A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4)

by Meara Platt

  He forced his gaze upward in a vain attempt to control all manner of improper thoughts now bouncing around his befogged brain. He caught the angry flash of her eyes and their sudden softening, and groaned silently because that softness would be his undoing. But he had to resist her considerable temptation. He needed Laurel and wasn’t about to let her go.

  He waited for her to say something, because she’d obviously barged in here for a reason. When she didn’t, he took his time studying her, noting the gentle curve of her neck and the wayward dark gold curls that clung to her pale skin. Her hair was drawn back in a simple bun that just begged to be unbound.

  He’d give his right arm to be the man to set those vibrant curls free and watch them cascade over her slender shoulders in a sultry waterfall of gold.

  Great. He already had a busted leg and was now willing to lose an arm over the girl. There would be nothing left of him by the time she was through with him.

  Still worth it.

  His gaze fell back to her ample breasts because they were still heaving and… who gave a damn why? They were heaving and blessedly exquisite and… no, he had to concentrate. He doubted she was here because she desired him.

  First of all, he wasn’t at his enticing best at the moment. Second, he was never at his enticing best, being too much of an oaf ever to attract a respectable young lady, much less one as exquisite as Laurel.

  He felt for his sheet to make certain he was under it and not sprawled atop it. Ah, yes. Good. Safely under it and the important parts securely covered up.

  Laurel let out a sob and sank onto the stool at his bedside. “Lass, what’s happened? Has someone hurt you?”

  She shook her head, and he couldn’t tell if it meant yes or no or a little of both. “My father is going to sell Brutus.” She sobbed again and followed it with a hiccup. “He didn’t mean to run you down. You must believe me. What happened was all my fault and I’d do anything to take back those few moments.”

  Hell, he didn’t know what to do to calm her down. Completely lacking in ideas, he ran his fingers lightly through her hair to nudge the loose curls off her tearful face. “I know, lass. He’s a fine horse.” For a beast who almost killed me.

  “He’s the best! I picked him out myself and raised him from a foal.” She took in a great gulp of air. “Brutus would never harm me or my sisters, and he never meant to harm you. It’s just that he’s used to a daily exercise regimen and I… we… my groomsman… didn’t have a chance to take him for his usual early morning gallop, so he was a little friskier than usual by the time we started for the park.”

  She took in another gulp of air and continued. “And I was late for… well, it isn’t important. The point is, my father will sell him and I’ll never see Brutus again. And I’m not certain if by ‘sell’ he means he’ll order Brutus destroyed!”

  “Would you like me to put in a word with your father?” Lord, he never realized he was such a fool for a pair of tearful blue eyes! Ocean blue with turbulent swirls of green that had the power to draw a man in and drag him under like a dangerous riptide.

  Her lips spread into a smile. “Would you? Just to make sure he won’t order Brutus put down. And to be sure he’ll find a good home for Brutus with someone who loves horses and knows how to care for them. Someone who’ll appreciate and love Brutus as I do. Or perhaps you could convince my father that no one could ever love or care for Brutus as I do and it would be a terrible shame to punish Brutus for my mistake and that’s what would happen if he were taken from me. I’d be ever so grateful.”

  The stream of words took a moment to wend their way through his laudanum-fogged brain. “How grateful?”

  “What?” She inhaled lightly, slipped off the stool, and took a step back to stand just out of his reach. Did she think he was going to grab her and force her into his bed? Much as he would enjoy having her beside him… under him… he wasn’t so far gone as to believe it would ever happen. Or so far gone as to ever force her.

  He’d phrased his question badly, that’s all. He wasn’t even certain what he wished from her beyond a convenient marriage.

  Perhaps he was hoping she’d show him the same care and concern she held for her damn horse. It was a foolish notion, of course. She’d raised the stallion from a foal while she’d known him for a few hours at most. What time was it anyway?

