A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4) (10 page)

But no, he couldn’t let it go at that.

“Apparently not.” He’d wanted that kiss so badly. He’d wanted
her
so badly. Because of it, he had deluded himself into thinking a kiss they
both
wanted was all it would take for Laurel to end her objections and agree to marry him.

Eloise approached him with a towel in hand. “This isn’t Scotland, you know. You can’t just grab a girl and pull her into your arms no matter how obviously attracted she is to you.”

He took the offered towel with a muttered thanks and began to wring the moisture from his hair and clothes. His leg was throbbing and painful. “I know.”

“Poor thing. She was horrified by her own feelings for you,” Hortensia remarked. “Not that I blame her. You are a nice-looking man.” She harrumphed and shook her head. “Still doesn’t excuse your behavior. What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

He arched an eyebrow and considered his reply. Hortensia was an older woman, closer in age to his grandmother, and although Laurel referred to her as an aunt, Hortensia was actually her father’s aunt. But it didn’t seem to matter to these Farthingales. If you had a drop of Farthingale blood, you were affectionately referred to as an aunt or uncle or cousin. If you were a friend who wandered in often enough at suppertime, you became a cousin.

“Well?” Hortensia prompted.

Her hair was a vibrant white and she had those striking blue eyes that truly did mark her as a Farthingale. She was of average size but a bit on the portly side. This woman enjoyed her cakes, but there was no doubt she’d been a beauty in her younger days, for she had retained most of her fine features.

He sensed that he had an ally in Hortensia, for had she been as shocked or angry as Laurel had been, she would have been beating him about the head with his crutches by now. “Who is this fellow Devlin?”

“Lord Devlin Kirwood?” She smiled grimly. “Your competition. He’s now in London, no doubt intending to offer for Laurel now that she’s made her come out.”

“Tell me about him,” Graelem said while continuing to dry himself off. He wanted to twist his bloody towel around Devlin’s throat. He wanted to kill the cur. A bit possessive perhaps, but he didn’t want the cur sniffing about Laurel.

He didn’t trust Devlin.

Hortensia arched an eyebrow. “Our families are neighbors in Coniston and he has long been devoted to Laurel. He’s quite good looking. His father is a viscount and Devlin will inherit the title and likely the estate since he’s the eldest son. His father ceded one of his lesser titles to him a few years ago, so he’s Baron Kirwood now. An English baron, which as you know places him higher in rank than you since your title is Scottish.”

She marched toward him and boldly patted him on his damp shoulder. “Don’t let your jealousy of Devlin distract you. He isn’t your problem. Laurel is.”

“I know.” Still, any man who had known Laurel as long as Devlin had and never tried to kiss her was suspect as far as Graelem was concerned. What was his game?

More important, how was he ever going to convince Laurel that Devlin had no use for her heart? Graelem instinctively knew the man had to be lusting after her trust fund and not her. “I’m not jealous of that ass. I’ll rip out his entrails and stuff them down his miserable throat if he dares come near Laurel.”

Hortensia sighed and shook her head. “Men,” she muttered. “I had better go find my niece.”

She hurried out, leaving Graelem alone with his grandmother. Eloise seemed none too pleased with him either. “You shouldn’t have kissed her.”

“She kissed me.”

Eloise rolled her eyes. “I didn’t see you resisting. No matter, the point is that she ran off humiliated. You’re not helping your situation.”

He ran a hand through his wet hair. “Damn it, Grandmama. I’m not some mewling boy who needs his grandmother telling him what to do.”

“Good heavens, I should hope not! No, I think you must enlist the help of Laurel’s sisters.”

He groaned low in his throat, knowing his protests would fall upon deaf ears, but he had to try anyway. “I don’t need anyone’s help. I’m handling things just fine.”

She eyed him up and down, making no attempt to hide her disbelief. “I can see that.” Nor did she attempt to mask her sarcasm.

He supposed it didn’t help that water was still dripping off his soaked hair onto his nose or that his shirt was completely soaked through. “I forbid you to invite them here.”

“What?” She placed a hand to her ear, feigning deafness.

“Damn it, Grandmama. Do not invite her sisters here.”

