50 Ways to Ruin a Rake (26 page)

She blinked away tears. Of all the things she should be tearing up over, this always came as a surprise. He saw her work. He knew what she did and admired her for it. “Of course,” she pushed out through her tight throat. “Of course I will help.”

“Thank you,” he said gravely. “But that's not where I was the biggest idiot.”

“Trevor, stop.” She couldn't take anymore. Her heart was breaking, and yet the hope, the possibility that there might be more to his words, had her nearly dizzy with want.

He kept talking as if she hadn't interrupted. “I never understood this madness, Mellie. I've never felt it before. And my biggest idiocy was when I proposed to you—”

“What?” she gasped.

“I proposed without saying the most important part.” He grabbed her fingers. “I love you, Mellie. I want to marry you and grow old together. I want to make babies with you, then argue science in the morning. But mostly, Mellie, I just love you. Please don't marry anyone else but me.”

There it was. He'd said the words, and more importantly, she saw the truth in his eyes. He loved her.

“I love you too,” she whispered.

“Don't answer yet,” he said. “Just listen. My family will be a bother. They're
always
a bother, but you already handle my mother. And did I tell you that my investment in the mine has finally paid off? I found out just yesterday. And we can sell your cosmetic formula, so even if my grandfather does cut me off, we've got plenty of money.”

“
I've
got plenty of money,” she said. “I'm an heiress, remember?”

“And your father won't really cut you off. When he sees how deliriously happy I've made you—”

“I had a letter from him weeks ago. He said he was wrong.”

He blinked at her, then suddenly blew out a heavy breath. “See there? It will all work out. I promise. You just have to say—”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. God, Mellie, please, please don't turn me away.”

She laughed, the sound light even through her tears. “Idiot! I love you
means
yes. Yes, I will marry you. Yes, I will have your babies. And yes, I will help you with your research if you will help me with mine. And you will show me how to do…” She swallowed and held up the book.

Then they were kissing. She was in his arms, and he was pulling her tight. And suddenly, she knew that everything would be all right. Despite everything, his plan had worked. And her plan had come out just right. And they were in love, so even if it hadn't, they would find a way.

Above all else, never lose hope.

Ronnie sat in the dirt at a crossroads and contemplated murder. His intended victim stood nearby, happily pecking at the dirt, completely ignorant of its doom. But before Ronnie did the deed, he had to summarize in neat form the full extent of the creature's crimes.

First and most important, the bird's purpose in life had been to win Ronnie his lady fair. Far from doing that, the stupid creature had tripped him during the duel, pecked him in very private places, and covered his favorite shoes in shite. Then, to compound his crimes, the thing's demented squawking had gotten them thrown off the mail coach at this deserted crossroads too far from London for a decent inn. So here he sat contemplating murder while the afternoon sun baked his shoulders, causing the sweat under his clothes to make his wounds itch.

“What creature is that?” gasped a woman's voice.

He turned to see a tall woman with a yellow bonnet sitting atop a cart. He had heard the thing coming, of course, and had intended to stand and make himself more presentable. But so black was his mood that he hadn't even bothered, choosing instead to think of ways to kill the hideous creature.

But now that she asked, he felt the compulsion to answer. So he pushed slowly to his feet and began his speech. “This, fair maiden, is the noblest of creatures. A rare descendent of the hitherto extinct dodo bird. It hails…” He swallowed. “I mean…” He felt his shoulders slump, his heart not in his performance.

“Sir?”

“It's a damned American turkey,” he said as he kicked dust at it. “A common, cantankerous beast who—”

“An American bird! Truly?” Her cry startled him so much that he looked up in shock at her. Meanwhile, she had set the brake and scooted close to him on the bench. “Oh, I wish my brother were here to see it. A common bird, you say? But he's magnificent!” Her hands fluttered before her as she reached out, then awkwardly pulled them back to press against her full bosom. “Do you think…? Would it be possible for me to touch it?”

He blinked and wondered if she had lost her wits. But then he realized that this was exactly the reaction he had hoped for with Mellie. In truth, it had been his first thought when seeing the bird: what a magnificent creature. And then, as if sensing the topic of their discussion, the turkey ceased pecking in the dirt, lifted his head, and made that sound. Not the screeching horror of a cry that had them tossed off the mail coach, but the other sound. The soothing gobble that—

“Was that a purr? Oh sir, you must let me touch it!”

