by Meara Platt
Poppy left to run upstairs and greet her cousin.
Nathaniel remained seated in one of the yellow chairs, his legs casually stretched in front of him. “Tom, why are you now pacing like a caged lion?”
He stopped, realizing this is what he had been doing. “Sorry, we only arrived a short while ago ourselves, and I feel the need to stretch my legs.”
“Well, that’s a lie if I ever heard one. You forget, I am quite familiar with Farthingales, having been cut down at the knees by one myself. Not that I’m complaining. Marriage to Poppy agrees with me heartily.”
“How’s Penelope?” he asked, hoping to divert the topic.
“Deliriously happy living in Scotland. She hasn’t brought Coldstream Castle down about their heads yet. Apparently, Thad can put up with her antics better than I ever could. She sends her regards to you and your family.” He shifted in his chair and leaned forward. “How’s your mother, Tom?”
“Not good.” He ran a hand through his hair in dismay. “She still has her good days, but they are happening less and less. I thought bringing her here might help because she’s always loved this place and been happiest here. She’s decorated every part of it. Her touch is everywhere. But when she stepped down from the carriage, I’m not even sure she recognized where she was.”
“Poppy and Honey will help you out. That’s the thing about these Farthingales, they may drive you insane, but they have incredibly good hearts.”
Tom laughed. “I hope so, because I’m starting to feel out of my depth. I wish Anne were here, but she and Malcolm have their hands full with their own brood.”
“Have you let her know the situation?”
“Not yet. It’s only gotten worse recently, and I didn’t want to worry her. Just traveling down here from the Highlands will take well over a fortnight. I can’t see her leaving her husband and children to come down to us when there is nothing she can do.”
“Well, write to her and let her know what’s going on. Leave the choice to her.”
He nodded, knowing Nathaniel was right. He ought to have done it weeks ago but had been denying their mother’s decline to himself. Oddly, he felt comforted knowing Poppy and Honey were here this weekend. His mother’s companion, Dora, wasn’t in her prime, nor had she ever been a sharp stick when younger. She was a nice woman, but never one to take matters into her own hands or ever think for herself.
Tom gave the matter no more thought as more guests began to arrive. The house bustled with activity, bags brought in and lugged upstairs, guests roaming the halls, refreshments set up to tide everyone over until supper. He’d invited several bachelor friends who’d come ahead on horseback. Their bags would arrive later by coach. They dug into his brandy upon arrival and settled in his study while awaiting their coach.
More families arrived shortly before supper, counted among them were two viscounts, a marquess, and a duke, several of them having daughters of an age to marry. He’d arranged for daily activities and entertainments for them and knew as host and as a bachelor, he’d be surrounded by these young women and their eager mothers. He hoped their attention would take his mind off Honey.
Supper was an informal affair this first evening; however, the seating arrangements remained according to rank. His mother and most of the other elderly guests had chosen to take their meals in their rooms, leaving mostly the younger crowd. Honey was seated too far from him to speak to her, but he had a good vantage point at the head of the table and could easily see what she was doing.
It bothered him that she was quiet and mostly picked at her food.
She didn’t want to be here.
“Lord Wycke, your house is divine,” Lady Sarah, the duke’s daughter, remarked, drawing his attention. She was a beautiful girl, lush dark hair and captivating green eyes, but there was so much nothing behind them. “And your title is one of the oldest in England.”
Ah, no. He was mistaken. She had a head for numbers. He knew that look. She was counting up his assets. “It is. Dates back to the time of Richard the Lionheart. We somehow managed to hold on to it even during the war between the Yorkists and the Lancastrians, although it must have been a close thing with the country in constant upheaval and ever-shifting alliances.”
Her eyes glazed over.
Good heavens! She didn’t know what he was talking about. Had she never had a history lesson? Or come across mention of it as she studied her Debrett’s?
He changed the subject. “Will you be attending Lord Forster’s ball?”
“Indeed!”
Ah, parties she understood.
“It’s to be the event of the year, I’m told. I’ve ordered three new gowns for it.” She sighed. “I’ll decide which one to wear that morning. Fashions change so quickly. I wouldn’t want to be caught unprepared.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. If his sister had ever come home with three gowns, two of which would likely be discarded since Lord Forster’s ball was the last major event of the London season before everyone disbanded to go grouse hunting up north, his father would have had a fit. He knew little about ladies’ fashions other than what was all the rage one year would be woefully out of style the following.
“What else have you been doing with your time, Lady Sarah?”
She looked at him as though he’d grown two heads. “Goodness, who has time for anything? Between our afternoon social calls, visits to my modiste, dance lessons,” she said with a cat-like grin, “and attending the nightly balls, routs, and musicales, who has time to think?”
“It is quite a hectic schedule.”
“And one must look perfect throughout it all.” She leaned closer to him and spoke softly. “I’ve had three offers of marriage, one from a duke. The other two were from viscounts,” she said with noticeable disdain.
Was this supposed to make him jealous?
“I gather you’ll accept the duke.”
“Yes, of course. He’s rather dull, but his home is magnificent.” She glanced around, now whispering to him. “He isn’t here…and you are. I’ll keep myself available for you tonight.”
