CAD'S WISH

by Cheryl Holt

  He stomped out to the foyer, and he didn’t inquire as to where she was. He figured she’d be hiding in her bedchamber, and he didn’t pause to wonder what he’d do if she’d locked him out. He simply marched to her door and spun the knob.

  He found her in the dressing room. She was seated on the stool at the dressing table, moping, as if she’d just lost her last friend. He was rattled by her woeful condition, and while he’d intended to bully her into behaving as he was demanding, he couldn’t force himself to be harsh.

  “Hannah,” he said, more tenderly than he’d meant to, “what’s wrong? Tell me.”

  She glared at him over her shoulder. “Go away.”

  “No.”

  “Can’t I have one second of privacy without you blustering in and lording yourself over me?”

  “No,” he repeated.

  “I should have locked my door.”

  “I’d have kicked it in.”

  “Ooh, you are too obnoxious for words.”

  “I’ve often heard that.” He wandered over and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Most women in your situation would be glad to have some new clothes.”

  “I told you not to buy me any.”

  “Which part has enraged you the most? The fact that you don’t want any? Or the fact that I’ve disobeyed your grand self and bought them anyway?”

  “If I accept them, there will be all kinds of strings attached.”

  “Are you sure about that? Can’t I just give them to you because I’m a big-hearted person?”

  “You find it amusing to tease me, but we both know you’ll expect something drastic in exchange.”

  “Please advise me as to what, in your infinite wisdom, you presume it to be.”

  “I don’t have the sordid vocabulary to describe it, and I shouldn’t have let you transport me to Marston. I need to leave.”

  The announcement was like a punch in the gut.

  “Where would you go?” he asked.

  “To Parkhurst.”

  “Absolutely not. You’re not leaving Marston, and you’re not heading to Parkhurst. I won’t permit you to return there until we’ve decided how you’re to deal with your deranged relatives.”

  “Well, I can’t continue to tarry with you.”

  “Why not? Because I’d like to buy you some clothes? You’ve forced me to declare that you are being positively unhinged about this. You should have some pretty apparel of your very own. Why are you working so hard to irritate me?”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “That is very wise. You shouldn’t trust me.”

  “If you’re so keen to waste a small fortune on me, you must have ulterior motives.”

  “That’s a wise assessment too. I always have ulterior motives. In this case, they’re especially selfish ones. I can’t stand seeing you in grey and brown. Why can’t you wear emerald or sapphire instead—and make me happy?”

  “Why would you care if I make you happy? I’m struggling to understand what’s happening here.”

  “What’s happening is that I like you very much, and you’re down on your luck. I am very rich, and I’m trying to improve your situation.”

  “To what end? Can you explain the conclusion you envision?”

  “Must there be an explanation?”

  She stared down at her hands and murmured, “I guess not.”

  He dipped in and kissed her, and she moaned with despair, as if he brought her great pain.

  “Stop being so suspicious,” he said. “Come downstairs and pick out some gowns.”

  “I could never pay you back. Not in a thousand years.”

  “Have I mentioned one word about you paying me back?”

  “No.”

  “Then let me be generous. It’s my nature.”

  She studied him, hunting for a candor he rarely exhibited, but her search was pointless. She could never win any battles with him.

  Finally, she said, “Swear to me there are no strings.”

  “I swear.”

  He wasn’t serious though. If she grew fond, if she began to feel beholden, he wouldn’t protest. He would take full advantage, but not because he expected a reward. No, it would be because he was a cad who never refused what was freely offered.

  “If I came down,” she said, “what would I have to do?”

  “You’ll simply look at the ladies’ creations. If you like any of them, we’ll keep them. They might tailor them with a bit of hemming or stitching, then they’ll be on their way. If you don’t like any of it, they’ll pack up and go. I won’t invite them again.”

  “Is it up to me? I can determine if I like anything.”

  “Of course it’s up to you.”

  He told the lie with a straight face. Though it sounded odd, he liked picking out clothes for women, and he was one of the Madame’s best customers. He’d already selected several items for her, but he’d left some choices for her, so she could have some fun.

  If she’d just climb down off her high horse and quit being such a pest, they could have a pleasant afternoon of shopping.

  “All right,” she ultimately said. “I’ll join you, and I’m sorry I’ve been such a nuisance. You’ve been so kind to me, and my response has been to constantly act like a shrew.”

  “You haven’t been much of a shrew.”

  She chuckled at that. “I’ll remember to be more grateful.”

  “Good. I hate to see you so sad. There’s no reason to be. Everything is working out fine, don’t you think? We’ll get your life squared away and your problems solved. I’ll help you.” He kissed her again, both of them sighing with delight. “Let’s start by having you appropriately attired. I need you smiling. When you don’t, it’s apparent that I’m failing as your host.”

  “I will smile more often. I promise.”

  “That’s my girl. By the time supper rolls around, I’d like to have you seated at the dining table, dressed like a princess.”

  “I don’t know if I can manage the standard of princess, but I will try to reach the level of contented young lady.”

