Once Upon an Irritatingly Magical Kiss: #3 The Whickertons in Love

by Wolf, Bree

  A soft chuckle drifted from his lips. “Goodbye, until we meet again, Chris.”

  At the sound of the nickname her family used for her, Christina felt her eyes narrowing almost reflexively. “Do not call me that!” she chided, once again feeling the sudden need to put him in his place and uphold her own. Mr. Sharpe had a way of distracting her, confusing her even, that she could not help but feel that she might lose herself if she were not careful. Indeed, he was a dangerous man!

  “Why?” he demanded in that casual way of his that Christina was slowly coming to expect from him. “I’ve heard your sisters call you that. Do you not like it?”

  Christina shot him a challenging look. “They are my sisters. You’re not.”

  He chuckled. “But I am to be your husband.” Again, he inched closer, another challenging look lighting up his eyes. “Am I not also permitted to use it?”

  Christina could not deny that a part of her, deep, deep down, did not oppose his suggestion. She had always liked being called Chris. It was unconventional and daring and unique for a woman to have such a nickname. At least, outside of her family. Only she was not certain if it would be wise to allow him to use it…just yet. Perhaps she ought to make him work for it. “I shall think on it,” she finally told him in a rather haughty manner.

  As expected, he seemed to find her reaction amusing, another one of those infuriating chuckles leaving his lips. “By all means.” He grinned at her, and then…

  …then he leaned forward and gently brushed a kiss onto her cheek.

  It was fleeting and brief and utterly chaste, and Christina felt as though any moment now her heart might jump from her chest. A strange sensation rolled through her body, teasing her skin and almost drawing the air from her lungs. Never before, had she felt so overwhelmed.

  And Mr. Sharpe knew it. The dreaded man knew it! The teasing grin upon his face attested to it as he pulled back and his eyes once more met hers. “See you soon, Chris,” he whispered, issuing yet another challenge before he stepped away and left the room.

  With her knees suddenly feeling beyond weak, Christina sank down onto the settee, trying her best to restore her sense of balance and composure. Was this what the rest of her life would look like? Married to such a man? Would they forever be teasing and testing one another?

  In the back of her mind, an annoyingly honest voice whispered, would you mind?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two People

  Only a day had passed since Thorne had last seen his future bride; yet something within him was beyond impatient to see her. He had not felt this sense of restlessness in a long time. In fact, he had spent years taming that impulsive spirit that lived within him. Day by day, he had struggled with himself, urged himself to think first and act later, to not rush into things. Over time, he had felt himself calm, his pulse no longer spiking in the way it used to.

  Indeed, it had been a long time since anything had brought him this kind of thrill as though fire burned in his veins, making it impossible for him to remain still.

  “May I ask why you have come?” Lord Whickerton asked calmly as he eyed Thorne across the expanse of his desk. The man’s eyes portrayed the same calm as Thorne’s no doubt did, while a sense of apprehension lingered in his voice.

  “I apologize for any faux pas I may have committed,” Thorne replied, allowing an easy smile to spread over his face. For a reason he could not name, he did not feel the need to uphold any sort of pretense with Lord Whickerton. “As you may know, I am not well acquainted with society’s rules. However, I assure you it is not intended as an insult to you or your daughter.”

  Although the other man’s face remained rather impassive, Thorne could not help but think that his open words were well-received. “Thus far, I cannot find fault in you.” He paused, and his brows rose meaningfully. “At least not today.”

  Thorne nodded. “Yes, it would seem my conduct the other night was far from appropriate.” Nevertheless, Thorne could not deny that if he could change the night he had compromised Christina, he would not. “However, now I am here to do what is considered honorable.”

  Lord Whickerton regarded him carefully, fingers steepled. “Is that the only reason you are here?”

  “Quite frankly,” Thorne replied after a moment of consideration, “I do not have any regrets. I wish to marry your daughter because she is an exceptional woman, unlike any I have ever met.”

  Slowly, Lord Whickerton nodded. “I see,” he said rather ominously, and Thorne could not help but wonder if indeed the man understood Thorne’s motivation. “My daughter has informed me that neither one of you wishes to be married by special license.”

  Thorne nodded, although he could not deny that the thought of waiting three weeks for her to become his wife was becoming a little more unbearable each day. She had something alluring about her that made him think of her even when she was nowhere around. He kept wondering about her, about what she would look like early in the morning or what dinner conversations they might have. He felt the desire to speak to her countless times throughout the day, feeling a pang of regret when he realized that it was impossible. Indeed, when he had spoken to her the day before, he had returned home with an absolutely elated feeling. However, he had quickly fallen from that height as though only her continued presence was able to lift his spirits in such a way. Even now, he all but hungered to lay eyes upon her again, to hear her voice and see if he had been mistaken the day before.

  Thorne doubted it very much. He had felt something between them. Something that she had refused to admit to. Yet it had been there, had it not?

