A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4) (20 page)

He knew he had to fix this mess. Devlin’s deceit was nothing to what he had done to her.

He
would
fix this mess as soon as Devlin was no longer a threat.

But telling Laurel now would do no good. She wouldn’t believe him until he actually released her from their betrothal and he wasn’t ready to do it yet. In truth, he didn’t ever wish to do it. When it came to letting go of Laurel, he was a coward and an ass.

He could face Napoleon’s army without flinching.

Why couldn’t he let Laurel go?

Laurel nodded her head as though coming to a decision. “I must speak to Dev. Right now.”

She stared at him, daring him to disagree.

He wanted to, but knew she’d go off anyway to talk to the bounder. “Laurel, he isn’t in love with you. He never was. Just remember that.”

“Because he hasn’t kissed me yet? Not all men are like you. We’ve discussed this before. He’s more reserved than you are, that’s all. It means nothing that he hasn’t tried.”

He sat up in his chair, every possessive, protective, oafish instinct now on full alert, for he’d stopped listening after that first sentence had slipped from her lips. “He hasn’t kissed you
yet
?”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way. I have no intention of kissing him back. Ever. Is that better? Indeed, I’d crack a chair over his head if he ever tried, as I should have done when you kissed me.” She grinned at him, melting his anger. “But I had too much fun kissing you and didn’t want to stop, as you well know.”

“Lass, you can toss about words like polite and reserved and gentlemanly, but men are men. We see a beautiful woman and we want her. Naked. In our bed. Plain and simple.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s men.”

She pursed her lips and frowned lightly. “Is that what you think when you look at me?”

“Hell, yes.”

She gasped and blushed furiously, an angry blush. “Why, you big—”

“And I also think of the wonderful wife you’ll make, and wonderful mother for our children, and how empty my life had been until I met you. But I still want to take you into my bed and hold your soft, warm body in my arms. Only difference is that I want you beside me for all my days.”

“You’re still an oaf,” she muttered, and while her blush remained, it was clear that her anger had completely faded.

“Ideas of chivalry and nobility are pounded into our male brains, but it isn’t our brains that usually do our thinking for us. Certainly not when it comes to women. If Devlin truly wanted to kiss you, he would have found a way to do it long ago. Blessed saints, I’ve been thinking of nothing else since the moment I met you. Lass,” he said more gently, “you wouldn’t have responded to me the way you did if you truly wanted him.”

Her blush deepened, no doubt because she was recalling her behavior in Eloise’s parlor a few days ago. To call it reckless and wanton was an understatement.

He gave her a grin that made her cheeks flame a hot, bright red. Having Laurel speechless was an advantage he did not wish to overlook, so he continued making his point. “This is a conversation we’ve had before, but he’s growing more desperate and you have to be made aware. I know his type. Pampered, self-important. Not one to appreciate what he has until he thinks he’s lost it. He isn’t a good loser. Quite the opposite; he’s angry and doesn’t care whom he hurts in retaliation. Anne is helping him out, and I’m not sure why. It could be that they’ve become lovers, or are both feeling spurned and that has drawn them to each other. Whatever the reason, it concerns me that Anne was speaking privately to Daisy.”

Laure paused a moment to digest what he’d told her. “You think she showed this so-called letter to my sister?”

“Or told her about it. Yes, I’m certain.”

Laurel nodded. “No wonder Daisy was behaving so oddly. I’ll warn her. But I still need to speak to Devlin.”

He wasn’t going to dissuade her, but he intended to stay close enough to come to her aid if she needed help. He’d do his best not to kill the bounder, even though his hands were already itching to close around his fashionably bedecked throat.

Laurel didn’t immediately leave his side, apparently having more to discuss with him before she did so. “Graelem, did you believe I’d written the letter that Anne showed you? Or was it a poor forgery that you saw couldn’t have been written in my hand?”

