His Favorite Mistake

by Aydra Richards

  “Have I got what with me?” he asked, and she took comfort in the fact that his voice had been just as unsteady as hers had been. He bent to drop a string of kisses on her bared shoulder, and she shuddered at the sensation, struggling to hold onto her thoughts.

  “The special license,” she said. “Have you got it with you?”

  He stilled, lifting his head, his blond hair tousled by the breeze and her fingers. “Yes,” he said. “It’s in my room.”

  She nodded. “All right,” she said. “I will marry you. Now. As soon as possible.”

  The hand at her nape tightened fractionally, his eyes shadowed. “Now?” he repeated.

  “Yes. Now.” She stroked her fingers through his hair.

  “You want to elope?” His forehead touched hers. “Skip out on the rest of the party, let them discover us gone in the morning?”

  “Yes. Yes. That’s exactly what I want.” She didn’t want everyone staring at her with curiosity again, wondering how she’d caught a duke, she didn’t want to wait the proper six months for a wedding, she didn’t want her wedding day clouded with curious spectators. What good was a special license if one didn’t court a bit of scandal with it? For once, she wanted to have something her way. “I want to go tonight. Now.”

  “You could have a grander wedding,” he said. “A special license merely speeds things up a bit.” There was something in his voice, some strange note of reticence—it gave her pause, had her drawing away a fraction of an inch, sucking in a deep breath.

  “Have you changed your mind?” she heard herself ask, in a tremulous voice.

  “No!” he said at once, his arms tightening around her. “No, of course not. There’s nothing I want more.” And this time the reticence was gone, and she heard the clear ring of truth in his words. His lips touched her temple, stirring the fine hair above her ear. “It’s just that—you deserve better. More.”

  “But it’s what I want,” she said. “I don’t want to be gawked at, stared at, condescended to. I don’t want people peppering me with questions. I just want to go, and have it done, and…spend some time away from London.”

  “I will take you to my estate,” he said. “It’s a few hours away, buried in the countryside.”

  “Is it far away from the nearest neighbors?” she asked.

  “Aside from my tenants, yes. No nobility for miles.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “It’s very secluded, very private.”

  “I love it already,” she sighed. “Please, can we go?”

  “Yes,” he said, on a shuddering breath. “Yes, let’s.” And he helped her right her nightgown again, and together they wandered back toward the house.

  Chapter Twenty

  James had had to wake a stable boy to fetch his driver. He had invented some urgent business that drew him from the house party in order to have his carriage readied and brought to the front of the house. Thank God for societal conventions that prevented servants from asking questions of nobility.

  Jilly had packed up her things in a hurry and he had shoved her trunk into his room for the footmen to cart it down to his carriage. If they had wondered why a duke was leaving with more trunks than those he had arrived with, they were tactful enough to say nothing.

  Getting Jilly unseen into the carriage was an even neater trick—he had had to have his driver distract the footmen in order to secret Jilly away into the darkened carriage, but sure enough they had managed it, and then he was sliding into the carriage after her, and shortly thereafter he heard the snap of the reins and the coach rumbled away into the darkness.

  “I’ve never done anything so reckless before,” Jilly said, sounding breathless and excited, her hands folded in her lap. She had redressed in a lilac traveling dress, and had pinned her hair back up again.

  She ought not to have done anything so reckless now, James thought darkly. She had unknowingly assisted in her own ruination. He had not expected eloping to be her suggestion—he had thought to have to coax her into it, make it seem the most viable choice. Instead she had leapt to the thought herself. Because she didn’t want hundreds of members of the Ton invading her wedding, staring at her as if she were some sort of curiosity, wondering how she, well beyond marriageable age, had managed to snare the Ton’s most eligible bachelor.

