Let It Be Love

by Victoria Alexander

  “Not at all, my lord, it is I who owe you an apology.”

  His brow furrowed. “What? Why?”

  “I put you in the untenable position of taking on a…a responsibility you had no desire for when I asked you to marry.”

  “But it was entirely my fault. I should never have jumped to the conclusions that I did, and even though I thought your proposal was…”

  She smiled encouragingly.

  “Well, something that it wasn’t, I should never have accepted. Even as part of a hoax”—he shook his head—“it was unforgivable of me and I am not certain my behavior since then has been substantially better.”

  “I see.” She wandered around the fountain, unsure as to what to say or do next. Better, perhaps, at the moment, not to say anything at all. She pulled off a glove and reached forward to catch a few drops of water on her fingertips. “What do you mean by your behavior since then?”

  “I mean all that I’ve done, everything I’ve said.” He ran his hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “It’s difficult to explain.”

  “Try.”

  “You scare me, Fiona.” He blew a long breath. “I have never been scared by a woman before, and I must say it’s damnably—”

  “Frightening?” She bit back a smile.

  “Yes,” he snapped, then sighed. “I have been thinking a lot about you and I and this situation…indeed, I have thought of little else since yesterday, little else since the moment we met really, and—”

  “As have I.” She shook the water from her fingers and straightened. “Would you care to know my thoughts?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said slowly.

  She raised a brow.

  “Go on.”

  “Very well. To begin with, I see now I should have shared my dilemma with my aunt immediately upon my arrival rather than taking Oliver into my confidence. By this time she would have found me an acceptable match, and one as well with whom I could be happy, at least given the enthusiasm with which she has herded every eligible man in my direction tonight.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” he muttered, a distinct touch of annoyance in his voice.

  “It’s great fun to be sought after, you know.” She grinned. “I have had a wonderful time this evening.”

  “I’ve noticed that as well.” No, more than a touch of annoyance. Even jealousy.

  She resisted the urge to smirk with satisfaction. “However, it is too late to rectify that mistake.”

  “It is?” His expression brightened.

  She nodded and meandered around the fountain to examine a lovely deep red blossom she could not identify. “I have no intention of asking another gentleman to marry me.”

  “You don’t?”

  She cast him a wry look. “In that, I have learned my lesson.”

  He circled the fountain toward her. “Then…”

  “Furthermore, I have decided, as much of the work is already done, that we should continue with our plans regarding A Fair Surrender. Regardless of whatever else might happen, it’s something of a pity not to finish what we’ve started. Beyond that, I cannot imagine you would put your money into something that would not prove profitable eventually. It would be foolish to abandon a project that might be my financial salvation, as far-fetched as we both know that is, until such time as there is no other choice.”

  “That would be foolish.” He nodded eagerly.

  “However, you do understand I do not expect that salvation to come from you.” She pinned him with a firm glance. “I will not take your money.”

  “Of course not,” he murmured, then paused. “Even if it means you shall have to marry Whatshisname?”

  “Mr. Sinclair.” She nodded. “Yes.”

  “I see.” He considered her for a long moment and she held her breath. “Now may I tell you what conclusions I’ve reached since yesterday?”

  “Please do.”

  He stepped closer and took her ungloved hand. A shiver ran through her at his touch. “Fiona.” His gaze met hers. He raised her hand to his lips. “I should like permission to call on you.”

  She stared at him. “Call on me?”

  “Yes. In a formal manner.” He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “As men do in my position.”

  “In your position?”

  Something wonderful simmered in his blue eyes. “Men who are interested in more than friendship.”

  “Oh?” She gazed up at him. Her heart thudded in her chest.

  “I wish to do this properly.” He released her hand and drew her into his arms.

  “This is not especially proper,” she murmured, but did not pull away.

  His gaze never left hers. “I want to do all those things men are supposed to do.”

  “You have already sent me flowers,” she said weakly.

