A Hasty Betrothal (18 page)

She wanted to speak, to say something, but her heart thudded desperately against her rib cage. Her knees shook. Who was this Miles? A dangerous antagonist come alive from a novel, or a moody hero intent on saving the damsel?

“I was worried.” His voice cut through her thoughts, low and rough.

Her gaze flew up to his. The way his eyes bored into her... She shivered.

“Are you cold?” Immediately he moved closer, his arm sliding around her in a welcome, warm embrace.

“I am fine, Miles.” She shivered again, relief rippling through her. “I am so glad you found me.”

“And if I hadn't?”

The measured words, careful and slow, drained her last ounce of willpower.

“You would, because when you want something, you do it,” she said quietly. Why resist what was so very obvious? She was marrying this man. Could it be so bad to be attracted to him?

“Not always, Bitt,” he rasped. Leaning forward, his breath a kiss in the air between them, he rested his forehead against hers. It was an utterly foreign sensation to feel his skin against hers, and yet natural. “Sometimes I don't get what I want.”

Strains of piano undulated in quiet waves, wrapping around them. Without questioning herself, Elizabeth brought her arms up to circle Miles's neck. Their faces shifted, his cheek pressing against hers, his lips searching until she offered her own.

How very often she had read of stolen kisses. Of rendezvous and secret loves. But no amount of reading had prepared her for the shock of Miles's lips upon her own. The way his mouth pressed against hers, warm and inviting, crisped with the taste of strawberry from their dessert. His arms possessed her. Capturing her against himself.

Every sense heightened, discovering the scrape of his chin against hers, the pressure of his palms on her back, the emotions streaming through her in unrelenting currents.

And then he drew back, taking his lips from hers. Removing his hands. Leaving her alone and breathless and shivering.

She dared not speak. Was not sure she could, for every part of her thrummed. And her heart hurt. Oh, it hurt. Every beat seemed too loud and she wondered if Miles could hear the tortured cadence. But no, he appeared in his own agony, his cheekbones cut into harsh angles and planes, his eyes buried beneath the veil of shadows.

For the moment, their heaving chests and whispery exhales mingled with the night's noises. Footsteps sounded upon the walk. Quickly, Miles drew her to him, pivoting so that they were shadowed upon the lane. The party passed by, a group of laughing men and women so intent on their own fun that they did not notice two souls beside a bench.

After the path had cleared, Miles released her. She felt more steady now, though there was the shock of his kiss still echoing on her lips, in her heart.

“I am very happy you're well and unharmed,” he said at last. “We should return to the Grand Path. The others went across the Thames to see the gardens.”

“I should have liked to do that. I was distracted,” she admitted. Knowing whatever they'd just shared had been shattered by reality, she walked away from the benches. Miles moved beside her, his steps mirroring hers. After that kiss, could she really enjoy the night? She wanted to go home, to bury herself in her bed and relive every special moment.

She glanced at her companion, annoyance surging when she realized how unaffected he looked. He winked at her.

Infernal man.

But she couldn't quite dredge up irritation, for her lips still ached from the press of his kiss, and it was as though the warm imprint of his hand still lingered on her back. How would she ever look at him the same?

“I will escort you home,” he said finally.

“Jenna awaits me. There is no need for your presence.” She did not think she could sit in a carriage with him. Not with how she felt, as though her entire being adored him. Her fingers longed to stroke his cheek, to tell him she would be the best wife he could have ever asked for. But he looked distant, even walking a smidge farther ahead, as though trying to escape.

Perhaps the kiss
had
affected him, after all. Hope enflamed. Putting aside the concern of future children bearing her marred skin, the dream of being loved bloomed within. A fragile dream but it unfurled nonetheless.

As they neared the entrance, passing throngs of revelers and pavilions of entertainment and songs, she reached for his arm. His muscles jumped at her touch but she did not remove her hand.

“I have fulfilled all three of your requests,” she said inanely, a part of her desperately grasping at a semblance of normality. “Is there anything else you want from me?”

