The idea of hurting the kind countess, and annoying Westerham by breaking her promise began to weigh on her mind. He had said he no longer had a mistress. He didn’t say he wouldn’t find another and he wouldn’t have extramarital affairs. Perhaps not saying anything meant he wouldn’t. Or, perhaps he wanted to evade talking about his plans.
Perhaps if she married him, he would see no need to find another woman.
However, she wasn’t a skilled lover by any means, not like a mistress. She didn’t much like the act, which had been used by her as a way to gain a proposal. She had assumed a proposal would follow, but only more ‘testing’ had followed. A sharp no hadn’t worked, and in the end, none of that mattered at all. She’d met an earl who wanted a wife, preferably a good breeder who didn’t expect him to love her.
At first, his proposal had sounded perfect for a woman in her situation, but her head hadn’t been screwed on correctly that day. She had still been worried about an event that hadn’t occurred, knowing how the scandal would affect Lucy’s chances of finding a good match. And now Mary had fallen in love with Westerham. Fortunately, he didn’t love her. She couldn’t break his heart no matter what she chose to do.
She could either marry him, as planned, expecting to be left by him whenever he spotted another woman he wanted to add to his list of conquests, or she could summon up the strength of character to offer an uncaring smile when he left. She dallied over staying with him, hoping he would learn to love her, but the day would come when the man who could have any woman he chose would notice that his country wife’s appeal had begun to fade, as it surely would if he had to see her day after day.
Holding the fur-lined cape over her arm, she left her room and walked slowly down the sconce-lit corridor. She reached Westerham’s room. The door opened. Westerham stepped out. His handsome face expressed surprise. In one stride, he stopped her by standing in her way.
“Good evening,” she said, lowering her gaze and trying to sidestep him. He grabbed her wrist, and pulled her into his bedroom, swinging her around until she backed up against the door he had slammed behind her. Her back stiffened and her eyes widened with apprehension. His whole posture exuded menace. He couldn’t have read her recent thoughts but nevertheless, she drew fresh air into her lungs.
Clearly he was annoyed with her, but she hadn’t seen him lately except for his disappearing back when she sat down for breakfast. She hadn’t minded then. Her dull headache had occupied most of her thoughts.
The flat of his hand splayed on the door beside her head. His eyes turned into glittering pools of mystery, before he half-shut his lids. She swallowed, her neck tense. Suppressing the urge to apologize, willing to do anything rather than be intimidated by him, she slid both of her palms to his upper chest, ready to push him away the moment he began to speak. She waited. The silence appeared never-ending.
Slowly and inexorably, he leaned towards her until his lips touched hers. A breath of shock eased into her lungs. Her chest had barely filled when he lifted his mouth and stared right into her eyes, again.
“I have missed you,” he said gently.
She clutched the lapels of his jacket. “I thought you were cross with me. You haven’t spoken to me in three days.”
“I took the advice of your brother who appears to know more about women than I do.”
She wanted to say something scathing about men pretending to be dear little innocents when the polite world knew better, but the words died as she stared into his eyes. He dipped his head and his lips touched hers, gently, softly, tenderly. Before she’d had time to recover her poise, he stopped and started again, trying another angle, each of his forays more gentle than the last. He kissed her as if she was a delicacy he wanted to taste before eating. He kissed her as if wanted to spend his next hour experimenting with his kisses, without a hint of impatience about the main event.
Her heart began to race. Her breath became difficult to catch. She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, she wanted to look away, but instead she simply smiled foolishly at him. The whole world consisted of him and only him. He smelled like fresh starch and mint. If he would hold her this way for a minute or two, her life would be complete. To be held in his arms for the rest of her life would be a dream come true.
However, her treacherous body had other ideas, none being at all innocent. Her face flared with heat, and her lips sought his again and again, her whole being filled with yearning. If she could have nothing else in the world, she would be content to have an hour or two of his time making love with him. Love. Nothing less, because she loved him. She loved every one of his words and his touches, she loved his family, and she loved every single minute she spent with him. Filled with longing, she slid her hands beneath his arms to his back.
He reciprocated by wrapping one arm around her shoulders and settling the hand of the other on the back of her neck. His head dropped and his lips met hers for the most beautiful kiss she’d ever had. He appeared to relish her, with light soft kisses repeated again and again. She chased his kisses with her own, breathless, hot, and hungry.
He pressed his body closer to hers and she experienced for the first time the evidence of his desire. His hardness thrilled her. Even if this was all he wanted of her, she would accept his proposal of marriage. She doubted she could live without him now. In just five weeks she had completely fallen head over heels with the wonderful Earl of Westerham.
When she thought she might die from longing, he grasped her upper arms and moved himself back from her. His glassy eyed look caused her to lift a pacifying hand to smooth over his freshly shaven jaw. She smiled and made another move towards him, but he gave her the stop signal. “Lady Mary, don’t tempt me.”
With that, he straightened his jacket, pulled down his cuffs, glanced from head to toe at her and said, “You’ll do. Your hair is fashionably tousled.”
She took a gulp of air. “It’s very kind of you to help me this way.”
