Miss Winters Proposes

by Frances Fowlkes

  Benjamin swallowed and adjusted her in his arms. Dogs. He needed to focus on the dogs or the cold. Or both. Not on the warm body rubbing against his.

  Her body shook in the ill-fitted clothes. “I am p-perfectly able to walk.”

  “And I am perfectly able of carrying you. Which door is the kitchen?”

  She pointed toward a small door off to the left. “There, on the east side. It should b-be unlocked.”

  “Should? It is below freezing and you are not certain whether you have entrance to the inside?”

  “It was unlocked when I used it last. Our cook could’ve assumed she left it open and relocked the bolt. Any number of scenarios could have happened in the past half hour, which is why I selected the word ‘should’ instead of something more definite.”

  Benjamin rolled his eyes but remained silent.

  He didn’t need this. Didn’t want this. His sole desire was solitude, and that meant being alone. By himself. With his sister’s coffers filled and his dog beside him for occasional companionship. There was no room for Juliet in his future. So why did he continue to think of the redheaded minx trembling in his arms, calling to his baser needs every time her bottom rubbed against his—

  “The dogs. I need to call them inside.” Juliet placed her fingers into her blue lips and let out an earsplitting whistle. The hounds immediately stopped their play and followed him toward the rear of the house.

  “There.” She pointed toward a door that was blessedly ajar.

  Benjamin trudged through the remaining distance and nudged the door open. The room was void of servants, but a small fire sputtered in the hearth. Five dogs trailed behind him, their inquisitive noses sniffing at the table in anticipation of their meal.

  He angled her inside and made his way toward the welcoming heat of the flames. “If you direct me toward the foodstuffs, I can feed the hounds while you warm by the fire.”

  She shook her head and pushed against his chest. “It would be easier if I managed the chore myself.”

  “Easier, yes, but—”

  “I am not an invalid.” She set her feet onto the floor. She stumbled, and Benjamin found her once again in his embrace, her wide eyes peering up at him, her lips mere inches from his.

  He knew the thick swell of desire her lips promised to unleash with their taste. His hands itched to pull her close so he might drink of their nectar.

  Which was why he needed to remove himself from her at this very moment. He didn’t need this…this…attachment she threatened to impose. He was a recluse, a hermit, a damn bachelor, if not by name alone. He did not want entanglements, even if they hinted at being pleasurable.

  Artemis whined, and Juliet tore her gaze from his to stare at the hounds. “I should see to them.”

  His hands fell, and she turned toward the dogs, their wagging tails knocking metal bowls over in their excitement. If the household was not awake before, they were now.

  Juliet slid off the bulk of the two greatcoats, hanging them on a set of hooks by the door. The absence of the woolen articles covering her revealed a pair of lust-inducing legs, thighs, and hips encased in a set of breeches that were no longer the masculine garment of their original design, but a showcase of feminine curves and edges.

  His jaw unhinged and, were the time of year conducive to flying insects, one would have been able to settle into his mouth, so large was the gap between the roof of his mouth and his tongue.

  God’s blood.

  A distraction. He needed a bloody damn distraction.

  “Is there anything I can do to assist you?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the din. “Perhaps heat some negus or other hot beverage?”

  Her lips curved upward. “There is a special treat I reserve for monstrously cold occasions…and whenever my father wishes to indulge.” She lifted the lid off a rusted tin and fished out a small brass key. “Slide this into the square box on the third shelf behind you.”

  She placed the key in his hand, her fingers already a degree warmer than they had been moments before.

  “And what shall I find when I open the box?”

  Her smile broadened, the whites of her teeth glowing in the dim light. “Chocolate.”

  Benjamin chuckled. “I haven’t had chocolate in ages, not since…” He turned away, the laughter dying on his lips.

  “Not since what?”

  His back stiffened as was his normal response to anything dealing with his loss. What the devil had gotten into him that he so easily referenced a moment he wished to forget?