  He lifted her to her feet, and they walked out. She was in front of him, so she couldn’t observe his smirk.

  He was a master at convincing females to give him what he wanted. Hannah Graves was no different. Who could guess what she’d wind up surrendering in the end?

  Whatever she eventually relinquished to him, he would gladly accept it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight to you too.”

  Hannah stood with Hunter in the front foyer of the manor. Jackson had just headed up to bed, so they were alone, except for a sleepy footman who was standing over by the door. Hunter waved to him and sent him up to bed too.

  It was the end of another perfect day. They seemed to roll by in a quiet wave, so she was never forced to take stock and get moving. She’d intended to leave Marston—and Hunter—forever, but she hadn’t.

  Instead, she’d let him purchase a new wardrobe for her, and she was strutting about in her pretty clothes and making him happy, as he’d requested.

  They’d been to the village for a party on the village green. It was held in honor of one of Hunter’s ancestors who’d been a famous buccaneer. The community used his antics as an excuse to celebrate.

  People had heard Hunter was staying at the manor, and they’d been delighted to finally meet him. He’d been carefully assessed, with villagers anxious to discover what sort of man he’d turn out to be, and she supposed they hadn’t been disappointed.

  He’d been his usual charming self, had drunk ale with the men and had danced with as many of the ladies as he could. He’d bought all the pies at the table the women from the church had set up as a fundraiser, paying double the price. It had endeared him to the whole town.

  As to herself, she’d noticed a not-so-sly evaluation occurring. She was a curiosity, and a few brave souls had dared to inquire whether she was Lord Marston’
s fiancée. When she’d admitted she wasn’t, they could barely conceal their shock.

  Her situation was very scandalous. After all, she was ensconced in a bachelor’s home and no parent or chaperone had accompanied her. But it didn’t matter what the Marston neighbors thought of her. She’d depart soon, and she’d never see any of them again, but she tried to live in a moral way, and she hated to be stirring a low opinion.

  “I had a grand evening,” she told him.

  “I did too—much to my surprise.”

  “Everyone liked you.”

  He chuckled. “Well, why wouldn’t they? I’m a likeable fellow. I keep telling you that.”

  “Yes, you’re eminently likeable, but that’s all the compliments you’ll drag out of me. I won’t inflate your ego more than it already is.”

  He linked their fingers and pulled her close so he could kiss her. It was becoming a habit with him. For such a masculine man, he was extremely affectionate, always touching her, whispering in her ear, sitting nearer than was proper.

  “I don’t want to go to bed,” he said. “My energy is jangled from the noise and excitement in the village. I can’t bear for the night to be over.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “Will you have a glass of wine with me?”

  “I’d like that.”

  She should have refused, but as with every other facet of her odd circumstance, she couldn’t decline his invitation. She’d been entrapped by him, to where fetters might have been locked around her ankles to hold her in place. She wasn’t strong enough to cut them loose and free herself.

  They walked to a rear parlor that looked out over the park and was very secluded. If Jackson or a servant stumbled down the stairs, it wasn’t likely they’d be discovered.

  She sat on a sofa, while he poured their wine and handed a glass to her, then he went over to the window and peered outside. The moon was full and shining down so brightly that everything shimmered in a soothing silver color. He didn’t light a candle; they didn’t need one.

  They sipped their drinks, and it was a companionable silence. After a bit, he glanced over and said, “I like it here more than I suspected I would. It could be a haven for me, I think. I hadn’t expected to feel like this.”

  “Didn’t you grow up in the country? Aren’t you partial to rural living? Or have you always resided in London?”

  “Yes, I grew up in the country, with my brothers, Warwick and Sheridan. We had an…interesting childhood.” It took him an eternity to settle on the word interesting.

  “That’s a peculiar description of your upbringing. How was it interesting?”

  “My mother died when we were little, and my father wasn’t exactly a model parent. He gamboled in London with his friends and mistresses, so my brothers and I were raised by servants who had no ability to control us. We were so wild.”

  “When did you join the army?”

  “At sixteen. I was anxious to escape where I was, and I assumed it would be a good path for me.”

  “Was it?”

  “I liked the travel and adventure, but the fun vanished after I was wounded. I probably shouldn’t have survived. The doctors insisted it was a miracle, but I was simply too stubborn to perish.”

  “Where were you wounded?”

  “In the Americas, fighting the natives.”

  “No, I mean where on your torso.”

  “In my stomach. An arrow sliced clear through me. Then it became infected.”

  “Do you have a scar?”

  “Yes, on both sides of my body.”

  “Will you show it to me someday?”

  “I can show you now—if you promise you won’t faint.”

  “I won’t faint. I promise.”

  He came over to where she was still seated on the sofa, and he shed his coat, then tugged his shirt out of his trousers. He turned slightly so the moonlight illuminated him better, and she could see the scar. It was a perfect circle, about waist high, just below his ribcage.

  She brazenly traced a finger across it, finding the skin rough and jagged. He spun to display his back, and there was another circle, again at his waist and below his ribs. She touched it too, lingering, laying a palm over the spot and offering a quick prayer of thanks that he’d lived through the ordeal.