He ran his fingers roughly through his hair. “No, actually the forgery was quite good. That’s why I think Daisy might believe you wrote it. But not me, love. I never would. Not because of my so-called prowess with women, which is non-existent, by the way. But because of who you are.”

“Me?”

“You’re incredible, Laurel. You love with all your heart. You’re faithful and honorable and loyal.”

She grinned. “And I don’t have fleas.”

“What?”

She burst out laughing. “Oh, Graelem! You’ve just described the virtues of a dog. Faithful, honorable, and loyal. I can also be trained to fetch slippers and curl up on your lap on cold, winter evenings.”

“Blessed Scottish saints,” he muttered, shaking his head dazedly. “I told you I’m no good at this courtship thing.”

She laughed again, this time more softly. “I know. You’re simply dreadful at it. That’s why I know you mean it. Thank you. I’m pleased you consider me as noble as a dog. I’m delighted that you trust me, because now I have hope that you’ll do the right thing before Midsummer’s Day.”

She didn’t wait for his response, no doubt knowing it wasn’t going to be what she wanted to hear anyway. Trust her? Of course he did. So why couldn’t he release her from their betrothal? All he had to do was utter those three simple words,
I release you
. In the next breath, he could ask her to marry him and she’d accept.

It was such an easy fix to the bad start of their betrothal.

So why couldn’t he do it?

He knew the reason why. To let her go would be like cutting out his heart and he couldn’t live without that vital organ. That’s how important Laurel had become to him.

Perhaps she understood it, too. Which would explain why she was no longer spouting that demand with her every breath and storming out in a fury when he refused.

“Are you certain you’re all right?” she asked, cutting into his thoughts.

He nodded.

“Good. I’ll be back shortly.” She rose, all the while staring at him, her expression determined. “Remember, you can’t interfere, no matter what Devlin looks like he’s about to do. I can handle him. You have to trust me.”

“I trust you, lass.” It was Devlin that he didn’t trust. If she thought he was going to hold back if Devlin so much as put a finger on her, she was sadly mistaken.

No, indeed.

Not likely.

Graelem would break every bone in the bounder’s body if he dared to touch Laurel. He understood Devlin’s plan. But Laurel had now made it her life’s mission to repair their friendship. It wasn’t going to work, for Devlin had never valued that friendship.

It was all about Laurel’s trust fund. For Devlin, it had only been about the trust fund.

Always.

Graelem ached for Laurel and the hurt she was about to receive. “I’ll be here, love. Waiting for you.”

Waiting to take her into his arms when she cried her heart out for the shattered friendship between her and that undeserving wretch.

“Graelem…” She began to wring her hands.

“Yes, love.”

“I’m glad you’re the one… that is, I’m glad you’ll wait for me.”

* * *

Laurel’s apprehension grew as she approached Devlin and noted the brooding anger in his eyes. This was a Devlin she hadn’t seen before. Outwardly he was fashionably dressed, his stark white shirt collar perfectly starched, his fawn-colored jacket neatly tailored, his silk cravat impeccably knotted and held in place with a gold stickpin… but inwardly, he was in obvious turmoil.

She knew it because they’d long been friends.

His hair was meticulously curled, not a strand out of place, giving his face the fragile air of one of those doomed poets so adored among the Upper Crust, but there was an underlying darkness that sent a shiver up her spine. “Dev, I’m so sorry that I’ve upset you. These past few weeks have been difficult for me as well.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Am I supposed to forgive you now and assure you that we shall always be friends? You betrayed me, Laurel.”

Her heart began to pound, partly out of remorse but mostly out of frustration. “I didn’t intend to. You know this situation was forced upon me, and I didn’t like it at first. But I won’t lie to you. I think I could love Baron Moray. In time, he might come to love me. I hope so.”

Devlin glanced toward the dais where the Duke of Lotheil was still expounding on the magnificent plans for the Royal Society’s new exhibition wing and laughed mirthlessly again. “And that’s it? I’m now to be cast off?”

