet can wait for another time.” Poppy arched her brow, glancing at each of the men. “I have yet to see you gentlemen coming up with any entertainments for us.” She smiled sweetly.

  “I can think of many things that would be more entertaining than Romeo and Juliet.” Seymour hooted with laughter. “Am I right gentlemen?” He winked salaciously.

  “Gentlemen please,” Parker said, holding back a grin.

  “How did Hawk manage to avoid tonight’s entert
ainment?” Peyton asked sprawling in his seat.

  “His luck has always been disproportionate to the rest of the world.” Durham chuckled, rising from his chair.

  “Hey, that is not fair, I did not get to perform my death scene,” Chloe cried. “I even practiced.”

  Seymour coughed into his hand, attempting to mask the humor in his voice. “Whew, that is a relief. At least you practiced something.”

  “All right, ladies. We appreciate your attempt at entertainment, but I for one could use a drink,” Parker interjected. “No more, we beg of you.”

  “Hear, hear,” Peyton agreed, standing.

  Freya just sat there with a look of relief on her face. She abhorred putting on these theatricals.

  “I believe I will retire,” Poppy said holding back a yawn. “I’m suddenly very tired.”

  ***

  Poppy found a note lying on her pillow, a cheery daisy attached with a familiar looking ribbon when she arrived in her room. It was too late; she had already lost her heart. Sprawling across her bed she carefully unfolded the note.

  You would honor me tremendously by

  meeting me in the library after

  midnight.

  I look forward to spending time with you.

  My heart is ever at your service.

  Declan

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;

  Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;

  Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;

  No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;

  As much as a child e’er loved, or father found;

  A love that makes breath poor and speech unable;

  Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

  King Lear

  *William Shakespeare

  Poppy tiptoed down the stairs slipping quietly into the library. Leaning back nervously on the closed door, she slowly surveyed the room stopping when she spotted Declan seated casually on the floor by the fire.

  He swallowed thickly, his eyes following her nervous glide across the room. “I thought you might like to play chess with me.” He grinned boyishly, tugging absently on his cravat until it fell loosely from his neck opening his shirt. “You are a very intelligent lady and I find myself certain that I may have met a worthy opponent.”

  “Well, I am sorry to disappoint, Your Grace, but I am only fairly tolerable at chess.” Poppy grinned back. “But if you would like we can certainly still play.”

  After pouring her a small glass of brandy, Declan lounged negligently on his side propped up by his hand; reeking of raw masculinity.

  The soft glow of the candelabra surrounded them, casting them in a warm haze.

  Declan suppressed a grin as Poppy gave him a tantalizing glimpse of her slim ankle when she sat on the rug in front of the fireplace and carefully arranged her skirts.

  With a quizzical look in her eye, Poppy inquired, “Why are you not yet leg-shackled, as you gentlemen so elegantly put it?” She wrapped her arms around her legs, laying her chin atop her knees waiting for his reply.

  “You certainly do not beat around the bush,” he drawled, enchanted by her candor.

  “Why should I?” Poppy questioned, returning her gaze to him. “After all you have already kissed me. Why should I not also be allowed to also take certain liberties with our relationship?” She raised her brow. “Why should I pretend that we are not more intimately acquainted?”

  Choking on his brandy, Declan sputtered, “Touché.”

  Declan rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head once again. “Hmmm…” He looked seriously at Poppy out of the corner of his eye. “I wasn’t ready.”

  “Oh pooh,” Poppy exclaimed. “What kind of reply is that…?” She paused, unexpectedly and easily distracted by the swirl of dark hair peeping out of the deep V of Declan’s shirt. He had long ago discarded his jacket and waistcoat. She took a deep breath, pulling her eyes away.

  He responded with a private smile, completely aware of what captured her attention.

  Color rose in her cheeks, and she looked flustered to be caught ogling him.

  He regarded her for a long moment. “Quid pro quo, why were you not able to find a beau during your time in London?” he asked as he rolled to his side again.

  “I’m waiting for a spark,” Poppy said pragmatically, glancing at Declan through lowered eyes. “Everyone was so absolutely boring.” She huffed in pique. “It was all very tedious.”

  “I can see how that would be so. I’ve had much the same experience when I’ve been in London. You see, I’m not attracted to simpering misses.”

  She looked at him for a long while.

  “Hear my soul speak of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service.”

  With a strange look on her face, she questioned, “Do you always quote Shakespeare?”

  “Only when the mood strikes,” he replied looking impressed by her knowledge. “How did you know that I was quoting Shakespeare?”