BY NOON
THE NEXT DAY,
Graelem was seated in one of the delicate yellow silk chairs in Eloise’s parlor, smiling politely as he entertained Rose, Lily, and Dillie. His grandmother was not at home, which made him wonder whether she’d extended the invitation and then made a cowardly disappearance to avoid his wrath.

Hah!
As if he’d ever raise his voice or—heaven forbid—a hand to his grandmother. Until now, she’d been the one ray of sunshine in his existence and the closest thing to a mother he’d ever known.

It was of no moment that right now he wished to strangle her.

“I hope you don’t mind our intrusion, Lord Moray,” Rose remarked while she and the twins settled in for what was clearly to be a long visit.

“Not at all,” he lied smoothly, praying that Napoleon’s forces would choose this moment to invade London, for he’d rather face a thousand battle-hardened soldiers than these three Farthingale sisters.

Rose’s stomach had a light bulge to it, no doubt a sign of her condition. However, she moved with a casual grace that he found alarming. Weren’t women in her delicate state supposed to stay home in bed and knit tiny booties and blankets with which to swaddle their infants once they were born?

To make matters worse, the twins were giving him eye strain. The same face on two different fidgeting bodies was a little more than his eyeballs could endure at the moment. “Your visit is a most… er, pleasant surprise.”

Rose arched an eyebrow to signal her disbelief, but she appeared more amused than offended. “I suppose you’re wondering why we’re here, my lord.”

“Quite the opposite.” He responded with an amused grin of his own. “I know precisely why you’ve come here.”

“Good, then you won’t mind taking our advice.”

Hell, yes, I mind!

Before he could answer, Watling rolled in a tray laden with lemonade, poppy cakes, currant buns, and ginger tarts. Dillie’s blue eyes popped wide as she grabbed a ginger tart. “My favorite,” she cheered and took a large bite.

Rose shook her head in disapproval before returning her attention to him. “We simply had to come. You see, Mother sent word that Laurel cried herself to sleep last night.”

Damn.
“I’m sorry, Lady Emory. I know she left here quite distressed. My fault, of course.”

Rose nodded. She had lovely, dark gold hair much like Laurel’s, and she resembled Laurel in height and slender frame. However, her eyes were a vivid blue with no hint of green in them. “Please, call me Rose. I’ve only been a lady for a few months and I’m still not used to it.”

He agreed. “I hope you’ll call me Graelem. Same can be said for my title. The ink’s still wet on my Letters Patent.”

Rose chuckled at the remark, but her amusement quickly faded. “Laurel is unhappy, and only you can change the way she feels.”

Graelem shifted uncomfortably, for he wasn’t about to release Laurel from their betrothal. “If Laurel sent you over here to—”

“Oh, dear me. No, she doesn’t know we’re here.” A light blush stained Rose’s cheeks. “She’d be appalled to know we’ve… well, taken on the role of mediators. I suppose that’s what you would call us.”

Dillie hastily swallowed the last of her ginger cake. “Simply put, we’re doing what we Farthingales do best, meddling. If you understood Laurel at all, you’d know she wouldn’t want any of us to interfere. But she may as well wish for the moon to turn green because that isn’t likely to happen either, is it?”

She smiled sweetly and continued. “Laurel never cries, but you have her filling buckets with her tears. What did you say to her?”

“The usual, that I won’t let her out of the betrothal.” However, he shifted uncomfortably because he knew damn well that it was the spectacular kiss they’d shared yesterday that had set off those tears.

Lily pursed her lips and frowned. “No, that’s not it. You’ve been spouting that same nonsense since the day Brutus trampled you. Something else happened yesterday.”

Hadn’t Hortensia told every Farthingale in existence about that kiss by now? Come to think of it, why wasn’t John Farthingale at his door with every able-bodied Farthingale male over the age of seven threatening to beat the stuffing out of him?

Or at his door with a vicar and a special license in hand. Were he Laurel’s father, he would be more determined than ever to see them married at once. Laurel had been caught kissing a man—
him
—in his bedchamber. The scandal would ruin her chances of ever receiving another offer of marriage.