“I value your friendship.” She wanted to put a hand on his arm to reassure him, but there was a palpable tension in his stance and she honestly didn’t know what to expect from him, so she kept her hands at her sides.

In any event, Graelem would shoot to his feet if she touched Devlin. He’d pound Devlin into the ground and she didn’t want to be responsible for that. She sighed. Better to keep a respectable distance. “There will never be more than friendship between us. I intend to be faithful in my marriage.”

Devlin’s expression turned to one of disdain. “And what of your oafish baron? Do you truly believe he’ll do the same?”

She nodded. “Yes. I haven’t a doubt.” In truth, she knew for a certainty that she and Graelem would hold to their vows. Perhaps that was why she’d fallen in love with him. Her heart must have sensed his merit. She wasn’t the only one who had the attributes of a faithful hound. So did Graelem. She knew that he’d be loyal, honest, and affectionate. Goodness, he’d be far more than affectionate.

Even now, at this completely inappropriate moment, her thoughts were on him, recalling the intensely hot way he’d touched her and roused sensations within her body. She didn’t just want Graelem, she craved him.

“He’s already carrying on an affair with Anne, you know.” Devlin’s laugh was bitter and taunting. “Dora Pertwhistle wants him too. Will you spend your life wondering with which young lady he’s dallying whenever he slips out of your sight?”

“Stop it, Dev. Obviously, you’re the one who’s carrying on with Anne. Why else would she be circulating that forged letter and trying to undermine my betrothal? It didn’t work. I’d appreciate your ripping up that letter and forgetting about any more underhanded tricks. There’s nothing you can say or do to interfere with this betrothal.” She sighed and held out her hands in a plea. “Please be happy for me, as I will be for you when you find love.”

“When I find love? That’s a jest. I did find love… with you. Only now, you won’t have me.” He glanced over her shoulder as he spoke. Laurel turned and followed his gaze, surprised to realize it was trained on Daisy.

She turned back to him, this time angrily. “You’re not to go near my sister. Do you hear me, Dev? If you do anything to harm her, you won’t have only Baron Moray to fear. I’ll kill you myself.”

His icy glower secretly shook her to the core, but she refused to let it show. “Have I made myself clear? Keep away from Daisy. For that matter, keep away from all my sisters.”

Too overset to return to Graelem’s side, she hurried outside to catch a breath of air. Not that London air was all that clean, but it was preferable to Dev’s malevolent stench.

She’d botched that encounter.

Graelem probably knew it and was giving her a moment to calm down before he followed after her.

But as Laurel stood on the street and turned back to look at the Royal Society building, it was Devlin who came toward her, attempting to apologize with a quick “I’m sorry” followed by an overly ardent hug.

She quickly pulled away and stared at the doorway, worried that Graelem might have seen the exchange and misunderstood the reason for it. But it was Daisy who was standing at the top of the steps.

Daisy who was frowning at her.

Daisy for whom that embrace had been staged.

Why?

LAUREL TRIED
TO DRAW
Daisy aside once they’d returned home and were back in their bedchamber to dress for supper, but Daisy refused to listen. “Not now, Laurel. I’m busy.”

“Nonsense. We’re merely getting dressed, not sitting for exams at Oxford. Give me a moment to explain what really happened at the duke’s tea.” Laurel’s head was pounding and her heart was in her throat. Gladys was flitting in and out of their room, setting out their slippers and freshly aired gowns, then hurrying next door to the twins’ quarters to help those imps dress. “You must talk to me.”

“Must I?” She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

“Please hear me out. It isn’t what—”

She turned her back on Laurel. “Gladys, should I wear the lemon silk or the poppy red?”

Laurel sighed, realizing she would not have a decent conversation with her sister this evening. In the brief time they’d been alone, she’d tried to reason with her, and Daisy had interrupted her each time.