  “I love to read, remember?” Poppy grinned with shrug. “I have also read Shakespeare extensively.”

  “I’m surprised at how much I missed you today,” Declan drawled, changing the subject expertly as he flashed a slow, devastating smile that took her breath away. Reaching over he lightly ran his finger down her arm, watching as goose bumps rose on her sensitized flesh. “What did you do today while I was taking care of some tiresome business matters?” He leaned forward, glancing heatedly in her eyes and blew a warm stream of air over her skin.

  Her eyes widened at his erotic play. “After dinner, the girls and I performed a magnificent rendition of Romeo and Juliet which you rudely missed. So earlier we were rehearsing, if you can call it that.” She wrinkled her nose mischievously. “There was more gossiping in truth.”

  “I am sorry I missed your theatrical performance.”

  “I wouldn’t be.” She chuckled. “I have it on very good authority that I would be reeking of spoiled fruit if there had been any available for Seymour to toss.” She giggled behind her hand. “Honestly that just makes me feel better. Seymour’s delicate sensibilities were highly offended by our amateur performance.” Poppy clutched at her side in mirth. “He said that Shakespeare was probably rolling in agony in his grave.” Making a harrumph like noise and rolling her eyes. “He’s such a stick-in-the-mud.”

  “I wish I could have been there. I would have been able to stare at you all night and none would be the wiser.” A wicked glimmer appeared in his eyes.

  Seeing the wicked glint, she tried to calm her jumpiness. “I can tell you I make an appalling Romeo.”

  “It is not night, when I do see your face,” Declan quoted scooting nearer.

  “Is that Romeo or Juliet?” Poppy asked on a whisper.

  “It is neither,” Declan answered. “It is from A Midsummer’s Night Dream.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “I too am an avid reader.” Declan grinned. “Besides, it is always good for a gentleman to have an arsenal of romantic quotes and poetry at his disposal when wooing a lady.”

  “Are you endeavoring to woo me, Your Grace?” Poppy whispered huskily, flushing from the heat of his gaze.

  “I am doing my best,” he whispered back. “Is it working?” He was too tempted, not to touch her.

  He slowly sat up in front of Poppy and gently pushed a fallen curl behind her ear before leaning forward to place a kiss on her nose. “Your freckles intrigue me.” He ran his finger lightly down her nose, starting at the bridge and ending at the tip. “I cannot understand why they are frowned upon?” Because they made him want to thoroughly explore her body. “I would like to find out if your delightful freckles cover other parts of your anatomy.” His finger lightly traced back and forth over the exposed skin right above the edge of her bodice. His mouth glided down the curve of her jaw taking succulent bites of her neck.

  In the quiet intimacy of the librar
y, Poppy whispered, “I thought we were playing chess?” She timidly placed her hands on his shoulders feeling his muscles bunch.

  “Do you want to play chess?” he prodded, with that all too familiar wicked gleam in his eyes.

  Her mouth went dry, she felt dizzy, and she was having difficulty focusing on the question Declan had posed, no matter how hard she tried, she could not bring herself to respond.

  “For I fear I have been too distracted by a wee fairy with angel kisses on her nose.” Declan couldn’t stop the wicked grin that spread across his face. “I don’t think I could concentrate even if my life depended on it.”

  “Hopefully it will not come to that.” A flicker of amusement crossed Poppy’s features before she her head fell back giving him better access to her neck. She sighed in rapture when he took advantage of her position. “What would you like to do?”

  He lifted his lips from her tasty neck, his mouth quirking in a wry smile. “Tell me something that I would never guess about you.” He swirled his tongue softly on her ear.

  Giggling, Poppy answered breathlessly, “I am a crack shot, well at least tolerable. Parker made sure we all were.” She shivered as his wicked tongue licked her jaw.

  “Humility.” He laughed. “I like that in a woman.”

  “What else would you like to know?” she practically purred.

  “Hmmm…let me try a different tactic,” he whispered against her skin. “Your favorite flower?” He buried his face in her neck and inhaled, enthralled by her scent.

  Gasping his name, Poppy pressed against him, closing her eyes with a dreamy half-smile. “I love daisies. They are such a happy little flower.” She moaned in ecstasy.

  “Then I chose wisely this evening.” He grinned, thinking of the daisy he had placed on her pillow.

  She nodded. “What is your favorite color?” Poppy murmured, measuring the width of his broad back. He smelled expensive, exotic, and very manly. The heady incense of sandalwood and spice enveloped her.