“No.” Miles faced her, and gone were the crinkles at his eyes, replaced by a sober look that chilled Elizabeth and chased every warm feeling from her soul. “Nothing at all.”

Chapter Nineteen

W
hen Elizabeth awoke, it was to Jenna's quiet hum as she prepared for the morning. Elizabeth squinted out from beneath the covers, which gathered in a warm nest about her head.

“Is it time to awake?”

“Lady Danvers wishes to call in two hours. I am laying out your clothes.” Jenna came over, eyes worried. “I'm sorry for waking you, my lady. Shall I bring you something?”

Elizabeth groaned, her eyes gritty, her imagination still teeming with dreams, all revolving around Miles. “No, that is not necessary.” She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “Have you ever been in love, Jenna?”

Her maid rustled the coverlets, smoothing them. “Twice, my lady. The first time when I was a young woman.”

Unbidden, Elizabeth felt stirrings of curiosity. Jenna had been with her since she was thirteen, and this was the first she'd heard of a romance. “How did I not know of this young man?”

Jenna flushed. “It did not interfere with my duties, I promise you that.”

Dumbfounded, Elizabeth could only stare at her maid, who looked truly frightened. Did she think Elizabeth a monster? Unfeeling? Shaken, she sat up, letting the covers fall to her waist.

“Of course, it did not. You are a quality lady's maid, Jenna, and I do apologize if I've never told you so.”

She dipped her head. “Thank you, my lady. I suppose I did not think you interested in my life.”

Elizabeth grimaced. “What happened to him?”

“He was sent to France during the war. He didn't return.” Jenna gazed down at her hands.

Pain lanced Elizabeth's chest. While she had been reading and dreaming her way through life, Jenna had quietly suffered a broken heart. “I am so very sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize. It was a long time ago and we were very young.” Jenna curled her fingers around her skirt. “Perhaps my heart has healed, for...” She hesitated, as though questioning the prudence of sharing secrets with her mistress.

“For?” Elizabeth prompted.

“I have met someone. He is so very handsome and composed. An older man with a gentle smile and kind eyes.”

“Those are fine attributes, indeed.” Why did falling in love bring Jenna so much happiness when all Elizabeth felt was pain? Chest tight, she wet her lips. “Do I know him?”

Her lady's maid nodded, but her eyes filled with what looked like worry. “When you marry, my lady, and perhaps this is out of place, but I feel that I must plan for my future...”

“I shall be taking you with me,” Elizabeth said quickly. “That is, if you wish to stay on.”

Jenna's face cracked into a wide smile. “Nicholas is his name. You know him as Powell. He is surely the most wonderful man I've ever met.”

“But when did you meet him?” She picked at the coverlet as she awaited the maid's reply.

“Several months ago.” Jenna sighed heartily. “He is Mr. Hawthorne's valet.”

“Oh, my. Powell. Yes, he is quite a good choice.” An image of the man flashed through her mind. He had been easy to talk to, a creative thinker with a thoughtful smile. “You seem...confident that your situation will end on a positive note.”

“One must always be optimistic with love. You can never give up nor lose hope.” Jenna patted Elizabeth on the knee. “Come now, my lady. We shall ready you for the day. There are several callers to be seen and then a small get-together at Lady Charleston's this evening. Do you wish to wear your teal or your champagne day dress?”

As Jenna riffled through Elizabeth's clothing, Elizabeth hauled herself out of the bed. She dearly wanted to gush about her first kiss, but unlike Jenna, she had no way of knowing if Miles reciprocated her feelings.

She supposed she could ask.

Yes, that seemed the obvious solution.

Beating around the proverbial bush never suited her. Reading and quiet nights at home, yes. Avoiding difficult conversations with her betrothed, never. In fact, Miles was probably the only person she had ever felt comfortable losing her temper with.

Perhaps he was as on edge as she. There was only one way to find out.

“Jenna—” Elizabeth walked to her desk and plucked the quill from its container “—could you see that a note is delivered to Mr. Hawthorne today? I would like for you to personally give it to him. Tell him I do not need a response, but to simply expect me at four.”

