Her Reluctant Groom (Groom Series, BOOK 2)

by Rose Gordon

  “Thank you, Caroline.” She sorely hoped at that ball next week the announcement of the engagement between her and Marcus would be made instead, but even if that wasn’t to be, at least she was given a small reprieve.

  “Caroline,” Emma said abruptly as a thought popped into her head.

  “Hmm?”

  “Please tell Alex not to mention the only reason I went with Sir Wallace to Astley’s was to get Marcus’ attention, I don’t think he’d be very happy to know that.”

  Caroline grinned. “Don’t worry. Alex doesn’t even know that was your plan. For once Alex’s obtuseness is to someone’s advantage—particularly yours. He thought you genuinely wanted to be courted by the man. And that, Emma, is a good thing. You wouldn’t want Alex to know the truth. He’s an awful liar and Marcus would know the whole tale in less than five minutes.” She shook her head as a slow smile spread across her lips. Just thinking of Alex seemed to cause that reaction in Caroline. “I’ll just send him to tell Marcus you’ve made your selection and ask what needs to be done about your dowry.”

  With a dull ache in her heart, Emma nodded.

  ***

  Sir Wallace was the first guest to show up at Watson Townhouse the next day. His clothes were once again pristine and sharp. From his mustard yellow coat to his bottle green breeches and waistcoat to his white shirt and cravat, not a piece of lint could be found. His boots were so polished they could almost pass as a mirror.

  “I hope I’m not overdressed,” he teased when he caught sight of Emma staring at his clothes for the second time in as many days.

  “Not at all.” Emma flashed him a smile. Now that she had hope Alex would talk sense into Marcus, she wasn’t so nervous around Sir Wallace. Truly there was no reason the two of them could not be friends after all this was over. “Would you like to…” She tried to quickly think of something of interest in the house for them to look at. “Go for a tour?” she finished dully.

  “That would be most excellent. I heard this house has recently been redecorated.”

  Emma tried not to giggle. “Yes, it has. The former baron had a rather unusual sense of humor and decorated this house in such a fashion that was considered…um…unsettling, if you will. When Alex first brought Caroline here after his father’s passing, the first thing she did was order the place redecorated.”

  “I must humbly admit my townhouse is twelve hundred thirty seven square feet smaller than this one, but I still think you’ll have just as much entertainment redecorating it as Lady Watson did redecorating this one.”

  Emma nearly tripped over her own feet. How in the world did he know his townhouse was precisely twelve hundred thirty seven square feet smaller than Watson Townhouse? Never mind. She really didn’t want to know the answer to that. “I’m sure your townhouse isn’t as badly in need of redecoration as this one was,” she said to end the discussion. With any luck, Marcus would come to his senses and she’d be decorating his house.

  Sir Wallace chuckled. “No, it’s not as beastly as this house was once rumored to be, but I do know how you ladies are. You’re welcome to redecorate anything you wish.” He grinned at her in a way that made Emma begin to feel uneasy about her plan to send Alex to talk to Marcus.

  Clearing her throat, she gestured to two chairs that were perfectly in view of the others working around them, but still allowed them some privacy. “Sir Wallace—”

  “Just Wallace,” he cut in.

  “Pardon?”

  “Now that we’re engaged, you may call me Wallace.”

  “Right,” Emma said slowly, absentmindedly biting her lip. “About that…” She fidgeted in her seat and used the fingers of her right hand to mindlessly pull on the loose thread on her left sleeve cuff. “W-were y-you…” She cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Were you set on the announcement being made today?”

  Wallace’s lips twitched. “You’re really in love with Sinclair, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Emma said as evenly as she could, ignoring the fact that her word came out as little more than a squeak.

  “Very well.” Wallace stood up and removed his hat. Holding it in his hands, he fingered the brim for a minute before looking at Emma again. “What are your plans?”

  Emma stared at him, dumbfounded. His words, though not said unkindly, had caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “I mean, do you still plan to just ignore all the gentlemen who dance attendance on you in hopes he’ll be struck by lightning and run back to your side?”

