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Authors: Who Will Take This Man

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The duke’s jaw worked back and forth as he alternated his glare between them. “Yes, I have news.” He stepped closer to Meredith and pointed an accusing finger at her. “This is entirely your fault.”

Before Meredith could say a word, Lord Greybourne stepped between her and the irate duke. “Perhaps you’d like to explain yourself,” Lord Greybourne said in a soft voice that did little to belie the steel underneath. Since she could not see around him, she moved to the side, to stand next to him.

Lord Hedington, his houndlike face flushed deep red, looked like a canine teapot on the verge of spewing a stream of steam. “I blame you as well, Greybourne.” Reaching into the pocket of his brocade waistcoat, he extracted a folded piece of ivory vellum. “This note arrived an hour ago from my daughter…the new Baroness Weycroft. In order to ensure that she would not be forced to marry
you,
she married Lord Weycroft by special license yesterday.”

The duke’s words echoed in the silent warehouse. Meredith’s heart seemed to stall, but she knew her pulse was beating, for she could feel it thumping, no, pounding, in her ears. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Greybourne go perfectly still.

“Apparently the idea came to her after your conversation in the gallery,” the duke fumed. “Seems the chit has carried a tendre for Weycroft for years, but knowing it was her duty to marry in accordance to my wishes, she agreed to the match with you.” His gaze swung to Meredith, nearly freezing her with the arctic blast. “A match
you
arranged. A match you assured me would be beneficial to my family and to my daughter.”

He focused his attention on Philip once again. “According to her letter, when she finally met you, she found herself not at all drawn to you, a fact which made her realize exactly how strongly she felt for Weycroft. Your talk of curses and falling and headaches frightened her, convincing her that if she married you, she would indeed die. But of course, she also knew I would not agree to dissolve the betrothal.

“The morning after meeting with you, she wrote to Weycroft, explaining everything. Apparently Weycroft carried a tendre for Sarah as well. Unwilling to allow her to come to harm by marrying you, he procured a special license. He came for her yesterday, under the guise of escorting her to her wedding at St. Paul’s. They were married and are now on their way to the continent for an extended wedding trip.”

The irate duke swiveled his attention back to Meredith, and leveled her with a look filled with utter disgust. “The scandal attached to this will cast a black mark upon my family, and I hold you personally responsible, Miss Chilton-Grizedale. I shall make it my personal crusade to ensure that you never again foist your matchmaking ‘skills’ upon anyone.” He turned to Lord Greybourne. “As for you, the only bright spot in this entire disaster is that my daughter did not marry an imbecile such as yourself, whereupon she would have given birth to a future generation of imbeciles. Although, rumor has it that you wouldn’t have been able to give her a child anyway.”

Meredith could not suppress her gasp at the duke’s unmistakable implication. She risked a glance at Lord Greybourne. His lips were pressed together and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

Lord Greybourne took one step forward, every line of his body taut with obvious tension. “You may say what you wish to me, but you will recall there is a lady present. You are about to cross a line that, I assure you, you’ll regret crossing.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but there was no mistaking the menace emanating from him.

“Are you threatening me?” the duke asked, the bravado in his voice lessened by his hasty backward step.

“I am warning you that my patience with you is about to end. Now, unless there is something else in Lady Sarah’s note that you wish to tell me, I believe there is nothing more to say.” He nodded to the left. “The exit is that way.”

Favoring them both with one last scathing look through his quizzing glass, the duke turned on his heel and stalked away. The sound of his boots against the wooden floor faded, then a door slammed closed and the warehouse was silent.

Meredith forced herself to take long, deep, calming breaths. A half sob, half laugh rose in her throat, and she pressed her hands to her lips to contain it. Dear God, she hadn’t thought this situation could get any worse, but now with Lady Sarah married, this situation was indeed very much worse. It was, in fact, a complete debacle.

Lord Greybourne stepped in front of her. Behind his spectacles, his brown eyes simmered with anger, although there was no mistaking his concern. Reaching out, he gently grasped her shoulders. “I’m sorry you were subjected to such inexcusable rudeness and crude innuendo. Are you all right?”

Meredith simply stared at him for several seconds. Clearly he believed she was distraught due to the duke’s
remark regarding Lord Greybourne’s…manliness. Little did Lord Greybourne know that thanks to her past, very little shocked Meredith. Nor could she fathom that anyone could so much as look at Lord Greybourne and have a doubt regarding his masculinity.

Lowering her hands from her mouth, she swallowed to find her voice. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not. I’d have to place myself firmly in the category of ‘vastly annoyed.’” His gaze roamed over her face and his hands tightened on her shoulders. “You’re not going to faint again, are you?”

