Brayan crossed his ankle over his knee, folding his hands behind his head. “Is that what we’re calling Miss Castle now?”
“No . . . er, yes.” He ran his hand through his hair, frustrated at having been caught up in Brayan’s inane argument. “No—she’s still Miss Castle.”
“I think she’s the reason ye’ve been so frustrated lately,” Brayan said, a smile stretched from one ear to the other.
Derek stood and walked over to a window, pretending to spot something out on the lawn. “This conversation is over.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I detest Miss Castle and I’d appreciate it if you’d kindly refrain from ever mentioning her name while in my presence again.”
“I saw how ye were looking at her earlier. That isn’t how a man looks at someone he hates.”
He didn’t need Brayan to tell him that. He was already well aware of the feelings that had ever so slyly wormed their way inside him. He didn’t want to care, but no matter how hard he tried to rid himself of any and all concern, he still felt something.
“Do you know how many men I’ve come up against? How many men I’ve had to resort to violence to deal with?” Derek asked, staring blankly out the window.
“I’m sure in your line of work, more than a few,” Brayan answered.
“Dozens.”
“And yer point is?”
“I’ve made my living using brute force to get my way. That’s how I made things happen. And then, when that was no longer necessary, I used my mind. I convinced men—rich, powerful men, that they needed King’s Ransom Transport.”
“I’ve never said ye weren’t intelligent.” Brayan took a sip from his glass.
Derek turned to him. “And yet, I don’t have the strength to stop thinking about one silly female, nor do I have the good sense to stay away from her.”
Brayan grinned. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
He turned away. “It means that I hate being in a position of weakness and I refuse to let her do it to me again.” Derek slammed his palm against the wall, then quickly made his way toward the door.
Brayan stood up. “Where are you going? To find Miss Castle?”
“No,” he said opening the door, not bothering to look back. “To find Miss Marshall.”
Chapter 24
After Lord MacCalistair left, it was Lady Marshall who was next to excuse herself from the group.
“It’s getting late.” She tried to stifle her yawn. “Garrett, will you be a dear and accompany me upstairs?”
Garrett looked at Meredith with a regretful expression, then back to his mother. “Of course,” he answered, before escorting her from the music room.
Meredith sighed. She’d rather hoped to have some time alone with Garrett, or at the very least, without his mother. But the week had barely started and there was still plenty of time to secure a proposal . . . or so she kept telling herself.
A few moments later, the three young women found themselves alone.
“Was it something I said?” Alex asked, settling on one of the sofas.
“Lord Sutherland had some work to attend to and I’m afraid the party just sort of broke apart after that,” Ophelia answered woefully.
“Really, it’s not much of a party without the Earl. No wonder they retired for the evening.” Alex tucked her legs and feet under her.
Meredith rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. We got along just fine before Sutherland came to London. It’s always been the presence of Ribbons that made a party great, not the presence of some overrated pirate.”
Alex and Ophelia swapped curious glances.
“Now, who wants a sandwich?” Meredith stood and made her way to the sideboard at the far end of the room where the staff had set out various meats and bread for a late evening snack. “There’s plenty of ham.” She stabbed a piece of meat with her fork, transferring it from the platter to her plate.
She’d gained close to a half stone since Derek’s return. If she didn’t find a better alternative to curb her anger than eating, she’d likely have to let out all her dresses. She focused in on a tray of tartlets and took a couple of those as well.
“What do you have against the Earl?” Alex asked after Meredith had returned to her seat.
Meredith tore a bite from her piece of bread, looking more like an animal than a polite, young lady of society. “Nothing—I have nothing against him.”
“Then why are you attacking your bread like that?” Alex crossed her arms over her chest.
Meredith finished chewing and dabbed at the corners of her mouth, delicately, with a napkin. “I think you’re both putting far too much stock in a man you barely know.”
“Do you have reservations about Lord Sutherland?” Ophelia asked.
Meredith set her plate aside. “I just don’t think you should marry the man just because your mother wants you to. You’ll regret it later on.”
“That’s a fine thing to say,” Alex scolded.
Ophelia held up her hand. “Then what do you think I should do?”
Meredith ignored Alex’s scrunched up face, an ugly look of disapproval written clearly across her normally stunning features. “Tell your mother you need to wait. This is your first Season in London. With any luck, you’ll be a Ribbon before too much longer and I think you should take more time before saying yes to the first man who asks the question.”
