Chapter 2 #3
Claire lifted her chin and started again. “You know as well as I do that women are often more interesting to other gentlemen when they’re already being courted.”
He nearly snorted. “So it’s not just my gossip you want. You’d like me to court you as well?”
“I want you to pretend to court me.”
He rubbed his chin. Of course he was going to agree to it, but he couldn’t act too eager or it would put her off the notion altogether. “What would that entail?”
Claire lifted a thin shoulder. “I shouldn’t think it will take too much. Perhaps dancing with me at a ball?”
“Dancing with you?” he scoffed. “I doubt that will be enough. People will think I’m just being polite.”
She grimaced in agreement with his statement.
He continued, “If we’re going to attempt this farce, we might as well do a good job of it. I’ll undoubtedly have to visit your home many times.”
Claire wrinkled her nose as if the thought of him visiting her was more than she had planned upon.
“Very well,” he said before she could overthink it. “I’ll do it. I’ll visit your house daily until you’re settled with someone of your choosing.”
She reared back. “I hardly think daily visits will be necessary.”
“Do you want people to think that I am only mildly interested?” His voice lowered. “If I were truly courting you, I’d leave no doubt.”
She rolled her eyes. “Very well, do as you see fit.”
A moment passed, reminding Michael of the companionable silence they’d once shared. Was it possible that their friendship could be repaired, given enough time?
He tilted his head. “If you don’t want a rake, what kind of man do you want?”
Claire raised her eyebrow and stayed silent.
Michael huffed. “How am I to identify the mark if you won’t tell me what you’re looking for?”
“I wouldn’t call it a mark,” she said, scowling.
He chuckled. “It’s the longest con there is—marriage to someone who doesn’t know that you’ve singled them out for the purpose.”
“I’m sure the arrangement will be mutually agreeable.”
“That depends largely on how agreeable you are going to be in marriage. What precisely are you looking for?”
“Someone steady. Someone prudent…” She faltered and studied her teacup.
“Someone boring, you mean.”
Claire shrugged, not discounting his claim. “Where you see boring, I see security.”
“So he must be wealthy too?”
“Of course.” Claire sipped her tea and frowned.
She always had liked her tea at a scalding temperature. Memories and nostalgia flooded Michael’s mind—he wanted to laugh at the pleasure of her presence; he wanted to sigh with the relief of it. She was really here. She was speaking to him once more.
She set her teacup upon the tray and deposited a warming pour into the cup. “I want someone predictable. Someone prudent and sensible.”
Michael grimaced as he set his cup next to hers. “Ugh, you want a Tweed.”
“A Tweed? What’s that?” she asked as she complied with his silent request and filled his cup along with hers.
“A Tweed,” he repeated. “An exceedingly boring man. Never steps out of line. Follows the rules. The sort who’s never invited to stay late at a party. A Tweed.”
“You needn’t say it like that, with your mouth all twisted up.”
“It’s the only way one can say it. Detestable word, Tweed.”
“Very well.” She nodded sharply, plunking a cube of sugar into his tea. “I want a Tweed.”
“Why on earth would you want one of those? Wouldn’t you rather have someone who makes you laugh?”
“Laughter’s overrated. Laughter fades.”
He took his teacup from her and nodded his thanks. “My parents laughed throughout their entire marriage.”
“And yet, it still faded,” she pointed out. “Forgive me for mentioning it, but your father has passed.”
Michael shook his head, incredulous. “Do you think my father’s passing made my mother wish she hadn’t laughed with him for the thirty-plus years prior?”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t know your mother very well anymore.”
“Come round for tea tomorrow. She’ll be delighted we’ve reignited our friendship.”
“I wouldn’t call it that.” She shifted uncertainly.
He arched a brow. “What would you call it? We’re in each other’s confidence.”
“I don’t want her to get any incorrect ideas about the nature of our relationship.”
“Yet you want me to pretend to court you? You do realize if you want the Tweeds to believe I’m interested, others will have to, as well.”
Claire stared into her cup and pressed her lips together.
Suddenly concerned that he was close to talking her out of the arrangement, Michael laughed. “I doubt Mother will get any ideas. After all, I’m not the least bit boring, and you wish to marry the most boring kind of man in existence.”
“Yes, but she doesn’t know that.”
“I’ll tell her,” he said reasonably. “Come by tomorrow. She’d love to see you.”
“Very well,” Claire said. “Tomorrow at three.”
“Two o’clock would work better.” It was hardly the truth, but Claire was so used to getting her way in everything that he thought it best to start off as he meant to go on. She would not rule him the way she did everyone else. Not anymore.
She narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Two.”
“Delightful.” He settled more comfortably into his seat. “Now, back to the matter at hand. Why on earth would you want to marry a boring man?”
“I’ve had enough excitement to last a lifetime. It’s overrated. I want someone I can depend on.”
It made sense, though Michael didn’t admit it. He might have felt the same had he experienced what Claire had. It couldn’t have been easy to go from having plenty to not enough and back again while the world watched. While the world sniggered.
Claire had only been out for one Season before her brother Richard squandered the family’s fortune.
She’d barely had time to get her feet beneath her, socially speaking, before it was all swept away.
Now she’d share this next Season with three younger sisters.
He couldn’t blame her for wanting to have a plan in place before the social gambit started.
He nodded. “Very well. I’ll play my part. But you must be fully honest with me.”
Her eyes widened. “In what way?”
“You must tell me if you’re interested in a fellow so I can be sure to inform you what I’ve heard.”
So I can undermine him at every turn. Michael smiled guilelessly.
“Fair enough.”
“It might take a copious amount of time to find exactly what you’re looking for.”
“I’m not picky. I already told you—I just want to make sure that whoever courts me is not of your ilk.”