Damn.
Of course, Devlin would still want her. The scandal would only clear the field for him, making it easier for the bastard to get his hands on Laurel’s wealth. Graelem was sure getting his hands on Laurel was unnecessary, for Devlin was using their childhood acquaintance as the means to lure the innocent into his trap.

Graelem knew men like that cur, men who used their wives as a lending bank and nothing more. Their marriage would be cold and loveless, a living death sentence for a girl as passionate as Laurel. As for himself, he’d do everything in his power to make Laurel happy every day of their marriage, assuming she kept her promise to marry him.

But how was he to prove his good intentions when the means used to bring her to the altar were heartless and cruel?

He considered exposing Devlin for the fortune hunter that he was, but he doubted the plan would succeed. He needed time to dig up dirt on the man, and he was sure there was plenty to be found. He had even considered engaging a Bow Street runner to gather information, but the problem was, he’d never prove Devlin unworthy before Midsummer’s Day.

Devlin wasn’t to be trusted, that much was certain. Graelem knew it even though he’d never met him.

But how could he convince Laurel?

The short hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the mere thought of that bounder.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It was instinct.

The man was a disreputable character. He’d just kept it well hidden from the Farthingales.

However, the problem remained. No matter how many secrets and scandals Devlin sought to hide, and even if he could find them before Midsummer’s Day, Graelem’s bringing them to light and destroying the bounder’s reputation would not gain him Laurel’s favor. She would never believe ill of her childhood friend, and even if she did, she would then be furious with Graelem for tossing the unpleasant truth in her face.

“Aren’t you going to tell us what you did to make her cry?” Lily asked again, regaining his attention. He returned Lily’s steady gaze. In truth, all three sisters had edged forward in their chairs and were staring at him.

He felt as though he were a prisoner being marched to a hangman’s noose. “I kissed her.” There was no harm in letting them know. They were going to find out about it from Laurel or Hortensia soon enough.

He wasn’t certain why Hortensia had stayed quiet, for he didn’t think the words “silence” or “discretion” existed in the Farthingale vocabulary… except for George’s, perhaps.

“I assume it wasn’t a genteel kiss on the cheek,” Lily remarked with a snort.

“Oh, what fun! You gave her one of those kiss-the-slippers-off-a-girl sort of kiss!” Dillie had a soft expression on her face and her eyes took on a dreamy, far away quality. “That’s the way Julian makes Rose feel every time he kisses her. Isn’t it, Rose? You’ve said so many times.”

Rose blushed.

“I think I’d want my husband to make me feel that way,” Dillie continued. “I couldn’t accept anything less than his whole heart, because that’s what I would give him in return, all my heart. So, was it that sort of a kiss?”

He shifted uncomfortably, blaming the discomfort on his leg and not on the fact that he’d probably trampled Laurel’s heart—inadvertently, of course—just as her horse had trampled him. “She might have taken it that way.”

He expected gasps and recriminations. He’d coerced their sister into an unwanted betrothal and imposed himself upon her, but the three merely exchanged glances and smiled. “I told you so,” Dillie muttered to her sisters and then turned to face him. “Very well, you’ve won us over. We’ll help you.”

He shook his head, confused. “Why? Because I kissed your sister?”

Lily continued to regard him as though he were the stupidest man in London, perhaps the stupidest man alive. “Of course not. We’ll help you because you made her cry.”

Dillie and Rose nodded in agreement. “Agonized, anguished tears.”

What the hell?

He was more confused than ever, but he’d been warned by his cousins that women had the power to confound men and make them appear as witless fools. Women spoke another language. It might sound like English, and a man might recognize each and every word as it was articulated, but that didn’t mean he knew what was going on.

Chances were, he didn’t, for words held one meaning to women and quite another to men.

He’d never known his mother and had no sisters to confound him, so he’d always wondered what Alex and Gabriel had been talking about. Until this very moment. “Am I missing something here?”
Obviously, I am.
“I thought you liked your sister.”

“We
love
her,” Lily insisted, now looking at him in the same indulgent manner one might look upon one’s not very clever dog when encouraging him to fetch the ball that had just landed at his feet without his noticing.

He held up his hands in surrender. “And yet you’re happy that I made her cry?”