  “And you have not yet thanked me.” His lips met hers.

  “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips.

  For a long moment his lips on hers were little more than a gentle caress. Then he pulled her closer and she slipped her arms around his neck. He pressed his lips harder against hers and desire far too long suppressed erupted between them.

  Her mouth opened to his and his tongue met hers in a demanding, greedy manner that she met and matched with greed and demand of her own. Sheer desire surged though her and she clung to him, unable, unwilling to let him go.

  He pulled her tighter against him and she reveled in the hard feel of his chest crushing hers and the thud of her heart beating against his and resented the endless layers of clothing that kept her flesh from his. And wanted nothing more than to tear the clothes from his body and hers, right here beneath the stars with only the plants and the flowers to bear witness and the scent of jasmine in the air.

  It was completely scandalous and quite irresistible.

  Dimly in a distance muffled by rustling plants and the sound of trickling water, she heard the murmur of voices. A part of her mind not fogged with desire realized they would be discovered, which could lead to Jonathon being forced to marry her. And a forced marriage would not serve either of them well.

  Abruptly Jonathon released her and stepped away. At once she turned toward the nearest flower and slipped her glove back on over her damp fingers, all the while studying the blossom as if she had never seen anything like it before, which, in truth, she hadn’t.

  “And this is a Zygopetalon, an orchid found in the Southern Americas,” Jonathon intoned in a dull manner as if he were a scholar and learned in such matters. It was most impressive, even if she suspected he had no idea what he was talking about. “In colder regions, I believe.”

  “Actually,” Judith’s voice sounded behind them, and Fiona breathed a sigh of relief, “it grows specifically at higher altitudes in Peru, Bolivia and Brazil. This particular specimen is from Brazil.” Judith moved next to Fiona and studied the flower with the obvious affection of a true collector. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She leaned closer and whispered in Fiona’s ear, “I am not alone, my dear, and I would not have come if I had known the two of you were here. But never fear, we shall weather this storm and benefit from it.” Judith met her gaze and there was a distinct hint of mischief there. She turned away from the orchid and Fiona followed suit.

  “Miss Fairchild,” Judith said in a light manner, “I believe you know the Contessa Orsetti?”

  “Signorina Fairchild!” The bosomy Italian matron beamed and held out her arms as if to engulf Fiona.

  “Contessa.” Fiona forced a matching smile, dutifully stepped to the older woman and took her hands. “What a delightful surprise.”

  “My dear, dear Fiona.” The contessa jerked her close and kissed the air by one side of Fiona’s face, then the other. “How grand it is to see you again. I should have called on you, but…” She heaved an overly dramatic sigh, her bosom rising and falling in emphasis. “One has so many responsibilities and obligations.”

  “One does indeed,” Fiona murmured, and carefully extricated
herself from the older woman’s grasp.

  “You look”—the contessa studied her critically—“well enough, I suppose, given this ghastly climate.” She glanced at Judith. “How do you survive your dreary English weather?”

  “One wonders.” Judith smiled politely.

  The contessa turned to Jonathon and narrowed her gaze in suspicion. “And you are?”

  “Allow me to present the Marquess of Helmsley, Contessa,” Judith said. “Lord Helmsley is a very old friend of mine.”

  “Is he?” The contessa held out her hand to Jonathon in an imperious manner.

  Jonathon politely took her hand and raised it to his lips. “A pleasure to meet you, Contessa.”

  “Lord Helmsley was kind enough to show Miss Fairchild my orchids until I was able to escape my other guests and join her,” Judith said blithely, as if her request to have an unmarried woman shown anything by a gentleman without a chaperone present were the most natural thing in the world. “Miss Fairchild is interested in my orchids and Lord Helmsley is something of an amateur botanist.”

  “A botanist?” The contessa studied him as if she didn’t believe Judith for a second. “You do not look like a botanist.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” he said smoothly.

