by Jenna Jaxon
“Lord Haversham,” Parker announced him, even as the tall, dark lord strode toward her.
“Miss Locke. How do you do?” He bowed then grasped her hand and kissed it, sending a white hot streak of fire up her arm to her chest.
Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. After a moment, she managed, “Well, my lord. I am well.” She cleared her throat. “I trust you are also?” She must get hold of herself and stop this infernal trembling. Like a leaf fluttering on the breeze.
“Indeed, Miss Locke, I am in fine fettle and eager for our ride.” He smiled, his eyes deepening to near black.
“Yes, yes, as am I.” She shot up out of the chair, wobbling as dizziness overtook her.
“Be careful, I beg of you.” Lord Haversham clutched her arm, steadying her even as he made her heart beat faster. “Shall we go?”
Kate nodded and pulled on her gloves, regretfully. She’d no longer be able to look forward to that lovely contact, skin to skin, when he took her hand.
Unless he kissed her.
She shivered and tried to breathe slowly. Clutching his arm, she allowed him to lead her from the room and out to his curricle. He might try to kiss her. She’d been expecting it for several days and was on the brink of doing something forward to get him to do so. She’d been sure of it last evening after they’d finished their first dance. He’d led her outside for a breath of air, and she’d willingly followed him. The terrace had been dark and deserted, as was usual so early in the evening. He’d pulled her into a shadowy nook, clasped her to him, and raised her face.
So scared and excited she could only stare up at him, Kate had gazed into his familiar, rugged features and held her breath.
Then her blasted brother had called to her from the French doors.
She could have leaned in and kissed him. If Nathan had happened to see them, the deal would’ve been settled in that moment of weakness. But she didn’t want to trap him into marrying her. She wanted him to want her. To love her.
Lord Haversham settled her into the curricle, took his place, and started the team. They quickly reached Hyde Park, once more a bit earlier than the fashionable crowd.
“We have almost worn our own path through the park, we have been here so often these two weeks,” she said, grasping her hands together as if seizing a lifeline.
“I believe you are correct, Miss Locke.” He chuckled. “Perhaps we should take a path less well-traveled.” He swung the team toward the left, into the midst of a dense copse of trees.
Shaking so hard it was difficult to disguise it, Kate peered at the thicket they had entered. He would not have sought such a secluded spot unless he planned to kiss her or propose. Or both. Her teeth chattered, and she gritted them together.
“Are you cold, Miss Locke?” He stopped the horses and stretched his arm, bringing it down around her shoulders. “Will this help, do you think?” He pulled her closer to him.
Her trembling increased as the heat of his chest seeped through her clothing. A surge of anticipation wound her so tight she expected burst and fly into a thousand pieces.
“Miss Locke.”
She froze, unable to do anything other than stare straight ahead.
Gently, he turned her head until she gazed into his eyes. He was going to do it. He was going to propose.
A thousand thoughts shot through her head, but not one could she snag to steady her.
“I think you have noticed my attentions recently have been most decidedly fixed on you.” Lord Haversham grasped her hand.
She let out a squeak, but managed a nod. She must focus on what he was saying.
“And you have given me hope that you are not inclined to reject them.”
“No.”
His eyebrows flew upward.
“I mean, yes.” What did she mean? Why did he have to phrase it in such a convoluted manner? “I mean that I am not inclined to reject your attentions.”
He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Then I beg of you, Miss Locke, to make me the happiest man in the world, by consenting to become my wife.”
“Oh.” Her breath came in a little squeaking gasp. He had proposed. The Earl of Haversham had proposed to her. Would the sky fall next?
He gazed back, a small smile creeping onto his lips. “You can give me an answer at your convenience, Miss Locke. Or if you prefer, I can guess.” He slid his hand up to cup the back of her head, guiding her mouth closer to his. “Shall I see if the cat’s got your tongue?” he whispered, his lips hovering just above hers.
She grasped his head and pulled his face down to hers. Her nose bumped into his. She couldn’t figure out which way to turn.
He guided her head until their mouths came together like two pieces of a puzzle, fitting exactly right.
Surprised by the warmth of his lips, Kate melted against him. Shivers shook her body, and she clutched at him before she fell out of the curricle. Oh, but this could go on forever.
At last, he carefully broke the kiss, easing her away from him.
“No.” She pushed back toward him. This was her first kiss, and by God, she’d be the one to say when it stopped.
“Is that your answer, Miss Locke, or an indication that you’d like me to kiss you again?” His teasing tone returned a measure of her senses.
“No. I mean, my answer is not no. But I—” She dropped her gaze to her lap. Her world had turned upside down—with Lord Haversham on top. Only now she didn’t mind at all. “I wanted you to kiss me again.” Her cheeks heated to the boiling point.
“I see.” He sat a moment as Kate gathered the courage to look at him. He smiled, and her stomach flipped. That smile would make a saint beg to be a sinner. “I will be most happy to do so, my dear, but first I must have your answer.”
“What was the question?” She was either foxed or addlepated.
“Will you marry me?”