  “No. Alex is going to speak to him tomorrow.” She didn’t know why she’d told him that, but she had, and now a horrible feeling of dread and unease washed over her as she realized just how bad this all must look to him.

  “Ah.” He put his hat back on his head and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “What then?”

  “Hopefully, he’ll…” She trailed off and waved her hand vaguely, hoping he’d get the unspoken message. She really hated looking so desperate.

  “And if he doesn’t?” Wallace asked softly, his dark brown eyes full of tender concern that made her heart ache.

  She swallowed. “Then I’ll seriously pursue a husband.”

  He nodded slowly and exhaled. “I know I haven’t made the most favorable impression on you thus far, what with my annoying habit of counting everything in sight when I’m uncomfortable or nervous, and all. But I think with time, I’ll be more comfortable with you and I’ll stop.”

  Emma smiled weakly at him. She’d suspected he only counted because he was nervous. “Are you saying your offer of marriage will stand next week if I have need to accept it?” she asked warily.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” Overwhelmed with gratitude, she surged to her feet and wrapped her arms around him in a close hug. “I know this is a rather unusual arrangement, and I thank you for your indulgence. But I give you my word, if I formally accept your suit and our engagement is announced, I’ll marry you. I promise it. I’ll not jilt you.”

  “Good,” he said, stiffly patting her back and softly rattling off numbers under his breath.

  Emma stepped back. “You’re uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hugged you.”

  “It’s just as well.” He shoved his hands back into his pockets. “I’ll get used to it, I promise. I…um…” he reached up and tugged jerkily on his cravat, “after the mess with Lady Silverton when I was younger, I’ve been a little wary when it comes to those of the female persuasion.”

  “I understand.” And she truly did. “I promise I’ll not cause you any undue embarrassment or hurt.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  “Sir Wallace,” Alex called, walking in their direction.

  “Lord Watson,” Wallace greeted with a bow.

  Alex didn’t bother to return his bow. “I was hoping to speak to you. Privately.”

  “No need. Miss Green and I have already reached an understanding.”

  Alex blinked. “You have.”

  “Yes. We’ll wait to announce our engagement until next week.”

  Staring blankly at Emma, Alex blinked a couple of times. “Very well.” Giving them each one more strange glance, he shook his head and without another word walked away to stand by his wife.

  ***

  Emma couldn’t fall asleep. No matter how hard she tried to stave them off, thoughts of Marcus and Wallace both spun around in her head. A tear slipped from her eye and she quickly wiped it away. Marcus really didn’t love her. He claimed he did and wanted her to be happy, but she could never be truly happy. Not without Marcus, anyway.

  She could try to force herself to have an amiable marriage with Wallace. She may not truly be happy being married to him, but perhaps she could learn to be satisfied. That would be enough, wouldn’t it? She lay there trying to convince herself that it would be. Earlier today, he’d been much more relaxed around her than he had been before. He’d escorted her around and told her several amusing stories a
bout people he knew, or pranks he was involved in at Harrow. He’d laughed at her weak attempts at jokes and even asked her questions about growing up in Dorset.

  Though they barely knew each other at the beginning of the day, by the time he left, she was much more comfortable with him than she thought she could have been. He seemed more comfortable, too. She’d only caught him counting twice during the whole four hours they were at Caroline’s breakfast.

  He really wouldn’t be a bad husband, she thought, turning over. He might be a bit unusual and awkward, but if she couldn’t have Marcus, he’d be perfect.

  That guilty knot she was becoming all too familiar with formed in her gut. She hated openly treating Wallace like nothing but a spare. It wasn’t fair to him. He may not have voiced a complaint, but that didn’t mean she had any right to treat him as if his feelings didn’t matter and all he was good for was to be a replacement, if Marcus truly didn’t want her. Bile rose in her throat. Marcus didn’t want her. He’d plainly told her so the day she left Ridge Water, and his lack of trying to contact her since she’d departed only confirmed it. A new round of tears flowed from her eyes as the harsh reality washed over her that the man she’d always loved didn’t love her back.