  “Hmph.” The contessa snorted and the faint mustache above her lip quivered. “Do tell me, then, Lord Helmsley, which is your favorite?”

  “My favorite…orchid?” he said slowly. It was painfully apparent, at least to Fiona, that aside from Zygopetalon, Jonathon didn’t know one orchid from another.

  “Yes, yes, which do you like best?” The contessa waved impatiently. “Let us say, of those that are here.”

  “It’s difficult to select just one,” he murmured.

  “Do your best.” The contessa snapped her fan. “Quick, quick, which is it to be?”

  “If I am forced to choose…” he paused as if giving it considerable thought. “I should have to say the Columnea schiedeana, there behind you. A native of Mexico.”

  Fiona stared. How on earth did he do that?

  “And one of my own personal favorites.” Judith flashed Jonathon a congratulatory smile, and the faintest touch of jealously stabbed Fiona. It was ridiculous, of course, Judith was lending her assistance to Fiona. Still, Jonathon and Judith were such very good friends.

  “The contessa wished to see the conservatory,” Judith said to Fiona. “And, as I was to meet you here, I brought her with me.”

  “And better yet”—the contessa reached out and squeezed one of Fiona’s hands in a conspiratorial manner—“I am not alone. You will be so pleased.” She turned and called to someone behind her. “Bernardo!”

  Fiona groaned to herself. Not Bernardo, Count Orsetti. The last thing she wanted at this particular moment, when she and Jonathon were finally coming to an understanding of sorts, was this particular unexpected encounter. For a moment she considered the possibility of escape, but as the only exit she was aware of would take her past the contessa and her son, she rejected that. Nor did she think there was really anywhere to hide in the conservatory.

  “Signorina Fairchild! Bella, bellissimo Fiona!”

  Count Orsetti practically shoved his mother aside in his haste to get to Fiona, although the contessa didn’t seem to mind. He strode to Fiona, grabbed her hands and lifted them to his lips, all the while murmuring in a steady stream of Italian how he had missed her and how beautiful her eyes were and how her hair looked like molten sunlight. Fiona was fairly certain Jonathon did not speak Italian, but then again she would have wagered he couldn’t tell an orchid from a daisy either.

  She shot him a quick glance. Jonathon might not speak the language, but it was clear from the look on his face that he understood full well what the count was saying. Judith smiled in an innocent manner, but there was a wicked gleam in her eye. At once Fiona realized that somehow Judith knew exactly what the count’s reaction would be when he saw Fiona again. And knew as well exactly how Jonathon would respond.

  “English, if you please, Count.” Fiona favored him with a pleasant but not overly affectionate smile and firmly pulled her hands from his. “As we are in England now.”

  “As you wish.” He smiled in a tolerant manner as if her refusal to share in the intimacy of a language they alone might speak were not a rejection but a bond between them. It was a reminder of the man’s overwhelming arrogance and as irritating now as the last time she’d seen him. “I am most delighted to find you here. I had not looked forward at all to my stay in London, but when I arrived and my mother informed me she had accompanied you here”—his grin broadened with a confidence that came from truly believing that every woman in the world was waiting to swoon at his feet or fall into his bed—“I felt God Himself was smiling down upon me once again.”

  “And yet you made no effort to call on her,” Judith murmured.

  “An oversight.” Orsetti shrugged. “And one that is so easily corrected.”

  “Indeed.” The contessa nodded in eager encouragement of her son. “Bernardo should make arrangements at once to call on—”

  “Forgive me, Contessa, but”—Jonathon’s gaze met Fiona’s—“I did promise Miss Fairchild’s aunt that we would be gone only a few minutes.” He held out his arm to her. “Shall we, Miss Fairchild?”

  “Yes, of course,” Fiona said with relief, and took his arm. She had no desire to be trapped with the count and his mother, both of whom had long ago decided she would make Bernardo an excellent wife. The mother because of Fiona’s societal connections, the son because Fiona would look good on his arm. As much as she now needed a husband, she had no desire for this one.

