“So the question is, what are we to do to trap the villainous pair?” Hennessey asked.
“To begin with,” Demetrius said, looking directly at his brother, “there will be no more announcements in the Morning Post.’’
Collier started to protest that his intentions had been good, but then he remembered his new resolve to act with more maturity, and he bit back the excuses he had been about to utter.
“The only thing for you to do is go back to Devon,” Uncle Humphrey said unexpectedly.
“And leave Miss Meribe alone? Don’t be daft,” Demetrius said heatedly.
His words were so angry, Collier looked at him in astonishment. What else had happened while he was out of town? Had his brother, who after Diana had jilted him had sworn an oath never to get mixed up with a female again—his brother, who was determined never to be leg-shackled—had his brother done the unthinkable and fallen in love? It appeared that such was indeed the case.
Bravo, big brother, Collier silently applauded.
“No, no,” Uncle Humphrey protested, “I did not mean abandon her. Take her along, and her aunt, and her sister, and whoever else we can think of. Do it up right, so it will look like a proper house party, don’t you know. The thing is, London is too big—there is no way we can protect you properly here. But Devon is another matter. Out there, so isolated on the moor, the servants would notice in a flash if some stranger was lurking about.”
“By Jove, that’s a capital idea,” Hennessey said. “I propose we drink a toast to your uncle, who has come up with the best plan yet.”
Rather than lifting his glass, Demetrius said, “Might I remind you that Miss Prestwich is not speaking to me at the moment?”
“But only because she thought young Collier here had been kidnapped by the assassin,” Uncle Humphrey said, and all eyes turned toward Collier, who felt even more ashamed of his earlier behavior. “But now that I think on it, you have only to tell her that your brother is home again safe and sound, and I am sure she will listen to you.”
“Your brother plans to propose to Miss Meribe Prestwich,” Hennessey explained, the light of mischief again in his eyes.
To his amazement, Collier noticed that Demetrius—his calm, mature, always-in-control-of-himself big brother—appeared to be blushing.
“I’ll drink to your success,” Collier said, his spirits lifting immeasurably. “I never did like the idea of stepping into your shoes. Now you will be able to provide your own heirs.”
There was no longer any doubt about it: Demetrius’s face was now bright red.
* * * *
“I think I would rather face the assassin unarmed,” Demetrius murmured to Hennessey early the next morning as they rumbled over the cobblestones in the closed carriage Hennessey had borrowed for the occasion from his father-in-law, the earl.
“Rather than what?” Hennessey asked. “Oh-ho, I have it. Rather than ask Miss Meribe Prestwich to marry you.” He chuckled. “Are you so unmanned by a pair of soft brown eyes that you cannot find the words that will make her yours? But come now, you have surely done this before—did you not propose to the fair Diana on bended knee?”
“That was ... easier somehow,” Demetrius replied. “I knew she was expecting me to do it, and I knew she intended to say yes.” What he did not add was that somehow her answer, whether aye or nay, had not been as important to him as Miss Prestwich’s answer was. Had Diana turned him down, he would have been indignant that she had led him on, and cross with her for not letting him know before he made a fool of himself, but even when he had still thought he wanted to marry her—even before he discovered what life would be like as her husband—even then he would not have felt as if his heart were broken if she had declined to marry him.
But if Miss Prestwich said no? He did not want to think about it. But as they proceeded through the streets of Mayfair, he had nothing else to think about, and the more he thought about it, the more determined he became.
If she said no, he would ask her again and again until she said yes. It was that simple. After all, he thought with an inner smile of delight, in the beginning she had repeatedly told him no when he had offered to be her friend, and yet he had managed every time to turn her no into a yes.
Since that was the case, why prolong things? Why not persuade her today, rather than tomorrow or the next day or the day after that?
“You are looking like the cat that ate the canary,” Hennessey said, interrupting his thoughts. “Have you figured out how you are going to persuade her to accept you?”
“Not at all,” Demetrius replied, now smiling openly. “But I am determined that you will not see me emerge from her house until I am betrothed.”
“Then I wish you luck, my friend,” Hennessey said as the coachman pulled the team to a halt and the footmen—in this case not the earl’s servants, but Malone and Mulrooney—sprang down from their places on the back of the coach and opened the door.
“I do not believe in luck, whether good or bad,” Demetrius replied. “Nor do I believe in fatal curses or evil spirits or”—and here he grinned broadly—”or even in leprechauns or other wee folk. What I do believe in is resolution, determination, and persistence. In short, when it comes to stubbornness, Miss Prestwich will discover that I am an expert and she is but a rank amateur.”
“Fortunately for you,” Hennessey agreed with a laugh. “I should not wish a wife for you who resembles your honorable mother.”
Leaving his friend in the coach, Demetrius went up to the door and pounded on it with great vigor. A moment later the butler opened the door and peered up at him.
“Good morning, my lord,” Smucker said politely, then launched into what was obviously a prepared speech. “I regret to inform you that Miss Meribe has given orders—”
Demetrius interrupted him. “I do not like to contradict you, Smucker, but I am coming into this house and I am going to speak with Miss Meribe Prestwich.”