  “Because if you think I’m going to sacrifice my body—”

  He reached over and drew her back to his bedside, the quick motion sending a blinding slash of pain up his leg and into his temples. “Let’s get one thing straight here and now, lass. Unlike your horse, I am not a brute. I will not have you come to my bed other than willingly. I will not have you kiss me other than willingly. I give you this promise now.” Oh, bollocks. Shut up, you fool! Your brain isn’t functioning. Don’t make her any promises. “I promise that I will never force you to provide sexual favors to me. Those I will gladly take, but only with your freely given consent.”

  “Which I shall never give.” She jerked her hand out of his grasp and tipped her chin up in defiance. “I ought to have known better than to come to you with my concerns. I had thought… I’d hoped… obviously, I was wrong.”

  “No, lass,” he called out as she turned to storm out of the room as quickly as she’d stormed in. “You came to me for help and that’s what I’ll give you. I’ll speak to your father.”

  She stopped at his door and stood with her back to him for a long moment, then slowly turned to face him. A look of hope glistened in her eyes. “You will?”

  Her soft gaze shot like a lance straight through his heart.

  His own lance, the one between his thighs, had jolted to attention the moment she barged in and was now hard and throbbing and in desperate need of easing. The blasted appendage seemed to take on a life of its own and could not contain its joy at the sight of Laurel.

  He needed to get his lust under control.

  Hell, no more laudanum for me.

  “I apologize if I spoke out of turn,” he said, glancing at his leg. “I’m not quite myself at the moment.”

  “I understand. Pain does odd things to one’s system.” She took another step toward him but remained half a room’s length away. Much too far for his liking, but he’d shocked the innocent, a tactical mistake for which he was solely to blame. She’d come to him seeking help and he’d turned it into a bid for a sexual encounter. What was he thinking?

  Obviously, he wasn’t thinking at all.

  He was in too much pain to do anything, much less give her a proper kiss… or a highly improper kiss, which was what he’d wanted to do the moment he’d set eyes on her. Her smile was doing the oddest things to his insides.

  Bollocks.

  A simple kiss from this girl would never satisfy him. He hungered for more, ached to capture her pink lips and feel their generous give against his mouth. Don’t look lower. Don’t, you idiot!

  But he did, because a man would have to be dull as a donkey to resist the allure of Laurel’s body. Her curves were heavenly perfection. He wanted to kiss his way down her body, down those firm and shapely breasts, along her slim hips, and long, slender legs that could wrap around—

  Damn, he was doing it again. Allowing his lower head to take control of his thoughts and rouse hot sensations when his upper head, also known as his barely functioning brain, needed to remain in firm control. “I’ll send him a note within the hour.”

  Her smile was as bright as the sunshine streaming in through his bedchamber window. “I’ll fetch you Eloise’s writing paper. She won’t mind.”

  “Lass—”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve won this day. No need for you to do more. I’ll take care of the rest. Go away.”

  She blushed. “Of course. You must think I’m the most meddlesome creature, and you’d be right. We Farthingales can’t seem to help ourselves. We see a situation and must jump in, whether or not asked.” She gave him the gentlest smile. “I know you’ll be true to y
our word. Thank you. I’ll go home now.”

  Her blush deepened and she began to walk toward him. What the hell? Didn’t she realize that the door was in the opposite direction? “My parents think I’m repenting in my room, which I will do now that we’ve settled matters. But first…” She stopped at his side and bent over him. “This I give willingly and with my heartfelt appreciation.” She kissed him on the cheek, her lips sweet and warm against the beginning stubble of a beard on his face.

  He said nothing, just waited for her to leave his room before sinking back against his pillows and allowing that disobedient lower head of his to spring to attention and express its profound joy over Laurel’s innocent peck on the cheek.

  He was going to stick a keg of gunpowder under that bottle of laudanum and blow it up before it did more damage to his already addled senses.

  He glared at the medicine bottle on his night stand, sitting within easy reach. “No, not taking any more of you.”

