A Bride Worth Taking (Arrangements, Book 6)

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Hardly,” he murmured.

  The look she tossed in his direction let him know what a stupid thing that was to say. “You know Society, Kit. And I know Society. Comparisons are all they live by. I should not care what everybody thinks, but I do. I have little enough opinion of myself to supplant them, so I thrive on the good opinions of others. The less I can give them to find fault with, the safer I shall be. What if I did something wrong? What if I could not play as well as I practiced? What if my voice should crack when I sing? What if…?”

  He moved closer and rested a hand on the bench near her, afraid she would recoil if he touched her. “What if you do splendidly?”

  She sighed and closed her eyes, then rested her hand on top of his. “I don’t think I could. With nothing to steady me, I have only my own abilities to depend on, and those abilities are sadly lacking.”

  He could barely breathe for the revelation she had heaped upon him. The shy, retreating girl of their youth had been cowering behind her insecurities and pretending to be this grand creature that was so admired.

  He should have seen that.

  “Marianne,” he said gently, giving her a disbelieving smile, “you don’t need anybody else’s opinion. I know you love music, you always have. You should play for others, share that gift you have, even if someone else’s fingers might fly a little faster.”

  “A lot faster,” she muttered with a snort, but she smiled all the same.

  “And anything else you want to do, you should do it,” he continued, feeling rather bold at the moment. “Don’t be ruled by fear anymore, Marianne. You’re too strong for that.”

  She gave him an amused, slightly bewildered look. “Well,” she said on a heavy sigh, still smiling, “perhaps one day I will.” She looked at the pianoforte for a long moment, assessing it carefully. “Lily gave me some new songs when I left; I should look through those and see what I can manage.”

  Pleased beyond words, he nodded and sat back in his chair. “That sounds like a prudent beginning.”

  She looked at him once more, took in his comfortable position, and shook her head. “No, you have to go.”

  “What?” he cried with a laugh. “You just said…”

  “I said one day,” she interrupted, still shaking her head, “but I cannot play something new with you looking at me. Go away, if you please.”

  He chuckled and rose, putting his hands on his hips. “I will be able to hear you from the hallway, you know.”

  She nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, but you won’t be looking at me. That is what makes the difference.”

  He smiled fully and shook his head at her. “Very well, I will see you when I am next permitted to do so.” He bowed and turned to exit the room, as she requested.

  “Kit?”

  He turned on his heel and tilted his head in response.

  Her expression was fraught with inquiry. “Why don’t you play or sing?”

  He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, and exhaled slowly. “I suppose we share something in common after all, Marianne. Insecurity is a tricky business, and my reserved nature does not lend itself to much by way of frivolity. I may be an enthusiastic admirer of music, but never a participant.” He shrugged one shoulder as if that explained everything. It was hardly a good excuse, but it was all he had.

  “I understand,” his wife murmured, and in her eyes, he could see that she did. She straightened a little, her smile turning shy. “Will you take me to the opera when we go back to London, Mr. Gerrard?”

  He fought a grin, and lost. Giving her another, far more dignified bow, he inclined his head. “It would be an honor, Mrs. Gerrard.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Later that same day, feeling much lighter and far more at ease with herself, Marianne went out in search of her husband. She had no particular reason, except that she wanted to see him, which was becoming a rather usual feeling for her.

  And why shouldn’t she? After all, her husband was a very attractive man, and his looser appearance in the country made it quite impossible to not enjoy looking at him. And she rather enjoyed being held by him, on those occasions he saw fit to do so. That night he’d come back after Fanny’s departure he had held her all night, but had left before she had woken. No doubt, he had wanted to spare her the embarrassment and awkwardness of waking up next to him. That would be Kit, for certain, retreating from the discomfort of strong emotion, and now that she understood a bit more about his control, she admired him all the more for it.

  In fact, she was coming to appreciate her husband more and more every day. Why, their conversation today alone had been revelatory for her. What else could there possibly be to this man she had married? He was patient and kind, he could not see suffering without wanting to relieve it, he had a strength of will and character that was awe-inspiring, and he did everything with honor and dignity.

  So what exactly had she despised so about him?

  Oh, right, he did not like her.

  Well, she could hardly blame him for that. She barely liked herself, as she had been. And yet, things were changing. She did not have to pretend here, not with him. He liked her more for it, and she felt rather the same way.

  How fast life could change, and how subtly, too. She would never have imagined that a quiet life in the country would suit her so well, or that she would enjoy reading in the library with her husband, or visiting tenants in the village. There were no neighbors within ten miles being in residence, and she did not mind.

  Good heavens, who in the world was she?

  She hid a smile in her hand as she realized her husband was probably thinking the same thing. The poor man, no wonder he was so changed. And somehow so unchanged. This was the Kit she had known so long ago, but grown up and matured, intensely male and unnervingly steady. Her thoughts were turning to him with increasing frequency, and there was something in the way he smiled at her that felt like a ray of sunshine.