“Lady Ewell is arriving, my lady, at that time.”

“Fiddle-faddle,” she muttered. She'd forgotten today was the day reserved for callers. Scrawling a quick message to Miles, she handed the parchment to her maid. “Very well, wait for his answer. If I must arrive sooner, I shall. Could you arrange this for me?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Oh, and do tell Powell I say hello.”

Jenna's face turned pastel pink and Elizabeth could not help but smile. Life tossed unexpected twists. At least they made some people happy.

The afternoon passed uneventfully. When Lady Danvers called, she regaled Elizabeth with the latest on-dits, including the still-circulating tales of Lady Elizabeth and Mr. Hawthorne's love match. Elizabeth had neither the heart nor the inclination to explain the real situation, and a sigh of relief passed her lips as soon as the matriarch left.

She called for Jenna and learned that Miles could receive her at five thirty. Nervousness plagued her all day, for she longed to see him but could not help but remember his coldness when they parted. Surely today he might be in a better mood. She needed to see what he thought about their kiss. If perhaps he might kiss her again.

Last night she should have asked, but her emotions had been roiling like unruly waves. She had hardly been able to think clearly. Even now, as she readied to leave, as she pulled on a shawl and arranged her bonnet, she remembered the tenderness of his embrace.

The ride to his house was torturous. She clutched her reticule and a copy of
Gulliver's Travels
. She found herself praying to God that all would go well. Not sure of the specific details she should ask for, she simply prayed for wisdom.

The prayer comforted.

When she arrived, Powell showed her into Miles's study. She offered him a conspiratorial smile, to which his normally staid expression broke into a beaming grin. They said nothing, but she could not help but feel a kinship with the man. He had, after all, been charmed by Jenna.

As she settled into one of Miles's great wingback chairs, she mused on how lonely Powell must have felt all these years. And then he met Jenna and fell in love. Uttering a heartfelt sigh, she hugged her reticule.

True love.

A gift that always seemed outside her grasp. A sound at the doorway caught her unawares. She looked up. Miles strode into the room, his hair unkempt, his eyes a mottled green.

And every ounce of her melted.

Was this how Hermia had felt for Lysander? Such a riveting love that she risked death to be with him?

“Miles,” she breathed, her heartbeat a sonata as she remembered the feel of his arms about her waist when they waltzed.

“Elizabeth.” His gaze flickered.

The sonata came to an unromantic halt. Flustered by his unemotional greeting, she hugged the book tighter. It was her excuse for the visit, a way to lead up to what had happened the previous evening. “I have brought a different story to read you. Something other than Shakespeare. Just a chapter. Please.”

He laughed. A dry, hollow sound. Frowning, she slapped the book on her lap and glared at him.

“Have I said something to amuse you?”

“Your request to see me is merely to read me a
book
?” His last word held so much surprise that Elizabeth flinched.

“There is more to the request than that.” She paused. “I wished to speak to you of several things. First, Miss Townsley and I plan to visit Littleshire this week and stay for a few days. This is the novel I am reading the children.”

“You think me so ignorant you would read me a children's book?”

Elizabeth tightened her grip on the novel. He was positively in a wicked mood. Why did he sound so very defensive? “This is fine literature, I assure you. There is no age constraint on imagination. I completed three requests for you, and all quite successfully, I'd say. Now I simply ask for a few moments of your day. Surely you can spare that, to humor me.”

In the past, when she used this tone, he flashed her a mischievous smile. He teased. Today he gave her a long, measured look. Taking the seat beside her, he released a pained sigh.

“I am marrying you for convenience's sake, Elizabeth. Those requests were to prove that you could rise to the occasion of being my wife. A task that might be unwieldy for one used to being cosseted and waited upon her entire life.” He steepled his fingers, his eyes guarded. “You performed magnificently. You will be an excellent wife, and we will get along just fine as long as you understand one thing. I owe you nothing.”

Elizabeth felt as though she'd been slapped. His tone burned, twisting her heart and scouring away any hope she might've felt for their union. “There are so many offensive words you just uttered, that I know not where to begin in refutation.”