“Don’t listen to a thing she says,” Alex advised. “She’s gone mad, I tell you.”
“Mama says I won’t do any better than an offer from the Earl,” Ophelia replied. “What do you suggest I tell her?”
“Simply tell her the truth—that he’s not everything you want.”
Alex threw her hands in the air. “Now, you’ve completely lost it. The Earl is rich, handsome, and rich. What more could she possibly want?”
“Love.” Ophelia answered before Meredith could speak.
“Love?” Alex sneered. “This is marriage we’re talking about here; English marriage, to be exact. And after title and fortune, everything else is inconsequential.”
“Alexandra?” Meredith turned to the blonde. “I’ve known you for five years now, and for more than half that time, you’ve been eligible for marriage. And here you are, still unwed after several offers. Why is that?”
Alex folded her hands in her lap. “I’m just particular about my choice in husband, that’s all.”
“But you just said the only things that matter are title and fortune? Yet, you’ve been offered both those things and still haven’t accepted any proposals. If you’re not waiting for love, then what are you waiting for?”
Alex pressed her lips firmly together, her nostrils flaring.
“And how would I know if I loved him?” Ophelia asked, her question filling the tense silence.
“Yes,” Alex challenged. “I’d like to know that, too. I’m especially curious as to when you became the expert on these sorts of matters, seeing that you’ve never been in love yourself.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Meredith waited for the collective gasp of the room to settle into stunned silence before explaining herself. “When I was younger, I thought I had feelings for a certain young man. He was sweet, caring, and generous. Loyal to a fault.” She smiled at the vision of a younger Derek. “He kissed me once. It was a simple kiss, but it had been enough. That kiss sent my soul flying. I knew then what we shared was special.”
“What happened?” Ophelia asked, both she and Alex leaning forward.
“I left for London. And another man kissed me.”
Ophelia gasped, shocked by the admission. Alex barely raised an eyebrow.
“It’s not as nefarious as all that. It was all part of becoming a Ribbon, actually.”
“We have a particularly vigorous entry process,” Alex explained.
Meredith waved off the concern. “Really, the circumstances surrounding the kiss are inconsequential. But, it’s what happened after the kiss that made all the difference.”
“What happened?” Ophelia was leaning so far forward that her bottom was barely on the sofa.
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?” Alex took a heel of bread off Meredith’s plate and started nibbling.
“Nothing. He kissed me and I felt nothing. And then I knew.”
“Knew what?” the girls asked in unison.
“That I hadn’t been mistaken before, that my intuition was right—despite my lack of experience with such matters. My first kiss would forever be unmatched. Not even if I kissed a hundred different men, would I ever feel that way again. That’s how I knew it was love.”
“If you were so in love, why didn’t he ever come back to find you?” Alex asked.
Meredith swallowed the small lump that had formed in her throat. “He did, actually. Years later, he came to London and, well, kissed me again. But I didn’t need the confirmation of a second kiss—I was already certain by then that the fellow held my heart completely.”
“Then why aren’t you with him now?” Ophelia’s big brown eyes were wet with unshed tears. “You loved him?”
Meredith shrugged, her voice distant. “There were circumstances beyond my control and we were never able to take it further than those stolen kisses. I never had a choice in the matter. I went on my merry way, and he . . . he went on his.”
“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard in all my life,” Ophelia said when it was all over.
“I completely agree. That story was awful. I’m actually angry that you would have the gall to share it.” Alex passed the bread to Ophelia, who tore off a chunk and began nibbling herself.
“Ladies, this is no reason to gorge ourselves. I don’t want your pity. I’ve come to accept the choice I made, but I see no reason why either of you should ever have to put yourself in a position like mine.” She turned to Ophelia and addressed her directly. “You have loving parents who want nothing but the best for you. There’s no reason that you should ever have to settle for anything less than a love match.”
“And you’re telling me that I’ll know, just by a kiss? How could that possibly yield conclusive results?”
Meredith smiled. “I’m not quite certain how scientific it all is, but regardless, I still stand by my hypothesis.”
“And he’d know as well, just by that kiss?”
“I assume it works both ways,” Meredith answered.
Alex had grown conspicuously quiet.
Ophelia stood. “I think I’m going to take a walk, perhaps even tinker around the hothouse for a bit.” She looked at Meredith. “You’ve given me much to think about.”
“But don’t overthink it,” she replied, standing herself. “That’s when things seem to go wrong, when you actually stop to think them through.”
