Chapter Seven
“Please do sit down , Emmy,” Lady Keswick said from her usual seat on the drawing room sofa, a distinct note of impatience in her voice. “All that pacing is distracting me from my embroidery.”
“I’m too nervous to sit,” Emmy said as she finished yet another turn about the room. “I’ve never asked a man to marry me before.” She flicked another glance at the clock on the mantel and swallowed. “Eighteen minutes to go. Do you think he’ll come?”
“Mr. Whitcomb is a gentleman,” Lady Keswick murmured. “I am certain he would not ignore a lady’s request.” She raised her embroidery ring in the air and scrunched up her nose, inspecting the nearly-finished depiction of Artemis, the little black cat Emmy’s brother had adopted last year.
“You’re right,” Emmy said. “He’ll be here.” Her brow furrowed. “But do you think he’ll marry me?”
She knew it was silly to ask—there was no earthly way for her mother to know—but she couldn’t help herself. The waiting was driving her mad.
“I don’t know, darling,” her mother replied. “But I see no reason why he shouldn’t. He would be lucky to call you his wife.”
Emmy sighed, her gaze on the carpet as she circled the room again. “I suppose so. Marrying a marquess’s sister would certainly be a boon for his family.”
“Yes, it would, but that is not what I meant,” Lady Keswick said. “I meant he would be lucky to have you .”
Emmy’s head came up, and she looked at her mother, her steps slowing to a halt beside the sofa. “Would he?”
Lady Keswick nodded, her gaze still trained on her embroidery. “Of course he would. You are a strong, intelligent, kind-hearted young woman, and he would be a fool not to want you for his wife.”
Emmy slowly sank onto the sofa beside her mother, flummoxed by the unexpected praise. “Oh,” she said faintly. “Thank you.”
Lady Keswick looked up and cocked her head to one side. “Why do you seem so befuddled? Do you disagree with me?”
“No,” Emmy said, shaking her head. “Not exactly. It’s only that I have never heard you speak that way before, and I…it surprised me, that’s all.”
“You’re my daughter, Emmy. I love you.”
“I know you do, but…” She shrugged. “Well, we are very different, you and I, and I know how exasperating I can sometimes be. I suppose I always assumed you would love me better if I were more like you.”
Lady Keswick set her embroidery aside and turned to face Emmy, drawing her hands into her lap. “Do I sometimes wish you were less outspoken and more circumspect?” She smiled. “Of course I do. But you are my daughter, and I love you just as you are. In many ways, you remind me of your father.” Affection filled her eyes. “He was a little too outspoken, as well, you know.”
A delighted smile curved Emmy’s lips. “Was he?”
“Oh, yes. His outspokenness could get him into trouble sometimes.” She chuckled softly. “Indeed, it almost ended our courtship before it had even begun.”
Emmy’s brows shot up. “It did?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “But that is a story for another time.” Her smile sobered and she gave Emmy’s hands a squeeze. “I know you are nervous about becoming a wife, but that is a feeling we all experience before we marry. And, for what it’s worth, I think you have made the right decision.”
“Well, of course you do,” Emmy said. “You’ve been trying to marry me off for years.”
The words were light, but there was an edge to them, too, borne of some underlying emotion she could not contain. It wasn’t resentment, exactly—never that—but it was…something. Exasperation, perhaps.
Her mother, ever astute, seemed to notice it, too. She patted Emmy’s hand. “You’re right, I have. I’ve harped on you and your brother both because I want grandchildren, and I will not apologize for that.” Her mouth had gone mulish, but then she sighed and said, “Mostly, though, I want you to be happy, and I think marriage to the right man can bring a great deal of happiness. It certainly did for me.” Her expression turned wistful. “Though I do hope your marriage will last longer than mine did.”
Emmy squeezed her mother’s hand. “So do I,” she said softly before drawing in a deep breath. “Of course, this is all assuming I can find someone to marry me. I am not exactly the ideal bride.”
“That is nonsense,” Lady Keswick said firmly. “Maybe you are not some soft-spoken English rose, but that does not mean you will not make an excellent wife. It simply means you must find a husband who will appreciate your personality, and even complement it.” She leaned in as if imparting a secret. “And I think Mr. Whitcomb will do just that. He obviously admires you.”