“Any time.” With a highly amused smile on his face, he held an elbow out for her to fasten her hand.
Chapter 12
Westerham left a somewhat dull conversation with one of his cronies when the musicians struck up with a waltz. After crossing the ballroom floor, he quickly dealt with Mary’s suitors by simply parting the group and holding out his hand to her.
“This dance is promised to me, I believe.” Without waiting for an answer, he offered an elbow, which she took with a conspiratorial smile. Her four admirers turned to watch her leave, none holding back expressions of either disappointment or outrage.
For the past week, Westerham had been keeping a close check on his emotions, suspecting that this perverse woman would turn him onto his head given the slightest chance. He’d had to watch her flirting with most unsuitable aspirants, and now he was so tightly wound that he considered being a complete ass and compromising her to make sure she married him.
If she’d been leading him on until she found someone younger and richer, he would show her that she couldn’t find another who loved her more. Her honesty and humor had brought him back from the depths of despair and into the world of people who experienced real emotions.
Since he’d had ten seasons of being considered an eligible bachelor, he automatically led her into the dance steps he knew so well. He couldn’t prevent himself gazing at the lovely curve of her cheek and her demurely lowered lashes, which was as much of her face that she allowed him to see. Since re-meeting her five weeks ago, he had learned about the power of love to change a life. Never forgetting that his brother had died, he’d lost himself in the mindless routine of self-allotted tasks. She had come into his life and had turned his whole world upside down.
Tonight, from the first step of the waltz, she followed his lead without a falter. In every way she was exactly the life partner he needed. From the start, he had seen that although she supported everyone around her, that life hadn’t done the same for her. Her sister had held back Mary’s season in London, but not only
that, made her into the spinster daughter who’d been meant to take care of her mother when everyone else had left the nest.
His beautiful Mary had been meant for a husband who would cherish her until the end of his days. She’d been polished during the recent weeks, and now she shone. He would be delighted to be her husband even if she had still remained drab and annoyed, for she had kept the kindness of heart that he and so many other people needed.
She turned her gaze as if she had heard his thoughts, and stared at him. His chest rose with an intake of breath. He could never have guessed that the thoughtful child he had met before his life had been fractured would turn out to be the perfect woman for him. He had begun his pursuit of her, preferring her quiet insurgence to her sister’s complacency. Now he could see no other woman but her. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear as he took her back to his mother.
She stared unblinkingly at him, her eyes large and bright, and her jaw loose.
He settled her into a chair, which she wouldn’t occupy for more than a minute or two, judging by the amount of swains who circled around her. Rather than prop himself against the wall, he partnered Lady Havers, the wife of a friend, for a cotillion. Fortunately, his mother decided to depart at a reasonable hour, giving him a chance to also leave.
After arriving home, he paced around his bedroom, going through the pros and cons of visiting Lady Mary’s bedroom. Even now, since she had put off announcing their proposal, he lived on tenterhooks, thinking she may be using him as an excuse to have her long-awaited season in London. He had discovered that, even with love, doubt didn’t die. He wanted to be sure of her, but his fears remained.
If he bedded her before wedding her, she would not be able to change her mind about their marriage. He had to admit to himself that even from the start, he had recognized the shuttered expression on her face whenever he tried to settle the date. As he saw it, never having been in love before had been a major disadvantage to him.
Finally, he walked along the silent and dark hallway and gave a gentle tap on Mary’s door.
The door opened a crack. “Yes, my Lord?” her maid said, peering out into the hallway.
“Is Lady Mary asleep?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Without another word, she shut the door in his face.
He stood for a moment, twisting his cuff links around again and again, until he finally managed a rueful smile. His thoughts had not been worthy of him. He would settle the matter one way or the other tomorrow.
The next morning, he strolled down to breakfast a little later than usual, since she invariably ate sometime after he did. His mother ate alone.
“Has Mary already been to breakfast?”
“I haven’t seen her yet, dear.”
He dallied at the table for as long as an impatient man reasonably could. Finally, after discarding the remains of his cold sliced ham and crumbling a scrap of torn off bread, he said, “Perhaps she isn’t well? Should we inquire after her?”
His mother nodded and called over a footman, asking him to check. The footman arrived back, his face carved out of wood. “She didn’t answer. Nor did her maid when I knocked on her door. I asked the upstairs maid to enter and see how matters were.” His chest expanded and his gaze lowered. “Apparently her room was cleared of her belongings, and she and her maid have disappeared.”
His mother rose to her feet. Her gaze searched the room as if looking for her words.
Westerham raced up the stairs and into the room to check for himself.
Without a word to anyone, she had gone.
Chapter 13
Mary had meant to go to her mother in Eden’s townhouse. At the last moment she changed her mind. She would rather go home to the country than have to explain why had she left the Westerhams without a word. The hackney she hired didn’t travel outside London, but the driver took her to a posting inn where she could buy a ticket on the mail coach. Fortunately, the coach passed through her local village and would arrive before dark that evening. After congratulating herself for arising so early, she purchased a seat for herself and Alice.