  She had so few desires. She wanted only to be happy, and somehow he had convinced her—or she had convinced herself—that she could be happy with him. She trusted him, and that alone was like a knife to his gut. It wasn’t fair to her. And still he couldn’t deny the way his heart had leapt when she had told him she would marry him, how he had briefly thrilled to the notion of Jilly as his wife, his duchess, the mother of his children. Just as quickly it had dropped straight to his toes in full understanding that no matter how she had come to feel about him, she would certainly scorn him once she understood the full measure of his perfidy.

  “Come here,” he said. “You look cold.”

  “I am, a bit,” she murmured shyly, but she eased herself off her seat and slid onto his, allowing him to drape his arm over her shoulders as he rooted through the pouch built into the side of the carriage for the traveling blanket that was kept in there. He drew it out and shook it until it unfurled, then draped it around her and pulled her into the circle of his arms.

  “You should sleep,” he said. “We’ll stop at a coaching inn in an hour or so and rest up for the night before we continue.” The trip would only take a few hours, but it was still a long distance to go so late at night, when the roads could be treacherous.

  Uneasy, she murmured, “What if someone tries to stop us?”

  “How could they?” he asked. “You’re of age. The worst they can do is request that you return. You can refuse.”

  She laid her head against his chest and snuggled her cheek there, the movement so sweet and charming that he felt compelled to dip his head and press a kiss to her rumpled hair. “I’m afraid my brother won’t approve,” she said. “I have to have his permission to marry to receive my dowry. I’m sorry—I suppose I ought to have told you before.”

  “I have no need of your dowry,” he said, glad that it was the truth. “Besides, what sort of brother would he be if he disapproved of your marrying a duke?”

  She shrugged. “A negligent one, I suppose. We’ve never been close.” As sleep drifted nearer to her, she murmured. “I wish we had been. I was terribly lonely as a child.”

  “Were you?” he asked. “I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.”

  “It was. After Mama and Papa died, David was never around. I didn’t see him in person until he let me come to London for my first Season. I don’t think I even had a friend in the world until I came to London.” She gave a sleepy sigh. “People leave,” she said. “Even when they don’t mean to. It’s so hard to feel close to someone when you know that it’s just going to happen again eventually. After a while…after a while it’s hard to get close to anyone,” she said, shifting a little to settle her palm against his chest, just beneath her chin, as if she drew comfort from the warmth of his body beneath it. “I suppose I grew accustomed to it. I’ve been alone for so long. But I’m so glad I don’t have to be alone anymore.”

  James felt the lingering tension ebb from her on a soft sigh as she relaxed against him and into sleep, and for just a moment he allowed himself to imagine that he were not the worst sort of villain, that he would take this woman into his arms, into his life, and make her happy.

  And then the guilt set in once more.

  ∞∞∞

  “Jilly.”

  Someone was tugging at the covers, trying to dislodge her from her heavy, soft cocoon of warmth and comfort. It was not to be borne. She clutched at the covers with grasping fingers, drew them over her head, and mumbled, “Five more minutes, Victoria.”

  A warm chuckle followed, one that seemed several octaves too low to have belonged to her lady’s maid. She shoved that thought from her head and sighed, sinking down into the comforting embrace of s
leep. But the blankets were being pulled from her grasp once more, slowly but inexorably, and none of her attempts to hold onto them yielded anything. With a huff of displeasure she relinquished them, casting an arm over her eyes instead as she flopped onto her back.

  “Jilly.” That voice again, warm and low, trying to rouse her from sleep. Absent the weight of the covers, she shivered in the morning chill of the room. Warm hands traveled up her bare arms, chasing away the gooseflesh that had risen on them. What a lovely dream. The chill forgotten, she relaxed into the caress with a sigh. Perhaps it was wicked of her to enjoy it so, but she had long craved simple human touch—and no one ever touched a lady.

  Light intruded from the wrong side of the bedroom. She crinkled her nose in confusion and attempted to lose herself in the feel of those strong hands cupping her shoulders. There was a low laugh near her ear, warm breath stirring the fine hairs there.

