The Soul of a Storme

by SOOKOO, SANDRA

  “No.” His lips twitched, but he didn’t give into a full smile. A sliver of cold disappointment went through her, for she’d hoped for a return of the charming man she’d only met briefly once before. “Perhaps I’m a beast who isn’t fit to mix with proper society any longer.” He focused his gaze on a point over her left shoulder. For the first time since she’d met him, he shrank into himself as if trying to hide from scrutiny.

  Or judgment and censure.

  “Now we are making progress.” When he allowed himself to show his vulnerability, they were on equal footing.

  “We are?” Andrew snapped his attention to her face. Annoyance mixed with faint hope, and that fired more of her curiosity. “How so?”

  “Trust.” Sarah shrugged. “When you put your ego and your anger aside, you became approachable. When you did that, I saw the man you are beneath, the man who is trying so desperately to reach out, yet you keep him hidden.” She held his gaze. Perhaps she could come to understand him after all. “I saw the man I would be glad to converse with.” When she smiled, he once more gawked as if he’d never seen her before.

  Long moments went by in silence. Finally, he relaxed enough to offer a tight grin. “I’ll warn you that marrying me won’t be an easy feat.”

  “I’m not one to shy away from a challenge.” She didn’t look away. Neither did he. Her heart beat in double time. “If you can manage to talk with me like a gentleman instead of a wounded bear, I will allow you to walk me home, my lord.”

  “Allow me?” Red color crept over his collar. “I am the earl here and I—”

  Sarah tsked her tongue. “None of that. I wasn’t joking. If you come the crab, I shall return home right now and leave your sorry arse on the road.”

  He blew out a breath. “I apologize for my behavior this afternoon.”

  “Thank you.” This was one small step in building a relationship, but it was a start. She was willing to work with him if he allowed the same courtesy to her. “Andrew,” he said abruptly.

  “What?” She peered at him over the tops of the spectacles that had slid down her nose.

  “My name is Andrew, or if you prefer, Drew.” There wasn’t a smile accompanying the request, but his expression had softened slightly. That little concession brought out a hint of the handsome man he could be when he wasn’t trying so hard to hide himself.

  “I prefer Andrew. It suits you better.” When he nodded, she pushed up the spectacles. “You may call me Sarah, though you used my name earlier in the conversation. I suppose I can’t remain Miss Copeland.”

  “It would become rather awkward.” He offered her his arm. “The least I can do is escort you home.”

  “Indeed.” As she slipped her hand into his crooked elbow, tingling heat danced up her arm. “Also, in the event you wondered, you were correct.”

  “Oh? In what way?” He set them into motion.

  She fought off a blush. What was it about him that made her want to melt into a puddle at his feet from the unaccustomed heat she felt in his presence? “There is a bit of an attraction between us. I don’t know why,” she admitted in a quiet voice.

  “Ah! I’m pleased to hear you acknowledge it.” Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. “At least now I know I’m not fit for Bedlam.”

  That remained to be seen. “I’ve never experienced such a thing before. Sudden and intense attraction, that is. It shouldn’t happen to a woman my age.”

  “How old are you, Sarah? Because, if I might say so, you’re hardly elderly.”

  The thread of teasing in his tones caused her to miss a step. She clutched his arm in an effort to remain upright. “I turned four and thirty two weeks prior.”

  He snorted. “That’s hardly ancient. Hell, I’m forty.”

  That was a surprise. “I would have thought you’d have a string of admirers vying for your attention.”

  “I kept myself rather aloof from functions where flirting or matchmaking could find me.”

  Did that mean he would resent marriage to her? She was too much a coward to ask. “Ah.” What would he think of her, an old maid who’d been on the self so long the dust had settled on her, who’d never been kissed except for earlier when he’d done so? “I trust that means we won’t spend all our time together fighting.”

