My Lady Gloriana

by Sylvia Halliday

  “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered, swinging her back to face him. “Gloriana, I came to the inn with a ring that day. I intended to ask you to marry me. To be my duchess. How could you have gone without waiting to speak to me? How could you have believed her lies?”

  “Your duchess? You want to marry me, now that I can pass as a lady? The whore you always thought I was?”

  “N-no,” he stammered, clearly abashed. “Not after…” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I wanted to ask you to marry me the night of the assembly ball in Whitby.”

  “You can say that now, milord. But your presence in Whitby was founded on a pack of lies. How can I believe you now?”

  He gritted his teeth. “You impossible woman! I came here in all humility to beg your forgiveness, and I’m greeted by the harridan I first encountered in Yorkshire.”

  She stopped in mid-step and drew herself up. “I will not tolerate such impertinence, even from such an exalted personage as Your Grace.”

  He bowed stiffly. “Thankfully for us both, the dance has ended.”

  Gloriana shot him one last lingering glance of scorn and began to move away. Just then, the young baron who had danced with her before sidled up to Thorne, smirking as he came near.

  “Too late, Thorneleigh,” he crowed. “You’ve long-since forfeited the right to court the lady, having tried to besmirch her reputation with your cowardly, vulgar bet. Unless you intend to wager with me on whom she will favor this evening.”

  Gloriana gasped. She knew Thorne well enough to be horrified. Surely his pride would never allow such an insult.

  Thorne whirled to the baron, his eyes burning with rage. “You craven excuse for a man,” he said in a loud voice. “I’ll wager I can knock you out of your shoes with one blow!” He held up his fists. “Would you care to take up my challenge?” He turned to the guests who had begun to crowd around, drawn by the quarrel. “Would anyone care to give odds on my making short work of this milksop?”

  Grey rushed forward, followed by an alarmed Allegra. “See here, Your Grace, this is not Belsize. We do not wager in this house.”

  Thorne hesitated, then took a steadying breath and lowered his hands. He bowed deeply to Grey. “Forgive me, Lord Ridley.” Then he smiled wickedly, as though an odd thought had suddenly flashed into his mind, and turned to Gloriana.

  Bloody hell, she thought, remembering how impulsive he could be. What is he up to now?

  “If you’ll permit me, milord. One simple wager tonight. With the Lady Gloriana, if she’ll accept my challenge.”

  Gloriana gave a proud toss of her head. “Which is… what, Your Grace?”

  “I shall best you at arm-wrestling.”

  Ignoring the shocked looks on the faces of the guests, Gloriana snickered. The man was mad. She had always bested him. His few months of work at the forge were scarcely a match for her years in the ring. “Not bloody likely,” she muttered.

  “I’ll chance it,” he said. “’Tis worth the risk.”

  “You go too far!” Grey cried. “To overpower a woman with your greater strength… I’ll not countenance it here.”

  “I’m left-handed. I intend to use my right arm. That should make us more equal.”

  “I shall not permit it! I—”

  “A moment, husband,” said Allegra softly. She gave Gloriana a knowing smile. “What say you, Sister?”

  Gloriana didn’t want to refuse until she could learn what Thorne was thinking. “I should like to know what the stakes are.”

  “If I win, you must agree to marry me. Posthaste.”

  She laughed sharply. “Truly the most peculiar courtship in the history of the sexes. And if you lose? I am not compelled to marry you? I see no benefit for me in the wager, since I don’t wish to marry you in the first place. There must be a forfeit. If I risk losing my independence to you, there should be some sacrifice for you, if I win.”

  His smile dissolved into a somber frown. “If you win, I shall sign over to you my title and my fortune, only keeping out enough to maintain my mother whilst she lives. And I shall become a country blacksmith.”

  At his words, the cluster of guests gasped in surprise or turned to one another in shock. “Surely you jest, Your Grace!” said Grey in alarm. “Are you prepared to lose all?”

  Thorne’s eyes never left Gloriana’s face. “If I must.” He waved his hand in Grey’s direction. “I give you my oath on that.”

  Grey moved toward Thorne, clearly prepared to stop him. But Allegra clutched her husband’s arm and whispered frantically in his ear. Grey’s angry expression softened into a smile. “I leave the decision up to you, Sister.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Gloriana nodded and moved toward a table. “Let us begin.”

  Thorne peeled off his coat and tossed it on the back of a chair, then rolled up his sleeve. He held out a chair for Gloriana and took the seat opposite her. The guests tried to crowd around the table, but Grey motioned them back.

  Gloriana planted her elbow firmly on the table and scowled at Thorne. “You’re a fool,” she said softly. “You had best resign yourself to a life of poverty, milord.”

  His eyes were dark and troubled. “Without you at my side, I shall live in poverty, whatever my circumstances.”

  They clasped hands and began to strain against one another. As Gloriana had surmised, her hard-toned arm muscles were still stronger than Thorne’s. He grunted with the effort, struggling to force her arm onto the table, but she could feel her superior skill wearing him down.

  He looked up at her, his eyes soft and pleading. “I love you, Gloriana,” he panted through clenched teeth. “More than life itself. I shall die if I can’t have you.”