  “Very well,” Lord Whickerton stated as he leaned forward, his gaze fixing upon Thorne. “As my daughter has apparently made up her mind, I will arrange for this wedding to take place.” His voice was tight as a bowstring, and it resonated with something dangerous, threatening even. “However, I want to make it absolutely clear that you are to treat my daughter with the respect she deserves at all times. She may become your wife, but she will forever remain my daughter, and in this family, we look out for one another. Fail her, and you will come to regret ever having laid eyes upon her. I will hold you accountable in all matters. Am I understood?”

  Despite the hostile note in Lord Whickerton’s voice, Thorne felt his heart swell with something unknown, unfamiliar. It was something warm and soothing, something safe and caring, and a deep longing began to take hold in his heart to have someone, anyone, think of him the same way that Lord Whickerton thought of his daughter. “You have my word,” Thorne vowed, pleased beyond words to see that Lord Whickerton was first and foremost a father. A father who cared for his daughter’s happiness. A father who would never sell her into marriage. A father who would, in fact, not do anything to further his own social standing.

  It was a rare trait.

  Thorne held the man’s gaze. “I myself have never known the meaning of family,” he heard himself say without thinking, “and since coming to London, I have only ever observed faint imitations of its true meaning.” He inhaled a deep breath, trying his best to hold at bay that sudden longing pulsing in his veins. “I promise that I shall do everything within my power to prove myself worthy of your daughter and the trust you are bestowing upon me.”

  Silence fell over the room as the two men regarded one another. Although Lord Whickerton’s gaze remained contemplative, Thorne thought to see some measure of understanding develop between them. Each had expected or perhaps feared to find the other to be less than they truly were, and each had found himself surprised to discover that he had been wrong in his assumptions. “I am glad to hear it,” Lord Whickerton finally said, his voice softening.

  Thorne nodded. “Would you permit me to escort your daughter on a stroll through the garden? I admit, I am looking forward to speaking to her again.”

  Something that might have become a smile flickered over Lord Whickerton’s face; only it passed so quickly that Thorne could not be certain. “You have my permission to
ask her.”

  “Thank you,” Thorne replied with a smile of his own as Lord Whickerton reached for the bell rope. Moments later, a footman appeared and was instructed to fetch Lady Christina to her father’s study.

  Both men rose to their feet, and Lord Whickerton stepped around his antique-looking desk. “Who we are,” he said in a voice that made Thorne listen carefully, “is determined by how we treat those deserving of our respect. That, is a man’s true worth.”

  Holding Lord Whickerton’s gaze, Thorne felt his heart all but pause in his chest as he fought to draw in a deep breath. Never before had anyone spoken to him in such a way. He had not expected to find such acceptance, such a chance to prove himself, here in London of all places, among people who were known for their shortsightedness when it came to those they deemed unworthy of their attention. Clearly, Lord Whickerton was not such a man, and Thorne’s respect for him grew as did his desire to be found worthy. For all he cared, the rest of English society could look down their noses at him, but Lord Whickerton was a man whose good opinion Thorne now desired.

  And then the door opened, and Christina stepped into the room, her large blue eyes widening as they fell upon him. Thorne cleared his throat and felt something deep inside hum to life.

  “What are you doing here?” his intended asked bluntly before her gaze traveled to her father. “Father? Why did you ask me here?”

  A warm smile came to Lord Whickerton’s face as he stepped toward his daughter. “It seems your intended would like to get to know you better, my dear.” His gaze moved to Thorne.

  Smiling at her, Thorne stepped forward, respectfully inclining his head. “It is such a fine day. Would you like to take a stroll through the garden with me?”

  Christina considered him with questioning eyes. “I suppose there is no harm in that,” she finally said, the tone in her voice held doubt, though.

  Indeed, from the first, it seemed that some sort of competition had existed between them. It was a constant struggle, like a tug-of-war, each of them trying to come out the victor, each of them concerned to be yanked forward and stumble into the mud.

  Stepping outside into the sunshine, they both remained quiet as they made their way down the few steps from the terrace. Then they turned onto the gravel path that would guide them through the green oasis blooming in the middle of London.

  Thorne could feel her glance up at him every once in a while, his own eyes straying to her as often as he dared. A strange sense of shyness lingered about them, something he had not experienced before. It was as though, all of a sudden, they both realized that this was no longer a game. This was their life, their future. It was not about winning or losing, but about finding a way to find at least some semblance of happiness.

  “Your father is an impressive man,” Thorne finally said, wanting her to know that he cherished the same family values…even if he had never known them. “He made it unmistakably clear that he would end me should I ever dare to cause you any unhappiness.”

  Whether it was the words themselves or perhaps the lightness that now lingered in his voice, Christina’s face brightened instantly, a warm glow coming to those large blue eyes as they turned to look upon him. “He is very protective of us. So, you better watch yourself.”

  Thorne loved the warm smile upon her lips, and he nodded. “I shall consider myself warned.”

  “What of your family?” Christina asked unexpectedly, the ease between them suddenly palpable that the words all but flowed from her lips without thought. “Are they still in Manchester? Will they come to attend the wedding?”

  Thorne stopped and shook his head. “I’m afraid they will not.” Although he barely remembered them, his heart still tightened at the thought. Perhaps it was not even the parents and siblings he could barely recall. Perhaps it was the absence of a family’s affections that brought on regret.

  Her eyes held his, and Thorne knew that she could sense the change in his mood. “Why not?”