  But more than that, there was a comfort with him now. A sense of ease and warmth, something that made her want to do nothing more or less than walk the gardens with him by her side. Or feed the ducks in the Serpentine at Hyde Park. Or race the horses across the estate, as they had done just the other day. She enjoyed having fun with Kit, even if it were the most innocent of diversions.

  She wondered if he might consider riding out with her again. Perhaps to the shoreline, as he was so wary of her going there herself. If he would show it to her, let her explore while he was near, then she could finally see it for what it was, and spend time with her husband at the same time.

  A smile spread across her lips and she almost missed him, but her eyes were quick, and she stopped suddenly as she nearly passed the small drawing room at the back of the house. It was well within listening range of the music room. He would have heard every note she played, even the ones she wished he wouldn’t. And here he sat, small fire crackling in the hearth, leaning back in a chair, fast asleep.

  She entered the room as softly as she could, smiling as she took in the sight of him. His jacket was gone, as was his cravat, and somehow his hair had become less than perfect, and lounging as he was, his boots propped up on an ottoman, his hands folded together on his stomach, he looked more like a rake who had endured a very long night indeed.

  And yet, he was anything but rakish. He took such care with everything he did, and everything he felt. He’d even taken care of Marianne, despite all he had suffered at her hand and for her sake. He had somehow found a way to forgive her, and when he held her, he did so with such gentleness, but with a strength that soothed and assured her.

  Her husband. This man, extraordinary and complicated and confusing and a thousand other things, was her husband. And her future.

  He exhaled audibly, so perfectly at ease that she smiled even more. She approached quietly, carefully, suddenly desperate to study him as much as she could. To know his face and his features, every line and scar, every angle and facet. She wanted to
brush the errant lock of chestnut hair off of his brow, knowing now how thick and lush his hair was, and her fingers itched to feel it again. She wanted to run a finger or two along his jaw, and feel how perfectly sculpted it was. She wanted to rest her hands on his shoulders, to feel the strength and power that resided in their broadness, though he was trim enough everywhere else. Where Colin had always looked lankier, Kit had been built for power, and though it would never be expected when one looked at him, it emanated from him still.

  Drawn as if by some impossible force, Marianne found herself looking at his lips. They held power, too. Power to wound her, power to soothe her, the power to make her laugh… What other powers could they hold for her?

  What would it be like to kiss him? She could hardly dare to approach him with such a question when he was awake, alert, and fully himself. But here, like this, in this moment…

  She held her breath as she rested her hands on the arms of the chair, her heart pounding furiously in her ears, and leaned down to brush her lips across his in a feather soft caress.

  A whisper of a gasp crossed her lips and she hovered barely above him, savoring the tingling sensation from so brief a connection. She could do it again, risk another venture into a world that she might never know otherwise. She swallowed silently, and prayed for strength, only to feel him shift beneath her.

  She reared back and gasped in mortification as his eyes fluttered open. Flinging herself off of the chair, she retreated to the furthest corner of the room from him, clutching her arms as if she were cold.

  “What are you doing?” he murmured sleepily, his penetrating eyes fixed on her with more intensity than his voice contained.

  She thought about denying everything, surely he had been dreaming, but one look at his face told her he knew it all.

  She swallowed hard, her face flaming. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just… wanted to know what it was like.”

  His eyes never left hers, and nothing in his posture or expression changed, but there was suddenly a new tension between them. A ticklish sort of fire somewhere in the pit of her stomach that spread to her fingers and toes, and grew warmer with every passing second.

  “Well,” Kit finally said in a low, rumbling voice, dragging his legs from the ottoman and slowly rising to his full and impressive height, “if you’re that curious, it had better be properly done.”

  The ticklish fire burst into a rapid burning that encompassed every inch of her skin and her heart galloped on the backs of a thousand stallions as he came towards her, his eyes searing hers in a way that left her breathless and thoughtless.

  Gingerly, as if she would break, he cupped her cheek, the skin of his hand barely grazing it. His thumb stroked her softly, drawing with it a shaky breath. His palm exerted the slightest pressure to her jaw, tilting her head back, bringing her lips into perfect alignment for his, and they parted under his gaze.

  With infinite gentleness, Kit bent and touched his lips to hers, brushing against them with all the patience in the world, then sealing over them with exquisite tenderness. His lips eased pleasure from her, a slow, simmering heat that swirled about them both, and her hands slid from her arms and fluttered to his waistcoat. Softly, sweetly, he kissed her, again and again, a never-ending series of brushes and caresses, a conversation for which she had no translation, and needed none. Her breath snagged and her toes curled, and the teasing friction against her lips became an intoxicating sensation.

  Just as she began to grow impatient, yet yearned for more of the same, he pulled back, his thumb stroking her cheek again. His eyes met hers, and she found his breathing to be as out of sync as hers was. Before she could blink, he pressed another hard kiss to her lips, then just as suddenly, he was gone, striding from the room with an exhale she could hear from her place.

