Chapter 12
All the terror Anne felt from being confined in the tight quarters and thoughts of rodents or starvation evaporated like breath on glass, replaced by a new and more terrifying prospect.
Her mind stuttered to a stop, and she choked out the word. “M-marry?” To Lord Grumpy-Trousers! Oh, no, no, no, no!
“I see no other option. Not if we wish to save your reputation and my honor.”
How could he sound so calm when her heart beat against her ribcage like the pounding of a battle drum?
“I don’t care about your honor.” Callous? Yes. But at that moment, she didn’t give a fig about anything that had to do with the man trapped beside her in the shadows. She needed to get out of there!
“I do. And I also care about your reputation. I hold myself responsible for this debacle. If I hadn’t agreed to play this ridiculous game or had made my presence known the moment you entered this—this level of hell we’ve found ourselves in, your dress would not have ripped, and we might have extricated ourselves without anyone being the wiser.
Our only hope is that one of the girls has mercy and releases us. ”
An audible sigh, deep and heavy, filled the darkness before he continued. “But even then, with the state of your gown, someone is bound to ask questions.”
“I’ll say I fell. Which I did.”
He barked a dry laugh. “Your na?veté astounds me.”
“I am not na?ve. I’m optimistic.”
“And I, my dear, am a realist.”
A warm, comforting sensation flowed over her at his use of my dear.
“Let’s examine the facts, shall we? First, the simple matter that the two of us are alone in such close quarters is enough to condemn us. Add on the tiny detail of your torn gown, and it screams that I have taken advantage of you.”
“But we still have the hope that Indira will release us.”
He grunted like the ogre he was. “A minuscule hope at best. Until then, I suggest we make ourselves as comfortable as possible and wait.”
After taking a seat on the floor, he held out his hand. “Unless you want to stand and wait for what may be hours?”
Her skin already itched with the thought of remaining in one spot for hours on end.
She needed to move, to feel free. To breathe.
Tightness constricted her chest again as the panic surged.
With another valiant effort, she pounded on the door.
“Indira! If you don’t let me out of here, I will tell your father about the broken vase. ”
Silence engulfed her, and with the overpowering fear of being trapped, tears welled again. She crumpled to the floor beside him, all the more conscious of his proximity when her shoulder brushed his. “I hate this.” Barely a whisper, she regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.
“Are you afraid of the dark?”
Surprised, not so much by the question, but by the gentleness in his tone, she shook her head. “Not the dark. I hate not being able to move.”
“Would it help distract you if we talked?” That soothing, gentle tone smoothed the sharp edges of her nerves.
Would it? “Perhaps.”
Pulling up his long legs, he wrapped his arms around them, giving her a little more space. “Is it marriage itself that’s distasteful, or simply the idea of marriage to me?”
Why did that gentle voice now sound . . . vulnerable?
“I’m not opposed to marriage. I want a home and a family of my own. But marriage between us would never work. We don’t even like each other.” In a whisper, she added, “Much less love each other.”
“Love is important to you?”
What a stupid question! Her anger at him flared anew.
“Of course it’s important. All these happy couples.
Andrew and Alice, Ashton and the duchess, Lord and Lady Montgomery, Honoria and Burwood, Juliana and Mr. Pratt, even Charlotte and Mr. Beckham make goo-goo eyes at each other when they think no one is watching. ”
His soft chuckle floated over her, slipping across her skin like a lover’s caress.
“Goo-goo eyes? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“That’s because I made it up. It’s the expression someone gets when their insides go all mushy from being in love.”
He laughed again, that time a little louder. “Mushy insides sound rather unpleasant, but I believe I’ve witnessed that particular phenomenon between my sister and Burwood.” Several silent moments passed. “And you want someone to make these goo-goo eyes at you.”
“Of course.” She picked at the torn sleeve of her gown. “I had hoped that Mr. Grey . . . but perhaps not all is lost, and we shall get out of here, and I shall thank him for the flower.”
“Flower?” He shifted his body, brushing against her once more.