The butler looked up at him, then down to where Demetrius’s rather large foot was firmly planted in the doorway, preventing the door from closing.
“I have no desire to hurt you, Smucker,” Demetrius continued, “and you know as well as I do that there is no one in this house who is large enough and strong enough to prevent me from entering.” He lifted one eyebrow in silent question, and the butler nodded in confirmation.
“That being the case, let us assume that I have now lifted you up bodily and moved you out of the way. Can we assume that, do you think?” Demetrius purred, his voice like velvet.
Obviously recognizing the steely determination behind Demetrius’s polite words, the butler hurriedly opened the door wider. “I think we can assume that,” he croaked out. After clearing his throat nervously, he added, “And likewise we can assume that you have forced me to tell you that Miss Meribe is presently in the garden.”
“Thank you, Smucker,” Demetrius said with a genuine smile.
The butler’s smile was more tentative. “And do you wish me to assume also that you have threatened me with severe bodily harm if I mentioned your presence here to Miss Phillipa Prestwich?”
“Oh, the most severe,” Demetrius replied, taking a golden guinea from his pocket and flipping it to the butler, who caught it adroitly. “And you may congratulate me, Smucker. I am going to marry Miss Meribe.”
“Has she ... but if... then why?” The butler looked more than a little confused.
“No, I have not even asked her properly,” Demetrius admitted, “but I intend to remedy that omission as soon as may be. And I am determined that before I leave this house, she will agree to be my wife. I am not sure how long it will take me to persuade her, but if I am still here at noon, I trust you can provide a suitable repast. I should hate to grow weak from hunger.’’
“No, indeed, my lord, that would not be wise,” Smucker replied. “And I shall have Cook prepare something, just in case.”
“Which reminds me, not a word of this to anyone,” Demetrius said quickl
y. “No one must know about the betrothal, not the servants or even the sister and the aunt.’’
“You are planning an elopement?” Smucker looked shocked.
“No, no, nothing of the sort. Only the betrothal needs to be kept secret. The wedding, which will take place quite soon, will be completely open and aboveboard.”
“Then you may depend on me,” Smucker replied. “If any word of this leaks out, it will not be by any of the servants under my supervision.” Bowing formally, the butler vanished into the shadowy nether regions below-stairs, leaving Demetrius to find his own way to the small door leading out into the garden.
At first glance Demetrius could not spot Miss Prestwich, but then he saw a figure in a rose-colored gown kneeling on the ground, halfway concealed behind an overgrown shrub. He approached her quietly, and when he was but a few feet away, she spoke without looking up.
“If my aunt has sent you out here to pester me, Smucker, then you may go right back in and inform her that I am not going to go shopping today or be fitted for a new dress or entertain any ladies for tea. I am going to stay in the garden all day, is that clear?’’ Her voice wobbled a bit at the end, and she raised a rather grubby hand and wiped her cheek.
“Quite clear,” Demetrius replied.
“Oh,” she gasped, dropping her trowel. She looked up at him, then looked away, then picked up the trowel, then laid it down again. Finally she peeked up at him from under the brim of her bonnet.
Her confusion was delightful, and the tear streaks on her face led him to believe that he would not be needing the repast he had asked Smucker to prepare.
“What are you doing here?” she said. Standing up, she shook out her skirts and tried to look stern. “I gave Smucker specific orders that you were not to be admitted.”
Taking out his handkerchief, Demetrius carefully wiped the tears and other smudges off her face. “In case you have not noticed, I am considerably larger and stronger than your butler. He was quite unable to prevent me from entering.”
“You forced your way in?” Her eyes grew even bigger and rounder.
“Let us say that since we both agreed that I could force my way in if it became necessary, neither of us saw any point in going through the motions.” He lifted her chin and tilted her face to the right and then to the left. Satisfied that he had done a thorough job of removing the evidence of her gardening efforts and her tears, he pocketed his handkerchief.
“Well,” she said, showing all the determination of a six-week-old kitten, “you might as well show yourself out, because I am not going to talk to you.” She crossed her arms and glared up at him, her lower lip pushed out pugnaciously.
Demetrius was sorely tempted to wrap his arms around her and kiss away her pout. Instead he contented himself with running his fingers lightly along the line of her jaw. “My brother sends you his apologies. He regrets very much having caused you concern on his behalf.’’
“He is safe, then?”
The look of profound relief on her face made Demetrius regret his leniency where his brother’s escapade was concerned. The boy should have been horsewhipped for causing Miss Prestwich so many hours of grief and worry.
“Yes, he came home safe and sound. He was never in any danger, other than in my mother’s imagination.”
“Oh, I am so glad,” Miss Prestwich whispered, and then she was in his arms without his quite knowing who had made the first move toward the other.
Not one to pass up a golden opportunity, Demetrius asked, “Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
Making regretful noises, she tried to free herself from his embrace, but he relaxed his hold only enough to allow her to look up into his face.
“Knowing what danger you would be in as my betrothed, I cannot agree to marry you,” she said, regret in her voice and pain in her eyes.