  I’m the fool, she thought, hearing the sincerity in his voice. She had never stopped loving him, and he had risked humiliation to come here, to challenge her in a manner that would earn him scorn and mockery from society for the rest of his life, if he should lose.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. With a sigh, she relaxed her pressure against his hand and allowed him to force her arm to the table. He stared in surprise, then grinned broadly.

  “But you’ve lost on purpose,” cried a nearby gentleman.

  “No,” she said, smiling up at him. “I’ve won.”

  Thorne jumped from his chair and pulled her to her feet, wrapping her in his embrace. He turned to Grey and Allegra, who had begun to clap happily. They were soon joined by the other guests. “In the name of pity, Lord Ridley,” he said over Gloriana’s head, “find us a place where we can be alone.”

  Grey handed Thorne his coat and swiftly ushered them to a door. “Beyond this door and the next, there’s a small sitting room.” He laughed. “Thanks to my lady wife’s intuition, I think I can guess where—or at least with whom—our dear sister spent last summer and autumn.”

  Thorne could scarcely wait to close the door behind them before he pulled her into his arms. His mouth sought hers in a burning kiss that reawakened all her old passions. She wrapped her arms around his neck, glorying in the thrill that ran through her body. At last he broke away and led her to a large divan. He lifted her and laid her across the cushions, tossing her heavy skirts above her hips. He tore at the buttons of his breeches, exposing his manhood, poised and waiting.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered. “How I’ve ached for you.” He bent to her and planted soft kisses on her neck, pulling down her shift to expose her breasts. She moaned in pleasure as he suckled at her nipples. Then, impatient to feel him within her, she clutched at his member and guided it to her burning core. But instead of the hot, passionate lovemaking that was their usual fashion, he entered her gently, gliding softly in and out in a manner that made her feel loved and cherished as well as desired. Only at the last did his thrusts increase in intensity. They climaxed together, crying out in the rapture of their union.

  He gathered her into his arms. “My sweet,” he murmured. “I love you so much I could barely exist for the wanting of you.”

  “And
I love you,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

  He raised his head, a quizzical expression on his face. “Then why, in the name of all that’s holy, were you so difficult tonight?”

  “You taught me to be proud,” she replied. “To value myself. And when… that woman told me you wanted me for your mistress, while she would become your wife, I hated you. ’Twas difficult to let that hatred go tonight.”

  “Forgive me again for Penelope. I was a fool to trust her.”

  “And I was a fool for not trusting you more. To accept her lies without question.” She sighed. “I wish her well. But I can never forgive her.”

  He chuckled. “Alas. She is already reaping the rewards of her perfidy in an unfortunate marriage.”

  She sat up and began to straighten her tousled clothing and smooth her hair. “I must look a fright.”

  Thorne buttoned his breeches and rolled down his sleeve. “You look adorable. Every man will envy me when we return to the drawing room.” He stood up, shrugged into his coat, and put his hands on his hips. “And speaking of other men, is it true what I’ve heard? That you were planning to choose a husband from amongst the suitors tonight?”

  She turned away. She hadn’t wanted to tell him like this, but she had no choice. “I saw no other way,” she said. “I’m carrying your child.”

  He cried out in joy and lifted her in his arms. “Oh! You wondrous woman. I knew you were meant for me from the first moment I saw you.”

  She snorted. “All covered in sweat, a hammer in hand that first day in Whitby?”

  He chuckled, then took her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the mouth. “No. I was here in Shropshire last spring. Visiting a friend. I went for a midnight stroll and thought to take a swim. But a vision on horseback surprised me. So I climbed a tree.”

  She gasped. “Burn and blister me. You were the bloody Peeping Tom!”

  He smiled ruefully. “Guilty as charged. That’s why I made the wager. Went off to find you. I couldn’t forget you after that night. I think I loved you from that moment forward.” He reached out and straightened a curl on her shoulder. “I think we look presentable enough.” He patted his pocket. “No. Wait.” He hooked a finger into the pocket and brought forth a large emerald ring. “I almost didn’t bring it. I was so fearful you’d reject me. But my mother was more optimistic, and insisted. You’ll like her, by the way. And she’ll adore you.” He kissed her softly. “As I do.”

  That warmed her heart. She’d never had a mother.

  Thorne dropped to one knee before her and held out the ring. “Gloriana Cook, will you marry me? And be the mother of many children?”

  She laughed. “We’ll start with two. My Billy and…” She patted her belly. “And yes, of course I’ll marry you.” She allowed him to slip the ring on her finger, then raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Did you mean what you said? That you’d give up everything if I refused? And become a blacksmith?”

  “I did indeed. As for smithery, I’ve been working in a forge in the country. You’ll be surprised at how far I’ve advanced.” He stood up, buttoned his coat, and smoothed his breeches. “We should be getting back. They’ll be wondering where we are.” He held out his arm. “Milady?”

  She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, being careful to hold her fingers so that the guests would see the ring the moment they entered. Thorne opened the door to the drawing room and ushered her through. At once, the assembled guests began to clap, the gentlemen bowing deeply and their women dropping into respectful curtsies.

  “Bloody hell,” whispered Gloriana. “I’m not your duchess yet.”

  He slipped his arm around her waist and smiled down at her, his eyes warm with love and devotion. “With or without a title, you are what you’ve always been in your heart. A lady.” Then he shot her a lopsided grin, filled with pride. “My lady.”

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