"You will protect her right out of love, Emily." His voice was dangerously quiet, coming from behind her ear.
Emily whirled and faced him again. "Love? From the most determined flirt and breaker of hearts in all of England? Perhaps she is safer with the vicar."
He glared at her. "Where is she?" His voice cracked with emotion. He looked like a man at the end of his tether—a man ready to do violence.
"I'll not say."
Justin advanced on her again as she backed away. "The damned vicar doesn't love her. He just wants a wife who will work herself to the bone for the parish. She needs someone who really loves her, someone who can protect her. Would you deny your niece love and someone to care for her because of your own failure?"
He caught her unawares. "What do you mean?" Her voice echoed shrill against the bare walls.
"Are you so bitter from your own failed marriage that you would deny everyone else the opportunity to find love?"
Emily's backbone stiffened. "That was uncalled for!"
"Was it? Then tell me why you won't let me see her!" His angry stance lasted only a minute, then his voice broke and his manner changed. He flung himself down in a chair, his elbows on his knees, and hid his face in his hands. "Has she spoken to you? Told you she doesn't care for me? Is that it?"
Emily gazed down at him. The clock on the mantle chimed ten. It was love. Nothing else could turn Justin St. Claire, elegant, immaculate nobleman, into this wet, exhausted, heartbroken man. She couldn't toy with him any longer. She was about to open her mouth to say she would call Celestine down when Justin began to speak in a low voice. At the same moment she caught sight of movement on the stairs. Celestine had come down at the commotion and stood in the shadows of the staircase, her long hair down around her shoulders.
"Emily, I am thirty-two. I thought I knew everything about love. I thought it was a pretty game you played like any other, with winners and losers at the end. The one with the most hearts won. I thought love was seeing a pretty face across a room and falling into some mad infatuation." He sighed and rubbed his face, then stared into the fire.
Emily stayed silent. The step creaked again, but when Justin launched back into speech, Celestine stayed where she was.
"And then I met a poor, plain spinster governess, or so she would likely describe herself." He chuckled mirthlessly. "I always thought beauty was something people wore like a cloak, covering their outside, clothing it in a sparkling exterior. But Celestine . . . she is like ..." He faltered.
"I don't know how to describe it, but it is how a minister I once heard described the angels. Beauty shines out of her eyes. It pierced me right to the core, like a bright bolt of lightning that shot through me. And when she sang, it was like heaven's gate opened and she was allowed out—was allowed to come down to me. Me, of all people.
"It is like she is turned inside out. Other people are beautiful on the outside while she is beautiful on the inside, and it just glows, Emily. It just glows." His voice was a whisper. "And now I can't believe I ever thought her plain. Oh, Emily, her eyes! They are so lovely. There are no words. And her skin and her hair ..."
Emily let out a breath she didn't even know she had been holding. "You love her?" Her voice trembled. Never could she have imagined Justin St. Claire speaking like this.
"Love her? I can't live without her! I told her that, but I don't think she believed me. I was afraid I would scare her away if I was too demanding. I want to marry her. I want to take her away to Questmere and spend the rest of my life looking after her and . . . and our children, if we should be so lucky. I feel. . . different when I am with her. Stronger, better . . . like there is some purpose in my life. She makes me . . ." He paused. "She makes me whole."
Emily could not believe Justin St. Claire, rake of the ton, spoke of love and marriage and children. He was as Celestine had said, loving and giving and tender-hearted. But it seemed her modest niece wasn't aware that loving her had wrought the change. She glanced over at the shadow on the stairs. She put one finger to her lips, stole up the stairs past her niece and retreated to her room. Her job was done.
Celestine crept the rest of the way down the stairs and stood, her feet bare against the frigid floor. She had already changed into her nightrail, and her long hair was down and brushed over her shoulders. She stood gazing in wonder at the man huddled on the chair by the fire.
Her Justin. Her love. He was shivering, damp, and miserable. He was cold and unhappy. How had he found her? And how long had he ridden through the blizzard to come to her?