  By the time the clock struck midnight, Emma knew what she must do. She needed to apologize to Wallace for being so careless with his feelings, beg his forgiveness for being so callous in her treatment of him, and accept his suit if his offer still stood. There was no use in waiting for Marcus. Alex might be uncommonly smart, but all the intelligence in England wasn’t a match for Marcus when he’d made up his mind.

  Decision made, Emma rolled over and used the edge of her lacy pillow sham to wipe her tears for what she hoped would be the final time that night. Tomorrow she’d tell Alex she’d made her decision to marry Wallace.

  Chapter 21

  Marcus fought back the miserable sadness that had begun swamping him the moment he heard Chapman announce Lord Watson was here to see him. He knew what that meant: Emma had decided on a husband.

  Hardening his facial features so as not to give any hint at the turmoil he was inwardly fighting, Marcus stood up and waited for Alex to be shown to his study.

  “Afternoon,” Marcus greeted gruffly.

  Alex took his hat off and carelessly tossed it in a vacant chair before plopping down in the chair next to the one currently holding his hat. “What are you doing?”

  Marcus’ gaze dropped to his desk where he had an entire array of snippets of animal feathers and fur scattered all over his desk. “Don’t worry, the animals were already dead,” he grumbled, sitting back down in his chair. He brushed the clippings to a little pile on the far side of his desk.

  Blinking, Alex said, “I wasn’t talking about that. I may not care much for the sport of fishing, but I’d recognize your ‘fly tying’ attempts anywhere.” He reached forward and picked up a dark brown creature Marcus had made that was supposed to resemble a mouse. “It seems you’ve lost your touch,” he mused, turning the loosely tied bug over in his hand.

  Marcus reached his fingers forward and plucked the fly from Alex. “That was the first one I’d attempted in more than thirteen years, thank you.” He picked up one of his more recent attempts and tossed it at his friend.

  Alex turned the Goddard Caddis over in his hand and quietly inspected it. He put it back down and looked over at a giant piece of thick leather Marcus was using to hook his finished creations on. He whistled and shook his head. “Hell’s afire, Marcus. Is this all you’ve been doing?”

  Marcus yanked the piece of leather off the top of the desk. “I don’t question you about your enjoyment of conducting bizarre science experiments, even though I find them dull. I expect the same courtesy.” In all the years he’d known Alex, he’d never been quite so irritated with the man. “Now, tell me why you’re here.”

  “No need to be sharp. I came to inform you that you have exactly three days to let go of whatever is holding you back and declare yourself to Miss Green.”

  “What’s that to mean?” Marcus barked. Three days? What would happen in three days? And why did his heart lurch at Alex’s silence.

  Folding his hands in front of his stomach and leaning back in his chair, Alex sat quietly and looked around the room. Finally, his brown eyes met Marcus’. “In three days, her engagement will be announced.”

  A large lump formed in Marcus’ throat, threatening to choke the life out of him. He looked down at his hands as they tightened and released. Tightened and released. Tightened and released. He knew this was coming. He’d sent her away so she could make a match. Alex’s news wasn’t anything he hadn’t expected. So why did it feel like his heart was being ripped straight from his chest?

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back to study the ceiling. She’d done it. She’d found a match. A man who could give her what he couldn’t. He closed his eyes and pictured her heavy with child. Someone else’s child, to be exact. A bitter taste filled his mouth. Another man was going to get to hold her, and kiss her and spend his nights in bed with Emma. Another man would make her a wife and mother.

  A cracking sound rent the air. Marcus casually released the armrest he’d just inadvertently broken and put his hands on his knees, never opening his eyes or tearing his thoughts away from Emma and the realization he was losing her forever.

  “There’s still time,” Alex said quietly.

  Twisting his lips, Marcus lowered his head and met his friend’s gaze. “No, there’s not. There never was. It’s for the best she marry another.”

  “But that’s not what you want, now is it?”