  The rumble of his laughter filtered into her being before the sound burst into the air. It was genuine mirth without being marred by bitterness or anger, and it increased her awareness of him. As she glanced at him, she caught the softening of his jaw and a slight lift at the corners of his mouth. “I’m quite certain we’ll argue and disagree, only there are other, more pleasurable, outlets to funnel those emotions into that marriage allows.”

  “I… I don’t know what to say.” Her cheeks heated again. Tingles of foreign need played through her insides.

  “Now, that is a first.” Another laugh escaped, as clear and true as the one he’d uttered before. “I’ll need to savor the victory.”

  “Arse.” When she attempted to extricate her hand from his arm, he secured her touch. Not that walking beside him was a hardship. He did cut a rather dashing figure when he wasn’t lashing out or making himself difficult. So many thoughts danced about her mind, but she focused on a concern that wouldn’t leave her be. “Does it… bother you to do… that with a woman you hardly know?

  He shrugged and his shoulder brushed hers. Hints of his bay rum and lime cologne wafted to her nose. “It is what it is, and we’ll have a week to become more fully acquainted. Tomorrow morning, I shall request the common license.”

  “Thank you.” The answer annoyed her for some reason. The wad of it lodged in her chest. Was wedding and bedding a stranger so commonplace in his world that he didn’t think it deserved a concern? “As long as you have what you want,” she muttered beneath her breath. Somehow, security and protection didn’t seem like a fair trade for innocence and intimacy with a man she knew nothing about, especially when the softer emotions weren’t involved.

  Then a sigh escaped her. I hope I’m strong enough. But then, nothing in her world would change if she continued doing that which she’d always done.

  A challenge, indeed.

  Chapter Seven

  June 20, 1817

  For the third time that afternoon, Drew crumpled the letter he’d been writing to his mother. How the deuce should he break the news to her in any event? The thought of her reaction and objection, not to mention that of his brother’s snide remarks, turned his stomach and tightened his chest with anxiety. Yes, telling his family in this manner might be a touch cowardly, but it was the safest way.

  For all of us.

  After removing a fresh piece of stationery from the leather box on his desktop, he sighed as he stared at the blank expanse. The words wouldn’t come. How could he inform his mother that he’d decided to marry, and to a woman he barely knew? Not to mention she had absolutely no connection to the ton nor did she have looks or youth to recommend her.

  What if his mother didn’t like Sarah? If she wouldn’t accept his wife—if the ton wouldn’t accept her—well, he didn’t wish to think about the ramifications. That didn’t stop his eternal foe, anxiety, from rising and putting the crushing weight upon his chest.

  That had happened all too often these past few days. He’d suffered one such attack while conversing with Sarah on the road in his roundabout attempt to have her agree to the betrothal. It had been bad enough that she’d noticed, and she’d asked if he was well. Of course he’d had to lie, for what woman in her right mind would wish to align herself with a man who consistently had the overwhelming episodes that stole his breath?

  Perhaps she’ll commit me to Bedlam and sit on her heels enjoying the profits from the estate. As soon as the uncharitable thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. Sarah wasn’t that sort of person. There was a certain calm sensibility beneath her put-together exterior. Yes, she was a storm to reckon with once angered, but unlike his rage, hers cleared the air and allowed the sun to shine
and usher in better things. Can she teach me?

  When Barton knocked at the open door, Drew was more than ready for the distraction. “Come in.” He waved a hand at his valet. Putting off the task wouldn’t see it completed any faster though.

  “I met Dalton in the hall. He’d just put a Miss Copeland into the parlor.” Curiosity blazed in the valet’s expression. “She’s apparently here to see you.”

  A niggle of excitement tripped down Drew’s spine. “That’s right. We have an appointment.” When Barton hovered, clearly wanting more information, Drew set his pen in its holder. “What do you think of her?”

  Confusion creased the other man’s brow. “I haven’t thought of her, my lord. This is the first time I’ve seen her.”