"I love her, Emily," he said suddenly, rubbing his hands over his tired face. "I'll never love anyone else. Help me convince her of that. Please. Do you think ... do you think she will have me?"
"Yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes!" Celestine whispered.
Justin's head shot up and he turned and stared at her. "Celestine?"
"Yes, Justin?"
"Did you . . . did you just agree to marry me?" His face held a mixture of hope and dread.
"Yes."
"Do you love me? Or can you learn to?"
"Oh, Justin, I've loved you since the moment in the carriage when you pressed your kerchief into my hand! How could I not? My heart reached out that night and touched yours. I lost it that very second. You have had it this whole time, in your keeping, though you didn't know it."
"Celestine!" He leaped to his feet and crossed the short distance to her. He noticed for the first time she was barefoot on the cold flagstone and in her nightrail.
"My love! What do you mean risking your health this way?" he scolded. Without warning he scooped her up and moved over to the hearth, cradling her on his lap as he pulled the chair closer to the fire.
He stroked her hair gently and cradled her head against his shoulder, kissing her forehead. "I love you," he murmured, his voice breaking with the wonder of it. "I love you more than words can ever say. You know, they say reformed rakes make the best husbands. I mean to make you a very good husband, indeed."
She blushed and giggled, a sound she had never thought herself capable of. She felt young and beautiful and cherished in his arms. She gazed up at him in wonder, at those blazing blue eyes and strong features. She stroked his chin, scuffing her fingers over the whiskers that had grown over the long day he had spent, and ran her fingers through his wet curls, smoothing them back off his forehead.
He turned her hand and kissed her palm, then lowered his lips to hers. For a moment she felt the scratchiness of his whiskers, but then the sensation of his warm lips on hers obliterated every other thought. She felt his powerful arms tighten and the kiss deepened.
Never had she experienced anything to compare to the wonder of that kiss. His tongue touched her lips. At her little gasp of astonishment, her lips parted and he touched her tongue with his. A surge of passion coursed through her veins, and she thrust one hand under his damp jacket, feeling the steady thud of his heart against her fingertips.
He pulled away with a groan and gazed down at her with fire in his blue eyes. "I don't think this is good for my sanity. I will want to anticipate the marriage vows if we continue."
She blushed and wriggled on his lap, trying to sit up more properly. Aware suddenly that she was very improperly clothed in just her nightrail, with nothing underneath, her body came alive to the sensations of her breasts brushing against his chest and her bottom against his hard-muscled legs. She had never thought of the marriage bed before, though she was aware of what occurred there. Now it seemed enticing and wonderfully mysterious that in just a few weeks, perhaps, she and Justin would be . . . her mind shied away, and she started talking to ease her shyness.
"How did you know where to find me?" she asked.
"A little bird left me a note," he chuckled, stroking her cheek with his fingertips. "I think it was that grim-faced companion of your aunt's. She said she knew I loved you, and to prove it I could follow you to this inn."
Celestine's brow furrowed. "How would D
odo . . ." Then a smile wreathed her face. She remembered Emily's insistence that they stop and spend the night at this particular inn. She nuzzled Justin's chin. "I think Aunt Emily has some explaining to do."
"What do you mean?"
Celestine told him and Justin chuckled. "Devious wench," he rasped.
Gazing at him with concern, Celestine squirmed to slide off his lap, but he held her fast.
"I ... I should get some decent clothes on and get you something hot to drink and a blanket. You are frozen to the bone, and ..."
"Stop," Justin said, placing one finger over her lips. "Stop trying to take care of me. Let me take care of you; give me that privilege."
He pulled her to him again, his strong arms holding her close, his fingers caressing her through the thin fabric. Loving hands skimmed her hips, her waist, her shoulders, and lightly touched her breasts. It was a tantalizing preview of what would follow after the sacred exchange of vows that would join them forever in the sight of God. She shivered, a swell of excitement coursing through her veins. She relaxed against him and closed her eyes, her deep sigh arrested by his warm lips closing over hers.