“Last night you would not even speak to me,” he pointed out, his voice completely reasonable.
“I only refused for your own protection,” she said earnestly. “It was not because I do not still consider you my friend. I explained it all to your uncle, who promised to explain it to you.”
“He did that,” Demetrius confirmed.
“So you see, you really should not have come here. It is not safe for you to be seen with me or even to be seen entering my house.’’
He wished he did not have to destroy her illusions of safety. “I understand completely why you acted the way you did,” he reassured her. Then he forced himself to say the fateful words. “But I am afraid your efforts were in vain. When I was on my way home last night, someone fired two shots at me.”
The blood drained out of her face, but he continued relentlessly. She had to understand that she was living in a fantasy world. “The first shot went through my hat, and the second would more than likely have struck me in the chest, had not Hennessey and my uncle thrown me to the ground.”
At his words she fainted dead away in his arms.
* * *
Chapter 13
Sitting on the bench, holding the unconscious Miss Prestwich on his lap, Demetrius had doubts as to his own analysis of the situation. Had shocking her really been the only way to persuade her that she was not going to save his life by refusing to see him? Could he not have glossed over the events of the night before? Made them seem less serious?
A few minutes ago it had seemed necessary to tell her the whole truth in order that she might fully comprehend the ruthlessness of their adversary, but the longer she was unconscious, the more he feared he had acted a little too ruthlessly himself.
Before he could finish berating himself, she began to stir. He had no trouble identifying the moment she became fully conscious, because she stiffened, gasped, and then scrambled off his lap. Backing a few steps away, she looked delightfully confused, and a blush rose up her neck and colored her cheeks a charming shade of pink.
“Will you not be seated?” he said politely, and after a short hesitation she sat down on the opposite end of the bench, quite as far from him as possible. Which was not actually very distant since it was a smallish bench, obviously intended for two and not for three.
She eyed him nervously, like a skittish foal still unused to the ways of men.
“Your anxieties to the contrary, I am quite able to protect myself,” he said mildly, “and I can protect you and my friends and my family.”
She said nothing, so he asked, “Do you have confidence in me?”
After a long time—or so it seemed to him—she finally nodded.
“In that case, please set aside all considerations of fatal curses and wicked assassins and immense fortunes and poorly thought-out trusts, at least for the moment, and answer me from your heart. I am asking you to marry me for the simple reason that I wish to spend the rest of my life with you.”
He was rewarded with a tentative smile, which was encouraging enough that he inched his way closer to her. When she did not immediately spring to her feet, he closed the remaining gap between them completely and took her hands in his. Smiling down at her, he asked, “Miss Prestwich, will you do me the honor of marrying me? Will you come live with me in Devon and take care of me and my sorely neglected garden?”
He could see the remaining doubt and confusion in her eyes. A gentleman would have waited, would have allowed her time to make up her own mind. But at this moment Demetrius was not feeling at all like a gentleman. Without a qualm, he took advantage of her indecision.
Easily pulling her back into his arms, he set out to kiss her senseless. After the first long and thoroughly satisfying kiss, he managed to murmur, “Marry me,” and when she did not immediately answer, he kissed her again.
Her arms curled themselves around his neck, and a little voice in the back of his mind pointed out that his uncle had been correct—that his marital bed would not be at all lacking in passion.
The second time they came up for air, she asked him in a weak, breathless voice, “Are you planning to keep on kissing me until I agr
ee to marry you, my lord?”
“Precisely that, Miss Prestwich,” he replied quite firmly, delighted with the way his courtship was progressing.
“Then,” she said, her winsome dimples peeking out, “I think it only fair to warn you that I expect to be very slow to make up my mind.”
He gave a bark of laughter, then leaned his forehead down against hers. “And if I refuse to kiss you again until after you have agreed to marry me? What then, Miss Prestwich?”
He could feel her tremble against him, and her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear her reply.
“Why, then, I shall be forced to accept your offer, my lord.”
He almost groaned in relief. “Miss Prestwich,” he said, holding her as tightly as he dared, “will you be my wife?”
“Yes, Demetrius, I will.”
“You will not regret your decision, Miss Prestwich. I swear that I shall be a good husband.”
“You may call me Meribe,” she said softly, “and I fear I am already beginning to regret my consent.”
In astonishment, he pulled away enough that he could see her face, which wore a serious expression. “You have changed your mind so soon? What have I said? What have I done?” His confusion was total.
“Well, so far, being betrothed to you is turning out to be a great disappointment,” she said, and this time he caught the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “You did promise—or at least you implied—that if I accepted your offer, you would kiss me again.”
“Ah,” he said, “you are right. That was definitely part of our bargain.”
A considerable time later he thought to ask, “Just how many kisses do you calculate I owe you?”
“At least a lifetime’s worth,” she murmured.
“Well, never let it be said that I failed to pay my debts promptly,” he replied before kissing her again.
* * * *
Relaxed from a countless number of kisses and secure in Demetrius’s arms, there was nothing Meribe wanted less than to break the bubble of happiness surrounding the two of them. If only there were some way they could spend the rest of their lives alone together in this tiny walled garden.
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