Because she was so beautiful and so clever, they wanted an equal match for her. The duke would have been excellent, but he lacked a sense of humor. Della would be crushed by his dourness. If Eden thought he stood a chance with her, he would have offered long since, but he had the idea that if she thought he was a suitor, she would relegate him to the rear. While he remained simply a friend, he had the chance to see her as often as he liked. Only his other duties kept him from haunting her home.
Settling into one of her mother’s delicate little chairs, which terrified him being so large himself, he accepted a fragile cup patterned with roses, and waited for his tea to be poured. He preferred coffee in a mug, but tea was all the rage. He also didn’t like sugar cakes, but if he wanted to be a drawing room pet, he had to suffer these atrocities. He also had to suffer needless questioning about the health of his mother and sisters, but he dealt with those quickly, his mother and Della’s being quite chummy and his mother calling on hers constantly.
“What do you think about Della’s news?” Her mother, a somnolent eyed, restful Spaniard, settled back in her chair. “I suppose she told you?”
He glanced at Della. “News?”
“She’s had an offer from the duke.”
Della stared straight at Eden. “Yes, he knows. And ... we can’t keep this a secret any longer. Eden asked me to marry him and I said ‘yes.’”
Her mother’s jaw dropped. She stared from him to her. The silence lingered. Eden would have interjected, but he wanted to see how Della would wriggle out of her lie.
She folded her hands in her lap, and glanced coolly at him. “Do you have nothing to say?” she said to him in wake-up voice.
“I’m surprised, that’s all. I though we were going to keep this a secret for a while.”
“No. We are going to be betrothed for a while. But everyone needs to know. I can’t have dukes proposing to me all the time.”
“Your father especially needed to know, Della,” her mother said, using a placating tone. “He has been dithering about what to say to the duke when you finally made up your mind, and now he will have to tell him you have a previous attachment. He won’t be at all pleased.”
Eden tried to look hurt. “I know I’m nowhere near as good a match, but I will try my best to make Della happy.”
Her mother stared at him with sympathy. “I know you will, Eden. You make everyone happy, and I am glad to welcome you into our family. More than glad. But I simply had no idea that you were courting Della.”
“I can’t say I had much idea either, but there you are. All along I wanted to marry her, and now she is promised to me.”
Della rose to her feet. “Well, that’s done. We’ll worry about the details later.”
“I thought you wanted a quick wedding.” Rising to his feet, seeing that his visit was clearly over, Eden used his puzzled face.
She huffed out a breath. “Your definition of a while is not quite the same as mine.”
“I’m sure you are right. Well, my love, I expect I need to speak to your father.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell him.” She frowned.
But he managed a witless smile, a kiss on Mrs. Hayden’s cheek, and a formal interview with her father.
CHAPTER TWO
Della sat at the piano, rather pleased with herself. Now she didn’t have to consider the duke’s proposal. She gazed out the window in the music room that faced the rolling hills and green valley between Eden’s property and her family’s. On the right stood the cobbled entrance to the stables, where she saw Eden place his hat precisely on his bright hair and mount his spirited black steed. His horse turned in a full circle, as horses did, before he accepted Eden’s guiding rein to take him in the right direction.
On a horse, Eden had no match. He rode with a straight back and relaxed posture while scarcely rippling in the saddle. Using a clipping pace, he moved out of her view, and re-entered as his horse rounded to the first gate leading to a short cut, a riding path that sliced through the orchards bearing the ripening summer fruits. He disappeared rapidly, his horse switching into a steady canter. She had lost sight of him by the time Papa opened the door.
A brown haired, slim man as tall as Eden, but without Eden’s broad shoulders, Lord Hayden stood inside the doorway, staring at his darling daughter with an expression of annoyance on his sharp-boned face.
“A love match, for the Lord’s sake. Why did I have no hint of this before? No one would have prevented you from marrying Eden. I’m only surprised you had the good sense to accept him.” He planted his fists on his hips.
Della made an innocent face. “It only recently came to my attention that he was perfect for me.”
“I would have been glad to know this before I gave the duke permission to address you,” her father said, moderating his tone.
Della let out a breath. “I hope you mean to explain to him.” She used her best helpless voice that probably wouldn’t fool her father, since he knew her too well. “It would be so hard for me to have to hurt him.”
“I’m tempted to leave you to tell him why you didn’t give him a hint, believe me,” her father said grimly. His nature was the opposite of her mother’s. Where she had a peaceful aura, Papa was always ready to pitch a war.
Della, unfortunately, had inherited her traits from her father, which meant that battle lines were drawn far too often. Papa had been an officer in the army by the age of eighteen. He had purchased his lieutenancy, but he’d risen in the ranks quickly and he had retired as a lieutenant colonel ten years ago. By that time, Mama had been settled into his country house, possessed by his family since Norman times. Della had been born here and had spent the majority of her life here. But for the fact that having to chaperone Della for two seasons had worn Mama out, Della would still be stuck in London. She had now had the time to consider the duke’s proposal. On the one hand, he was rich and influential. On the other, she needed neither money nor influence, nor to be married off to the first aristocrat who asked.