“Oh. Yes.” Pinpricks of heat burst out all over her. Never had she expected to answer him so, yet there was no other answer she could give him, in truth. She wanted to marry him, be with him always, feel the touch of his hand, his kiss, and so much more. So what if they happened to argue from time to time? They would always find a way to make it up. He was a truly kind, generous, and intelligent man. She would be a fool not to have him. She squeezed his hand.
As though the sun had broken through a dense fog, his face glowed, his amiable grin stretching from one side of his face to the other. “Are you quite sure, Miss Locke?” The hope in his wide eyes smote her heart.
“Yes, Lord Haversham, I will marry you.” She sighed, so happy to have the fateful moment behind her. “I suppose you should call me Kate now.”
He laughed and kissed her hand. “I shall be honored to do so, Kate.”
She liked the way her name sounded in his rich, deep voice.
“Will you call me Marcus? My family always has. I prefer it.”
Was she really sitting here, breathless from the Earl of Haversham’s kiss, being encouraged to call him Marcus?
“Yes, Marcus.” She ducked her head. The name sounded good in her mouth. He felt good on her mouth. Oh, Lord. Her cheeks would burst into flame.
He swooped in for another kiss that left her panting and wanting more. Much more.
“You must speak to my brother as soon as possible.” Resisting his kisses would be difficult, if not impossible. She felt soft, almost melted inside. She leaned her head against his chest and sighed. “This is scandalously improper without his consent.”
“But I’ve had Ainsley’s approval from the beginning.” He nuzzled the nape of her neck, sending glorious shivers down her spine.
“You have? He said nothing to me about your suit.” She sat up. Why hadn’t Nathan told her Marcus had asked to court her? He had specifically denied it at Lady Hamilton’s. “When did you speak to him? He said absolutely nothing to me about a formal courtship.” The shiver of delight turned cold.
“Uh, some time ago.” Marcus’s face had reddened suspiciously.
“When exactly?” Nathan should have come to her immediately with this news. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to for fear she’d say no outright, which she would have done. Did do, if she remembered correctly.
“The night of Lady Hamilton’s ball.” He sighed. “And the day after. We spoke of my suit then.”
“Why would you have then asked to court me when you had just been abominably rude to me?” She drew back. What had happened that night that could have caused him to speak to her brother? Had he been jealous of her attentions to Lord Finley? No, he’d not seen them dancing. He’d gone to the card room with Nathan… “A wager?” Her brother had said he wanted them to marry. Had he wagered with Lord Haversham for his suit? “Did Nathan bet you couldn’t woo me and get me to agree to marry you?” She had to take a deep breath or she would faint.
“No, Kate, it wasn’t like that…exactly.” His gaze shifted back and forth over her face.
“Do not call me Kate. And do not lie to me.” She drew herself up, outrage thrumming through every inch of her.
“There was no wager over you, I swear it.” He slumped and gripped the ribbons tighter. A quick glance that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I lost almost every hand to your brother. I don’t know when my luck has ever been that bad. It was enough money that I would have been ruined financially had I paid the debt, and ruined socially if I had not.” The sadness in his eyes froze her heart. “He offered to cancel the debt if I agreed to marry you.”
“What?” A whisper was all she could manage. How could her brother have done such a thing? Especially after she’d specifically told him she’d never, ever marry Lord Haversham. Yet she had just accepted him. Dear Lord.
“I told him no, at first.” Haversham’s voice came to her from a great distance. “I didn’t think you’d even dance with me again, much less consent to marry me. I found, however, I had no choice. My finances were in shambles, so I told him I’d court you.” He looked her in the face, his brows furrowed, mouth set. “I didn’t believe for one second you’d see past your prejudice against me. You’ve never liked me from the first moment of our acquaintance.”
“No, Lord Haversham, I have not.” She clutched her spencer around her, shivering with a coldness that radiated from her heart.
“And yet you just accepted my proposal.” He reached toward her, and she drew back so far she almost fell out of the curricle. He grabbed her arm.
“Don’t touch me!”
“You accepted me, Miss Locke.” He pulled her upright and released her. “I had hoped over the course of these last weeks you would put aside your dislike of me and see me for the man I am, not the hobgoblin a fourteen-year-old created in a fit of pique.”
“I do see you for who you are, Lord Haversham.” She spat out each word as though they had barbs. “A miserable fraud who would connive with my brother to save his own honor at the expense of mine.” How could he have done such a thing? Kate hardly knew which man to hate more.
She composed herself, sitting up straight as a lamp pole and twice as hard. “I must rescind my acceptance of your offer, Lord Haversham. I will not, under any circumstances, marry you. Please take me home.” Kate squeezed herself into the corner of the seat, as far away as she could get from the wicked man. She stared straight ahead, willing herself not to cry.
“As you will, Miss Locke.” He sighed deeply and started the horses, who sped them out of the park.
Their silence weighed heavy, but not as heavy as her heart.
Chapter 10
Marcus sat in Ainsley’s study, a glass of brandy clutched in his hand. He’d only stayed sober this morning so he could come and give his friend the unhappy news that he would not be marrying his sister after all.