  Slowly, she brought her fingers to her lips, where a faint buzzing had begun, and she found herself smiling quite broadly as her breathing slowed to a more normal pace.

  So… that was what it was like to kiss Kit Gerrard.

  She could quite get used to that.

  Still smiling, she tapped her chin in thought, and fairly skipped from the room, turning in the opposite direction Kit had gone, and strolling out into the gardens. She had a great need for some fresh air at the moment.

  Kit was having a little difficulty breathing as he entered his study and closed the door firmly behind him. Was he a coward for having fled his wife’s presence? Probably, but self-preservation was his first instinct, and he had known that he’d had to get out of there before he lost himself entirely.

  Never, even in his wildest fantasies, had he imagined that Marianne would kiss him.

  He couldn’t recall what exactly he had been dreaming about in the drawing room, only that listening to Marianne play had lulled him into such comfort that he had drifted off before he’d known what he was about. And to wake to such a feeling… He’d been aware of her long before she’d ever touched her lips to his, but her silence, and her nearness, had rendered him immobile. He’d waited, wondering what she was about, knowing that she would never have been so bold had he been awake.

  How he’d managed not to gasp himself when he’d felt the soft brush of her lips was astonishing. Never had any kiss affected him more.

  When he’d stirred and asked what she was doing, he’d caught the embarrassed blush on her cheeks, the nervous and demure attitude as she avoided his gaze, and how tightly she clung to herself, as if to make her seem as small and insignificant as possible. Shy and retreating? His wife? It was hardly fathomable, and yet the evidence had been before him. And her revelations only a few hours before had proved to him that she was not so changed as he had once thought. She had never fully been the creature he had so detested. The thrill of pleasure at that knowledge was potent indeed.

  Stripped of artifice, innocent as in years past, his wife had admitted to wanting to know what it would be like to kiss him.

  What had transpired then had seemed a dream to him. He had to kiss her himself, and properly at that. He could not let her think that simple contact, stirring as it was, would be all there was. He had to taste her, to know if the lips he had so often dreamed of were as fine and delectable as he’d always wondered.

  Now he had done…

  What was one to do when one’s reality far outstripped one’s imagination?

  How was he to keep from kissing her at every opportunity?

  He leaned his head against the door, inhaled slowly, and exhaled the same. Control… He must find the control he had cultivated so carefully for years. Rather than fighting a creature he loathed, he must protect against a woman he wanted. Was he strong enough for that?

  He had to be. He had to be. For a time, at least, he must have restraint. He was not prepared for this, not ready for the change in her.

  And yet…

  There was a knock at the very door he was leaning against, jolting him out of his dismal reverie. He stepped back and adjusted his waistcoat, ran a smoothing hand over his hair, and opened the door.

  Reynolds was outside and bowed. “Mr. Jennings is here, sir, and says he would meet with you at your convenience.”

  Ah, work would be a most pleasant distraction right now. He could quite easily turn his mind to matters of business, and most efficiently address any difficulties.

  At the moment, he could have climbed the highest peaks in Switzerland without feeling the least bit fatigued.

  “Bring him here, Reynolds,” Kit ordered with a firm nod. “We have matters to attend to.”

  “Yes, sir. And sir? Erm… your jacket? Or cravat?”

  Kit looked down at himself and realized how he looked, but oddly enough, he found he did not care. He shook his head and met his butler’s surprised look. “I think not. Jennings is a country man himself, we need not stand on ceremony.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Kit exhaled slowly as the butler left, and shook his head as if to rid himself of thought. Kit Gerrard receiving an
associate dressed as he was? The world would stand still in shock.

  Fighting a hint of a smile, he glanced out of the window and caught a glimpse of Marianne wandering through the garden. A shiver raced up his spine and he wrenched his gaze away, moved behind his desk, and sat, taking great pains to reign himself back in, restore his right mind, and find some particle of sense.

  He could withstand her. He could be friends with her and not drive himself mad.

  He could.

  When she had exhausted the gardens, Marianne turned her attention to the village, having been told that Kit had entered a meeting with Mr. Jennings and would not be done for some time. It was a quaint little town, and she saw a number of their tenants while she ventured into shops and along the cobblestone.

  It occurred to her as she returned home that she’d not even considered changing out of her dress when she had known she would be out in public. She’d simply donned a spencer and bonnet, fetched a footman and the coach, and been on her way. It never crossed her mind that she might not look like the wealthy landowner’s wife she was. But as she considered herself upon reentering the house, she thought she had done quite well enough anyway.

  “I heard you went into the village,” called a warm voice.

  Marianne turned as she handed her bonnet off, and smiled when she saw Kit ambling towards her easily, no trace of awkwardness at all. She brushed a strand of hair away from her face and unbuttoned her spencer. “I did, and you were right, it’s a delightful little place.”

  He smiled and leaned against the marble stairs. “You went alone?”

  She raised a brow. Really, who did he think she was going to go with? There were hardly friends to call upon here to accompany her. “Yes. Well, no, I made Thomas go with me.”