“Of course,” he said, though it took him a moment to gather his wits. “Pray, give me your hand.”

He helped her alight and noted for the first time how clear her skin was, how beautiful her figure. She was tall—much taller than Mellie—so he didn't feel as if he completely overwhelmed her in size. Her hair beneath her bonnet was flaxen, or so he guessed from the fair cast to her brows. And her voice was gentle.

“Come here, little bird. Oh, come here.”

And to Ronnie's complete shock, the bird did. With stately movements that would put a rooster to shame, the thing walked over and allowed the girl to stroke its feathers.

“He's magnificent! How did you find him?”

She truly sounded awed, and Ronnie was so shocked that he answered without his usual embellishments. “It was a quest.”

Her mouth slipped open in shock as she turned to him. “A quest?” she asked, awe in her tone. “Are you a Knight of the Round Table?”

He blinked, his mind rapidly scrambling. “What do you know of King Arthur's knights?”

“Oh heavens, but I have heard the stories since I was a little girl. My father is a scholar, you see. He studies all the old tales and thinks that the knights did not all fall when Camelot did. That there are some who yet survive. Some who demonstrate all the noble virtues first espoused by the great King Arthur.”

Ronnie stared at the girl, and abruptly his heart filled with a yearning such as he had never known before. A hunger to do, to be—nay, to embody all that Arthur's Round Table had once represented simply because she seemed to want it. But even as the desire consumed him, he realized how deeply unworthy he was. And so he looked at his shite-covered boots in dismay.

“No, sweet lady, I am not such a noble man as that.” He found his words spilling from him as he might at a confessional—his sins exposed before this beautiful girl. “My quest was to find a dodo bird and nurture it with my own hand. Instead, I found this, a common American turkey from a traveling show, and pretended it was what I sought.”

She gasped. “You lied?”

“I wanted my true love.”

She waited a moment to answer, and in that time he felt the full weight of his idiocy on his shoulders. But then she spoke. He wasn't looking at her, so it was her gentle tone that reached him. “But you cannot catch true love with a lie, sir. Surely you know that.”

He did. Or he did now. “I am a wretched soul.”

“Nay, sir,” she said. Then she touched his cheek, gently lifting his face until he gazed into her eyes. “You are only an imperfect one. Even Sir Galahad stumbled.”

He jolted, startled by the name she uttered. Could it be possible that she mentioned that knight's name? “My lady,” he whispered, dizzy with confusion.

“Do not despair,” the woman said. “Shall I tell you a tale? My brother wished one thing with all his heart. One single thing when all others laughed and told him he was a fool.”

Ronnie felt the blackness of his mood fade away, his heart caught by the tale. “What was his wish?”

“To become a sailor.”

He frowned. “A sailor? That is not so foolish a wish.”

“It is if you live in Leeds. There is no water for miles and miles, much less sailing vessels.”

And for the second time, he jolted, the name of her town rocking him to the very foundation of his soul. “Leeds?”

“Yes, that is where we live. But he persisted. He bought books of nautical studies and memorized every word. By day he would work our farm until his hands bled, but by night he would dream of the sea and the day he would sail a ship.”

“And his wish was granted?”

“Oh yes. Just yesterday, I waved good-bye to him. That's why we were in London. He apprenticed on a ship there and will soon sail to America.”

Ronnie's mind was spinning, but somehow his question slipped out. “Will he find a turkey there and bring it home to you?”

She laughed. “Mayhaps. I asked him to bring me back a bird. I have a fondness for the creatures.”

And then he saw it. She had tilted her head back when she laughed such that the sunlight fell full on her face. Her bonnet slipped, falling back from her head, and when she opened her eyes the sun burst clear and full on her eyes.

Blue. Cerulean blue. The color of clarity and purity. It called to him in the way of a holy relic. And like a gong sounding from the heavens, his soul was rocked a third and most devastating time.