From the depths of despair she had been raised to the pinnacle of joy. Justin loved her and wanted to marry her. He didn't just pity her, he loved her and wanted her— needed her, even. Somewhere deep inside she had known it—had known the strong cord that stretched taut from his heart to her own was not woven of pity or compassion, but of love and desire, the sort of love that would last forever.
Twenty
Celestine gazed at herself in the cracked, scarred mirror over her dresser. It almost felt like the last twenty-four hours had been a dream. Yesterday morning she had set out from Ladymead, leaving behind for good the man she had fallen in love with, believing he could never really love her.
Now she was back at Ladymead, staring into her same mirror in her same small bedroom. And yet everything had changed—everything but her own reflection. She was still just Celestine Simons, spinster governess, even if there was a new glow to her skin and her eyes sparkled when she thought of a certain wickedly handsome nobleman.
They had set out this morning from the Fellswater Inn to return to Ladymead, after much discussion between Justin and Emily. Her betrothed had at first wanted to go on to Emily's home in Yorkshire so Celestine could marry him from there. He claimed he had no desire to see his brother and sister-in-law again, after the things they had said and the way they had sent her away.
But Emily had pointed out a number of reasons it was best if they returned and made an attempt to reconcile with Justin's family. When he asked her, Celestine had added her voice to that of her aunt's. She had no wish to see him divided from a family he loved so very much. The miracle of his love for her must not separate him from his blood relatives.
And so they had traveled back, arriving at Ladymead just an hour earlier. They had been lucky to get there at all after the snowfall of the previous day, but a west wind had cleared the road somewhat, and they had slogged through. Justin had slyly held her hand the whole way, under cover of a lap robe, impatiently pulling off her glove and stroking her fingers until she tingled all over from the nearness of him. She was exhausted and yet invigorated. The night had been almost sleepless for her. She and Justin had sat for hours together on the chair, a blanket around them, talking in soft voices of the future and planning their lives.
A bubble of happiness welled up in her even now, as she glanced down at her serviceable lavender dress, when she remembered how he had talked about a lavish trousseau for her. They had had their first polite argument over it. Celestine called it clothing a pigeon in peacock feathers. He preferred to call it gilding the lily.
But he insisted, gazing at her with love in his bright blue eyes as he planned to dress her in gold silk and ivory lace, topaz jewels, and a diamond tiara. She had let him talk, loving to hear his voice, feeling it deep down in his chest where her body touched his as they rode side by side in the carriage. Dodo had snored part of the way, and Emily, probably wanting to give them some measure of privacy, had seemed lost in a book.
Celestine pinned her gold locket over her heart and then opened it, gazing down at the tiny painting of her father. "Oh, Papa, you would be so happy for me today," she whispered.
There was a light knock on the door and she ran to open it to find Justin, breathtakingly handsome in buff breeches and dark green jacket. He offered her his arm. "Shall we go down, my lady?"
Nervously, Celestine swallowed. Their arrival an hour before had been anticlimactic. No one had been about, so they had gone to their separate chambers to wash and dress after the long carriage ride, agreeing to meet back downstairs again.
But by now the marquess and marchioness would be aware of what had happened and would be awaiting them downstairs. Celestine was nervous. She gazed up into Justin's eyes.
"Don't worry, my love, I will not let the lions eat you up. That is my privilege." He chuckled and leaned over to nip her earlobe.
She gasped at the light caress and leaned her heated cheek against the cool cloth that covered his chest.
"Are you ready?" he said.
She felt the steady thump of his heart against her cheek and his strength flowing into her. "I ... I think so."
"Then let us go."
They walked down the narrower stairs from the third to the second floor, then descended the wide, carpeted stairs to the main floor. Dobbs hovered, smiling, in the great hall.