  “Benjamin?”

  He cleared his throat, his gaze focused entirely on the wooden box. He had become accustomed to the sting of sorrow and wave of guilt that accompanied recollections of his past. But it still hurt. Every single time.

  “Not since Amelia partook of it at our wedding.” He slid the key into the lock. He lifted the small dried cake, the rich and decadent smell of the expensive treat filling his nose.

  “You must miss her very much,” Juliet whispered, her words barely audible over the whines and yips of the dogs.

  He did miss her. But he missed what he had been when they first met even more. A third son. With no aspirations or hope for the title. And for that, he felt all the more guilty.

  “Did you love her?”

  He near dropped the cake. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Did you love Amelia?”

  Benjamin peered across the table to the inquisitive and prying woman. Only Juliet would be so bold as to ask a question so personal. So deep. So extremely awkward. Perhaps if he avoided the question she would refrain from asking it again, his silence answer enough for her inquiry.

  After he settled the chocolate onto the table, he wiped his hands on his coat. “Do you have a pot to warm the milk?”

  She pointed toward a copper piece dangling over the sideboard. “This morning’s milk is in the pail on the table.”

  A moment of heavy silence settled between them before he found himself saying, “No.”

  “My lord?” Juliet lifted her head from a piece of meat she was parceling out to the hounds.

  Benjamin poured a generous helping of milk into the pot, unsure of what had compelled him to answer. Guilt? Honesty? Honor?

  “I held great affection for Amelia, but no. I did not love her.”

  Theirs had been a friendship, one that, with time, might have blossomed into more. Death, however, had intervened and the time for anything deeper than a shared and mutual respect for one another had never come.

  And it never would with another.

  She remained silent, her face one of deep reflection. Her auburn brows furrowed, the freckled skin of her forehead creasing into pensive lines.

  Lines he had an overwhelming urge to smooth. Perhaps with a kiss or two. Or three.

  Obviously he hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night. He was out of his damn fool mind this morning.

  “What of you?” He grated the chocolate tablet into the milk. “Have you ever loved another?” Had she ever offered her heart? Had she ever felt the sting of rejection or loss?

  The lines on her forehead deepened. “No. I have not.”

  He placed the pot over the fire, his interest piqued. In a few days’ time, Juliet would be his wife. And he suddenly realized outside of knowing she possessed a very determined and passionate spirit, he knew very little of the future Lady Colwyn.

  Not that it should matter. She would leave for Evenrood after their marriage, and he would return to Darlington Hall. He would not see her, save for the two months out of the year he could, if he felt so inclined, fill his obligations as a husband. It would be to the betterment of both their interests if he left well enough alone and avoided any sort of prying or conversation that deepened their relationship. And yet…was he not here to convince Winters of their affection for one another? Would he not require details to convince him Benjamin was besotted with Juliet?

  He snatched a spoon off the table and stirred the chocolate,
the light-colored mixture releasing its fragrant aroma. “I regret I knew little of Amelia in the time we were together. I do not wish to repeat the offense.”

  “And you seek to remedy this how?” She poured a pitcher of water over her hands and wiped them off on a towel.

  “By asking after your interests. Should Winters query either of us on our deep affection for one another, an honest answer should be given.”

  She gave a reluctant nod. “I suppose that is a ready enough reason as any. What is it you wish to know?”

  Benjamin shrugged. “What of your interests? Do you play the pianoforte?”

  Juliet snorted. “No.”

  “Do you draw? Paint? Sketch?”

  She scrunched her pert little nose. “No, not at all.”

  “Embroider?” he asked, lifting the pot of boiling milk to the table. “Sing? Speak French, perhaps?”

  Juliet shook her head, releasing a fall of curls about her face. She swept them aside and grabbed a whisk for their beverage.

  “No, sir. You already know what holds my interest.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Breeding. I am most fascinated and engaged in the art of breeding. It consumes me.” She cracked an egg into the pot.

