Chapter Nine
After such a dramatic evening Jacob had not expected to sleep a wink, but he had easily fallen into a deep slumber, and would still be there if a loud knocking on the door of his bedchamber had not roused him.
‘Come,’ he called out and his valet entered.
‘There’s a young lady waiting downstairs, Your Grace. She says it’s vital that she speak to you.’
‘What time is it, Bates?’
‘Just gone eight-thirty.’
Jacob rubbed his hand across his face and huffed out a breath. There was only one young lady who would arrive at his house at such an ungodly hour, uninvited. His future bride.
He climbed out of bed and pulled on his silk robe.
‘Hot water is on its way so I can shave you, Your Grace. And should I lay out the grey suit?’ Bates moved towards the wardrobe.
‘Don’t worry about that. If Miss Whitmore has turned up at this ridiculous hour uninvited, then presumably it is a matter of some urgency and she’s not going to care whether I’m unshaven or what I’m wearing.’
‘Very good, Your Grace,’ Bates said, showing no reaction to this impropriety.
‘It’s not what you think,’ Jacob said, not entirely sure what his impassive valet ever thought. ‘Miss Whitmore and I are now to be married within the week and not at the beginning of next Season as…er…planned.’
This did get a slight reaction from Bates, whose eyes briefly grew wide, before he quickly recovered and his face once again adopted the mask of a well-trained servant.
‘Very good, Your Grace,’ he repeated, an answer he would no doubt give to any statement Jacob made, no matter how surprising or outlandish. ‘Would you like coffee served in the drawing room?’
‘Excellent. Yes, black and strong, please.’
Pulling his robe tightly around his naked body and knotting the belt at his waist to make certain he was completely covered, he headed towards the stairs, not entirely sure what was about to greet him.
Last night’s kiss had certainly changed everything, and not only because he was now locked into this marriage.
He had seen a side to Miss Whitmore he had suspected might exist but now knew for certain.
A passionate nature that was simmering just beneath that tightly controlled surface.
And soon that simmering woman was to become his wife.
What he thought about that he was unsure, but there was one thing about which there could be no doubt.
He would have to accept a forced marriage, just as many men had done before him, and he was sure many other reckless fools would have to do in the future.
Marriage was a state he most certainly was not champing at the bit to enter, far from it, but, as Mr Whitmore had said last night, he knew the consequences of his actions. He would just have to accept his punishment for that one fateful lapse in judgement.
But that one fateful lapse in judgement had also given rise to many confusing thoughts he couldn’t even begin to sort out. So he had gone with the easiest option and chosen to leave those thoughts to a later date—a date which hopefully would never come.
But one thing required no thought whatsoever.
He knew Miss Whitmore wanted this marriage even less than he did.
If the events of last night had occurred with any other young lady, he would suspect it had all been intentional.
But when her mother had all but dragged her away from his carriage, she did not have the appearance of a woman who had got her wish. Quite the contrary.
He entered the drawing room to find Miss Whitmore pacing up and down on the Oriental rug.
‘To what do I owe this unexpected honour?’ he asked.
‘We have to do something,’ she stated, not stopping her frantic pacing. ‘We have to find a way out of this.’
He crossed the room and gestured towards an armchair, a gesture she ignored.
‘You know there is no way out of this,’ he said, watching her pace. ‘Your father caught me kissing you. We both know the penalty for that.’
He frowned, wondering if describing their forthcoming nuptials as a penalty was appropriate, but Miss Whitmore’s expression did not change, so presumably she thought the same.
‘It’s all your fault, you know,’ she said, momentarily stopping in her pacing to glare at him.
Of that Jacob had no doubt. He had kissed a debutante. Every man knew what happened if you were caught kissing a debutante. You were up the aisle before your feet had time to touch the ground. That was one of the many reasons why he had always avoided such women. Until now.
‘Yes, I apologise,’ he said, genuinely sorry for what he had done for more reasons than he could mention, although among them was the strange way that kiss had affected him.
That was something he was struggling to understand, especially as it had been little more than a brief kiss.
It had aroused the usual physical reaction of course, but it had stirred up something else as well, something indefinable.
But that too could be consigned to the list of things to be thought about at a much later date.
Bates entered with a coffeepot and two cups. Quietly placed them on an end table and just as quietly departed.