“Certainly not.” She stepped back, and his hands lowered to his sides. The warm imprint from his palms seeped through her gown, shooting tingles down her arms. “You may place me firmly in the category of ‘females who do not succumb to vapors.’”

He cocked a brow. “I happen to know that is not precisely true.”

“The episode at St. Paul’s was an aberration, I assure you.”

While he did not appear entirely convinced, he said, “Glad to hear it.”

“You came to my defense in a very gentlemanly way. Thank you.”

“I’m certain you don’t mean to sound so surprised.”

Indeed, she was surprised—stunned, actually—although she had not meant to sound as if she were. But she’d have to reflect upon that later. Right now there were other, bigger issues to contemplate.

Unable to stand still, Meredith paced in front of him. “Unfortunately, with the duke’s news, we must now recategorize our situation from ‘bad’ to ‘utterly disastrous.’ Your bride is well and truly lost, ruining our plan for you to marry on the twenty-second, and my reputation as a matchmaker is in tatters. And with your father’s ill health,
time is short. There must be a way to somehow turn this situation around. But how?”

“I’m open to suggestions. Even if we are successful in finding the missing piece of stone, my marrying is out of the question without a bride.” A humorless sound escaped him. “Between this curse hanging over my head, the unflattering story in the newspaper, and the gossip Lord Hedington alluded to circulating about my ability to…perform, it seems that the answer to the question posed in today’s issue of
The Times
is yes—the cursed viscount
is
the most unmarriageable man in England.”

Unmarriageable
. The word echoed through Meredith’s mind. Damnation, there must be a way—

She swung around to face him. “Unmarriageable,” she repeated, her drawn-out pronunciation of the word in direct contrast to her runaway thoughts. “Yes, one might very well christen you the Most Unmarriageable Man in England.”

He inclined his head in a mock bow. “A title of dubious honor. And one I’m surprised you sound so…enthusiastic about. Perhaps you’d care to share your thoughts?”

“Actually I was thinking you exhibited a moment of brilliance, my lord.”

He walked toward her, his gaze never wavering from hers, not stopping until only two feet separated them. Awareness skittered down her spine, and she forced herself to stand her ground when everything inside her urged her to retreat.

“A
moment
of brilliance? In sharp contrast to all my other moments, I suppose. A lovely compliment, although your stunned tone when uttering it took off a bit of the shine. And brilliant though I may be—albeit only for a moment—I’m afraid I’m in the dark as to what I said to inspire you so.”

“I think we can agree that Lady Sarah marrying Lord
Weycroft places us both in an awkward situation.” At his nod, she continued, “Well then, if you are the Most Unmarriageable Man in England, and it seems quite clear you are, the matchmaker who could marry you off would score an incredible coup. If I were successful in such an undertaking, you would gain a wife, and my reputation would be reinstated.”

“My moment of brilliance clearly remains upon me, as I’m following your thought process, and what you’ve described is a good plan. However, I cannot marry unless I am able to break the curse.”

“Which a brilliant man such as yourself will certainly be able to do.”


If
we are able to locate the missing piece of the Stone of Tears. Assuming we are successful, whom did you have in mind that I would marry?”

Meredith’s brow puckered, and she once again commenced pacing. “Hmmm. Yes, that is problematic. Yet surely in all of London there must be one unsuperstitious woman willing to be courted by a cursed, gossip-ridden viscount of questionable masculinity who will most likely fill their homes with ancient relics.”

“I beg you to cease before all these complimentary words swell my head.”

She ignored his dust-dry tone and continued pacing. “Of course, in order to ensure the reinstatement of my reputation, I must match you with just the perfect woman. Not just any woman will do.”

“Well, thank goodness for that.”

“But who?” She paced, puzzling it over in her mind, then she halted and snapped her fingers. “Of course! The perfect woman for the Most Unmarriageable Man in England is the Most Unmarriageable Woman in England!”

“Ah. Yes, she sounds delightful.”

Again she ignored him. “I can see the Society pages now—England’s Most Unmarriageable Man Weds En
gland’s Most Unmarriageable Woman—and praise to Meredith Chilton-Grizedale, the acclaimed Matchmaker of Mayfair, for bringing them together.” She pursed her lips and tapped her index finger against her chin. “But who is this Most Unmarriageable Woman?”

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I believe I know.”

Meredith halted, and turned toward him eagerly. “Excellent. Who?”