“He left a flower for me in the library on top of a book Honoria had suggested.” At least that’s what her vivid—and romantic—imagination wanted to believe. She touched the dahlia. “It’s in my hair.”
“Why, so it is.”
She braced herself when the shadow of him reached toward her. Soft fingertips traced along her hair where the flower rested behind her ear.
“Has Mr. Grey expressed interest in forming an attachment with you?” Why did he sound as if he found the mere idea ludicrous?
“Not in so many words.”
“Well, even if we are fortunate enough to have one of the girls release us, and avoid any questions about your gown, I wouldn’t get my hopes up about Mr. Grey if I were you.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “You sound like Miranda. Am I so undesirable?”
She sensed more than saw or felt him stiffen. “Is that what you think? That you’re undesirable?”
“Well, no . . . yes. I don’t know. I simply don’t want to be forced into a marriage when I haven’t ever even been kissed.”
“You’ve never been kissed?” The note of amusement in his voice inflamed Anne’s already growing annoyance with the man.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised. There are many young ladies who haven’t been kissed until they’ve been officially betrothed. Contrary to what you may have heard from that horrible Muckraker, my reputation is spotless.”
He chuckled again. “Until now, that is.”
The air stilled around them. Odd, that for the past few minutes, she’d completely forgotten the cramped space she’d shared with the grump.
She no longer felt like clawing at the locked door to escape, and she admitted—most reluctantly—she thoroughly enjoyed the smell of his shaving soap and citrusy bergamot.
She much preferred the clean smell over musky sandalwood that most gentlemen used.
“All things considered,” he continued, interrupting her thoughts about his wonderful fragrance, “might you allow me to remedy that?”
Squinting in the dark space, she frowned. “Remedy what?”
“Your unkissed state. It might help you decide whether to accept my offer of marriage when we’re discovered.”
“Oh.” The word slipped out in a tiny gasp. Bottom lip between her teeth, she chewed. More focused on the fact that he wanted to kiss her than his statement about a marriage proposal, Anne nodded, unsure he could see in the darkened closet.
Apparently he did, for he moved closer, and his hand brushed her cheek in the gentlest of caresses. She drew in a sharp breath, her heart hammering as fiercely as when she’d first realized they were trapped.
That lovely fresh scent filled her senses and made her head spin. But then. Oh, then he pressed his lips to hers. Soft. A light brush. And she wasn’t certain whether she was pleased or disappointed.
What had she expected?
She had little time to ponder the question when his other hand slipped around her waist and pulled her closer.
The press of his lips became more insistent, demanding.
He tasted good. Not sweet, but like the finest wine.
Fruity with hints of oak. The kind you wanted to savor and roll around on your tongue.
Heady, like the wine she’d been imagining, the kiss stole her breath and drove all sense from her.
Goodness! With kisses like the one she was experiencing, no wonder women risked compromise.
Vaguely aware that his hand moved behind her head and threaded into her hair, she mimicked his movement and slid her fingers through his thick auburn locks.
He moaned into her mouth.
Perhaps she didn’t hate Lord Grump as much as she thought.
Reckless. Foolish. Ungentlemanly. Derogatory words pinged around in Colin’s skull like billiard balls unable to find the pocket.
But the moment he touched his lips to the Faerie Princess, he admitted he’d wanted to do just that from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her.
She was everything he shouldn’t want.
But did.
He didn’t intend for the kiss to become so out of control.
But, dear God, her soft moan of pleasure slipped under his skin, igniting a fire that eroded his self-control. He wanted to plunder her mouth, to kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. Hell, until they were both out of breath.
Which, in all honesty, was happening at that very moment.
His lungs screamed for him to pull back and give them the air they needed, but his own desire to continue kissing her won the battle.
The fiery enchantress in his arms scraped her fingernails across his scalp, and he returned her moan in his own baritone.
With a none-too-gentle press of his tongue to her lips, he requested entrance, and, to his masculine satisfaction, she complied.
And oh, the sweetness, the soft flesh of her mouth was better than he imagined.
Lost. Utterly lost.