She folded her arms and stared straight at her father. “I think it’s the parents’ role to deal with unwanted suitors.”
“And when did the duke become unwanted? When did you and the young earl decide you suited each other? He said years ago. In that case, why have we been wasting our time for the past year trying to get you suitably married?”
“Eden and I had to make sure we weren’t simply attracted because we didn’t know too many other people.” She did her best to look noble.
“You’re always so plausible, Della. One day you will trip yourself up.” He turned and marched out of the music room. The door swung with a thump behind him.
If Eden had been there, he would have said, “That went well.” Della pulled her mouth down and widened her eyes, wanting to laugh, not at Papa, who had a valid point, but at the imagined expression on Eden’s face. She could easily bear to be betrothed to him for quite a long time, before she had to break off the engagement. Unless the unimaginable happened, that she met another man, perhaps a musician who would let her live her life in the music room. Or, unless Eden fell in love with a kind-hearted woman who would suit him.
Della decided that, to thank him for being so gallant as to pretend to want to marry her, she would scout around and find a woman who could bear to marry a fortune attached to a man who was rather too pleasing on the eye, that is, any woman. Della would miss him but she wouldn’t have a problem finding a wife for him, even though he’d had years to do so for himself ... after their broken engagement caused enough problems to finally convince her parents that she should remain a spinster.
Turning back to the piano, she flexed her fingers and began her warming exercises.
* * * *
Eden couldn’t believe his luck. He finally had a chance to court Della. Since she hadn’t remembered to tell her parents that their betrothal would be a secret, her father planned publish an announcement in the paper. For a smart woman, Della had a surprisingly small grasp of the
mechanics of plighting troths. She appeared to think that she only need say so to her parents and she would be able to wriggle out of marrying the duke. Now she would have a far worse time ending her betrothal to Eden. Not that he wouldn’t let her go, but first he wanted a chance to show her that she would be happy with a man who truly loved her, wayward as she was.
He flung his riding gloves onto the hall table. His hat followed. The butler, Franning, patiently collected both and passed them to the waiting footman. “Wish me well, Franning. I am now betrothed.”
“Yes, my lord. And who is the lucky lady.”
“Probably all those I’m not betrothed to. But the lady who has won my heart is Miss Della Hayden.”
Franning, the most correct of butlers, actually grinned. “Please accept our best wishes, my lord.” He turned to the footman, who also grinned. “Perhaps we shall see the young lady more often, now?”
“Good idea, Franning. I shall put that idea to my mother.” Eden strode off into the drawing room, where his mother sat with her embroidery frame. He was tempted not to mention his good news, but he may as well accept the inevitable, a thorough grilling. “Della Thornton accepted my marriage proposal.”
“What’s that, dear? I thought you said Della accepted your marriage proposal.” His mother glanced at him and smiled, but not in a pleased way like his servants. In a resigned way, clearly expecting disappointment. He couldn’t blame her. No one would imagine that he could win the quicksilver, impatient Della.
“She did. I expect Johnson will know what we have to do.” Rumbold Johnson was Eden’s efficient secretary.
“Della accepted your proposal? You’re not funning? Oh. How marvelous!” His gentle mother rose to her feet and wafted toward him, lifting her face to kiss him on the cheek. She held both his hands. “It’s the most wonderful news I have had since I heard your father died. So, how did it come about?”
He shrugged, widened his eyes, and smiled.
“Tell me all about it. When did you propose? ”
“About when she said yes. No, perhaps a little before.”
“You do want to marry her?” His mother, Lady Thornton, hopefully soon to be the Dowager Countess Thornton, leaned back to examine the expression on his face.
“Lord, yes.”
“That’s what I thought. We must organize a dinner for her family and ours. Life in the country is always so much better than I expect when we come down from town.” She hurried out of the room, and returned with the housekeeper, Mrs. Green, who was part of ‘we’: the organized part that would do the catering and the organizing.
Eden heard Mrs. Green mention one of his favorite words, lists, as he took the stairs two by two to his rooms. By now the gossip would have reached his valet via the butler and the footman.
Eden dressed for dinner and heard all about the list of relatives who were apparently the most important to have sitting at his dinner table next week with Della and her family. Since he could memorize lists at a glance, he made sure of taking a glance so that he could warn Della who she would need to impress. Not that she would bother, but in case she thought she ought to.
Being her betrothed, he now had the right to ride over to her house the next day. Normally, he simply had the gall, or the cheek, or a fair amount of appearing unconscious of the fact he had been there a day or two before. He couldn’t do this in the city, but in the country, the rules changed. No one was as formal, but now he was a fiancé, he meant to be completely informal. He dropped a kiss on Della’s cheek when she came into the drawing room to greet him. She reared back, frowning. “Is it proper to kiss a fiancé before marriage?”
“If I kissed you after, you would no longer be my fiancé, therefore I think I should kiss you before.”
She stared at him as though he had made sense, and she nodded. “Why did you come today?”
“Fiancés are expected to sit around gazing adoringly at each other.”
“You can gaze at me while I’m learning this new tune. Either that or sit with my mother while she sits doing nothing.”