Laurel wasn’t certain what to do next. She’d always been the hot-tempered sister and Daisy had always been the one to calm her down. The situation was now reversed and she had no idea how to handle it. Obviously, she was making a muddle of everything, doing a terrible job of calming Daisy down.

“Very well,” she said, sighing again and feeling quite foolish standing in the center of their bedchamber with her hands outstretched in pleading. “But you can’t avoid me forever. I’ve done nothing wrong and I haven’t lied to you.”

Daisy gasped. “And you expect me to believe that? You can’t lure me into another one of your schemes. I’m sorry I ever helped you out.”

Tears began to glisten in Daisy’s eyes. She brushed them away with the back of her hand and concentrated on securing the clasp to her cameo necklace, which gave her an excuse not to look at Laurel. “I like Lord Moray. I thought you did, too.”

“Here, let me help you with the clasp.”

She moved toward her sister, but Daisy darted away. “No, thank you. It’s done.”

Laurel was almost in tears herself, for she couldn’t bear to see her sister so distressed. “About Lord Moray. I do like him. Very much. I wish to marry him.” Good heavens, she was so deeply in love with him. Why wasn’t it obvious to her sister?

“Just how gullible do you think I am?” Daisy turned to gape at her. “If you’re so eager to marry him, then why were you embracing Devlin? How can you think to elope with him?”

“I wasn’t thinking about it. There will be no elopement. It isn’t going to hap—” She tried to finish her sentence, but the twins burst into their room, their mother and Hortensia following closely on their heels. They were all squealing and chattering at once. Laurel couldn’t make out what they were saying. “Good grief, are we living in the Tower of Babel?”

Daisy, who was already dressed for this evening’s supper, took the momentary distraction as her opportunity to slip away downstairs. Laurel called out to her, but to no avail. She was left frustrated and forced to shout above the din. “Why are you all in here?”

The twins were now on their knees, crawling along the carpet. Their mother and Hortensia were still shrieking and groaning and clutching their hearts.

Laurel knew the twins had done something to throw them into a panic. “What is going on?”

“Lily’s spider escaped again,” Dillie said. “We thought he might have wandered in here since that’s what he did the last time.”

“I want that wretched thing out of the house!” their mother demanded in her sternest voice, which wasn’t stern at all. None of her daughters ever trembled in fear, because their mother was softhearted in the extreme. She might shout and threaten, but in the next breath, she’d be hugging them and telling them that she loved them with all her heart and would always love them no matter how sorely they tested her.

“Ah, here he is!” Lily crawled out from under Laurel’s bed with a hairy, dark brown object squirming in her hand. “I’m sorry, Mother. I don’t know how Romulus managed to escape.” She plopped her pet tarantula back into the jar she’d brought with her.

Her mother was still clutching her chest. “Frightening thing. Get rid of it. Do you hear me, Lily? That horrid creature must go.”

Lily gave a disheartened nod.

Dillie put a consoling arm about her shoulder. “We’ll find a good home for Romulus.”

“Well, that’s done.” Hortensia stood there grinning. “Supper anyone? I think I just heard Pruitt ring the bell.”

Laurel’s mother rolled her eyes. “Who can think of eating now?”

Hortensia patted her rotund belly. “I can, as anyone can plainly see. Come along, girls. Do try to behave for your mother.”

Although the twins had caused this latest mischief, Hortensia’s gaze was trained like a hawk’s on Laurel as she spoke. Laurel sighed.

This is going to be a long night.

Farthingale suppers were never quiet family affairs, because there were always too many Farthingales about. Tonight their table was set for thirty family members. Since she and Daisy were usually seated at opposite ends of the table, Laurel knew she would have no chance to talk to her during the meal.

She decided to seek out Daisy as soon as she entered the dining room. Pausing at the doorway, she quickly spotted her sister standing off to the side engaged in conversation with their aunt Julia.

Although Daisy tried to appear casual and unaffected, Laurel knew her too well and saw that she was still distressed.

