by Cheryl Holt
It was definitely him, and he was clearly possessed of a strong bloodline, for he provided a riveting picture of what Hunter would look like in a few decades. If they’d been standing together, they could have been the same man, but twenty years apart in age.
Hannah wasn’t sure if she was supposed to curtsy to him or not, but she was so astonished that she dipped down and said, “Welcome to Parkhurst, Lord Swindon.”
“It’s my pleasure to have visited.” He raised her up and motioned to his carriage where a woman was climbing out. “I believe you’re acquainted with my dear friend, Sybil Jones.”
“Miss Jones!” Hannah said. “What a lovely surprise. I’m flattered and stunned that you’d travel such a distance merely to call on me.”
Miss Jones walked over, and she clasped Hannah’s hands and kissed her on the cheek. They were business associates, so it was a terribly personal gesture that was a tad disconcerting.
“I heard about your shop and your other troubles,” Miss Jones said, “and I’ve been so worried about you. When Neville mentioned he was coming, I simply had to ride along to check your condition. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Hannah replied, and she meant it.
“I also thought I should be here to furnish moral support.” Miss Jones chuckled. “This crew of males can be a bit overwhelming.”
It was then that Hannah glanced over at the other two coaches. Hunter emerged from one, and his brother, Warwick, emerged from the other. They marched over to Lord Swindon.
They were dressed in expensive clothes too, their fingers displaying even more lavish rings. They were flaunting themselves, flaunting their affluence and position. They expected her to be awed. And she was undeniably awed.
Hunter and Warwick were tall and handsome, younger versions of their attractive father. They slid next to Lord Swindon, one on each side, so she was pelted with a huge dose of masculine vigor.
There was a fourth carriage at the back of the line, and others were climbing out. Most notably, there was a vicar among them, but she was so delighted by Hunter’s return that the preacher’s presence barely registered.
“Hello, Hannah,” Hunter said. “It’s so good to see you again. I’m sorry I was delayed for such a lengthy interval.”
“It’s all right,” she told him. “You’re here now, and it’s grand to see you too.”
They grinned like halfwits, and she struggled to locate the fury she’d once harbored, but it had evaporated. She couldn’t be angry with him. Not with how he’d been kind to her, how he’d saved her.
He clasped her hands as Miss Jones had done, and he kissed her on the cheek too, but his father pulled Hunter away, saying, “We’ll have none of that.” Lord Swindon studied Hannah and asked, “Will you invite us in, Miss Graves? We have a vital subject to discuss with you.”
“Oh, where are my manners? Yes, yes, please come in.”
Lord Swindon slyly maneuvered himself between her and Hunter, and he took her arm to stroll with her as she led the group into the house. Lord Swindon was on one side of her, Jackson on the other, everyone else traipsing behind them, supplying the impression that the configuration had been rehearsed.
“Did you help to plan their fancy arrival?” she asked Jackson.
“Maybe.”
Hannah peeked over her shoulder at Hunter. He winked, as if they shared a secret.
The butler formally greeted them at the door, and a phalanx of footmen lined the foyer so they paraded through a crowd on their way to the parlor. Most of the servants were Hunter’s servants, so they knew him, as well as his father and brother. There were nods and smiles, and Lord Swindon patted a few men on the back as they passed by.
In the parlor, refreshments had been laid out, as if servants had been lurking down the hall and waiting for Jackson to whisk her away so they could prepare the room. There were several bottles of champagne on the sideboard, so apparently, a celebration was about to commence.
Jackson seemed to be in charge of the mischief, and she peered over at him and asked, “What’s all this?”
“You’ll find out in a minute.”
Lord Swindon escorted her to the sofa and eased her down. He and Jackson stood in front of her. Miss Jones was behind Lord Swindon, and his two strapping sons flanked him again. The servants and outriders had flooded in after the main characters, so the space was filled to bursting.
“Miss Graves,” the Earl started, “I have been in communication with your sibling, Mr. Jackson Graves. I am thrilled to report that he has offered your hand in marriage to my son and heir, Hunter.”
Her jaw dropped again. “He what?”
The Earl continued. “I’m certain this has shocked you, but it did not shock me. For some months, I have been hoping to reach an agreement with your kin regarding Hunter. We are excited by your brother’s suggestion, and I’m confirming that the betrothal is official.”
Hannah was almost too stunned to speak. Almost. She glared at Jackson and said, “You engaged me without my permission?”
He shrugged, looking impish and much too mature. “Well, if I’ve learned one thing about you, it’s that you make very bad decisions. I couldn’t allow you to make a decision about this. It’s too important, and I am your only male relative. Why shouldn’t I have proceeded?”
“Precisely,” Lord Swindon said. “I proclaim my enthusiasm for this match and inform you that I would be delighted to have you join my family. Will you?”
The entire group was staring at her, anticipating her immediate and affirmative answer, but she was frozen with hesitation. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be Hunter’s wife. It seemed to have been the path of her whole life—where she’d finally arrived in this very spot.