  God’s blood.

  “Breeding?” He near choked on his tongue.

  “Of hounds.” Her face flushed a bright shade of crimson. “I am most interested in the breeding of hounds, of course.”

  He really ought not to tease. But the heat rising to the surface of her skin was too endearing, too indicative of health and heat, he simply couldn’t resist asking, “And nothing more?”

  She whisked the creamy chocolate into a froth. Clearing her throat she replied, “The study and history of hound breeding occupies the full extent of my available time. It is why I wish to retreat to Evenrood. Few others find my life’s work acceptable, let alone interesting. Those who do are often old men with no interest in speaking with a woman whom they believe has no comprehension of the topic, despite the physical evidence proving otherwise.”

  “Physical evidence?” Benjamin helped her ease the pot back over the flames.

  Juliet nodded, placing her hand out to rub the muzzle of a lemon-spotted hound. “Cleo is the first of my kennel, born from champions I meticulously selected. No one, however, will acknowledge my work as long as I remain here. They assume, and quite naturally so, her success was born from my father’s hands and not from those of his spinster daughter’s.”

  Benjamin glanced down at the dog nuzzling into Juliet’s thigh. The bitch was lean, muscular, and of perfect proportions for the breed. Like others, she was also a dog he wrongly assumed to be the culmination of her father’s efforts, and not hers.

  Benjamin stirred the milk and frowned. “But even with your departure to Evenrood, people will still miscredit your line’s achievements. As your husband, they will assume they are mine.”

  Ladies did not engage in the masculine art of hound breeding. And while Juliet stood contrary to that line of thinking, he was doubtful anyone would be swayed to believe otherwise.

  She leaned over him, her eyes on the almost boiling contents of the pot. “Not if you are at Darlington Hall, and I am at Evenrood with the hounds.”

  Her sweet and spice-infused scent enveloped him, once again plunging his thoughts down a path of carnal lust and desire. Artemis licked his elbow and Benjamin shook his head, grounding himself in the present.

  “Hounds? You would take the hounds?”

  Juliet stilled his hand and lifted the pot off the flames. “Of course. It is the reason I wish to depart from Hollington. I would like to breed them without—”

  “What of Artemis?”

  Juliet glanced down at the champion begging at his feet. “She is not a part of my dowry. One of her pups, however—”

  “Her pups belong to me.” And Mr. Lightwood, who was eagerly anticipating their arrival.

  “Yes. All but one. You are contractually obligated to give one of her litter to the owner of the sire. Do you not recall the terms of the arrangement you made with my father?”

  Of course he recalled the details. He had simply forgotten that one.

  “Horatio is your father’s dog.”

  “And my dowry. My father is aging and finds he no longer has the energy required to maintain a healthy kennel. Hence, why he included them as part of my dowry. Not only does it entice offers of marriage from gentlemen, it also ensures I keep the dogs. They are his legacy…and mine.”

  It all made sense, of course. He had simply not wished to hear it. He needed Artemis’s pups and the thought of giving such a valuable and precious thing away, contract or not, made him cringe. “What if she delivers only one viable pup?”

  Juliet scrunched her nose and shook her head. “Artemis is in perfect health. There is no reason not to believe she will whelp five or even seven pups.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  “Experience.” Juliet knelt down at his feet, her copper-red curls brushing against his knees as she examined Artemis.

  His weak mind once again wandered, and he found himself wishing it were him she was examining and not his bitch.

  Taking a step back, he snatched one of the cups of steaming chocolate she had poured and let the liquid burn his throat. It was a welcome and very painful diversion.

  “Artemis will whelp in two weeks. And when she does, you’ll have a fine, healthy litter to keep warm and nourish.”

  Which meant he had two weeks to spend in close proximity with Juliet teasing him with her scent, her curls, and her passion.

  God help him.

  Chapter Seven

  An entire day spent in the viscount’s presence had proven distracting. Exciting. And nothing like anything Juliet had ever experienced.