  “Jilly, it’s time to wake up.”

  “No,” she murmured, turning into the sound. “Not yet.” It was her dream, and she intended to enjoy it while it lasted.

  “Yes, darling.” Warm lips brushed her shoulder, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as they traversed a slow path to the curve of her neck and up her throat. She made a tiny sound of pleasure, shifting her head so as not to impede their progress, felt her skin flush with heat beneath the tender caress. The light burning beyond her closed lids dimmed and the mattress beneath her dipped, the rustle of cloth betraying the weight of another body beside her, broad shoulders blocking out the morning sun.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to banish the very thought of morning in favor of the lovely dream. She asked so little; it wasn’t fair for something so simple to be snatched away from her so soon.

  “James,” she sighed, relaxing into the curve of the warm body that had pressed itself against her back, “don’t let me wake up just yet.”

  For a moment there was silence and a sudden tense stillness behind her. Then at last a husky laugh singed her ear. “All right,” he murmured, bussing a kiss at the nape of her neck. “Five minutes.” His teeth closed on her earlobe, eliciting a gasp from her, and she felt the tiny nip all through her body, tingling through her breasts, zinging along nerve endings and settling a liquid heat low in her belly. Her back arched of its own accord, her trembling fingers lifting to slide into his hair, holding his head. Deft fingers slipped the sleeve of her chemise off of her shoulder and down her arm, and the loose garment slid along her collarbone, over her chest, and bared her breast.

  A groan, muffled in the nape of her neck. “I knew you would be beautiful,” came a low whisper, rough and ragged, as if he spoke through a throat abraded by sand. Those warm fingers slipped over her shoulder, caressing her skin until they curled around her breast, rasping her nipple against his palm until she made a helpless sound of desire.

  “So soft,” he murmured into the fine hairs at her nape. “Skin like silk. I wonder if you could possibly taste as glorious as you feel.” He scraped his thumb across her nipple, and she shuddered as it puckered into a tight bud beneath his gentle ministrations. The words were slow to make sense to her, secondary to the ache his touch aroused in her—but gradually they rose to the forefront of her mind and alarm prickled along her spine. Taste? That was most certainly not something her mind would ever have conjured up.

  Her eyes flew open, and her fingers tightened on the silky locks of hair clutched in her fingers still. “James?” she whispered hesitantly.

  “I hope you had not expected someone else,” came his dry reply. “You sleep rather deeply, don’t you?”

  The last dregs of grogginess fled from her sleep-addled brain like water through a sieve. She jerked her fingers from his hair and sat up so swiftly that she nearly cracked the top of her head on his chin. With a little wiggle, she managed to pull her chemise back into place and scrape her tangled hair away from her face.

  “How—how did you get into my room?” she asked, flustered, patting her cheeks as if such an action had any hope of relieving her of the scarlet blush that spread across them.

  James heaved a sigh and rolled onto his back, his mouth pulled into a sulky frown with the knowledge that she had fully recovered herself and any opportunity to lure her back into his arms had well and truly deserted him. “You don’t remember? Well, I suppose you were quite asleep when we arrived.”

  For the first time it dawned upon her that this was not her room, not Kittridge House at all. At last memories came flooding back—their midnight assignation and subsequent flight from the house party. Giggling as they sped away in James’ carriage, talking, falling asleep against his chest, and then—and then nothing until morning.

  Sometime during the night they had arrived at a coaching inn, and James must have carried her up.

  Something of her astonishment had to have shown on her face, for James hiked his thumb toward a door at the far side of the room and said in a blasé tone, “My room is through there,” he said. “I told the innkeeper we were married, but preferred separate rooms.”

  Married. Her lips formed the word soundlessly, as if it were a foreign concept she couldn’t quite grasp. She had agreed to marry him—a duke. “But we’re not married,” she said inanely.

  “We will be. Today. This morning.” He levered himself up on one elbow and grinned at her as if he’d slain a dragon. “I’ve managed to secure a reverend.”