Emmy gave her mother a weak smile, though she was not so confident. Yes, Alex seemed to like her well enough, and he seemed to enjoy their conversations as she did, but she’d never seen any reason to believe he admired her. And even if he did, would it be enough? Was admiration inducement enough for a man to agree to marry a woman he barely knew? A woman he’d known for less than a fortnight?
Saints be, this was probably a terrible idea. And yet, it was too late to back out now, wasn’t it? She’d already summoned him. He was likely on his way at this very moment, and when he arrived, he would want to know why he was here.
And you will tell him why. There is no room for cowardice now.
After all, what did she have to lose?
A knock at the door interrupted the silence, and Emmy’s heart stopped, her gaze flying to the clock.
Noon.
He was here.
“A caller has arrived to see you, Lady Emmaline,” Winters said as he entered the room. “A Mr. Alexander Whitcomb.”
“Thank you, Winters,” Lady Keswick said. “You may show him in.”
Gulping down her rising nerves, Emmy rose to her feet, only half-aware of her mother doing the same beside her.
“Breathe, darling,” Lady Keswick whispered. “You look as though you are about to swoon.”
Emmy blanched and shoved back her shoulders. Gads, she was not the sort of girl who swooned. “Thank you, Mother,” she whispered back.
Alex walked into the room then, looking much too handsome in his burgundy day coat and smoke gray trousers. A polite smile curled his lips as he strode toward them, though his curiosity was palpable.
“Mr. Whitcomb,” Lady Keswick said smoothly. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Lady Keswick. Lady Emmaline.” He sketched a bow. “Good afternoon to you.”
“Please do sit,” Emmy’s mother said as she perched on the sofa. “Shall I ring for tea?”
Emmy cleared her throat loudly as she sat down beside her, an unsubtle hint, perhaps, but then she had never been very good with subtlety.
“Ah. Right.” Lady Keswick rose to her feet again. “I’ve just remembered, I already rang for tea. Excuse me, Mr. Whitcomb, while I go and see what is keeping Mary.”
Alex, who had also risen to his feet again, offered her a confused smile, and said, “Of course, my lady.”
“I shall return shortly,” Lady Keswick said, shooting Emmy a pointed look before she left them, pulling the door closed behind her.
Silence settled over the room as Emmy and Alex reclaimed their seats. She met his gaze from across the sofa table and offered a welcoming smile, though she was fairly certain it looked more queasy than kindly.
Nervously, she licked her lips and delved deep for the courage to press on.
You can do this. You will do this.
“Thank you for coming,” she forced out, folding her hands in her lap to keep from fidgeting. “I’m sure you must be curious to learn why it is I’ve asked you here today.”
Alex nodded, a smile curling up one corner of his mouth. “I admit, I am.”
“Right. Of course.” She cleared her throat and forced herself to stay seated, though her feet were positively itching to pace the room.
Be calm and spit it out, Emmy.
“My mother has just shared some news with me,” she began. “Some very unexpected news which has forced me to think of my future.”
Alex’s brows rose but he said nothing.
“After this Season has ended, she will retire to our home in the country and will no longer be able to act as my chaperone. Therefore, I am left with two options. I can either go with her, or I can marry, which will allow me to chaperone myself.”
“I see,” Alex said, his expression one of polite interest, though anyone could see that he did not see at all.
Emmy drew in a breath, filling her lungs as much as she could manage with her heart galloping in her chest, and on her exhale, she said, “I have decided to take a husband, which is why I have asked you here today. You need a wife, and I need a husband, and I think we ought to marry…”
Alex stared at her, unblinking, unmoving.
“Each other,” she finished lamely. “If that was not clear.”
“I…you…” He trailed off, his jaw flapping as if its hinges had popped.
Saints be, she’d broken him.
“You want a wife to bear your children, and I want a husband who will let me come and go as I please.” Her throat was as dry as sand, but she fumbled on anyway, for there really was no turning back now. “I like you well enough, and I think you like me, and I believe our union would be beneficial, both for you and me, as well as our families.”
She leaned forward and attempted a sanguine smile, as if she’d just made him an offer only a simpleton would refuse. “So, Mr. Whitcomb, what say you? Will you marry me?”
Alex had spent a fair amount of time considering all the possible reasons why Emmy might have asked him here today, but he could honestly say a proposal of marriage had never once entered his mind.
He had no bloody idea what to say.
Was she in earnest? Did she genuinely want to marry him?