Ophelia frowned, then exited the room.
Meredith waited until she’d left before letting out a long yawn. “I think it’s about time I retire for the evening and head up to my room.” Meredith stretched her arms far into the air. “Good night, Alex.”
“Good night,” she returned absently, her expression pensive.
Meredith paused. “Is there anything wrong? You’re quiet.”
Alex’s brows pulled together. “I’m just a bit confused, that’s all.”
“About what?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Contrary to her stating otherwise, Alex’s tone sounded far more agitated than confused.
She shook her head. “Nothing . . . Absolutely nothing. I’ll see you in the morning, then.” Alex quickly stood and walked past Meredith, not saying another word.
Chapter 25
Derek saw light coming from the hothouse. He knew of only one person who’d consider tending plants at such a late hour.
He rubbed his hands together. She was there, just as he’d hoped she would be.
A rush of warm, wet heat hit him as he entered the glass room, the smell of fresh dirt hanging heavy in the air. Miss Marshall was bent over a large pot, humming—quite poorly. Obviously, the girl couldn’t carry a tune. “Miss Marshall?” he said quietly, so not to startle her.
She startled anyways.
“L—Lord Sutherland? What are you doing here?”
He couldn’t help but smile a little. She was wearing a dowdy brown frock, with an apron front, covered with black soil. Her face was marked with little smudges everywhere and her dark hair, pulled back in a practical bun, had a small collection of leaves sticking out from it.
She obviously hadn’t expected company.
He sauntered over to her, casually plucking a rose from its stem and smelling it. “Does a man need an excuse to visit with such a beaut—”
“Please don’t do that,” she interrupted.
“Do what?”
She nodded toward the flower in his hand. “Don’t pick anything. The plants in here aren’t really for personal use—they’ve been grown for the intention of observation and experimentation only. It’s taken me years to cultivate some of these species.”
He smiled. Not just any smile, but one he’d worked hard to develop for the sole purpose of rendering women senseless. It worked wonders when he was actively recruiting business for King’s Transport. “But it was such a lovely rose.”
“Because I worked very hard on it. It was designed to be lovely. Now, it’s as good as dead and no longer of any use to me.” She quickly turned her attention to the bush and started pruning, seemingly unaffected by his notorious smile.
Perhaps he’d unfairly discounted Miss Ophelia Marshall? What if she was a bit more of a challenge than he’d initially given her credit for? Never one to take a challenge lightly, he decided to take his seduction a bit more seriously.
“Miss Marshall?”
“You may call me Ophelia. Everyone does.”
“Only if you call me Derek,” he countered.
“Very well. I suppose that’s only fair.”
He inclined his head slightly. “Ophelia, I hope you don’t mind me coming down here, disturbing your peace?”
She swallowed, visibly. “I don’t mind. But I should try and locate a chaperone of sorts. We shouldn’t be in here, alone, at such a late hour.”
He watched as she wrung her hands. She was so skittish, he felt as if one sudden move would send her running from the hothouse and up to her mother’s room. “I thought it would be nice to have a few moments with just you. That is, if you’re not uncomfortable?”
“I’m not,” she blurted.
A lie. He’d never seen someone in such obvious discomfort before. She’d moved on from wringing her hands to biting her lip.
He held out his elbow for her to take. “Care to take a turn about the garden?”
She looked at his arm as if it was a giant snake waiting to lash out and bite her. “Not particularly. Perhaps you can help me, instead?”
Derek quickly withdrew his elbow, briefly taken aback by the request. No one had ever refused a walk with him before. “Help you?”
She nodded eagerly. “These pots—they weigh a great deal. It’s nearly impossible for me to move them around on my own. I thought since you were here, that perhaps . . .”
He stared blankly at the collection of terracotta planters that sat on and around her workbench. “You thought I’d help you move them?”
She smiled, timidly.
He desired nothing less than to help the girl rearrange her plants, but if that’s what he’d have to do to win her affections, then so be it. Derek looked down at his clothing. The pots were massive and he’d pr
obably end up wearing a considerable amount of dirt after moving them.
And then a thought—a lewd, despicable, completely inappropriate thought occurred to him. Suddenly, moving the planters wasn’t such a bad idea.
Derek began peeling off his jacket. “I hope you don’t mind. I just lost a jacket at the Duke of Glastonbury’s party. With the price of a good tailor being what it is, I’d hate to lose another.”
Going Rogue (Ribbons and Rogues Book 1) Page 17