  Which was why he was in agony by the time Laurel’s father entered his bedchamber an hour later in response to the note he’d sent over. John Farthingale did not look happy as he greeted Graelem with a politeness he clearly did not feel. “My lord, seems we have a situation.”

  “Are you referring to your daughter or her horse?” Graelem realized the question sounded glib and impertinent. “Mr. Farthingale, my situation is such that I cannot let your daughter out of our… er, betrothal… as unusual as the circumstances surrounding it happen to be.”

  Laurel’s father frowned. “Unusual? I would call it alarming. You took advantage of my daughter.”

  “She almost killed me.”

  Her father arched an eyebrow, and the hint of a grin appeared on his lips. “All the more reason to avoid her at all costs. Surely, you can’t be serious. Until this morning, you’d never set eyes upon my Laurel. And now you want her as your wife? I’m a great admirer of Lady Dayne,” he said, referring to Graelem’s grandmother, “and am somewhat relieved that she vouches for your good character, but I cannot permit this wedding to happen.”

  “I hope to convince you otherwise. Have a seat, Mr. Farthingale,” Graelem said, motioning to the stool by his bedside, which seemed inadequate for a man of his prominence. “Or shall I ring for a footman to bring you a chair?”

  “I’m fine standing.” Laurel’s father crossed his arms over his chest and tossed him a look of anger mingled with impatience, his momentary humor now faded as they moved on to the more serious discussion.

  Graelem noticed a resemblance between father and daughter, especially in their scowls. “I’ll ring for that chair, Mr. Farthingale. While I will not relent on the marriage to your daughter, I hope to address some of your concerns in that regard. I would also like to discuss your plans for Brutus. Laurel loves that horse, you know. It would break her heart to lose him. Perhaps we can agree on a solution to that.”

  The comment obviously surprised Laurel’s father. “The beast almost cut short your life. Why do you care what happens to him?”

  Graelem ran a hand roughly through his rumpled hair. “I don’t, but your daughter does. So that makes it my problem. She doesn’t like me much right now. In truth, she probably detests me. I don’t know if I’ll ever change her opinion of me, but I’ll do my best. I’m not very proud of myself either. Despite what she thinks of me, I’m not an ogre. I want to make her happy and saving that horse is a first step in the right direction.”

  Laurel’s father dropped his hands to his sides. “I think I will have a chair after all.”

  Within moments, one of Eloise’s footmen had delivered a suitably elegant, red silk cushioned chair and set it by Graelem’s bedside. Eloise’s butler delivered a tray of tea and cakes, as though John Farthingale had been invited for a social call and was expected to remain a while.

  Obviously, this was his grandmother’s meddlesome way of encouraging conversation between the two men. “Help yourself, Mr. Farthingale. I’m afraid I can’t join in. The laudanum’s still working its way through my system and I don’t trust what it will do to me if I attempt to eat.” Graelem’s gaze darted to his night stand and the medicine bottle and spoon still set atop it. Must find that keg of gunpowder. “Can’t stand the vile substance. I prefer to wrestle with the pain.”

  “I’ll pass on the tea and cakes as well. Don’t have much of an appetite at the moment. Having five strong-minded daughters will do that to a man.” He leaned forward and studied Graelem. “You don’t appear deranged, so will you kindly explain to me why you are determined to marry my Laurel?”

  Chapter 4

  LAUREL SAT IN the Farthingale parlor on the blue silk settee beside her mother while assorted aunts, uncles, and sisters sat on the sofa and chairs opposite them waiting for her father to return from his meeting with the man who had just taken control of her life. Laurel tried to remain calm, but the task was impossible and she couldn’t help but fidget in her seat. “What’s taking them so long? Father’s been there for over an hour.”

  “I should think it’s a good sign,” Uncle Rupert said, giving her an encouraging smile that peeked out from under his enormous black moustache.

  “Father is brilliant,” Dillie added rather hopefully. “He’ll convince Lord Moray that he’s made a terrible mistake.”