“Won’t your betrothed have something to say about it?”
“Why? I’ll be unspoiled when I go to the marriage bed.” She cast him a seductive smile. “There are other ways to pleasure a woman, as I’m sure you know.”
She turned away from him as one of the other guests captured her attention.
So, this is what she’d spent her time learning? From her dance instructor, obviously. Her grin at the mere mention of her dance lessons gave her away. He set down his fork and drained his cup of wine.
This would have been him a few months ago, accepting these meaningless liaisons and spending the weekend indulging his urges and satisfying those of his female guests. House parties were notorious for this sort of thing.
He glanced down the table at Honey.
She was engaged in conversation with Lord Jameson. He was a friend, but a damn fortune hunter. Not that the man had a choice about it, inheriting an estate encumbered with debt and no way out other than marrying an heiress. The Farthingales were not poor by any means, but he doubted Honey’s parents had the sort of wealth Niall Jameson required to restore his earldom.
Honey was smiling at the man.
Jameson was assessing her and finding her quite to his liking.
Tom felt his blood begin to boil. He’d have to take his friend aside and have a quiet talk with him. Honey was out of bounds. No one would be hopping into bed with her. And the hell of it was, this rule extended to himself as well.
Oh, he wanted her badly.
But how could he take her when he didn’t know yet what he wanted from her?
He noticed another of his friends eyeing Honey.
Bollocks.
He’d take his fists to each man, if necessary.
After supper, the women retired to the drawing room while the men stepped outside for smokes and brandy. Card tables were then set up in what also served as the m
usic room. He wanted to partner at cards with Honey, but she was already seated with Poppy, Nathaniel, and Lord Jameson.
He wound up partnering Lady Sarah.
When the games broke up, he bid his company a good night but felt too restless to retire yet. He strolled into the garden, brandy in hand, and after a while, sank onto a wrought iron bench beside a trellis of roses.
The night was cool and the air crisp.
He breathed in the fresh scent of the surrounding trees and countryside.
There was a quiet to these wee hours, a soothing rustle to the leaves as the wind lightly swept through them. He saw the occasional firefly light up while it flitted across the flower beds. The moon shone overhead, not full as it had been on the night of Lord Goring’s musicale, but on that night, it had been partially obscured by clouds. There were no clouds to hide the moon tonight. It was silvery and beautiful.
He glanced back at the house. The ladies had been given chambers overlooking this garden. He knew which one was Honey’s room. A light still shone through her window, which meant she was still awake.
His breath caught when she suddenly came into view, the lamplight illuminating her splendid form as she stood peering out into the darkness.
She had changed out of her gown and now wore a thin, white nightrail. She’d undone her hair, leaving the fiery strands long and loose so that she looked like a faerie princess. When she moved, he noticed she had a book in her hand, absently clutching it as she gazed up at the moon. Perhaps she was wishing upon one of the myriad stars twinkling overhead.
What was she wishing for?
As he watched her, she wiped a hand across her cheek and then set aside her book. Was she crying?
He leaned forward when she returned to staring out the window, for he wanted to reach out and take her in his arms.
The girl was achingly beautiful.
He wanted her so badly.
But as he watched her, she began to cry again. Not heaving sobs. But her quiet tears were perhaps more devastating to watch.
Her sadness tore at his heart.
Why was she crying?
Why did he care?
Chapter Four
Tom was still watching Honey when she suddenly turned and moved away from her window. Something in the way she moved put him on alert. Something had happened to interrupt her, for she’d hastily dried her tears and disappeared from view.
He set aside his glass and hurried into the house, quietly taking the stairs two at a time.
He thought one of his friends might have attempted to enter Honey’s chamber. He ran up, his blood boiling, and his hands curled into fists, for he was ready to throw punches. But what he saw hurt more than any punch he could have thrown or received in return.
His mother was standing in the hallway, wearing only her nightgown. Her hair was in disarray, and she looked utterly lost. Honey was beside her, also clad only in her nightgown since she’d run out upon hearing his mother and was obviously concerned something was wrong.
He came to an abrupt halt, feeling as though a massive storm wave had just crashed down atop him and crushed his chest. But Honey was calm and reassuring, speaking to his mother in soft, soothing words while holding her hand and stroking it gently.
This girl overwhelmed him.
He had trouble catching his breath.
He remained in the shadows, watching and marveling as this angel of mercy dealt with his mother with extraordinary patience as she attempted to lead her back to bed. But his mother suddenly grew agitated. “Tom. Where’s my Tom?”
“Hush, Lady Wycke. Everyone’s sleeping, and we mustn’t wake them. Your Tom will be along shortly. I promise.” Honey began to nibble her lip when his mother still resisted entering her quarters.
“Is he with the children? They should have been put to bed hours ago. Where is he? Is he hurt? Why won’t you tell me?”
Tom took a deep breath and strode forward before she shouted and drew a crowd. “Here I am, my darling. I’m right here.”
His mother’s eyes lit up at once. “Oh, Tom. Where have you been?”