“Oh!” she cried as her bonnet began to slip from her head. She caught it, but he was faster. One hand caught a ribbon, but the other touched her face. He knew the pristine cream of her skin, and the elegant line of her jaw. And when he tilted her face again toward the sun, he saw the absolute beauty of a goddess.

And then a miracle happened. A miracle such as he had never known before. Words tumbled through his mind. Sonnets cast in iambic pentameter, but also line after line of epic poetry such as would rival that of Virgil or Homer. The words were simply there like the fountain of knowledge in his mind, and they did not stop!

Whereas before, he always had to struggle for his work. He agonized over every line, but suddenly it was all there. A well full of glorious words and all because of her.

“All yet seems well; and if it end so meet. The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet,” he intoned. Why he had uttered Shakespeare's words, he had not a clue. But then she smiled at him, her lips curving into the most perfect bud of rosy beauty.

“The king's a beggar, now the play is done: All is well ended, if this suit be won.”

He gaped at her while his knees turned weak. She had quoted back to him! Shakespeare's
All's Well that Ends Well
. Even Mellie had never done such a thing, as she'd no interest in reading plays, much less memorizing them enough to echo couplets back to him.

“Sir!” the woman cried as he fell to his knees before her. “Sir, are you well?”

“I am…I am…” He was flummoxed, confounded, and perplexed. He was dizzy with all that had transpired. He saw it now, as clear as if it were laid before him on a map. The constant frustrations with Mellie. The surety that she was his glorious destiny, and yet his utter inability to win her.

It had all been for this moment now. With this woman. If he had not chased Mellie, she would not have fled to London. If he had not followed her there, she would not have given him a quest. And if it were not for the damned bird, he would not have stumbled during the duel, lost Mellie's hand, and ended up here at this crossroads where his true love would find him.

“Sir, you are unwell. Pray come up on my cart. I am heading home now, but I know of a inn close by where you can rest out of the heat.”

Words continued to spill in wondrous currents. Epic poetry, sweet couplets, even a short play. They were all there in his mind, but nothing came from his lips. Nothing that would express the depth of his gratitude and awe.

“Come sir,” she pressed as she helped him stagger to the cart. “And would you bring your bird too?”

Bird? The noble beast that God had used as a vehicle for his divine will? Of course he—

“Oh! Oh look. He's already in the cart.”

Sure enough, the turkey had at some point pecked or fluttered or leaped his way into the back of the cart.

Ronnie smiled. “A gift for you, my lady.”

“Oh sir, I am not—”

“You are to me. If I may… Could I inquire as to your name, fair goddess?”

She smiled, her blush pinking her cheeks such as the goddess Aurora might paint on the morning sky. “It's Grace, sir. I'm—”

“My Grace.”

“Sir!”

“My muse. My inspiration.”

“Oh!”

He watched her then, bracing himself for the grimace of distaste or the slight roll of her eyes. That was, after all, what people did when the lyrical words fell unrestrained from his lips. But she did none of those things. Instead, her blush deepened, her eyes sparkled, and she whispered as if it were something she ought not say.

“Sit beside me, sir, if you will. And…and tell me more.”

More! She wanted more! And there was more. A whole ocean of words and poetry that she inspired waiting to spill forth.

“I think I shall begin a new poem,” he said as he pulled out his journal and flipped to a new page. A pristine white sheet on which he wrote these words: “To Grace on the road to Leeds.”

“Oh sir!” she gasped, but he could tell she was pleased.

“When first she saw Sir Galahad,” he began.

“Is that you? Sir Galahad?”

He shook his head. “No, fair lady. It is…well…” He glanced significantly behind him.

“Truly?” she cried. “The turkey? But I think that is a perfect name for him!”

He flushed, feeling embarrassed by his own fanciful notions. “I named him that when I first saw him. I thought he was a noble creature who would bring me the Holy Grail.” He shook his head in wonder. “I thought he'd failed.”

“Oh no, sir. Never that.”

“But I see now it's true. He is Sir Galahad, and you, my grail.”

“Oh sir…” she murmured, and then she cast him a coy look. A flirtatious glance from a woman who was pleased with what she saw. “Shall we on to Leeds then?”

“Anywhere you will,” he answered. And from behind them, Sir Galahad added his own purr of approval.

“Gobble, gobble!”