  Her head jerked up, surprised. “A reverend?”

  James slanted her a curious glance. “We still need one,” he said. “The license only grants the privilege of marrying without banns, and in a place of our choosing.” He cradled his chin in his palm and said, “I thought you would prefer it. You did express some trepidation over the possibility that we might be chased down.” As if he were discomfited by her expression, he slid a hand across the bedspread and tangled his fingers in hers. His tone gentle, he said, “I understand bridal nerves, but it’s a bit late to back out now. We’ve surely been discovered missing.”

  “It’s not nerves,” she said on a breathless laugh, tucking that errant curl behind her ear with her free hand. “Not really. It’s just that I never expected to marry. At least, not for the past several years.”

  For a brief moment something odd flickered in his eyes. Just as quickly it fled, replaced by a guarded expression. The fingers of his free hand slid into her hair, toying with her tangled curls. “Do you regret your decision already?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, I—I think it’s all just rather a lot to reconcile myself to,” she said. “I’ve looked after myself for so long, it’s very strange to think of sharing my life with someone else.” She shifted, drawing her legs up beneath her, and reached for his hand, surprised by how natural the gesture felt.

  “You won’t be alone anymore,” he said. His thumb stroked across the inside of her wrist, and the rough tenor of his voice vibrated through her.

  “I know,” she said. “I just…I don’t think I ever let myself think of how much I missed having a family, having someone I could—”

  He canted his head to the side, looking at her, and she had the strangest notion that his piercing blue gaze could peer straight into her fragile heart.

  “Could what, Jilly?” he prompted at last.

  “Love,” she said finally, with a tremulous smile. “I do love you, James. I didn’t mean to do it, but somehow I couldn’t help myself.”

  His fingers loosened on hers, and for a moment he was so still and silent that she was certain she had displeased him with her declaration. Her hesitant smile slipped, but she had spent enough time pasting on false smiles over the past few years that it was easy to summon one forth. She took a shuddering breath and moved to retract her hand from his.

  He pounced. Before she knew quite what had happened, he had borne her back on the bed, buried his fingers in her hair, and slanted his mouth over hers. Her awkwardness melted away beneath the heat of his ardor, and she sighed and softened, and let her arms drift
around his broad shoulders and slide into the silky cool strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

  An eternity later, he lifted his head at last, and said, “Let’s get married, shall we?”

  Grinning with delight, she let him pluck her out of her bed, and very nearly forgot that he had not said the words back to her.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Somehow it was almost disappointing that the aspiring actor he’d found in the village could be bought for a pound note and a pint of ale. He’d expected such a terrible charade to carry a much higher price.

  It had for James, at least. As he looked down at Jilly, looking so young and hopeful and optimistic, he knew with complete certainty that this despicable act would cost him his soul.

  She had placed her hand in his with absolute trust. She repeated her vows in such a clear, sweet voice, as if she meant every word of them. And when he saw the faint shimmer in her eyes, he knew—knew—that it wasn’t avarice, that she wasn’t imagining lording her new title over the Ton, but was instead dreaming of the family she hoped someday to have.

  He would put an end to those dreams forever. When he was through with her, no one would have her. She would never again be received in London. If she had an offer at all, it would be a dishonorable one. The thought unsettled him. It had been easy to imagine taking his revenge upon some unknown lady, some empty-headed, vapid, shallow lady in her brother’s image. But he’d come to know Jilly, come to respect her. Even to like her.

  Nick had been certain he loved her.

  The man he had hired to play a reverend ushered them to a table, whereupon he laid out the license and offered James a pen.

  It was a good forgery. Excellent, even. It had been incredibly costly to have produced, and it would have fooled anyone but the Archbishop himself.

  The pen hovered over the page, just over the line where he was to sign his name. James had the sudden mad urge to destroy it, to tip the inkwell over and let the spill render the license unusable.