She loved him, she didn’t. She was desperate to marry him, she wasn’t. She thought he was wonderful, she wasn’t sure. She’d never been happier, she’d never been more miserable. Hunter Stone was simply a man who stirred conflicting emotions, and she had no idea how to respond.
To buy time, she glanced at Rebecca and said, “Did you know about this?”
“Yes, and I heartily approve of Jackson’s actions.”
Lord Swindon said, “I realize, Miss Graves, that you have reservations about Hunter, and I should apprise you—out of my three boys—he’s always been my favorite. He can be wicked and wild, but he’s loyal and generous to a fault. If you wed him, I’d never have to worry about you.”
Hunter smirked and elbowed his brother, murmuring, “I told you I was his favorite. You didn’t believe me.”
The nudge propelled Warwick forward and he said, “When I was here previously, Miss Graves, I didn’t have an opportunity to become acquainted with you. I traveled with my father today to tell you that Hunter can be pompous and exhausting, but deep down, he’s a terrific fellow. If you were my sister, I would advise you to grab hold of him and never let go. Won’t you please be my sister-in-law?”
Miss Jones piped in with, “I’d like to add my opinion too. Hunter is a cad, and he’s proud of it, but haven’t you heard? Cads make the best husbands. I’ve seen it happen over and over. If you were my daughter, I would be dancing with joy to discover he’s besotted.”
Lord Swindon spoke up yet again. “You have no parent to guide you in this situation, so may I take your father’s place? I was cordial with Sir Edmund, and I can emphatically attest that he would have been elated with this arrangement. Allow me to stand in his stead and urge you to accept Hunter’s proposal.”
How could she ignore such a declaration? It had absolutely riveted her.
There was a pause, where everyone waited again for her reply, but she couldn’t imagine what it should be. She couldn’t decline the offer, not with so many eager observers scrutinizing her every move, but they might have been swiftly pushing her across a bog and hoping she wouldn’t notice the pitfalls along the route.
She was awash with trepidation. What about his doxies? What about his mistresses? What about his odious frien
ds?
Mr. Carew had been pummeled and sent away, but there had to be many others.
Hunter wallowed in the demimonde, a world filled with rogues and slatterns, and she was anxious to ask about all of them. What about Isabella Darling? What about his mistress interviews and his penchant for debauchery? But how could she raise any of those topics when the room was packed with his family and servants?
Hunter stepped to her, and he clasped her hand and lifted her to her feet.
“Your mind is working furiously,” he said, “as you think of reasons to refuse.”
“I’m not thinking that.”
He snorted with amusement. “We’re making progress.”
“It’s just that you’ve overwhelmed me.”
“I keep explaining to you that I am overwhelming, so I’m not surprised.”
“You’re so humble too,” she facetiously said.
“I will try to be more humble—just for you.” His expression turned somber for once. “I have a few things to say to you.”
“I have a few things to say too, but they’re not subjects I can address in front of so many witnesses.”
“I know what they are.” He sounded extremely arrogant, as if her qualms could be easily brushed away. “Will this assuage your doubts? I can be conceited, bossy, and negligent. I blame my awful habits on my dreadful upbringing, where I never had to follow any rules.”
Lord Swindon scoffed. “I can’t deny it. I was a horrid parent.”
“Yes, you were,” Hunter concurred, but affectionately. “My father can vouch for me. My brother too. I’m a kind, devoted, and high-spirited person. I might seem lazy and detached, but I’m actually tough and driven, and I never back down from a fight. I’m reliable too and amazingly faithful.”
Lord Swindon harumphed. “He’s received nearly all of my good traits and almost none of my bad ones.”
“I want to take care of you forever, Hannah Graves,” Hunter said. “I’m rich enough to do that. I want you standing by my side, each and every day for the rest of my life. If you don’t want that too, I can’t fathom how I’ll carry on without you.”
“Your words are fascinating to me, but I’m so perplexed. With your father’s elevation, you could pick any woman in the world. Maybe even a princess or a queen. Why would you choose me?”
“You really don’t know?”
“No. I have no idea what’s shoved you out onto this ledge.”
He chuckled, his gaze warm and fond. “I love you, you silly girl. Why else would I have struggled so hard to persuade you?”
It was such a shocking admission. If she’d had a hundred pounds to bet, she’d have wagered he didn’t believe in love and didn’t deem it to be a genuine sentiment. Could he possibly be telling the truth? And if he was, where did that leave her?
“You…you…love me?” she stammered.
“Yes, you annoying minx. It’s why I brought my father with me, so he could bolster my case. I realize you don’t view me as much of a catch—”
“I never thought that!” she huffed.
“—so I decided I should tender a bribe to win you over.”
A servant had been clutching a folder, and he gave it to Hunter. Hunter opened it and retrieved a drawing. He showed it to her, and it seemed to be a sketch of her bookshop in London. A sign was hung, announcing it to be, The First Page, but there were numerous differences added: four windows instead of two, the door painted green rather than black.