  Never had she been treated to such devotion or attention. Benjamin had seen to her every need, had indulged her every whim and fancy. He had treated her with respect, as though she were an equal, asking her questions and nodding at her answers, even appearing interested in her discussions.

  Juliet squinted at the pages of her book, attempting to focus on the words in front of her. She had read the last sentence at least fourteen times, the pages that once held her rapt attention now a distraction, something to focus upon while Benjamin sat less than a foot beside her, fully engaged in the poems of Byron, his clean scent filling her head and placing indecent thoughts into her mind.

  Thoughts of the future. With him. As equal partners sharing an interest in hounds and the progeny of a superior line.

  She was quite certain, were the high flames in her father’s library grate not already making her cheeks flush with heat, her outrageous thoughts, along with the viscount’s constant attention, would permanently tinge her face crimson.

  Juliet bit her lip. Perhaps pain would redirect her attention to the page and not on the smell of pine and wood smoke that seemed to accompany Benjamin whenever he was near. She had to focus, maintain a sense of—

  With a flick of his wrist, he plucked the book out of her grasp and snapped it shut. “What are you reading, Juliet? You have been on the same page for the past thirty minutes. It must be the most uninteresting piece of literature in the room.”

  Had thirty minutes truly passed? Five or ten she might have believed, but surely she could not have been holding her breath for the past thirty, since he had sat down beside her, his very presence filling the room and making it difficult to breathe.

  “Benjamin, please.” She reached for the worn spine, but he passed it to his opposite hand, his eyes canvassing the leather cover. “The Study of Canine Reproduction.” His gaze lifted, his dark brows rising. “What would an accomplished breeder need with a novice treatise on the topic of dog breeding?”

  Holding out her palm for the book’s return, she rolled her eyes. “I am humble enough to admit I do not know everything on the subject. There is always something new to learn.”

  His gaze flitted between her and the book.
“Yes, but it is disquieting to learn the woman who has pledged to assist in the whelping of my prize bitch does not know, as she admitted, everything.”

  “I know enough to assure you most whelpings occur without incident, and the woman who is assisting you with such matters has been doing so for far longer than she has been reading that book.”

  “Which is both a comfort and a concern.” He opened the cover, and stood, turning his back toward her as she advanced on his person, doing her best to retrieve the biological study on canine breeding. “Let’s see. Page one hundred and fifty, ‘The Discussion of Hemorrhaging and Blood Loss’.”

  He snapped his head around, his gaze seeking hers. “What do you know of hemorrhaging, Juliet?”

  Next to nothing, hence her study of the topic. But she wasn’t about to admit to her lack of knowledge, especially when he had asked the question with a hint of anxiety tainting his voice. It would do no good to feed his fears, especially where it concerned his valued pet. “Hemorrhaging is exceptionally rare. The likelihood of it occurring in Artemis is minimal.”

  He lifted the book above her head, his defensive twists and turns, not to mention his sheer height and the length of his arms, preventing her from getting anywhere near her father’s book. “But it could happen,” he said, his tone far more serious than his posture.

  Juliet stood on her toes, extending her arms to their full length, the tips of her fingers brushing against the faded cover. “Yes. And in the very small possibility it does, I wish to be prepared by reading the contents of the book.”

  He lowered his hands enough so her fingers could wrap around the spine to pluck it out of his grasp. Her victory, however, was interrupted by the realization that her chest brushed against his, so close had she gotten to his person in pursuit of her goal.

  Air refused to enter into her lungs. She stood paralyzed, staring up at a pair of heavy-lidded eyes dark with…what? Certainly not distrust. Frederick had never stared at her thus, save for the previous night…when he had pursued her with other intentions in mind.

  Was it possible the viscount was entertaining…romantic thoughts? Toward her?

  She swallowed a bubble of laughter at the very idea. He was merely acting out his role as the doting betrothed.