Jacob poured the coffee and held a cup out to Miss Whitmore. She flicked her hand in the air and frowned, which presumably meant, No, thank you. I do not wish to drink coffee. Nor did she take a seat, so he would have to drink his much-needed pick-me-up while standing.
‘I gave you the option to call this whole engagement thing off,’ she continued. ‘Why on earth did you not take if? If you had, none of this would have happened.’
Jacob took a sip of the thick black coffee then placed the cup on the mantelpiece. ‘That’s why you’re angry with me? For agreeing to continue our fake engagement for the rest of the Season?’
‘Yes.’ She paused in her pacing to scowl at him. ‘If you had not, we would not be facing the prospect of a forced marriage.’
That was debatable, but he suspected Miss Whitmore was in no mood for a spirited debate. ‘I believe it was your father catching me kissing you that sealed our fate.’
She stopped pacing, closed her eyes briefly and then looked in his direction, a blush tinging her cheeks. ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that.’
‘You’re sorry? What on earth have you to be sorry about? We both know I should not have kissed you, and I should be the one asking for your forgiveness. So, once again, let me say I am truly sorry for my behaviour last night.’
He picked up his coffee cup then placed it back in the saucer.
Was that true? He regretted being caught and he certainly regretted having to get married, but could he say in all honesty that he regretted kissing Miss Whitmore?
Kissing her had been unlike anything he had experienced before, and that was why he had not listened to the commands of that underused sensible part of his mind.
He’d ignored that little voice reminding him that he had a debutante in his arms and instead had given in to what he knew to be madness.
‘You didn’t kiss me,’ she said, causing his eyes to widen and his brows to rise.
‘You appear to have a very short memory. I definitely kissed you. I remember it well.’ Too well.
‘No, I was the one who kissed you.’
Yes, that was right. Her lips had touched his first. It had been as surprising as it had been welcome, but surely, who’d kissed whom first was an irrelevant technicality, and it hadn’t taken long before he’d most certainly been kissing her back, and for that he now had to pay the price.
‘I am truly sorry,’ she added.
‘No need to apologise,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I for one enjoyed it.’ And her behaviour last night made it patently obvious she’d enjoyed it as well, although her severe expression today would contradict that claim.
‘Well, yes, it’s not that I didn’t…’ She bit her lip, a surprisingly shy gesture for such a forthright young woman.
Jacob watched on, rather enjoying seeing her like this.
‘I just mean if I hadn’t kissed you, we would not be in this mess now, and that is what I am apologising for. ’ Her expression was once again stern.
‘Well, whoever kissed whom first, whoever is to blame, it hardly matters. Your father caught me, now we are to marry.’
‘We don’t have to.’
He took another sip of his coffee and waited for her to explain.
‘You could refuse.’
‘What? I could tell your father that I refuse to do the honourable thing?’
‘Yes.’
‘Apart from that being the appalling behaviour of a cad—’ which you obviously think I am ‘—your father has already said he will ruin me if I do anything to harm you or take liberties with your good name. And I believe he would define last night’s behaviour as taking liberties.’
Her brow crinkled as if pained. ‘Yes, there’s that. He can be so annoyingly honourable at times. But you could refuse to marry me and tell him if he tried to make you then you are prepared to ruin our entire family, leave us penniless and living in the gutter. That might make him listen to reason.’
‘So you want me to be a cad and a bounder, not to mention an unforgivable scoundrel?’
‘Well, we have to do something.’
‘I suspect even the threat of ruin would not get your father to back down when he thinks he is doing what is best for his daughter.’
This perhaps was the downside of having parents who loved and adored you. Something Jacob had never had to personally contend with.
The furrows in her brow deepened. ‘Well, maybe if we both go to him together, and tell him how much we don’t want to marry?’
‘Which will probably beg the question: so why were we kissing?’
She released a deep sigh and sank down into the nearest chair. ‘Yes, that’s what he said to me last night when I told him it wasn’t your fault and I was the one to kiss you.’
Jacob could ask her the same thing. Why did she kiss him when she had such an objection to him? But he thought it best not to further stir up the hornets’ nest by asking.
Instead, he took a seat across from her. ‘It might not be that bad,’ he said in his most consoling tone.