Yesterday had been a nightmare. The ride home from the park had been a cold, silent affair. He’d retreated to strict formality with Miss Locke, made more difficult by the fresh memory of her warm lips and eager response to him. Her passionate yes followed by that scathing no had driven him to kill a bottle of scotch last evening. His head this morning hurt abominably. Best get this over with quickly and return home to another round of drink and pray for oblivion.
“Do you want me to speak to her?” Ainsley knocked back his shot and poured another.
Marcus refrained from mentioning it was scarcely eleven in the morning and held out his own glass.
“I wondered last night what had happened when she refused to go to Lady Ithorpe’s masquerade. She’d been looking forward to it.”
“No, don’t say anything. I doubt she’ll talk to either of us, and I don’t want you to badger her.” Why could he not have told her from the beginning? Or given up the idea once he’d become enamored of her? “She’s within her rights to think herself ill-used. I fear I’ve hurt her deeply, for which I shall never forgive myself. Please don’t make it worse on her.”
“You sound as though you care about her, Haversham.” His friend contemplated him keenly while pouring another shot. “I thought this was merely a bit of business. A means to an end.”
“Then you were mistaken, Ainsley.” Marcus stared at the blue and red Turkey patterned carpet. “I wanted to make her happy. I believed, after that first evening at Lady Carrolton’s, that she might come to care for me, and I for her.” He drained his glass. “Well, I am still half right. I care for her.” He hung his head. “I love her, Ainsley.” If he could have kicked himself, his footprint would be indelibly printed on his own backside. He’d been so close to winning her, to happiness he’d not imagined. Now all was lost.
Ainsley watched him keenly. “You needn’t worry about the debt of honor. Consider it paid, old chap.”
“Hah.” Marcus grunted and rose from the chair. That payment was the least of his worries now. “I’ll pay it all right.” He drew a sheaf of bills from his coat and tossed them on the desk. “I’ve had this for days. I was so often with Kate I never found a chance to give it to you. Too busy enjoying the company of your sister.” He shot a look at Ainsley, who stared at the pile of bills, eyes impossibly wide.
“Where the devil did this come from?” He picked up the money gingerly, staring at it as though he’d never seen currency before. “Is this King’s blood money?”
“No.” Marcus waved him away. “I returned his money when I thought I’d be marrying Kate…Miss Locke.”
“Then where?” He shuffled through the bills. “There’s three thousand pounds here. It certainly didn’t fall off a tree.” Ainsley began to stack the bills before him on the desk.
“It hardly matters any more. There it is. It’s yours. I’m done with it.” Marcus set his glass beside the growing stacks of money, his heart aching. He’d lost what had most likely been his one chance at happiness. He’d realized over the course of these past weeks that Katherine Locke was the perfect woman for him. No matter that they’d once argued like Punch and Judy, at last he’d seen the passion, and compassion, in Miss Locke he’d always missed before. Her spirit and most generous nature toward his sister kept drawing him more and more toward her, like a moth to the destructive beauty of the flame. The pain of knowing she would never be his bride seared like a blade on a fresh wound. Knowing he’d have to live without her ate him alive.
Ainsley had stacked the bills in neat piles, crossing them one over the other.
There was a way out of this hell if he would only take it. Temptation whispered in his ear a song as sweet as it was treacherous. He’d not told his friend all that had transpired between himself and Miss Locke. If Ainsley knew he’d kissed her, not once but several times, he’d insist they marry no matter how much his sister might protest. The words were there, on the tip of his tongue, but he’d not say them. He’d not trap her into a marriage on the hope she might one day forgive him. He loved and respected her too much to submit her to such an existence.
“I suppose I shall see you at Almack’s?”
Ainsley jerked his head up. “You’re still going about?”
“Letitia must be chaperoned.�
� Marcus shrugged. “Aunt Alexandra has asked that I be present to help her put my sister forward. It is not a task for a single person.” It was not a prospect he looked forward to. To attend these festive events and remember how his own courtship had been cut short would be agony.
“Are you still forbidding her the waltz?” His friend tried to smile, but the effort failed.
“I never forbade her.” Marcus grasped the back of a red-leather office chair with a tufted back. “She begged me not to make her dance it. She said being that close to a stranger would be too embarrassing for her.” He sank his fingers into the soft leather. “So I said I’d take the blame for her reluctance. That way no one could tease her about it. She could point to her ogre of a brother and be vindicated.”
“Did you ever tell Kate that?” Ainsley stared at him as though he’d never seen him before.
“No, I never did.” Marcus smiled, remembering their heated debates on the subject of his antiquated views on dancing. “I thought it might prove an incentive for her to try to change my mind about the waltz.” He laughed mirthlessly. “You can tell her if you like. Or better still, tell her that her persuasions have borne fruit. If Letitia desires to waltz still, I have no objections.” Marcus headed for the door, hoping to God Cranston had laid in a good supply of brandy.
* * * *
“I came as soon as I received this. What are you doing?”
Kate looked up from the piles of clothing covering her bed to find Celinda holding a familiar piece of rumpled stationary, the lines on it wandering up and down, the words blotted and splotched where tears had fallen as Kate wrote. She sniffed and dropped a stack of freshly laundered night gowns into her open trunk. “I’m packing. Could you not read the note? I didn’t think it that ill-written.”