A Season To Remember

by Gayle Ava Stone, Jerrica Knight-Catania, Catherine

  “Were you two always close?”

  It was Louisa’s turn to shift in her seat. Why the questions? Was this how other people felt when she asked about them? They never seemed uncomfortable, so why was she? Maybe it was simply because nobody asked about her life other than how she was faring or about her family.

  “As children, yes, but then she went away to school.”

  “You did not?”

  “No.” She would have dearly wished to, especially after hearing Moira’s tales of her three dear friends from school. “But we remained close and visited whenever she was on holiday.”

  Marston acted as if he really wished to know her answer, as if he cared, but she knew better. He was simply making conversation. Besides she already knew he couldn’t be trusted, despite his warm brown eyes and handsome-as-sin face. She couldn’t risk being even more attracted to him, knowing he could lie as easily as her brother-in-law and she should remind herself of that fact instead of wondering what it would be like to kiss those firm lips which smiled so easily.

  Goodness, she shouldn’t be thinking about his lips or kissing. She’d never wondered about what it would be like with any other gentleman before, so why was she thinking those things about Lord Marston?

  She must push all thoughts from her mind. After all, she knew what he was really like. No different in his beliefs than her grandfather and most gentlemen in society.

  “Tell me, Lord Marston, have you already chosen your sister’s husbands, or will you at least give them a choice?”

  Devlin stared at Louisa. “They will have a choice, of course.”

  She raised an eyebrow and nodded. “I thought perhaps you didn’t think they were capable of making such a decision for themselves.”

  He once again resisted the urge to pull at his cravat. Why did he feel as if she just accused him of some heinous act all of a sudden? What had he done or said wrong? “They haven’t shown an interest in anyone, other than Calista, once.”

  “Perhaps they haven’t met anyone interesting.”

  Devlin straightened. “I know for a fact that several gentlemen have wished to court them.”

  “Perhaps they didn’t think those gentlemen were worth consideration.”

  Those damn kissable lips were frowning at him. How did he get in this situation? For some reason it was very important that he choose his words carefully, though he wasn’t sure why. “Perhaps my sisters haven’t given them a chance. It is time they married.”

  “Why is it that ladies are expected to marry by a certain age, whereas gentlemen are not?”

  “It is simply a matter of the difference in genders.” There was nothing wrong with a gentleman waiting until he was much older to take a wife.

  “I think it is because gentlemen have more opportunities for enjoyment in society. They have gentlemen’s clubs, gaming hells, Tattersall’s, racing, and a number of pastimes a lady is not allowed.”

  “A gentlewoman, such as yourself, should be cared for and protected.”

  A small smile came to her lips. “I can assure you I need no protection. I think ladies simply marry because there is little else to do outside of the Season.”

  “That is not true. What of watercolors, and, and…” He looked around for something else and then spotted her basket. “Embroidery.”

  Miss Whitton actually laughed. “Yes, the excitement of stitching this pillow cover is almost more than I can bear. I should probably rest soon before my emotions are overtaxed.”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “If not marriage, then what should young ladies think about and do?” He leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at her.

  Miss Whitton simply looked at him, pursing those lush lips as if she were considering her answer. “There are a number of activities, I can assure you. However, as we are not allowed to do anything, it hardly matters what my answer would be.”

  He grinned. She may spout about wishing to do something besides the role she had been given, but she couldn’t come up with an answer.

  “Racing,” Miss Whitton said after a moment. “I think I would like to race a horse.”

  Devlin tried to picture her on the back of a horse, bent over the neck, golden hair blowing in the wind, skirts pulled up so she would ride astride. It was a provocative vision and one he must wipe rom his mind if he were to carry on a coherent conversation. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  She arched her eyebrow. “Why is that?”

  “You are a genteel lady and would never do anything that society would frown upon.”

  She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips again.

  If she could race, she would show him, and beat him too. But since she had only ridden side-saddle her entire life, and never at a breakneck speed, she bit back the challenge. Oh, why did gentlemen feel the need to keep a lady in the home while they had all the fun? She would love to show him that she was made of sterner stuff, as his sisters probably were too, but how? Nobody had ever seen her for anything other than the perfectly behaved daughter of a vicar. She should do something scandalous and show them all.

  “Ah, Miss Whitton,” Jordan Trent announced from the doorway. “You look absolutely ravishing this evening.”

  Even though she knew his words of flattery were false, Louisa still felt the heat of a blush spread across her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Trent.”

  “Jordan,” he corrected. “We are family and I’ve already asked you to call me by my first name.”

  The heat intensified at the devilish twinkle in those deep blue eyes.

  Marston stood suddenly. “Trent, care for a glass of brandy?”

  Jordan took his focus off of her and walked to the sideboard. “Excellent idea.” He poured two glasses, handing one to Devlin. “Miss Whitton, would you care for wine?”

  A spot of whiskey would be more her preference, but that would probably scandalize the two gentlemen. Not even her father or grandfather new she enjoyed a bit of whiskey in the evening. “Yes, thank you.”

  Jordan looked between Devlin and Louisa and back again. “Did I come in on an argument?”