“Of my ilk?” His eyebrows flew upward. “It’s very simple, Claire. I won’t actually court you, and that solves your problem.”
She looked heavenwards. “I mean rakes in general.”
“Would that really be so bad? Rakes are the most experienced gentlemen. Wouldn’t you rather cohabitate with someone who knows how to navigate a lady’s undergarments? Wouldn’t you rather a gentleman be able to take you by the hand, look deeply into your eyes, and seduce you properly?”
Claire blinked rapidly as if alarmed by the notion. But there was something else in her eyes, some flicker of interest that she tried to hide.
Michael’s eyes narrowed. He stood, then sat directly next to her on the sofa.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she snapped, pointing across the room. “Sit back over there.”
“Oh no, Claire,” he murmured lowly. “I think you should experience a rake before you decide you don’t wish to marry one.”
Michael took her cool hand in his and began to murmur sweet nothings at her—idiotic things he’d heard from lovesick saps, things he’d never said before, not once.
“Your hair is as soft as silk,” he rambled. “I want to thread it between my fingers and kiss you senseless. Your eyes contain all the colors of fall. Everything warm and lovely. In your gaze I see everything. Everything, Claire—my entire future. Our future.”
Claire’s green eyes grew wide, alarmed. But there was a soft something there too, that propelled him onward. Then, before he knew it, he was telling her truths—things that he hadn’t even wanted to admit to himself, let alone say out loud to her.
“I’ve been so lonely without you, Claire. I’ve missed you. Why did you leave me the way you did?”
Claire’s breathing became shallow. Her dark lashes fluttered over her half-open eyes and color grew high on her cheeks. And yet, Michael was uncertain whether it was she or he who was the most affected. His pulse was a threshing roar in his head that nearly drowned out the sound of his words.
“You’re so beautiful and so smart, Claire. I wanted you then, but not half as much as I want you now. Tell me I have a chance with you; don’t leave me without hope…”
He leaned closer to her, determined to drive home his point. Although with the scent of her—warm lavender and rose—so close, he suddenly could not remember precisely what his initial point had been.
He’d been seducing her—as a joke, he thought. Michael suddenly thought it was a stupid idea. The seducing would do just fine, but the joke part was a mistake. If he was going to whisper love words to Claire Preston, he intended they do their job properly.
“I’ve never looked at another lady the way I look at you. I’ve never seen one, not like I see you, Claire. I could spend all my hours with you, and it still wouldn’t be enough. These years without you have been misery of the acutest kind…”
The more he whispered to her, the more she flushed.
His heart pounded, matching the tempo pulsing in her delicate neck.
Her breaths were growing shallow, yes, but no shallower than his own.
He began slipping the satin buttons of her glove through their loops.
Each time one popped free, his heart rate ratcheted higher.
He suddenly wondered, who was the seducer? And who was the one being seduced?
Michael wished with his whole heart that this wasn’t a farce, that Claire felt an ounce for him of what he felt for her. If someone was in danger here, it surely was him. Yet he could not bring himself to stop, even though he’d realized the jeopardy he was in.
“You have always been more beautiful than all the other ladies.” He was tugging on the fingers of her glove now, one by one—a shocking display, and yet he could not seem to help himself.
“Always so much more intelligent, so much more interesting. Please, Claire,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure precisely what he was asking for.
Even so, she looked inclined to give it.
Her eyelids were half-closed, her face warm and her expression languid.
Any trepidation that had been there at the outset had receded in the face of whatever emotion she wore now.
He found he quite loved the look on her, the softness of it.
He wondered if she’d allow him to put that expression on her face every day for the rest of her life.
Claire’s eyes met his, and everything Michael had ever wanted seemed just within his reach. This was not just an act, not anymore. This wasn’t some way for him to make a point—whatever it had been. That goal paled in the face of this new possibility.
She felt it, too—he was certain of it. Claire leaned forward, her lips barely parted.
I must be careful, Michael chided himself. For all her sharp angles, she is an innocent lady.
“Pardon me, my lord,” Horace said, walking back into the room.
Claire jerked back, eyes wide. Michael felt in that moment he could have cheerfully murdered his butler.
“Oh, excuse me.” Horace flushed, turned, and walked out, but his momentary presence had demolished whatever spell had been between them.
That’s it, Michael thought. The man is fired.
“You’ve proved my point.” Claire averted her eyes and cleared her throat.
“Which is?”
Michael was too dazed to follow the train of their conversation. He felt as if he’d been on the precipice of some wonderful, life-altering event, and had it stripped from his fingers at the very last moment.
“You are a rake. Through and through.” Claire stood abruptly, her glove still gaping at the wrist where he’d unbuttoned it. “If you insist on making a mockery of me, if you won’t help me, I’ll simply find someone who will.”
The thought of Claire going to a true rake and presenting her proposition had Michael sitting up straight.
A gentleman with more experience might have been able to seduce her more thoroughly.
That thought made Michael want to punch someone—preferably his own butler, as the man had failed him twice that morning alone.
“Very well,” he said abruptly. “Sit back down. I shall help you.”
“You will?” Claire resumed her seat, leaving quite a bit more distance between them than before.
“Of course. We’re old friends.”
His heart rate was still coming down from the interlude they’d just shared. Whether or not Claire believed it had been real on his part, it was. Michael intended to ensure that they spent as much time together as possible in the coming weeks.
After all, now that Michael knew what he wanted, now that he knew what was missing, he wasn’t going to give it up without a fight.
“We’ll need to get started immediately,” he said.
“We’ll speak again tomorrow after my mother leaves.
As for today, I’m already going to be dreadfully late for my fencing appointment.
” He stood, grasped her hand, and pressed a quick kiss to her palm before she could snatch it away. “Horace will see you out.”