  “I would be happy to escort Signorina Fairchild back to her aunt.” Orsetti bowed in a grand manner. “It would be my great pleasure.”

  “Nonetheless, at the moment Miss Fairchild is my responsibility,” Jonathon said pleasantly.

  “How very odd you English are.” Orsetti studied Jonathon curiously. “I would never consider a beautiful woman as a responsibility.”

  Jonathon shrugged casually. “That explains a great deal.”

  It was all most polite and civilized, but underneath the veneer of proper behavior there was the definite feel of something primal. Not unlike jungle beasts ready to fight over a mate. Fiona had always rather liked having men fight over her and under other circumstances it would have been most amusing, but she would prefer to keep Jonathon far away from Orsetti. He was a man who had never been able to take no for an answer regardless of how many times she had said just that and how often she had made her disinterest in him clear.

  “Lord Helmsley, please do escort Miss Fairchild back to the ballroom,” Judith said smoothly. “Count Orsetti has obviously forgotten that he wished for me to show him my orchids. I should be quite disappointed if he did not allow me that pleasure.” Judith gazed up at Orsetti in a most provocative manner that had nothing whatsoever to do with orchids.

  “As would I, Lady Chester.” Orsetti grinned down at Judith, immediately distracted from the pursuit of one woman to the intrigue offered by another.

  “Yes, yes.” The contessa huffed. “Show us the flowers.”

  Fiona nudged Jonathon and lowered her voice. “Perhaps we should…”

  “Excellent idea.” Jonathon nodded and quickly walked her back the way they’d come.

  They didn’t say a word until they were safely in the corridor with the door to the greenhouse firmly closed behind them.

  “You have an admirer in the count,” Jonathon said slowly. “He is quite a handsome man.”

  “Indeed he is, and he well knows it.” She stared at him thoughtfully. “Are you jealous, then?”

  “Don’t be absurd. I have never been jealous.” Jonathon’s brows drew together in surprise. “Good God, I believe I am jealous.”

  “How perfectly wonderful of you.” Fiona glanced up and down the corridor and then, before he could protest, leaned close and kissed him quickly. “I can’t recall the last time I�
��ve been so flattered.” She took his arm and they started back to the ballroom.

  He chuckled. “Surely men have had cause to be jealous before?”

  “Perhaps.” She met his gaze. “But it was never of any real significance, as I never particularly cared before.” They reached the ballroom entry and the screen of palms and paused.

  His gaze caught hers, and what he might see in her eyes scarcely mattered, given what she saw in his. “And do you care now?”

  “Yes,” she said simply, and knew that at that instant a promise, unspoken yet there all the same, had been made.

  A slow smile spread across his face and a sense of absolute happiness blossomed within her. Like a flower never before seen. He pulled his gaze from hers, cautiously looked around the palms, then held out his arms. “Might I have the remainder of this dance, Miss Fairchild?”

  “I should be delighted, my lord.” She beamed at him and stepped into his arms.

  “Do remind me to thank Judith for her forethought in the placement of these trees so close to the perimeter of the dance floor. It was exceptionally clever of her.”

  “And most convenient as well.”

  “I fully intend to call on you tomorrow, you know.” His gaze bored into hers. “Will I have to compete with other gentlemen for your attention?”

  “Perhaps.” She grinned. “It will do you a world of good to have to do so.”

  “I doubt it. I don’t like this business of jealousy one bit, although I suspect I can bear it. For now.” His hand tightened on hers. “I should prefer not to encounter Orsetti, however. I don’t like the man.”

  She widened her eyes in an innocent manner. “And is there a reason for that?”

  “I can think of one very good reason.”

  She laughed.

  “But it is the oddest thing, Fiona,” he said, preparing to step back onto the dance floor. “I know I have never met the man, yet I have the distinct feeling I have seen him somewhere before.”

  “Probably no more than a passing resemblance to someone else,” she said lightly.