  “No,” Devlin answered.

  “Yes,” Louisa said at the same time.

  A grin came to Jordan’s face and he gave a little laugh. “What were you discussing?”

  “Society’s need to see that all young ladies are married off as soon as possible so as not to be a burden upon their older brothers,” she bit out

  “That is not what I said, Miss Whitton,” Marston argued.

  “It was implied clearly enough.” Why did he have the power to irritate her so?

  Marston braced a fisted hand on his hip and cradled the glass of brandy in the other. “I wish for my sisters to be happy, and they will be once they are settled.”

  “So a lady cannot possibly be happy without a husband?” She tapped her foot to release some of the irritation building.

  “That is not what I said either.” He tossed back the drink and thrust the empty glass at Mr. Trent.

  “It certainly sounds like it to me.”

  “Louisa!”

  She turned at the sound of her sister’s voice.

  “Why are you yelling at Marston?”

  “Yelling?” she had never yelled in her life. Goodness, what had come over her?

  “I apologize. I hadn’t realized.” Her face began to flame anew. Oh dear, this was so unlike her.

  “I would certainly like to know what Marston said to get such a reaction.” Her sister seemed more humored than shocked.

  “That,” Jordan began, “is a topic best let be.” He turned toward Louisa and offered his arm. “Would you care to walk with me?”

  Jordan Trent was a flirt, but Louisa enjoyed his company. She placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you.” He led her away from the others and out the doors to the sitting area on the terrace. It took all her control not to look back over her shoulder at Marston. As much as she did not agree with his beliefs, the argument had been invigorating. She
really should think about voicing her opinions more often.

  Devlin tossed back his second drink and watched Miss Whitton disappear through the door with Jordan Trent. He tried to swallow the sudden surge of jealousy with the fiery liquid. Even though he did not agree with her, he certainly enjoyed their argument. Why was it that when he and his sisters argued, mostly with Miranda of late, he wished to lock them away in their room until they came to their senses? Whereas with Miss Whitton he had no desire to end their heated discussion, even if she were yelling at him, unless it was to silence her with a kiss.

  “I apologize. Louisa is never argumentative,” Elizabeth offered.

  “Louisa argued?” John asked when he came through the door. His older brother, the Earl of Bentley, followed with his bride of only a few weeks, Eleanor, on his arm.

  “Surely you are mistaken,” the earl responded. He strode to the sideboard and poured a drink. “She is the calmest lady I have ever met.”

  “Serene,” John offered.

  “Level-headed and quiet,” Bentley agreed.

  “Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think you do,” Devlin grumbled.

  “No, they are correct.” Elizabeth came to stand next to him and looked out to where her sister stood with that blasted Jordan Trent. Miss Whitton didn’t seem to be yelling at him. Instead, her face held a pleasant smile and she was slowly nodding at something he’d said.

  “Louisa has never said a cross word to anyone, or about anyone, ever,” Elizabeth replied before she turned to him. “It makes me wonder what you said to make her behave so uncharacteristically.”

  “Me? I said nothing!” There was certainly no cause for her to yell at him.

  Elizabeth studied him as if she were searching for something to say before a small smile pulled at her lips. “I think something more is going on.”

  “There is not.” Other than he wished to kiss the girl senseless

  Elizabeth chuckled and glanced out the window again. “

  “I agree with Elizabeth,” John offered. “Either Louisa has developed an extreme dislike for Marston, or the opposite.”

  The last was said under John’s breath as if it were meant for Elizabeth’s ears only, yet Devlin heard him anyway. Had Miss Whitton taken a liking to him, or the complete opposite?

  “Would you care for a stroll in the garden, Miss Whitton?”

  Louisa looked up to find Marston standing by her chair. Several times during dinner, she’d felt him watching her. He was probably scandalized by her behavior earlier and in truth, she was a bit embarrassed. She had never behaved in such a fashion and had no idea what had come over her. It was a wonder he wished to speak with her again, let alone walk with her.

  She stood. “Thank you. It is very pleasant out.” She took his offered arm and allowed him to lead her outside, yet they stopped just past the doors.

  “I thought we were going to stroll.”

  He glanced out into the darkness, his eyes scanning as if looking for something. “I don’t think we need to go any further.”

  “This is hardly a stroll, Lord Marston.” She removed her arm from his and walked toward the foliage and onto a path.

  Marston hurried to reach her side. “It is not safe to wander too far from the house.”

  She hitched a brow and chuckled. “I’ve strolled here often. I can assure you, the gardens are quite safe.”

  “Miss Whitton, I insist you stay closer to the house.”

  Louisa stiffened. How dare he insist she do anything? It was a wonder his sisters didn’t marry quickly, just to get away from his domineering ways.

  “I am perfectly fine, Lord Marston. If you fear going into the dark or don’t wish to enjoy the brilliant moonlight and star-filled skies, feel free to return to the house.”

  She grabbed her skirt so the hem didn’t trail in the dirt and continued. She was not going to let him tell her what she could or could not do.

  “Please, Miss Whitton.”

  She stopped and looked at him. Why was he so concerned?