“You, Miss Chilton-Grizedale. By the time Society reads tomorrow’s edition of
The Times, you
will be the Most Unmarriageable Woman in England.”

Philip watched all
the color leach from Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s cheeks as his words hung in the air like a heavy fog. Where seconds ago her eyes had danced with excitement, they now resembled shards of aquamarine ice. Her lips curved in what he suspected she meant as a smile, but which came out more like a grimace, inexplicably tweaking his pride.

“How amusing you are, my lord. I can hardly be considered unmarriageable, as, since I’ve no desire to ever marry, I was never considered marriageable.” Her tone was light, but sounded forced. And what was that look that had flashed in her eyes? Fear? Sadness? His curiosity about her doubled. Why would she not want to marry? Bah, probably no man would have the dictatorial piece. But the instant the thought entered his mind, he rejected it. Surely there was some man, somewhere, who wouldn’t find her autocratic ways
completely
off-putting. And as he was coming to learn, she wasn’t autocratic
all
the time.

Had she given her heart to someone who did not return her feelings? Or did she, even now, love a man who either would not or could not marry her?

The thought filled him with an unpleasant sensation that felt suspiciously like jealousy. “I thought most women wanted nothing more than to marry.”

“I am not most women, Lord Greybourne.”

No, she was not most women, a fact that increasingly intrigued him far more than it should.

Lifting her chin, she said in a brisk tone, “Besides, a woman such as myself would never do for a man like you.”

“A woman such as yourself? Meaning what, exactly?”

Color crept into her pale cheeks. “I meant a woman not of the peerage. You are a viscount, the heir to an earldom. You must marry a woman from your social class.”

He stared at her intently, wishing he could read her thoughts, for although her explanation made perfect sense, he strongly suspected that she had let something slip, had revealed something she had not meant to.
A woman such as myself

“Yes, I suppose you are correct. But until I am free of this curse, not to mention this unfortunate bit of gossip, I cannot imagine any woman being eager to marry me.”

“You can dispel the gossip very easily, my lord. Simply take a mistress, and be certain to be seen with her. At the opera, the theater.”

It was, of course, an excellent suggestion. Taking a mistress, combined with a bit of well-timed lack of discretion—not difficult, given his already tarnished reputation—would put to bed any doubts regarding his ability to perform. However, the fact that she so calmly suggested it, in that dispassionate voice, coupled with the fact that he had absolutely no desire to take a mistress, annoyed him. Why didn’t the idea appeal to him? He’d been celibate for months. Perhaps there
was
something wrong with him.

But one look at Miss Chilton-Grizedale heated his blood in a way that he recognized all too well. No, there was nothing wrong with him—aside from this inexplicable desire for the wrong woman.

“I shall consider your suggestion regarding a mistress,” he said coolly. “But that still leaves us with the problem of the curse and locating this ‘unmarriageable’ woman you suggested.”

She pursed her lips and frowned. “Upon consideration, I think focusing on an ‘unmarriageable’ woman might not be in our best interest. We could achieve the same goals of marrying you off and restoring my reputation by pursuing a highly marriageable woman. Therefore, I think it wiser to concentrate on a proper young woman, one very much like Lady Sarah.”

“Rather like beauty and the beast,” he murmured.

She stiffened. “I shall do my utmost to find you a wife who is beautiful, my lord.”

He stared at her for several seconds, then said carefully, “I meant that
I
am the beast, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.” His heart leapt in a way it most certainly should not have at the notion that she did not consider him a beast. That perhaps she found him attractive, as he increasingly found her.

Crimson stained her cheeks. “Y-yes, of course. But naturally I shall concentrate my endeavors on women I think you’ll find attractive. In fact…” Her voice trailed off, and, nodding to herself, she began pacing. He tracked her progress, his gaze alternating between her furrowed brow and pursed lips. Each time she moved past him, he caught an elusive whiff of her scrumptious scent, a fragrance that all but set him to salivating. And those pursed lips…He drew in a long, careful breath. Those lips looked puckered as if to offer him a kiss, an offer he knew he would never refuse.

Suddenly she halted and faced him, her eyes bright, her frown vanished. “I believe I have a plan, my lord.”

“Pray, do not keep me in suspense, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”

“In spite of the fact that this curse renders you—at least temporarily—unmarriageable, I think it will also provoke a great deal of interest and curiosity about you. We must make that work to our advantage. With all these rumors flying about, we shall toss a few of our own choosing into the mix. We’ll make it known that it is merely a matter of
time before the curse is broken, and in the meanwhile, through the hosting of an exclusive soiree—perhaps a dinner party—I shall find you a wife. Cursed as you may be, with the imminent promise of no longer being cursed, marriage-minded mamas will be unwilling to allow the heir to an earldom slip through their fingers.”