“I’ll gaze adoringly at you,” he said, skimming his palm across his hair before remembering messy hair had become fashionable. “Though I expect I’ll be bored.”
She pulled her chin back. “You’ll be hearing wonderful music.”
“Sometimes. But sometimes your pattern is wrong.”
“It is not!”
“I’ll tell you where.”
She stalked off, her head high. When she was miffed, passion and energy formed an aura around her, infusing him with wonder. He didn’t often have a chance to wonder, being occupied most of the time with business matters, or family matters, or land matters, or being pushed by logic into what he ought to change next.
He already had the planting arrangement of his orchards modified to suit the geometric shape of each rise in the land. He had used rectangles, triangles, and the quincunx, and he discovered he increased his yield fourfold. Since his wheat and barley was still sewn the old way, he wanted to try patterns there too, to find which worked best for the climate.
But the matter on hand was Della’s music. She had a passionate nature, and passions led to improvements, not that she wasn’t damned near perfect, but she herself thought she wasn’t. He could help.
Although she gave him one of her supercilious glances, he sat in the sunlit room on the piano stool beside her. Golden dust motes angled down from the high opened window. Outside a pair of clattering doves flew past. Della began to play, and he said, “There.”
She stopped. “What do you mean, there?”
“The melody. That’s where the pattern is somehow wrong. I think it should be slower, not the same pace.”
She frowned at him and started again. He waited for her to reach the crescendo, but she paused a little and slowed. Then she stopped and turned to him, looking surprised. “You could be right. That does sound better.”
“Is this your apology for assuming I could be wrong?”
“You don’t know a thing about music. Why should I assume you might be right?”
“Mathematics is pattern. I understand mathematics. So, you needed a pattern with the melody. You were climbing, climbing, and if you didn’t slow, you wouldn’t be following the right pattern.” He could see she couldn’t understand, but most people couldn’t. “Patterns must be obeyed.”
She stared at him, frowning. “I find you most distracting.”
“I was helping.”
“You’re looking at me in a very strange way.”
He shrugged. “I’m trying not to think about kissing you.”
The two lines between her eyebrows deepened. “I should never have put the idea in your head in the first place. I can’t imagine why I wanted you to kiss me yesterday, or why I am thinking about the same thing today.” Her eyes met his.
“Because you want to kiss me.” He held his breath.
“This thing between us could never come to anything, Eden. You know that.”
His mouth curled because he liked the idea of being her experiment. “Is the thing kissing or more?”
She tried her haughty face, which usually impressed him. “It’s the betrothal. I think we need to keep the kissing in proportion.”
Eden liked proportions as much as patterns. He nodded agreeably and stood beside the piano stool, holding out his hand. Although she seemed puzzled she gave him her fingers. Leaning across her, he took her other hand. Rather than having her arms crossing her body, she turned to face him. He tugged. A question in her eyes, she almost overbalanced into his arms as the stool scraped out.
He gathered her close. Betrotheds didn’t need to ask permission, he assumed, but she didn’t seem at all averse to having her body resting against his. Naturally his own body was most enthusiastic and the flush of arousal warmed not only his cheeks. Now that he had her, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her. He wanted to cup her breasts and kiss her nipples, but he didn’t want to go too far, too soon.
&nbs
p; In lieu, he rubbed her hand across his shaven chin, and kissed her palm. She drew in a breath, staring at him the whole time. Her chest appeared to deflate in a soundless sigh. He didn’t think he needed any words but he couldn’t think of a single one, despite trying. In the beam of light from the window, her dark hair turned into myriad colors, gold, red, threads of amber, and shades of cinnamon. The gloss on her tawny eyes gleamed with silver, and when she lowered her gaze, the tips of her eyelashes glinted in the light. He knew if he kissed her, the lashes would tickle over his face. He began to smile. He couldn’t help himself.
She cleared her throat. He hoped she wouldn’t talk, because his mind had begun collecting together the shapes that made Della, the paraboloid curve of her waist and the perfect ellipsoids of her breasts. Although he had meant to kiss her, he decided not to. He didn’t know why, except he wanted to see her reaction. She always expected him to do as she asked, and mainly he did, because why wouldn’t he? But this time he had the idea that he had the winning hand. She wanted to use him to get rid of her suitors, without ever realizing that he had always been one.
Circling her arms around his neck, she leaned right into his body, and raised her face. He lifted one of her hands from his neck, and stepped back, placing a formal kiss on her knuckles. “You don’t have to do this, Della,” he said, heroically. “I agreed to being betrothed. We only mean to fake a relationship and since no one can see us, we can keep talking.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Then, why did you pull me to my feet?”
“Habit,” he said, expecting to sound nonchalant. “You’re a woman. I’m a man. It’s quite a normal practice to kiss willing women, but I don’t think I should be your experiment. I have a certain code of conduct, lax on occasions, but not with friends.”
Her back stiffened, she swung around, and plunked herself back onto her piano stool. “Thank you for teaching me my manners. You may leave. I will practice using your patterns and let you know if I like the way you hear music.”
Sinfully Delectable (Regency Four Book 2) Page 2