This was all her fault… again.

When the supper bell rang, she waited for Daisy beside her chair. “Daisy, please—”

“No, Laurel,” she said in a harsh whisper. “It isn’t me you who deserves the apology, but Lord Moray. You must tell him the truth.”

“He does know the truth,” she replied, her voice also a whisper, “and he believes me. He trusts me. So should you.”

The other family members were now taking their seats, so Laurel had no choice but to move away and take her place at the opposite end of the table. There were at least a dozen chattering Farthingales between them, and Laurel knew it was hopeless to catch her sister’s attention while they ate.

Daisy refused to glance her way, instead spending most of the evening staring dejectedly into her elegant plate.

Laurel couldn’t bear to see Daisy looking so hurt. She silently cursed that forged letter and silently berated herself for ever considering Anne a friend. The sight of Anne maliciously whispering lies in Daisy’s ear had made her ill. She still had a sour feeling about it.

Daisy had also seen Devlin embracing her in that staged, apologetic reconciliation.

Drat
. She knew the events of this afternoon’s tea were now churning in her sister’s stomach.

Laurel considered using her spoon to catapult a brussels sprout across the table and gain her attention, but the sprouts were heavily buttered and would ruin the delicate silk of Daisy’s new gown.

Too bad.

Perhaps she could just launch the spoon.

“Laurel.” Uncle George’s voice cut through her schemes.
Drat again
. It seemed as though her uncle could read her thoughts as easily as if she’d printed them in the London newspapers. “Put down your spoon and tell me what’s wrong.”

“It isn’t me,” she assured him. “Daisy is overset about something and I think it’s all my fault. It’s this betrothal business.”

“So you considered hurling your spoon at her?” He arched a dark eyebrow and shot her a wry grin. “Is your aim that good? I’ll wager five pounds you’ll hit Hortensia instead.”

Laurel smothered a giggle. “A lady never bets. Besides, you’re right. That feathery purple
thing
bobbing out of Aunt Hortensia’s hair is most distracting. If you must know, I’ve already decided to wait until after supper to draw Daisy aside.”

“Care to tell me the rest of it?”

She nodded, for her uncle could be trusted to keep her concerns in his confidence if she asked him. “But I need to speak to Daisy first.”

“Very well, but I’m always available to talk to you girls. Don’t hesitate to ask.” He popped a buttered sprout into his mouth. “Mmm, delicious. Mrs. Mayhew has outdone herself this evening. Promise me, Laurel. I want you to come to me if you sense something is wrong. Don’t try to handle it yourself.”

She frowned. “Don’t you think I’m capable of exercising good judgement? No, never mind. Please don’t answer the question, for it’s obvious I’m not.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Usually you are quite capable, but you did run down Baron Moray. It was an accident, I know. He’s obviously forgiven you.”

“He’s been most accommodating in that regard. Devlin hasn’t been quite as understanding. He’s angry and terribly hurt about this betrothal business, and I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.”

“Has he said something to you?”

She nodded. “But nothing to worry about.”

“And what has he said to Daisy? Is that why she looks like she’s about to cry into her vegetables? Did the little bast—” He coughed and caught himself before he used an ungentlemanly epithet. “Did he say something to her? Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing, Uncle George. You needn’t fear. Some silly gossip has been circulating that distressed Daisy. I’ll speak to her as soon as we ladies retire to the salon. As for me, I had an unpleasant encounter with Devlin. I tried to speak to him earlier today at the Duke of Lotheil’s celebration, but he was angry and still pouting.”

“Pouting? Girls pout. Grown men seek revenge.”

Laurel’s eyes rounded in alarm. “Not Devlin. He’d never hurt me or Daisy. I know he’s been sullen, but that’s only because his pride has been wounded. He’ll get over it and we’ll be friends once again.”

“You know little about men and their true natures. We’re not kind or gentle like you and Daisy.”