  “No, I mean do you think she’ll be a decent countess? If you look past her penchant for drab clothing and see her dressed in silks and satins with jewels about her neck, will she pass muster within the ton?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Barton’s eyes widened. “Surely, you’re not—”

  “I am.” Needing something to occupy his hands, Drew once more took up his pen. He dipped the nub into the inkwell. “I asked her yesterday to marry me.” Then he began the letter to his mother. It was really quite easy. He would set down the facts. She didn’t need more information than that. Hadn’t she been after him for years to settle down and set up his nursery? Now he was doing just that.

  “You’re marrying the woman in the parlor.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I am. She’s our neighbor to the west.”

  “But… why?” Barton was aghast. He darted his gaze about the room before landing it once more on Drew. “Do you think that’s wise given your, ah, disposition?”

  “Why not?” Doubt worked with the anxiety to tighten his chest. “I need a countess and to do my duty to the damned title. She needs a secure future.”

  “Yet you have recently met her.” Poor Barton. He was struggling valiantly to make sense of the news, and Drew found it rather amusing.

  “True enough, but that doesn’t negate the facts.” Once more he scratched out a line on the stationery. Would his mother have much the same reaction?

  Barton softly cleared his throat. “Do you and she suit?”

  “I have no idea. We spend a good portion of our time together arguing.” That gave him pause. He held his pen over the page, and when a drop of ink fell, he continued to write. No, he wouldn’t put much stock into the already turbulent meetings, for beneath that was the attraction which grew each time they were together. “Does it matter, really? Perhaps half of my anxieties will disappear once the deed is done.” He hoped. God how he hoped, though this stunt would bring a whole new host of issues…

  “Let me understand the situation.” Barton arched one eyebrow. “You arrived in Derbyshire not long ago, and at some point after, you met an unattached woman who you decided, apparently on the spot, to marry and make your countess, without care to whether or not she’s up to the task or even if you and she suit.”

  “Exactly.” Drew didn’t care how insane it sounded from someone else’s viewpoint. The fact was that he liked Sarah—wanted her in a purely physical way—and she possessed enough mettle to battle his own horrid disposition as well as the rigors of being a countess. What more did a man need?

  To quell the demons that haunt me. Would she be able to do that too?

  “I see.” Though the look on the valet’s face said he didn’t see at all. “I’m not one to gossip or speak badly of anyone. However,” he lowered his voice, “are you quite certain? Marriage is a rather permanent business.”

  Drew jammed the pen back into its holder lest he make more of a mess on the letter than he already had. “No, I’m not positively certain. One can’t be over anything these days, of course, but I might as well have it over and done with. As I told Sarah, if it weren’t her, it would be someone else.”

  “Sarah.” Barton’s lower jaw dropped. “Have you spent time with her then?”

  “We’ve had two meetings.” He glanced at the nearly complete letter and nodded. It would do. “Miss Copeland aggravates me and provokes my anger, but I admire her spirit. If she’s tried by fire, I have no doubt that she’ll survive.”

  I only hope I don’t manage to destroy her or turn her against me like I have everyone else.

  Though doubt clouded the valet’s eyes, he said, “What of your mother? Your family? Will they have a say in this?”

  “Absolutely not. They will have a letter, and right now I’d rather not hear their opinions.” Again, he took up his pen, dipped the nub into the inkwell, and then continued to write, the words flowing. He was the master of his own fate; this felt right.

  Silence reigned in the study for the space of several heartbeats before Barton spoke.

  “What prompted you to make this decision?”

  “I didn’t wish to have that duty hanging over my head any longer.” With a strong hand, he continued the letter until the short missive had been finished. Then he rested the pen in its holder and blew upon the ink. “I should finalize that business.” Urgency compelled him to move things along, but the tingle of anticipation buzzing at the base of his spine spoke of a different story. Was he truly looking forward to seeing Sarah again? He shoved the thought from his mind. “Please tell Dalton to show Miss Copeland into my study.”

  “I will.” The valet nodded. “Should I give you congratulations or commiserations?”

  “That remains to be seen.” He offered a wry grin to his friend of near ten years. “But I appreciate the sentiment all the same.”