  “What if there is a stranger out there?”

  “Who would dare trespass?” She laughed.

  Marston fell into step beside her, constantly looking in one direction then another. “If you insist, I shall go along. Someone must protect you.”

  Louisa halted. “I can assure I do not need your protection. Why do gentlemen think women cannot take care of themselves?”

  “Because most cannot.”

  Oh, of all the insufferable… the thought was gone as quickly as it had come, the moment his lips touched hers.

  Goodness.

  His lips were firm and gentle at the same time. So this was a kiss. It was pleasant indeed. Nobody had dared ever kiss her before, and Louisa decided she quite liked it. Marston’s hands came up and cradled her face, and his tongue touched the seam of her lips. A curiosity stole over Louisa and she parted them. He delved inside, gently, slow and seductive. Heat spread through her body, and Louisa became lightheaded. She grasped his shoulders to anchor herself.

  He angled his head and explored further, and she tentatively mimicked him. He groaned, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her flush against his hard body. This kissing just got better.

  Louisa slid a hand up to his neck and into his hair.

  His lips left hers for a second and trailed a path along her jawline to her neck. Her blood pounded and heat pooled in her belly.

  A hand slid up her ribcage.

  “Marston, Louisa, are you out here?” John’s voice called.

  Marston yanked back and looked around before he muttered a curse under his breath. “We need to get back.”

  Louisa folded the missive and glanced up as Elizabeth came down the stairs. Louisa had enjoyed these past weeks with her sister. Until Christmas, it had been four years since they had seen one another.

  “Who is the letter from?” Elizabeth asked when she reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “Father.” The two turned to walk down the hall. “He will come and take me to London in five days. He can only be there a week and has arranged for Mrs. Meriwether to be my chaperone.”

  “She is still alive?” Elizabeth asked with surprise. “John and I decided to remain here, otherwise I could watch out for you.”

  Disappointment shot through Louisa. Did her sister not wish to attend the Little Season, or were she and John being sent away? Not that anyone would tell her. They would offer an excuse for wherever they had to be, and nobody would be the wiser. “It is of no consequence. Mrs. Meriwether is asleep more than she is awake.”

  “It isn’t like you would get into trouble anyway.” Elizabeth snorted.

  Yes, that is me, boring as can be. At least the Little Season wasn’t as long as the Season. Days of embroidering while Mrs. Meriwether snored in a corner were becoming more than she could take. Of course she made calls on her friends and cousins, and they did likewise, but the days stretched on and on with nothing but a tedious existence. And, there never would be any excitement in her future if she were married off to a vicar like everyone assumed should happen.

  The clash of steel grew louder as they drew closer to the ballroom. Louisa followed Elizabeth inside. John and Marston were in the center of the room, fencing, both reduced to breeches and shirt sleeves. They were so intent on their swordplay, neither gentleman realized the ladies were in the room.

  A rush of heat swept through Louisa at the sight of Marston. His deep, auburn hair was mussed. The linen shirt stuck to his back from the sweat and the breeches molded his firm, muscular buttocks. She had never seen so much of the male form before. The layers of clothing men wore did not even hint to what lay beneath. Muscles tightened and flexed as he parried, and his feet moved quickly, back and forth, in a dance unfamiliar to her. Louisa resisted the urge to fan herself. His breath was short, and he grunted when he thrust his sword toward John. Her body tingled. What was happening to her?

  Marston’s blade connected with John’s chest wit
hout doing injury. Both men let their arms drop. Had this been a real fight, John would now be dead.

  “Marriage has ruined you. It has been years since I bested you.” Marston placed his sword on a table then picked up a towel and wiped the sweat from his neck and face.

  “I didn’t have much opportunity to fence in the stables of Tu—.”

  Elizabeth cleared her throat.

  If she weren’t so intent on the snug fit of Marston’s breeches, she would have asked John why he spent so much time in the stables.

  The gentlemen turned and looked at them.

  “Your skill with the sword is very impressive, Lord Marston,” Louisa complimented.

  He hitched a brow, and the side of his mouth tipped in a smile. “So I’ve been told.”

  “Devlin,” John warned under his breath.

  What had she said to cause her sister to blush and John to send a warning?

  “This is the first time I’ve beaten John since I was two-and-twenty.”

  Is that about the time you became a spy?

  Marston tossed the towel aside and the gentlemen walked toward her and Elizabeth. He was tall, lean, and all muscle under his damp shirt. She couldn’t take her eyes away from his firm chest and strong arms.

  “But, I always beat him in a shooting match.”

  Louisa forced herself to look up at his face. His eyes were narrowed and the stupid grin was still on his lips. Oh drat, he knew exactly where she had been looking and admiring. Something told her that Marston needed no encouragement from her and already thought well of himself.

  “However, nobody has yet to beat Elizabeth,” Marston added.

  “Really?” Louisa looked at her sister. “When did you go up against Lord Marston in a match?”

  There was a moment of silence, and Louisa fought to keep the simple, curious look upon her face and not grin. She could envision their minds working to come up with a plausible explanation since because by all accounts, Marston had not met her sister until yesterday.