She was smiling as if she hadn’t a care in the world, but her gaze was expectant, impatient even, as she waited for his answer.
Good Lord. Lady Emmaline Keswick wanted to marry him.
Life could be downright strange sometimes.
“Alex? What is your answer?”
Emmy’s words broke through his astonishment, as did the anxious edge to her voice that she was obviously attempting to hide.
He swallowed. Cleared his throat. Licked his dry lips. Barely resisted the urge to tug at his cravat. “I am flattered by your offer, Emmy,” he said slowly, taking great care with his words. “And I agree that our union would be mutually beneficial. It would certainly make my life easier.”
He paused, clearing his throat again, and Emmy straightened in her seat, her chin rising. “But?”
He sighed. “But you told me yourself you do not wish to marry—at least, you implied as much—and I’m concerned your desire for freedom would interfere with my desire for children. Or, rather, my desire to give my father grandchildren.”
He studied her eyes, her face, and though his scrutiny clearly discomfited her, she did not turn away. She held his gaze, and said, “I admit, I am not entirely sure I’m ready to be a wife, but I have never not wanted to marry. I simply did not wish to marry yet.”
Alex nodded, appreciating her honesty. “I understand that. I’m not entirely certain I’m ready to be a husband, either, but I am certain that when I do marry, it will be to a woman who is prepared to have children straightaway. To live with me, and commit herself to the task until the deed is done.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Are you prepared to agree to that, even if it means delaying your freedom indefinitely?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I am.”
Her voice was firm, but her cheeks were noticeably rosier than they’d been a moment ago, and it bemused him that this bold, unflappable woman should be so precious about marital intimacies.
Until his thoughts turned in a different direction, a decidedly more erotic one involving swollen lips, soft cheeks pink from exertion and hot gray eyes gazing down at him with single-minded intent.
A rush of heat washed over him, hardening his cock with embarrassing swiftness, and he sat back and crossed one leg over the other.
Yes, damn it all, he wanted her.
But did she want him?
She might be perfectly willing to lie with him, but if it was a matter of lying with him and thinking of England, well, bugger that. He would rather chew off his own arm than saddle himself with a wife who didn’t desire him as he desired her.
“I am intrigued by your offer,” he said, clearing his throat again. “However, before I agree to it, there is one final matter I must settle first.”
“If it pertains to my dowry,” Emmy replied, “you needn’t worry. My brother has settled a generous sum on me and—”
Alex shook his head. “It isn’t your dowry.”
“Oh? Then what is it?”
“I want to kiss you,” he blurted out with all the finesse of a drunkard. “To see if we are…compatible.”
His face heated, his palms going damp. God above, could he sound any more ridiculous? He would never claim to be a great seducer of women, but this was beyond the pale.
Emmy, with her furrowed brow and pursed lips, looked as impressed as he was, even as she said, “Of course. If you insist.”
He shook his head again, frustration warring with embarrassment. “I won’t force you, Emmy. If you don’t want to kiss me, that is your right. But I won’t marry someone who beds me only out of duty and finds no pleasure in my touch. I cannot. So, if the idea of kissing me displeases you…”
He trailed off, his heart thudding with anticipation, though he knew her answer could excite as easily as it could injure.
“It isn’t that it displeases me,” she said, her gaze falling to her lap. “It’s only that I…”
She shook her head, her frown deepening as she stared at her hands, avoiding his gaze.
Alex watched her, waiting, unsure what to make of her show of vulnerability. “It’s only what, Emmy?”
She raised her head and met his gaze. “I don’t know how,” she said irritably. “I’ve never kissed a man before.”
Alex blinked in surprise. “Never?”
How was that possible? Emmy was a gorgeous girl. She should have been peppered with kisses by now.
“It isn’t that I haven’t had opportunities,” she said, as if reading his mind. “Men have tried to kiss me, but I always declined.”
“Why?” Alex asked, curious in spite of the absurd shard of jealousy burning his gut.
“I don’t know,” she answered, surging to her feet. “I suppose I simply didn’t wish to kiss them.”
She began to pace in front of the sofa, her fingers laced behind her back, and Alex started to rise from his chair, but she waved him away. Reluctantly, he sat again.
“I am not a romantic girl,” she said. “I never have been. My friends always seemed to be swooning over some boy or other, but not me. I don’t seem capable of feeling those romantic emotions other people feel.”