  Barton left the room without another word.

  Drew frowned as he folded the letter and then stuffed it into an envelope. Was the betrothal careless? He melted a bit of wax from the stick. Perhaps it was. After putting a glob of the green goo onto the envelope’s flap, he then pressed the official Hadleigh seal into the wax. Would his father have approved of the match? He pulled the seal away and set it back into the tray with the wax stick. Categorically, no. His mother would be hurt by the exclusion, and his brothers would never miss an opportunity to chide him about the decision.

  Well, too damn bad. This is my life. A quick wave of hot anger rose in Drew’s chest. He could handle himself but knowing he would disappoint another person—and probably Sarah too, eventually—only added to his growing ire and uncovered a yawning, deep trench of cold fear.

  Ultimately, he would end up alone, and it was his own fault, but he didn’t know how to stop a stone from rolling downhill once it started.

  When Sarah arrived, Drew rose to his feet. Under no circumstances would he let her see his weakness… at least not until after they’d said vows. Clad in the same brown dress she’d worn the first day they’d met, she immediately met his gaze with no hint of demure attitude in her posture.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Hadleigh.” Her tone suggested efficiency and no nonsense.

  A trace of disappointment went through him. Could she not find a modicum of joy in the upcoming arrangement? “Good afternoon, Miss Copeland.” If she wished for formality, so be it. “The draft of the contract has been written. Once we agree to terms, I’ll send everything to my solicitor in London. He’ll then draw it up for official signatures.”

  “Thank you. I’m anxious to start.”

  When he glanced closer at her, slight shadows beneath her eyes stood as a testament to either worry or a poor night’s sleep. “Very well. I don’t wish to cause you undo anxiety, so this should be a straightforward process.” He came around the desk to stand at her side.

  “I appreciate that.” She offered a slight smile. The scent of violets and clover drifted to his nose. “It’s been a whirlwind week.”

  “Indeed.” Suddenly, he didn’t wish to discuss contracts, or anything related to the business side of the betrothal contracts. He wanted to take tea with her and discuss, well, her. It would behoove him to learn about her history before they wed.

  She eyed him with suspicion. “Do
you still wish to do this?”

  “Do you?” Would she back out of their arrangement and leave him to flounder? Anxiety pulled tight through his chest, and he ignored it.

  “Yes, actually. Though I tossed and turned about it last night, once this morning arrived, my decision was clear. I’ll marry you, come what may.” Briefly, she touched his arm. Tingling awareness climbed the limb from the point of contact. “Thank you, again. It’s a rather freeing feeling to know that my future is taken care of.”

  What did such freedom feel like? For he labored beneath a mountain of responsibilities, and he would add another once he wed her. “You’re welcome.” Perhaps marriage wouldn’t be the disaster he assumed. Drew spread out four sheets of handwritten paper over his desktop. “As I’ve stated before, by wedding me, you will have security and the ability to move about the ton as you please. You may take up charitable causes, volunteer with various organizations, and perhaps you’ll have a child.”

  She nodded. “And you will have done your duty to the title.” Her inquisitive gaze found his. “I would like to hope that this eases some of the stress you seem to labor under.”

  “Yes.” He had no idea to which statement he replied, but he clenched his jaw so hard, he feared his teeth would crack. “Finally, I can have done with this portion of my responsibilities.”

  One of her eyebrows rose in question. “Do you think your duty is finished merely by marriage or begetting an heir?” She shook her head. “You have tenants, income to make and distribute, as well as obligations to Parliament. No doubt there is more than that involved in being an earl, so please do not pin all your hoped-for success on me. I am but one person.”

  How the devil did she assume he was? Anger flared, hot and swift, in his chest. This woman could irritate him like no other. “Don’t presume to dictate to me what I’m doing or why. I’ve had enough of that in my life already.” He tapped a finger to the first paper. “I will give you all the gowns, jewels, fripperies, and baubles you wish in order to outfit yourself in the manner of a countess.”