  Marcus laughed bitterly. “No. It’s not. But it’s what’s best for her.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Pushing away from his desk, Marcus stood up and walked to the closest window. Emma wouldn’t be happy here. She’d be lonely with only him as company. Even that was conditional. She needed a gentleman who’d race with her on Rotten Row or take her to London for the Season. The same gentleman could provide her with the kind of home young ladies dreamed about. The kind full of love and laughter, friends and family, nieces and nephews, and most of all children of her own.

  He made a fist and slammed the side of it against the windowpane. As much as he’d like to blame this unhappy circumstance on Louise, he couldn’t. It had been his decision to run after her for the sake of his pride. Unfortunately, that one ill-made decision not only hadn’t saved his pride then, but it had also cost him dearly. He’d lost the friends he’d had at Eton, he’d lost his intended (which, in and of itself, was actually for the best), he’d lost his pride, but worst of all, in the end he’d lost the only woman he’d ever loved.

  “I’m sure,” he croaked. “She’ll be happier this way.”

  Alex snorted. “I think she’d argue that.”

  “She’d argue with Lucifer himself if she thought he’d bother to listen to her.”

  “You truly mean to let her go, then?”

  Nodding his head, but not moving his eyes from where they were fixed on the tree just outside his window, Marcus whispered, “Yes.”

  “All right. How do you think I should handle everything?”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes, everything,” Alex said stiffly. “You seem to have appointed me as her sponsor, but I have no idea what you’re expecting of me. Do you want me to contact the duke and duchess and let them help her make the announcement and wedding arrangements?”

  “No,” Marcus barked in annoyance and frustration. He didn’t want Louise or Hampton within a half-mile radius of Emma, let alone planning her wedding. He sighed. He really had no choice. Louise was her sister and Hampton her only living male relative. She couldn’t plan a wedding without them. And as much as it pained him to even think it, Hampton would be the one to walk her down the aisle. Fury pumped through him at the mere thought of that reprobate touching her. He blew out a breath. “Do not tell them. They may find out by reading the announcement in th
e newspaper.”

  Alex nodded. “What of her dowry?”

  Marcus raked his hand through his hair before tightening his fingers around the locks and pulling them. Hard. He’d nearly forgotten her dowry. He’d wanted her to make a good match so he’d set up an impressive dowry. He didn’t mind parting with the money—that wasn’t the problem. He’d pay every last shilling he had and then some to see to Emma’s happiness. What he didn’t like was the fact he would have to sit across the table from the man who’d get to claim her as his wife while Marcus not only signed over a small fortune, but his own happiness right along with it.

  “Perhaps I can have Abrams arrange for separate signings,” Alex suggested after a minute, as if by some not-so-small miracle he’d miraculously been cured of his obtuseness and was able to distinguish the subtle undertones of the conversation.

  Clearing his throat, Marcus nodded slowly. “I’d appreciate it if you could arrange that.” He pulled away from the window and flopped carelessly down in his chair. “Arrange it so I can sign first, please,” he added as an afterthought. It was bad enough he was losing Emma to another man; it was best he didn’t know exactly whom he’d lost her to. Not that it would be possible to live out the rest of his life not knowing, of course. But that was one advantage to being a recluse. It would be a long, long time before the news of who her husband was reached his ears. Hopefully by then, he’d be indifferent when he heard the announcement. He nearly snorted. He’d never be indifferent, and he knew it. But at least he’d have a little longer to prepare himself for the news.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Alex said. He leaned forward and reached his hand across Marcus’ desk. “Say, these are nice. Wherever did a recluse like you find—”

  “Don’t touch them,” Marcus barked, knocking Alex’s hand away from the little dish that held a set of silver cufflinks. He’d found them in the drawing room a few days after he’d sent Emma away. It had been nearly a week after she’d gone away before he had been able to go into that room again. And then it had only been because he needed a cushion to prop his leg up on. When he’d stepped inside the room, his eyes had immediately caught on two little pieces of sparkling silver lying on the rug. Since then, he’d not gone back into that room but had kept the set of cufflinks in a dish on his desk as a reminder of what would never be. Because he wasn’t suffering enough already, of course.