  The moment was outrageously intimate, making it seem as if they were even more closely connected.

  “What is your opinion?” he said, a teasing tone in his voice. He stepped away and went back to the window. “It’s my one and only claim to brave conduct. Have I astonished you?”

  “Yes, definitely. We Brits send young men off to fight in foreign locales, but I’ve never actually been confronted with the consequences of a man’s army service. I’m speechless.”

  “All these years later, it doesn’t look very bad, but when it occurred, it was quite gripping. And, of course, I was a long way from home. It was terrifying, and it changed my attitude about what mattered.”

  “What did you decide mattered?”

  “I have a fortune with which to enjoy myself, so I started to focus on things that give me pleasure.”

  “Are you telling me that your hedonistic embrace of vice and debauchery is a reaction to your nearly dying? It’s not merely because you’re a wastrel at heart?”

  “I’m pretending for you that I have stellar motives for my antics. Have I impressed you with my story?”

  “You always impress me,” she said.

  “I can’t believe you admitted it.”

  He grinned and tucked in his shirt, then he stared out again. There was a new energy in the air, and a wave of unuttered comments were swirling. Any profound declaration could have been shared, but when he finally spoke, she had to bite down a chuckle.

  Men and women were such different creatures, and her thought processes would never align with his.

  “I wonder if any of my acquaintances in London have missed me,” he said. “When we left for the country, I penned a note to my father, so he’d know where I was, but I didn’t inform anyone else. I have such a regular routine in the city that there are probably rumors I’ve passed away.”

  “I’m sure they’re bereft over your absence.” She was thinking particularly of Isabella Darling. How would the horrid shrew respond if she ever learned that Hannah had been with him at Marston?

  “I refuse to consider that no one’s noticed I’m gone,” he said.

  “You’re like a spoiled toddler, Hunter. You want everyone to dote on you.”

  “What’s wrong with that? It’s lovely to be coddled. Don’t deny it.”

  He was quiet, the minutes ticking by, and she was on pins and needles, speculating over what might transpire.

  “We have to repair your life,” he said. “Since we arrived at Marston, we haven’t talked about what you’d like to have happen.”

  “This has been a strange episode, hasn’t it? It seems as if the outside world has faded away, and I have no commitments or obligations.”

  “I feel exactly the same, that I can loaf and play and not fret about tomorrow.”

  “Reality will have to seep in one of these days.”

  “I’ve never been a huge fan of reality,” he said. “I like to follow my own rules.”

  “I’ve realized that about you.”

  “It’s much more fun than having preachers or society directing my route, and my father never demanded any moral behavior. My brothers and I carried on like a pack of wolf pups, with no supervision and no constraints.”

  “It explains why you’re so unruly.”

  “I’m slowing down in my old age though. I get bored with debauchery and tired of my idiotic companions.”

  “You’re only thirty, so you’re not old, and if you’re bored and tired, it’s because you revel like a barbarian.”

  “Perhaps that’s my problem. I revel too excessively.”

  He pushed away from the window to snuggle next to her on the sofa. He linked their fingers again, and they shifted
so they were very close together, their lips inches apart, and there was a gleam in his eye that she hadn’t observed prior.

  “People were gossiping about you in the village,” he said.

  “I heard them. They’re shocked that I’m staying with you.”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t care about their provincial attitudes, but I don’t like to have them denigrating you.”

  “I’m not too keen on it either.”

  “I have an idea of how we can fix it.”

  “From how you’re staring, I’m almost afraid to have you tell me what it is.”

  He snorted with amusement. “I mentioned this once before, and I’m stunned to mention it again, but we should marry.”

  Her breath hitched in her chest. Ever since they’d been at Parkhurst, she’d been wishing he’d propose a second time, but she’d persuaded herself he never would. She must have looked perplexed over what her reply should be, because he said, “If you wed me, I would own Parkhurst rather than you, so I would have the right and duty to deal with your relatives.”

  “It might be worth it merely to have that burden lifted off my shoulders.”

  “I’d receive your dowry money too. You could have some of it and use it to rebuild your shop.”

  “You’d let me keep on in trade? Really?”

  “I don’t imagine the Earth would stop spinning if you did. If you weren’t enthused about re-starting it in town, maybe you could attempt it here in the village. What with the coaching inn and the traffic it generates, it’s a commercial center for the area, and there are plenty of visitors on market day. You might do very well with it.”

  Her jaw dropped with astonishment. “That is such a modern notion, and I view you as such a stuffy, traditional male. I can’t believe you suggested it.”

  “You and Sybil Jones are rubbing off on me.” He shrugged, abashed, as if he was embarrassed.

  “What brought this on?” she asked. “You proposed to me at Parkhurst, but I was certain you’d never try it again. What spurred you to it?”

  “I guess I’m feeling nostalgic. I had such a lovely evening, and I can’t picture us ever parting. Can you? I mean, at some point we have to leave Marston. I would return to London and you’d go…where?”