“What this?” she asked, her sense of bewilderment growing by leaps and bounds.
“It’s my bribe.” He grinned his devil’s grin. “Your shop burned down in London, and I figured you should have a new one, so…I built one for you.”
“You what?”
“I built you another bookshop, which is why I was too busy to return any sooner.”
“Are you mad?” She was astounded. Who wouldn’t love such a precious, considerate man?
“It’s in Marston village though, next to the coaching inn, where there is plenty of traffic to furnish you with customers. It can be yours, but you’ll have to move to Marston to claim it.” He pulled a key out of his coat, and he dangled it out of reach. “What do you think? This is a key to the front door. Would you like to restart your business in Marston? It would come with one condition though.”
“What condition?”
“You have to be my wife.” Before she could reply, he dropped to one knee and took her hand in his. “My dearest, Hannah”—he stared up at her, his eyes brimming with mischief—“will you marry me?”
She burst into tears; she couldn’t help it. It was all too much: his father and brother, Miss Jones, Jackson and Rebecca, the servants. They were all ready to celebrate, so she felt as if she had a huge, extended family spurring her on.
“You still want to marry me?” she asked, even though she was blubbering like a baby. “After all that happened between us, you’re still willing?”
“I was never unwilling. If I remember correctly, you were the one who was opposed. Have I changed your mind? Tell me I have.”
His brother produced a kerchief and slipped it to Hunter. Hunter rose and used it to dry her tears. Then Lord Swindon passed him something else, and she saw that it was a pretty gold ring, with an emerald stone in the center. Hunter slid it onto her finger and it fit perfectly.
“It was his mother’s,” Lord Swindon said.
Hunter told her, “I’ve been a confirmed bachelor. I’ve reveled in my wicked antics, but you, Hannah Graves, have made me realize that I can’t bear to be alone anymore. It is this cad’s wish that you save me from myself.”
“In case you’re about to refuse him, Miss Graves,” Lord Swindon put in, “you should recall that Jackson and I have already settled the matter.” He gestured behind him. “We’ve brought a vicar and a Special License, so we can accomplish the ceremony right away. We were supposed to hold it at eleven, but we Stone men like to break the rules.”
“You’d like to wed me…now?” Hannah asked Hunter.
“In light of our history, I can’t give you any extra time to ponder the situation. I’ve learned that—with you—delay can be fatal to my happiness.”
She peered out at the assembled crowd. They were sure she’d agree. And hadn’t he bragged, from the very start, that he always got his way? How could she expect this occasion to be any different?
She couldn’t ever seem to be shed of him. Whenever she tried to separate herself, the universe would simply drag him back into her path. Apparently, she had a destiny with him, and it led directly to him being her husband.
He could be horrid and pompous, could be vain and aggravating. He had loose morals and even looser attitudes and habits. But he was also funny, caring, and generous. He could be sweet and determined and really quite wonderful.
What if she wed him and she was glad forever? She thought she might be.
“Bribe accepted,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
She grabbed the key from him, as she looked out at all of the spectators. They were waiting with bated breath for her response, and she liked keeping them in suspense.
Then she rested her gaze on Hunter, the most handsome, dynamic, and stunning man she’d ever met. She smiled and said, “Yes, you wicked rogue, I will grant you your cad’s wish. I will marry you—right now.”
“You better not be joking.”
“I’m incredibly serious—and could we hurry please? I’m shaking so hard, I’m afraid I might fall down.”
“You’ll never fall down,” he said. “Not with me walking beside you. I will always be there to hold you up.”
“I know you will. Aren’t I lucky?”
There was a fraught pause, where people froze, confused over whether it was finished, then he whooped with joy and kissed her soundly, twirling her in circles as everyone laughed and cheered.
He set her on her feet, and he appeared so smug that she could only laugh too.
“I wa
s certain I could convince you,” he said. “I never had any doubt.”
“Neither did I,” she agreed. “Where you’re concerned, I never stood a chance.”
THE END
Don’t miss Book #2 of the
CADS Trilogy!
CAD’S PICK
the story of
Miss Wilhelmina Dobbs
and
Mr. Warwick Stone
Available now!
****
CHERYL HOLT is a New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon “Top 100” bestselling author who has published over sixty novels.
She’s also a lawyer and mom, and at age forty, with two babies at home, she started a new career as a commercial fiction writer. She’d hoped to be a suspense novelist, but couldn’t sell any of her manuscripts, so she ended up taking a detour into romance where she was stunned to discover that she has a knack for writing some of the world’s greatest love stories.
Her books have been released to wide acclaim, and she has won or been nominated for many national awards. She is considered to be one of the masters of the romance genre. For many years, she was hailed as “The Queen of Erotic Romance”, and she’s also revered as “The International Queen of Villains.” She is particularly proud to have been named “Best Storyteller of the Year” by the trade magazine Romantic Times BOOK Reviews.
She lives and writes in Hollywood, California, and she loves to hear from fans. Visit her website at www.cherylholt.com.
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