"Where is the family, Dobbs, old man?" Justin asked.
"Everyone is assembled in the drawing room, my lord."
"Thank you." Justin started in that direction, guiding Celestine on his arm, when they heard Dobbs clear his throat. They stopped and turned back.
Dobbs's wide, pale face was split in a huge, uncharacteristic grin. "May I say, my lord and Miss Simons, that on behalf of the staff, I wish you felicitations on your betrothal. We ... we could not be happier." His gaze rested on Celestine. "We mean that, Miss. We wish you well."
Celestine smiled and stood straighten "Thank you, Dobbs. That means a lot to me. Please thank the others."
Justin covered her hand on his arm with his other hand. "Shall we go?"
She nodded, and they entered the drawing room together. The Stimson girls were at the pianoforte, their heads bent over a piece of music, but they looked up as
Justin and Celestine entered the room. Mr. and Mrs. Stimson were by the fire, and Lady van Hoffen was sitting with Emily and Dodo, probably trying to prod them for gossip. The look on the flamboyant redhead's face when she glanced up and saw Justin with Celestine on his arm was a caricature of shock. Her rouged mouth dropped open and her eyes widened.
"I would like everyone to congratulate me," Justin said. He glanced down at the woman at his side and smiled. He felt as though he had made a long journey, a journey of the soul, and had come through it exhausted, but with a sharper appreciation for simple things, like the light, flowery scent his betrothed wore, and the soft translucence of her skin. "I have been fortunate enough to convince Miss Celestine Simons to be my wife. She will be Lady Celestine St. Claire." He never took his eyes from hers, and felt the warmth glowing in their gray depths.
A babble broke out around him, and the Misses Stim-son were the first to rush up and make their congratulations. He watched as Celestine was drawn away from his side by the two girls, who pulled her over to a settee and settled on either side of her, questioning her avidly. His fiancée glanced back at him once, and he grinned broadly at her.
Lady van Hoffen glided to his side and gazed up at him, licking her lips. "And what indiscretion are you paying for with your freedom, dear boy?" she murmured.
His eyes wide, he looked down at her. "Paying? I think you misunderstand." He watched Celestine and listened to her quiet, dignified responses to the two girls' prodding questions. Tenderness flooded his heart, as it did every time he looked at her. "My lady, whatever freedom I seemed to have was an
illusion. It took me a long time to learn, but I'll share the lesson with you. Freedom comes when you give it up willingly, committing yourself to another. I'm free to love now and it's like . . . like a miracle to me."
Incredulity sparked in the lovely redhead's eyes. "I wonder how long that'll last," she murmured, moving away from him and assuming a languid pose near the window.
A footman approached him and bowed. "The marquess and marchioness request your presence in the library, my lord."
Justin nodded. He started toward the door, but found Celestine at his side. He touched her arm, finding her skin cool to his touch. "I will go alone, my love. I will not have you offended by their plain speaking or Elizabeth's sharp tongue."
She gazed into his eyes and a smile, the tiniest lifting of the corners of her mouth, flitted across her lips. "I am not such a poor creature as that, Justin."
He started to deny he had meant that, but she lifted one finger and put it over his lips.
"We'll do this together." Her words held a note of finality as she squared her shoulders.
They walked together down the hall and into the library. August was sitting behind his massive desk, and Elizabeth stood at his shoulder.
"August, Elizabeth," Justin said, coolly. He drew Celestine's arm through his own and strolled to stand in front of the desk. "By now, I think you probably know my intentions. Celestine has agreed to marry me. It took some convincing, but I prevailed at last."
Elizabeth snorted, a burst of unladylike sound in the quiet library. "This is a farce," she started.
But August put his hand up and she fell instantly silent. Justin glanced from Elizabeth's frosty glare to August's troubled gaze. He felt Celestine's arm start to tremble and anger welled up in him—anger that they felt they had a right to tell him who was suitable for marriage and who was not.
Lord St.Claire's Angel Page 23