Alex considered her words, uncertainty rendering him mute. He’d never tried to kiss an unromantic girl before, although, admittedly, his experience with women was limited. He had no desire to make her do anything she did not wish to do, but neither would he marry a cold fish.
“Answer me one question, Emmy.”
She paused in her pacing to look at him as he rose to a stand.
“Were you attracted to any of those men who tried to kiss you?”
She scrunched up her nose, her answer an immediate: “No.”
Excellent. A promising start.
“And are you attracted to me?” he asked, slipping his hands into his pockets with forced nonchalance.
She cocked her head to one side and gave him a thorough once-over from stem to stern. Alex stood stock-still, refusing to squirm beneath her perusal, though he was suddenly, acutely aware of his well-worn boots and too-long hair.
At least his coat was freshly pressed.
“Yes,” she answered an eternity later. “I do find you physically appealing.”
Her tone was almost clinical, and for some reason, this amused him. It was no passionate declaration, but it was better than nothing.
“I also find you physically appealing,” he said, matching her formal tone. “And this leads me to believe there is a chance we would enjoy kissing each other. Shall we test this theorem?”
She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip for an unflatteringly long length of time, until finally, she nodded. “All right. Let’s.”
The sofa table stood between them. Alex circled it, his pace unhurried, though his heart hammered madly against his ribcage. He wanted this kiss, yes—he wanted it more than he’d wanted anything in a very long time—but, damn it all, he was no pimple-faced pup, slavering after a pretty girl. He was a man, and he had his pride.
He also had his suspicions that even a glint of eagerness on his part would send Emmy sprinting for the door.
Or earn him a swift knee to the bollocks.
“Shall we sit?” he asked, extending a hand toward the sofa.
She nodded, perching on the edge with her hands clasped in her lap, her back ramrod straight.
Alex sat down beside her, flicking his coattails aside as he did.
Emmy shifted to face him, and her knee brushed his. “I beg your pardon,” she said with a polite smile.
“Think nothing of it.”
Had there ever been a more awkward, less impassioned prelude to a kiss? His hands were sweating inside his gloves, and his heart still raced, but outwardly, this looked more like an appointment than an assignation.
“Well,” Emmy said before clearing her throat. “I suppose we ought to get on with it, hm?”
She leaned in and waited, her eyes falling closed.
Despite the tension thrumming through his body, amusement tugged at Alex’s lips. How like her to take the bull by the horns.
She’d hesitated before, but now that a decision had been made, it was full speed ahead, fortune favors the bold.
Damn, but he liked this woman.
Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his leather glove a barrier to her bare skin he deeply regretted.
Closing the distance between them, he breathed her in—sweet pea and sunshine—and as the scent of her skin washed over him, he brushed her lips with his, savoring her warmth, her aliveness, the poignant rush of pleasure shivering through his limbs.
Easy. Keep your wits about you .
There was a reason he’d asked for this kiss, a purpose behind it, beyond simply satisfying his curiosity. This was an exercise, a test. If he was going to marry her, he must have proof of passion. Passion requited .
Emmy’s eyes were still shut tight, her posture stiff, but she did not pull away.
Alex deepened the kiss, his hand slipping from her chin to gently cup her nape, his knees knocking against hers.
Softly, slyly, he swept his tongue along her upper lip, wringing a tiny, intoxicating whimper from her throat.
Triumph was swift, the evidence of her enjoyment irrefutable.
He knew she didn’t care about passion. She would marry him with or without it. But he wanted her to care. He wanted her to enjoy this kiss, and when it was done, he wanted her to crave more.
He wanted her to crave him .
Alex pulled back, severing the kiss, and let his hands fall into his lap where he clenched them into fists. His breathing was labored, and he fought to regain his composure. “Thank you, Emmy,” he said, his voice husky.
She looked at him, mute, bare fingers pressed to red, ripened lips, and he wondered if his kiss had rendered her speechless.
And if it had, was that a good thing, or a bad thing?
He let his eyes rove over her face, taking in her flushed cheeks, her dilated pupils, the rise and fall of her chest with each quickened breath. Her gaze seemed affixed to his mouth, as if she were thinking of kissing him again.
Pleasure warmed him. Definitely a good thing .
And rather gratifying considering the kiss had been a brief one, not to mention her first. Satisfaction shot through his body, and on its heels, relief.
He smiled. “Very well, my lady,” he said. “I will marry you.”