Laurel’s sisters exchanged more glances and then must have reached a tacit understanding for Rose to explain this universal mystery to him. “No, Graelem. We’re happy because it is obvious that she likes you more than she cares to admit. You see,” she said kindly because it was also obvious that he couldn’t see beyond his own nose, “she’s overset because she thinks she is betraying Devlin.”

“Laurel is very loyal. She’s the best friend anyone can ask for,” Dillie continued to explain. “Which is why she’d cut off her right arm before ever betraying a friend, even if it led to her own unhappiness.”

“Which it will because she values Devlin’s friendship, but she’s falling in love with you,” Rose added.

“Which is what I suggested she do,” Lily said with a nod, “when Father admitted he was inclined to permit your so-called betrothal to proceed to a Midsummer marriage. What did you say to sway Father’s opinion of you? He was prepared to bludgeon you to death before he met you.”

Hell if I know.
He shrugged his shoulders. “We spoke of Laurel’s horse.”

“Brutus?” Rose asked.

Graelem glanced at his busted leg. “Does she have more than one such beast?”

Dillie shook her head. “No, just the one. He’s magnificent, but temperamental.”

Just like your sister.

Lily nodded. “Father wanted him destroyed, he was that angry.”

“I know. That’s why I offered to take Brutus. I’ll keep him in my care until Laurel is allowed to have him back.” Once more, he shifted uncomfortably at the reminder of that horse. His leg began to twinge. “Laurel loves him, and I—”

“And you love Laurel!” Dillie interjected. “So you protected Brutus to make the woman you love happy.”

Her statement was followed by a chorus of
eeps
and squeals and exclamations of
crumpets
that had him silently groaning and wishing Napoleon’s army would crash through his door already. “We knew it! Father must have realized it as well. Crumpets!” she squealed again. “You certainly made an excellent impression on him. He never,
ever
likes any of the young men who come around to the house. He’s very protective of us.”

Lily turned to her twin. “Now that we know Graelem loves her, how are we going to get Laurel to admit her feelings for him?”

Dillie pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Rose, what’s your suggestion?”

“Stop. All of you.” Graelem wanted to be stern and make clear that he wanted no interference, but three sets of big blue eyes filled with hope gazed back at him and the admonishment died before it left his lips.

Their gazes held not only hope, but acceptance of him, as though he were already a part of the Farthingale family. “This is getting out of hand. Before you turn me into a damn saint, which I’m not, you deserve to know the truth.”

He’d spent his entire life with old Silas and the rest of his mother’s clan and never felt welcome. To this day he wasn’t certain why Silas had placed that marriage requirement on his inheritance. He wanted to think it was because the old man loved him after all and wanted to see him settle down and raise a loving family. In truth, Silas was probably thinking only of the barony and the need to carry on the Moray line.

His too small chair creaked as he attempted to lean forward without losing his balance. His leg was not yet able to bend, so he held it out straight and positioned in front of him. “I don’t love your sister.”

Three sets of blue eyes blinked at him at the same time.

He’d shocked them, no doubt. But they loved Laurel and he wasn’t about to lie to them about his feelings for her. Perhaps Laurel did love him, in which case he was willing to commit to a real marriage for her sake, but his heart was not at issue here.

“Oh, dear.” Rose shook her head and sighed. “This is more difficult than we realized. You’re both stubborn and unwilling to admit what you feel for each other.”

“Nonsense, I—”

Another girl, who looked remarkably like the twins and could only be Daisy Farthingale, burst into the parlor. “You’ll never guess what happened!” she cried, addressing her sisters and overlooking him, although how anyone could overlook his big, oafish presence was beyond him. “Aunt Hortensia couldn’t hold the secret in any longer. I knew she was going to erupt like Vesuvius spewing on Pompeii. I saw her bubbling and brewing and then
boom
!” She paused to glance at Graelem. “Hortensia tattled on Laurel to the family elders.”

Dillie groaned as she popped another piece of ginger cake in her mouth. “Oh, no!”

“They’re all in father’s library discussing Laurel’s fate as we speak.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “I listened at the keyhole, of course. Then Pruitt came along and caught me with my ear to the door. He chased me away and berated me for snooping.” She turned to Graelem, forgetting that she had yet to acknowledge his presence. “Don’t you hate it when your butler interferes?”