by Meara Platt
To Laurel’s surprise, he laughed lightly. “Not quite the welcome I had in mind, Dillie.”
“But one you’ll never forget, I’ll wager. I hear you’re Eloise’s favorite grandson.”
Laurel groaned. “Yes, Dillie. He is.” Which made what she did all the worse.
“Because if I were going to trample someone—”
“The point is, I shouldn’t have hurt anyone,” Laurel said.
“That goes without saying,” Lily chimed in.
Laurel rolled her eyes. “Stop gawking at him.”
However, she saw that Lord Moray was curious about the twins as well, for they were identical and impossible to tell apart. Though only fifteen, they were quite clever for their tender years... usually. Closest in age to her was Daisy. She was almost eighteen, and as the middle sister among the five of them, she was always the one to keep the peace.
Where was Daisy when she needed her?
“You’re awfully big,” Lily said, stating the obvious as she addressed Lord Moray once again. “You won’t be easy to carry into Lady Dayne’s townhouse, much less up the stairs. But perhaps if you shift your weight and—”
Dillie poked his shoulder. “I agree. You’re all muscle.” She cast Laurel an impish grin. “But I suppose you noticed that.”
Laurel felt her face suffuse with heat. “Who’s the doctor here? You two brats or Uncle George?” She truly wished Daisy were here, not only to chase the snoopy twins away. She needed to talk to Daisy in private, but it wasn’t possible while everyone was about. She sighed, deciding there was nothing to be done about it now. She wasn’t about to send Daisy to Hyde Park on her own to deliver a message to Devlin Kirwood. She would simply have to seek out Devlin at Lady Harrow’s musicale this evening and apologize for not meeting him today.
He would understand and forgive her once she explained.
Laurel gave no further thought to Devlin, for she felt the subtle undulation of hard muscle beneath her palms and knew Lord Moray was trying to sit up. Goodness! She’d forgotten she still held him.
The twins were still beside her, inspecting him as though he were an archeological treasure. He squinted a little as the sun glinted through the leaves of the towering oak under which they were settled. “Am I mistaken or do you two really look that much alike?”
“No one can tell us apart,” Dillie said with a chuckle. “Lily and I confuse everyone, even our parents.”
He shook his head. “Heaven help the poor bachelors when you come out in society.”
Lily smiled. “Assuming Laurel hasn’t killed them all off by then.”
“Don’t jest about it, Lily.” She tried to keep her voice from trembling, but knew she’d failed. Her eyes began to tear again. “I almost did kill him. It was a very close thing.”
Lord Moray shifted slightly to gaze up at her. “Lass,” he said with aching gentleness, “I’m a big oaf. It’ll take more than an angry horse to put me in my grave.”
Laurel’s heart leapt into her throat. He had the handsomest smile and dark green eyes that could lead a girl to mischief with very little provocation. Of course, she wouldn’t be that girl. She was loyal to Devlin Kirwood. “Our eldest sister, Rose, married last year,” she began to prattle, for his smile was doing odd things to her. In a nice, but confusing, way. “Her husband is Lord Julian Emory.”
Lord Graelem nodded. “I know him. Good man.”
She liked the way the sun warmed the chestnut color of his hair.
“Done, my lord,” her uncle said, regaining their attention. “Don’t try to get up on your own just yet. We’ll summon help.”
Dillie was sent off to call for Eloise’s footmen.
It took only a moment for Lord Moray to grow impatient and attempt once again to sit up.
“What are you doing?” Laurel immediately positioned her body against his back to catch him if he started to fall, for he’d been hurt enough for one day. Indeed, hurt enough for a lifetime, as far as she was concerned.
Lily rolled her eyes and began to jabber about linear planes and angles and some nonsense about gravitational thrust, which Laurel would have dismissed had she not found herself suddenly pinned between the trunk of the oak tree and Lord Moray, whose back was unwittingly pressed against her chest.
Her uncle groaned in exasperation. “Laurel, what are you trying to accomplish? You can’t lift him up on your own.”
“But I only meant to—” Realizing she was only making matters worse, she tried to slip out from under him. Her breasts accidentally rubbed against his shoulder.
“Lass!” Lord Moray said. “You’d better... blessed Scottish saints... er, just don’t move. I’ll roll out of your way.”
She nibbled her lip and tried to hold back the tears threatening to well in her eyes, for he sounded so pained and his gaze was now turbulent and fiery. The blaze in his eyes could only signify anger. “I only meant to help.”
“I think you’ve helped me quite enough for one day.” He fell back as she moved away, knocking his head against the trunk of the oak tree with a soft thuck. “Quite enough.”
She placed a hand on his arm to help, but received another fiery glance for her attempt. “Lass, it isn’t necessary. My grandmother’s footmen will help me to my chamber.”
She nodded, feeling worse for causing him yet more discomfort. “Please, let me do something to make it up to you.”
“No—”
“But I don’t mind at all.” Her tears had held off, but no longer. She let out a sniffle. “Just tell me what I can do for you—”
“Lass, it isn’t necessary.” His gaze was a dangerous smolder that seemed to intensify each time she tried to touch him.
The tears began to stream down her cheeks. “Anything. You have only to ask and I’ll do it. You have my promise.”
“I don’t want it.”
She hated feeling guilty. Why wouldn’t he simply accept her apology? “You have it anyway. My sacred promise. What can I do to atone for the damage I’ve caused?”
He eyed her for a disconcertingly long moment. “Very well,” he said with quiet authority. “Marry me.”
END
Laurel Farthingale is a loyal friend, so when her childhood infatuation reappears in her life and hopes to marry her, she is thrilled. The problem is that Lord Graelem Dayne, the man she has just trampled with her horse and almost killed, is also determined to marry her in order to secure his inheritance. Laurel knows she will only marry for love. She will never agree to a marriage of convenience. But as she comes to know Graelem, she realizes that he may very well be the man she’s destined to love.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Meara Platt is happily married to her Russell Crowe look-alike husband, and they have two terrific children. She lives in one of the many great towns on Long Island, New York, and loves it except for the traffic. She has traveled the world, occasionally lectures, and always finds time to write. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape. Her Romance Writers of America Golden Heart award-winning story will be released as Book 3 in her paranormal romance Garden series, which is set to debut in
2015. Learn more about Meara Platt by visiting her website at mearaplatt.com.
ALSO BY MEARA PLATT
My Fair Lily: London is never the same after the boisterous Farthingales move into their townhouse on Chipping Way, one of the loveliest streets in fashionable Mayfair. With five beautiful daughters in residence, the street soon becomes known as a deathtrap for bachelors.
The Duke I’m Going to Marry: Daffodil Farthingale, known as Dillie to her friends and family, is horrified to learn the man she has just rescued from ruffians outside the Farthingale townhouse is none other than Ian Markham, the notorious Duke of Edgeware. If the Chipping Way bachelor curse holds true, she’s doomed to marry the wretched rakehell.
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