“You’re the kindest man I know, Uncle George. There isn’t a finer one, except perhaps Father.” She shook her head and sighed. “He must be a saint, for how else could he put up with his wayward daughters?”

He laughed softly. “We’re kind to you because you’re family and we love you. But all men wear a thin mask of civility, even we sainted Farthingales. It’s only a mask, easily cast off.”

“Well, Devlin hasn’t done a very good job of keeping his mask on. His hurt is so obvious it breaks my heart. But I’ve made my choice. At least, I think I have. Are you suggesting that I shouldn’t trust Graelem either?”

“Quite the opposite. In my opinion, he’s one of the few that you can trust. Now, tell me more about this afternoon.”

“And Devlin?”

He popped another sprout in his mouth and nodded.

Laurel shook her head and sighed. “Very well, I suppose I could use some help. I think your assessment of Devlin is right. I’m finally noticing his spiteful nature. Daisy hasn’t noticed it yet. But more important, she heard something this afternoon that overset her. She thinks I’m going to run off with Devlin. I’m not, of course.”

“Run away? As in elope with Devlin?”

She nodded. “He asked me, but I dismissed the notion long ago. I don’t think Daisy believes me.” She glanced at her plate, and although the food looked tempting, she had no appetite for it. “Why don’t you like Devlin? In truth, you’ve never liked him. Have you? Pruitt hasn’t either.”

“I can’t speak for Pruitt; however, I can tell you my reasons. You know what your father often tells you.”

“Oh, that expression he has about the unchanging nature of people. That a petty, indulged child will turn into a spoiled, arrogant adult.”

Her uncle nodded. “That’s right. I’m afraid Devlin has become one of those.”

The possibility sincerely distressed her. “How do you mean? It’s important that I know his current situation.”

“Devlin is a heavy gambler. I’ve seen him at the local gaming dens. I stop by on occasion to play cards or have a drink with friends, but he’s a regular at these establishments and he rarely wins.”

Her fingers tightened around her fork. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. He sinks deeper in debt with each passing day. His father has been quietly covering his losses, but I shudder to think what will happen to the Kirwood holdings once Devlin inherits them. It won’t take him long to destroy all that his father has built over the years.”

She set down her fork with an inadvertent clatter as it lightly struck her delicate plate, realizing she’d been a fool to think that her friendship had ever meant anything to Devlin. “No wonder he was so overset about my sudden betrothal. He needs my wealth. His anger was never about me at all.”

“Since we seem to be addressing this at the dinner table anyway, I’ll add my opinion. No, it was never about his caring for you. Even as a little boy, it was obvious that Devlin cared only for himself. But Baron Moray is another matter. His marriage proposal may have started as a business proposition, but it’s turned into something much more important to him. You have become much more important to him.”

“How can you tell?”

She studied her uncle’s expression as he responded. “Too many years without that important person in my own life,” he said with a mirthless smile. “What he feels for you is something to be treasured, Laurel.” He glanced down the table. “Hortensia and Rupert will tell you the same thing.”

She wanted to reach over and hug her uncle, but knew it would embarrass him. “Did you love your wife very much? You’ve been a widower for a very long time. You rarely speak of her. Does it still hurt too much?”

A glint of doubt sprang into his clear, Farthingale blue eyes. “We were quite young at the time and I believed myself in love. I think I was, but it’s been so long. It’s likely that as we grew older our love would have matured. William has inherited his mother’s liveliness and joyful temperament. Yes, I think ours would have become a love match.”

“Thank you, Uncle George.” He’d never spoken about himself like this before, and she was honored that he trusted her enough to speak so candidly now.

“Don’t demand perfection, Laurel. I love Hortensia, but sometimes I think her standards were too high. What has she gained by keeping to those impossible standards? No husband. No children. Sometimes I see a look of regret in her eyes, although most of the time she hides it. She isn’t unhappy, and for the most part she appears content, but life has passed her by and she knows it.”