Apparently so lost, he failed to hear the click as the door unlocked and swooshed open. Failed to notice the light spilling into the tight space.
“What is the meaning of this!” a man’s voice demanded.
His mind still on that luscious kiss, Colin blinked, removing his hands from Miss Weatherby and shielding his eyes.
Light rimmed Andrew Weatherby as he glared down at Colin. His daughter, Indira, peeked behind her father, a hand pressed to her mouth to stifle her giggles.
Mr. Weatherby’s gaze darted to his sister’s torn sleeve, and Colin’s future brother-in-law held out his hand. “Come here, Anne.”
Colin rose first and offered to assist Miss Weatherby off the floor, but she declined and stood on her own.
Had he been mistaken, and she had not enjoyed the kiss as much as he did?
Surely not. Not the way she kissed him back.
Would she refuse his offer? Would her brother insist she accept?
Would there be a challenge and yet another match with real épées—the next time with the intention of drawing first blood?
So many questions raced through Colin’s mind. But first things first. “Allow me to explain about Miss Weatherby’s gown.”
Weatherby’s eyebrows rose so far up his forehead they nearly disappeared beneath the red hair falling across his brow.
“Unless my own eyes deceive me, no explanation is necessary.” He turned toward his sister.
“Anne, go to the green parlor and stay with Alice until I call for you. I need to have a word with Lord Manning.”
“Don’t worry, Miss Weatherby,” Colin said. “I shall make everything right.”
Red and swollen from their kisses, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but she remained silent. Strands of her hair had escaped her coiffure and fell haphazardly along her neck. A rosy blush covered her cheeks, the same pink as the flower he’d left in the library.
He peered down. The delicate blossom had come loose during their kiss when he’d pulled her locks free. After picking it up, he held it out. “And this wasn’t from Mr. Grey. It was from me.”
Her eyes flared, and she accepted the flower with a shaking hand.
Was it unfair not to tell her the flower had been intended for Lady Miranda? Possibly. Oh, hell. Definitely. But Colin wouldn’t accept failure, and when he offered for her, he wanted her to accept.
And wasn’t that the most surprising thing of all?
“Go. Now, Anne!” her brother said. “You, too, Indira. I shall deal with you and your sister later. Lord Manning, if you would follow me.”
Although greatly surpassing Mr. Weatherby in station, Colin followed like an obedient pup as he led him down the hallway and into Burwood’s billiard’s room.
A glass of liquor in his hand, Burwood stopped mid-sentence in what appeared to be a serious discussion with Ashton. His brow furrowed as his gaze swung between Colin and Weatherby.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Graces. I need a place to have a private conversation with Lord Manning.”
Ashton rose, his brow furrowed in concern. “Is all well, Andrew?”
It was common knowledge throughout the peerage that Ashton and Weatherby had a close and long friendship dating back to their time together at Eton.
All the more reason to make things right with the Weatherbys.
Colin didn’t want any trouble with the powerful duke.
And from the way Burwood was looking at him, Colin expected an interrogation from him later as well.
“I could ask the same of my brother-in-law.” Burwood’s gaze swept over him. “Your hair is a mess. It appears to have been an eventful day. A daring rescue in my lake, a fencing injury, and now what?”
Colin glanced toward Weatherby, deferring to him regarding how much they should say.
“If you don’t mind, Your Graces, all will be explained later. But this is a private matter of great importance between Lord Manning and me.”
Burwood nodded. “Very well. Feel free to use my study.” Burwood delivered one final ducal glare before Colin turned and exited the room.
Alone with Weatherby in the study, Colin studied his future brother-in-law. No nervous jitters or urge to make excuses flared in his chest. He was surprisingly calm. Resigned? No, not quite. Resolved. Even resolute. And a rightness about his fate settled on him.
He would make the best of the situation.
A mother for his daughters—one they appeared to like as she liked them in return.
A woman who stirred his blood more than he expected.
She could give him the son he needed. She could fill his home with the laughter and joy it had sorely lacked for so many years.
A man of action, Colin wasted no time. “Mr. Weatherby, allow me to offer for your sister Anne.”