While two laborers clattered noisily onto the roof with their bundles of tools, the two other inside passengers stood aside to allow her and Alice to choose their seats first. After thanking them with a smiling nod, she stepped in and chose a forward-facing seat. Alice settled beside her, arms crossed and adopting a forbidding clamp of her lips, apparently not about to let Mary enter conversations with the sort of people who travelled by mail coach. To compensate, Mary smiled at everyone.
A tradesman, and an older woman, who had brought a basket of food with her, entered next. The door was closed and the horses started off into clipping trot. At the same time, the woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Potage, opened her basket, and announced she was hungry having missed her breakfast. She proceeded to feed everyone with the food she presented from her hoard. Since Mary and Alice hadn’t taken a bite this morning, Mary was more than pleased to accept.
By midday, the coach had made eight stops, each stop taking less time than the last. Mary had been to London many times, but always in her brother’s carriage, and in relative comfort, sped up by a gold coin offered at every turnpike. The coachman, after greeting everyone, arguing about the price to be paid, and dropping off a few parcels, pulled the coach out onto the main road.
“We shouldn’t have another toll to pay for quite a while,” Mary told Alice, who hadn’t lived in her district until she had found her job as a downstairs maid. “Am I mistaken or is the sky getting darker?”
Alice checked and nodded in agreement. “I think it is beginning to rain.”
While Mary glanced out the window at the light sprinkles, Mrs. Potage decided to give Alice detailed description of every one of her grandchildren, while Mary worried about the two tradesmen on the roof. She wished she had the nerve to ask the coachman to stop and let them come inside. Drawing a deep breath, she said, “Would anyone object to inviting the two outside passengers to sit inside?”
The tradesman, who turned out to be a carpenter looking for work, said he wouldn’t mind. Mrs. Potage said she would shift and sit beside Alice and Mary, and then proceeded to tell the carpenter exactly where he would find an employer. At the next stop, when the outside passengers came inside, soaked, she passed each a linen napkin to wipe their hair, while also remembering a few nieces and nephews who also deserved an introduction to strangers in a coach.
Mary enjoyed every confiding word, feeling more at home with this motley group every mile. The housekeeper at Thornton Manor was exactly the same—she knew all the local gossip, which helped her in her perennial efforts to become the village matchmaker.
A scattering of fine droplets joined and formed rivulets that raced in streams down the windows. The air inside the coach thickened. A heavier shower beat onto the luggage on the roof. With an audible jingle of harnesses, the horses slowed to a fast trot, and then the coach suddenly slewed sideways. The coachman’s yell of impatience surprised everyone.
Conversations between six people suddenly halted. The thundering sound of two galloping horses revealed a phaeton, whose presence had been unknown until the vehicle raced past, scattering globs of mud from the wheels onto the windows.
“That driver overtook too close,” Mrs. Potage said, in voice of outrage. “What sort of person would do that?”
“Someone with more money than sense,” Mary answered righteously, having had previous experience of gentlemen who drove sleek phaetons. She had met the man she loved by suffering the mud being splashed on her gown as he drove past. Her reminiscing put a rueful quirk on her lips and an ache into her chest.
The coachman’s swearing could be heard over the sound of jangling harnesses and the grate of wheel brakes forcibly applied. The team moved into skewed walk. Mary needed to hold onto her bonnet and the windowsill. Finally, a drawn-out creak and the vehicle shuddered to a halt, throwing the passengers forward and then back again. Mary’s bonnet ti
lted over her face.
Colorful language, peppered with insults blackened the air outside. While Mary made a quick readjustment to her headwear, retying her bow as she checked to see that Alice, in the middle with nothing to hold onto, hadn’t suffered an injury, a sharp rap sounded on the window beside her head.
“Step down out of the coach, please, Lady Mary,” said a loud and autocratic voice.
She glanced outside and saw Westerham standing with a stern expression on his face and his fists planted on his hips.
“It’s my lord,” Alice said in a stricken voice.
Panicked, Mary looked at the other passengers, who stared right back at her. “He’s trying to abduct me,” she said, her throat tight, holding the inside latch with a resolute grip. “He wants to marry me for my money.”
“I heard that,” Westerham said, the expression on his face unblinking. “But you are wrong. I want to marry you because I love you.”
The carpenter moved to the window and took a stern inspection of Westerham. “He doesn’t look love-sick to me.”
Westerham forked his fingers of both his hands together and placed the mesh under his chin, and his head on one side, imitating a village maiden faking sweetness. He fluttered his incredible eyelashes.
Mrs. Potage laughed heartily. “I doubt an abductor would be willing to make such a joke of himself. Go on. Go to him. He clearly loves you, dear.”
“Is she telling the truth?” the carpenter asked Alice, indicating Mary.
Alice glanced at Mary.
Before Alice had time to answer, the door flew open. Cold air blasted into the steamy warmth of the coach.
“She is telling half the truth. She has no money.” Westerham stood in teeming rain, appearing larger than usual. The capes of greatcoat flapped noisily in the wind. His tall hat dripped with a flowing stream. “But yes, I do want to marry her. Would anyone other than a desperate man chase a woman in this damned weather?”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 83