He shrugged. “There is nothing to refute. Simply understand that I shall care for you and protect you, but do not think that I will humor you. You forget that I have been married once before, and I well know the machinations of a wife.”

Machinations? Elizabeth was sure her tongue had stopped working, right along with her heart. Her throat constricted and telltale prickles crept along her eyelids. She would
not
cry in front of Miles. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply his words stung.

Though looking at him now, at the proud jut of his jaw and the stiff posture, hinted that everything he said came from a wounded place she knew little about. And she had trod upon the wound somehow, with such force that he had turned into this heartless cad of a man.

Asking him about their kiss no longer concerned her. She did not want to hear what he might say because it surely would heap more hurtful words upon the pile he'd just created. She wet her lips.

“Very well, Miles, you owe me nothing. I thank you for agreeing to marry me on such short notice.”

His expression further darkened into a brooding mask.

“I take it that I may continue my lessons with the children in Littleshire, or is that beyond the scope of what is expected of me?”

“Lessons are fine.” He was looking at her warily, awaiting a verbal tirade, she supposed.

She stood. The desire for anything from this man had fled. How utterly silly she had been to think a kiss meant more to him than it did. Even though the deepest parts of her protested that it must have meant
something
, she did not have the nerve to ask. Not with him in this mood.

“I will confess to being entirely surprised when you came to offer marriage. Indeed, you were so opposed to the institution that I could not believe you would do such a thing simply to keep me from ruin.” She clutched her reticule so tightly her knuckles ached. “You said my parents did not put you up to it. You said John was worried. Did he pressure you to marry me? Tell me the truth. You do owe me something, Miles, and it is honesty. I shall always expect such from you.”

He dipped his head in concession. “Try not to lose your temper, Bitt, for what I have to say shall surely irritate you.” He paused, and it seemed as though her breaths paused with him. “Your brother did indeed request that I marry you.”

“I knew it.” She reeled beneath tremors of anger. “John was behind your proposal.”

Miles uncurled from the chair, rising in a beautifully lazy elegance that almost distracted Elizabeth from her rapidly rising pique.

She shook her head, mind racing. “Why would he ask you to do such a thing? I hardly ever speak to him. I cannot believe he told you to marry me. Is he that concerned with his reputation?”

“Dearest, you must understand. He wanted to save you the distress of scandal, and since the article implied my involvement, he held me responsible for your plight. I didn't tell him about Wrottesley because I could not allow your betrothal to such a man, and I knew John would demand that he do you right by marriage. You must know, I owe your brother a great deal for his help in a past situation.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, thoroughly mussing the blond strands. “There is nothing to worry about nor to be upset over. John wanted you safe and happy. Asking for your hand was simply an obligation I felt duty bound to fulfill.”

Elizabeth clutched her reticule, every response locked tight beneath the pressure of her diaphragm. Surely she had misheard. She replayed his words in her mind.

His cold, emotionless words.

An
obligation
.

Drawing herself as tall as possible, she skewered him with a glare. “One does not simply go around kissing obligations.”

Her words brought a rouge flush to his cheeks.

He moved forward, grasping her by the shoulders, his irises a swirling mass of greens and grays, his fingers digging into her flesh. “I was worried about you. It was a mistake.”

Her heart swelled, battling between so many feelings. He had worried about her. It almost took the sting from their argument. Oh, how tempting to stay, to lift her face and place a kiss upon his lips. To show him how she cared for him.

But he had called their kiss a mistake. Her an obligation. That is all, he had said. Simply an obligation.

Heart twisting in tight, painful spasms, she jerked from his grip. The reticule swung from the force of her movement, knocking against her knees in an angry protest.

“I am a grown woman,” she said stiffly. “No one has asked you to worry over me. My parents can pressure me to marry, but certainly no one can be forced into marriage. If I choose to live in quietude with Grandmother, it is not because I am helpless or in need of rescuing. I could have found another suitor, especially with the pounds attached to my name.”