  “Your father is brilliant,” their mother agreed, brushing back a lock of her dark hair that was beginning to show traces of gray, “but as to fixing Lord Moray’s mistake, I’m not certain it will be so easy. Laurel, if one overlooks your impulsive behavior of this morning, you have much to recommend you to a man. Beauty, wealth, good manners… usually.”

  The tall windows opened onto the garden, allowing the gentle scent of budding roses to waft into the room on the warm afternoon breeze. Oh, if only her life were as gentle and easy as this soft breeze! “Farthingales marry for love,” Laurel insisted. “I won’t break with our family tradition.”

  “Then you’d better fall in love with Lord Moray,” Lily pointed out with a logical sensibility that only she possessed. At the moment, it was not appreciated.

  Laurel rolled her eyes. “In less than thirty days? I hardly think so.”

  The parlor was Laurel’s favorite room in the house and had a lovely fireplace that was lit on colder days but was presently clean and hidden behind a fire screen decorated in blue roses. The sofa, chairs, drapes, and oriental carpets were in compatible shades of blue silk and damask that blended warmly with the polished mahogany decorative tables that adorned the room. Gleaming silver candelabra and assorted delicate vases and figurines filled the cozy room.

  Unfortunately, the room was also presently filled with Farthingales who were now staring at her as though actually considering Lily’s ridiculous observation. “I will not fall in love with Eloise’s grandson,” she said between clenched teeth.

  Aunt Julia moved to her side. “Why not? I hear he’s rather handsome.”

  In a big, oafish way. It was of no moment that the sight of his naked body still sent bolts of heat into her cheeks and other parts of her body that could not be mentioned.

  “At least give him a chance,” Uncle Rupert muttered. “You owe him that much. I’d expect no less if someone tried to kill me.”

  Laurel curled her hands into fists. “I wasn’t trying to kill the lout.”

  “Why are you calling him a lout?” Dillie cast her a speculative glance. “You did say he was handsome. Lily and I heard you.”

  “So what?” She shifted uncomfortably on the settee. “He’s still a lout.”

  “Where’s Daisy?” her mother asked, suddenly noticing that her middle daughter was absent and momentarily distracting everyone’s attention.

  Lily opened her mouth to speak. “She’s—”

  “—meeting a friend in the park,” Laurel chimed in before the snoopy twin slipped and revealed that Daisy had gone to Hyde Park to deliver a note to Devlin. Since Devlin was almost as much a friend to Daisy as he was to her, it wasn’t really a lie. “A quick visit.
I’m sure she’ll return at any moment.”

  “Amos escorted her,” Dillie chimed in, referring to Amos Mayhew, the amiable young footman who’d been in service to the Farthingale family for five years now. He was the son of their long-time cook, Mrs. Mayhew, and nephew to their coachman, Abner Mayhew. Amos also helped out with the horses whenever Abner, who was getting on in years, wasn’t up to the task.

  Laurel had considered asking Amos to put in a good word for Brutus because he’d always gotten along with the beast. But Amos had scrambled out of the house, all too eager to be kept out of the family unpleasantness. He was a wise young man, apparently much wiser than she.

  Laurel’s keen ears picked up the sound of their front door opening. She shot off the settee. “It must be Father!”

  Dillie gave her a supportive smile. “I hope he has good news for you.”

  Unfortunately, the frown on her father’s face as he strode into the parlor had Laurel’s heart sinking. “He’s refused to see reason, hasn’t he? See Dillie, I told you he was a lout.”

  Her father crossed the room to stand beside her mother. “He’s an unusual man, Sophie. I’m not certain what to make of him yet.”

  “Oh, dear. What else can we do, John?” Laurel’s mother began to nibble her lower lip. “Your daughter simply can’t marry this stranger.”

  “No, she can’t,” he seemed to agree.

  Laurel let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Papa! You’re the—”

  Her father held up a hand to stop her in mid-sentence. “Hear me out, Laurel. Lord Moray has persuaded me not to have Brutus destroyed. But neither will you be permitted to keep him. I’m selling that beast to Lord Moray.”