  He swallowed. “Because they are dead.”

  Her face paled visibly as she stared back at him, her lips parted as though she wished to say something, but then thought better of it.

  Thorne tried to smile at her. “Do not worry yourself. It happened a long time ago.”

  Christina swallowed. “I’m so very sorry,” she said then, and the way she spoke made it more than a platitude, an offer of condolence that was expected. Indeed, the look in her eyes spoke of deepest regret and sadness as she no doubt imagined what losing her own family would have meant for her. “How did it happen?”

  Thorne inhaled a deep breath, finding himself at odds with this rather unexpected situation. Never before had he shared such simple, though intimate words with another. With anyone. “My parents all but worked themselves to death, and my siblings died young as children of the poor often do.” Images of their pale faces still clung to the dark corners of his mind, but he had no wish to speak of them, to conjure them. He remembered frail bodies, malnourished and weak, with eyes as wide as Christina’s, but without hope or strength.

  From the look upon Christina’s face, Thorne could tell that his answer was not what she had expected. He could see shock, but also a certain measure of shame. “The struggles the lower classes face on a daily basis are invisible to those far removed from such a life.” Although he had no wish to lay blame at her feet, he could not remain silent. Some things needed to be said, especially those that were far too often wrapped in silence.

  Her head sank. “I do not know what to say,” she whispered under her breath, and Thorne was glad for her honest words.

  “It is not your fault, nor should you feel responsible.”

  Her head rose, and her large eyes found his once more. “Yet?”

  Thorne frowned. Despite his words, had there been censure in his voice? Had she somehow heard the anger that still lingered within him, the same kind of anger that had brought him to London?

  Turning back down the path, Thorne shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “It is not nothing,” Christina objected, rushing to catch up with him. She placed a hand on his arm and urged him to turn back and look at her. “You meant to say something, I know you did.” She lifted her chin. “Then do so.”

  Thorne could see the challenge in her eyes. He could feel something within himself fighting to be unleashed. Nonetheless, he knew that this was neither the time nor place.

  Nor was she the intended recipient of his anger, of his outrage. He had come here today to court her as was expected of a gentleman, had he not? He had come here to get to know her, to tease her as he had the other day, to speak to her and hear her thoughts.

  He had not come here today to insult her…only it would seem that he had.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Two Worlds

  Christina had not expected this.

  As the soft summer breeze tugged gently on her curls and skirts alike, she felt something deep inside her almost wince away from the harsh truth now all but staring her in the eyes. Shame slowly claimed her heart as she began to realize that she had never truly given much thought to those who lived outside of her own social circle. Of course, as the daughter of an earl, she had grown up shielded from the harshness of life that others knew as their daily bread. Yet she had never tried to see beyond the rim of her own little world.

  Mr. Sharpe’s throat worked as he stood before her, his shoulders tense and his hands moving to link behind his back. Reluctance rested in his gaze; a gaze that no longer quite met her own. Although she could see that he did not wish to discuss these matters, the words he had already spoken told her that anger still stirred within him.

  Understandably so.

  “It is not something I wish to discuss with you,” he finally said, his voice tense and somewhat reluctant.

  Christina regarded him carefully. “Nevertheless, it is the very reason why you came to London, is it not? Is that not what you said the night we were discovered in the library? That you wish to garner sup
port? To bring about change?” Despite the slight tremble in her hands, Christina took a step toward him, her eyes open wide and fixed upon his, daring him to answer.

  For a long moment, he simply looked down at her, and she could see that he was torn about what to do. The truth rested in his eyes in a way that it was unmistakable. Yet he did not speak. Why? Did he not wish to upset her? Or were common men and gentlemen the same in one regard, namely that they did not care for the thoughts of a woman?

  “From the very first,” Mr. Sharpe finally said, a muscle in his jaw twitching, “you told me that you held men like myself in low regard. Well, to be quite truthful, I have never thought highly of people of your kind, either.” His nostrils all but flared, and Christina almost felt compelled to take a step backward. “I do not blame you, of course not; however, the gentlemen you regard so highly are the very people who could easily bring about change. If only they cared, they could end this useless suffering.” Anger darkened his face, and she could see the pulse in his neck quickening like a stampede, increasing its speed as it barreled forward. “In your world, it is as though people too poor to afford food or medical help or firewood in winter do not even exist. You simply close your eyes, and everything is well.” Sadness hung in his eyes, his jaw still tense with anger. “I cannot do that because when I close my eyes, all I see are starving children, their bodies battered and bruised from a life that never treated them well. Not once.”

  When the last word finally left his lips and silence fell over them, Christina knew that her world would never be the same again. In truth, she had known so even before he had spoken a single word. She had read it in his eyes that what he was about to say would change everything. Although she had dreaded to hear it, she had known that she could not ask him to remain silent.

  After all, he was to be her husband. If he cared so deeply about this matter, then so should she. It was the way of the world. The way of her world. Wives supported their husbands in everything. Yes, Christina could not deny that his words had left her rattled. She could all but see the children he had spoken off, and her heart broke for them. Would she ever again be able to close her eyes and not think of the image he had conjured?