“Just out for a walk. Go on inside with Dora and rest now. We’re to have a party tomorrow, and you want to look beautiful for it, don’t you?” He kissed her lightly on the cheek and handed her over to Dora, who had just stumbled out of their room.
“Thank you, my lord. I was asleep and didn’t hear her slip out. I’m so sorry. I–”
“It isn’t your fault, Dora.” He didn’t need two agitated women on his hands. “Take her to bed now.”
He stood staring at their bedchamber door as it closed.
Honey was watching him, for he felt her gaze settle over him like a soothing blanket. No horror. No disgust. But he was too overwhelmed to speak to her just yet. If he uttered a word, he’d start crying like an infant.
Somehow, she seemed to understand this quiet pain he tried to hide.
“Come inside, Tom,” she whispered, taking his hand and leading him into her room. She closed the door behind them and came to his side as he sank down in one of the chairs and buried his face in his hands.
“She thinks I’m my father. His name was also Tom. She thinks he’s still alive.” He felt her comforting presence by his side, but he was still in too much turmoil to meet her gaze. “I’m such an idiot. I thought this party might improve her outlook, but I see now that I’ve made a monumental mistake. None of my guests will treat her as gently as you have. I think I’ll fly into a rage and kill someone if they dare laugh at her.”
“I’ll watch her. Poppy will help.” She sounded wistful as she continued. “I wasn’t here to find myself a husband anyway. This will be the perfect reason for avoiding the daily activities you’ve planned for us.”
He still couldn’t look at her.
He’d devour this beautiful girl if he did.
Even now, she filled his senses. She had a sweet, soft lilt to her voice. It wasn’t one of those ghastly, girlish voices that debutantes used when being coquettish. He hated that baby voice. It worked on most other men. He just wasn’t one of them.
And her scent.
She’d washed up for the evening using the vanilla soap she’d lectured him about earlier in the day. It smelled nice on her. Subtle. Not overpowering. Perfect on her skin.
“I shouldn’t be in here.” He still spoke into his hands.
“I know. Don’t worry. I’ll make certain no one is lingering in the hall before you leave. There’s no rush. I was awake, reading a book. I’ll go back to reading it until you calm down. Or, I could sit beside you and listen if you have a mind to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Would you care for some tea? I had a pot brought up for me along with some lemon cake. The tea is still hot. Well, maybe just warm by now.”
He finally looked at her, once again tossed upside down by her beauty. “Join me,” he said, drawing up the other chair for her.
She laughed as she sat beside him. “I can’t. There’s only one cup. You have it. I really just wanted the cake anyway.”
He watched her pour the tea and took the offered cup when she handed it to him. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“None necessary. You know I did not do this to gain your favor.”
“All the more reason for my gratitude.” He meant it, and not in a let-me-bed-you-now way.
Yet, he had been that cad not so long ago, one to take advantage of a pretty female. It didn’t matter that his guts were in a twist over the scene he’d witnessed in the hallway only moments ago. It didn’t matter that Honey was too innocent and easy prey.
Of course, despite the fire she lit inside of him, he would do nothing to ruin her. He hadn’t invited her here to take advantage.
He wasn’t sure why he’d invited her.
Only that it felt important at the time.
Yet, there was no denying he wanted her more than ever. Everything about her overwhelmed him. Tamping down his desire for this
girl was a struggle. He couldn’t help it. This is what she did to him.
Were he truly a cad, he would not be above stealing a few kisses. Perhaps a little more, if she were willing. Yes, he knew just how to do it.
It would not take him long to manipulate Honey into bed.
Indeed, it would be so easy.
They were already alone in her bedchamber. She was barely clad, the light fabric of her nightrail hiding very little of her exquisite body. Her hair was tumbling becomingly down her back and over her shoulders.
She knew he was hurting and wanted to hug him.
He could sense it.
Her compassionate instincts were on fire. It would take nothing to turn her compassion to passion. But if he touched her, he would not be able to stop. Not with this girl. She affected him too deeply. “I had better go.”
She nodded, perhaps eager to send him on his way because this was just too intimate. “Let me poke my head out to make sure no one’s in the hall.”
He let her do it, watched her sweet body as she peered out.
“It’s safe,” she whispered.
No, it wasn’t.
He drew her into his arms and quietly nudged the door shut. “Honey…” Her name tore from the depths of his soul with a groaning ache.
“I know, Tom.”
Perhaps he would have let her go if she’d pushed against him or shown the slightest discomfort about being wrapped in his embrace. But she didn’t.
Instead, she put her arms around his neck and sighed as he crushed his lips to hers.
Hell and damnation, what was he doing?
*
Honey hadn’t expected the opportunity to present itself on her first night here. Showed what little she knew about men. The kiss she desired and had been obsessing over how to get him to do it was happening now. Her heart was wildly leaping. She felt like a frightened hare avoiding a farmer’s shotgun.
But she was not frightened of Tom. How could she be, when her dream was about to come true? The handsomest man in all of England wanted to kiss her. It was going to be magical and unforgettable.
She could see he was struggling with himself, wanting to be a gentleman and not hurt her after the good deed she’d done for his mother. Anyone would have done the same, wouldn’t they? She wasn’t looking for any compliment or reward.