“And if I cannot—”

Reaching out, she touched her fingers to his lips, effectively cutting off his words, and his very breath. Shaking her head, she whispered, “Don’t say it. You will. You must. For your integrity and to keep your promise to your father before his health further fails, and for the sake of my livelihood and reputation.”

He wanted to tell her that it was a very real possibility that he would never find the missing piece of stone, never be able to solve the curse, would never be able to marry. But to do so would have required him to move, something completely beyond him at the moment. And movement might have dislodged her fingers from his lips, something he was most reluctant to do. The touch of her fingers against his lips simultaneously paralyzed him and sizzled a bolt of heat through him.

He wasn’t certain what reaction must have shown on his face, because her eyes widened and her lips formed an O of surprise. She snatched her hand away as if he’d bitten her, then retreated two hasty steps.

“I beg your pardon, my lord.”

His lips tingled from her touch, and it required a great deal of will not to run his tongue over his bottom lip to taste the spot she’d just touched. He moved his hand in a dismissive gesture—only to discover that his hand was not quite steady.

“No harm done,” he said lightly. “’Tis better not to vocalize some things.”
Like the fact that I find you fascinating. Intriguing. That I like the way you speak your mind and present your ideas in a clear, concise, nonconvoluted
way. That you affect me in a way that I find very unsettling. And that I would like to know much more about you.

No, it was definitely better that he not vocalize such things.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I believe your plan is sound. As I know next to nothing about planning soirees, I think it might be wise to enlist my sister Catherine’s help. She is scheduled to arrive in London this afternoon.”

“An excellent suggestion, my lord. An invitation from Lady Bickley would most certainly be looked upon with more favor than one coming from me. Do you think she would be willing to act as hostess?”

“I’m certain she would be happy to do anything at all to help. I’ll send a note, inviting her to dinner this evening to discuss the details…if you are free to join us?”

“Yes, thank you. The sooner we put our plan into action, the better.”

Pulling his watch fob from his pocket, he checked the time. “Since it already grows late, and as I must send off the invitation to Catherine, then speak with my father to tell him the latest developments, I suggest we finish our respective crates, then depart.”

She nodded her agreement, then returned to her work area. Philip forced himself to do the same. But, unable to stop himself, he turned his back to her, then rubbed his index finger over his lips where she’d touched him.

She was coming to his home. This evening. The very thought made his heart pound in a way that it most certainly should not. But there was no ignoring the fact that it did. The question was, what did he plan to do about it?

 

Albert closed the door to Miss Merrie’s house with more force than he’d intended. Muttering darkly under his breath, he limped across the foyer and dropped the missive that had just been delivered onto the salver resting on
the mahogany table—along with the dozen other messages already there.

“Was that another one?” came Charlotte’s soft-spoken voice behind him.

He froze, and his heart skipped several beats. Damn it all, he had to stop reacting this way every time they were in the same room. But how to stop? He’d been a mere lad of fifteen when Miss Merrie had invited a beaten and pregnant Charlotte to join their “family,” rescuing her as she’d rescued him years earlier. But he was no longer a lad, and there was nothing brotherlike about his feelings for Charlotte.

Drawing a deep breath, he turned slowly, trying to make the movement appear smooth. Unfortunately, in his attempt to appear less awkward, he nearly tripped on his own feet. He lurched forward, and Charlotte grasped his shoulders to steady him, just as he grabbed her upper arms to keep from pitching face first onto the floor.

His balance regained, everything in him stilled. The warmth of her hands seared imprints on his shoulders that sizzled down to his feet. Her arms felt slender beneath his palms. If he pulled her closer, the top of her head would nestle perfectly under his chin.

She looked up at him, her gray eyes filled with concern. Just concern. Not a flicker of any of the emotions churning through him. Not the slightest indication that she felt anything more for him than she ever had—respect, fondness, and friendship.

Damn it all to hell and back, he wished that was all he still felt for her. But somehow, his feelings of respect, fondness, and friendship had flared into something more. Something that rendered him clumsy and tongue-tied in her presence. Something that made him achingly aware of her every minute of the day, that made his heart beat faster at the sound of her voice, that tensed his every muscle
when they stood in the same room. That made him spend sleepless, restless nights, aching in his lonely bed. For her.

The thought of her guessing, of realizing how he felt, clenched his stomach into a tight knot. She wouldn’t laugh—she was too kind for that—but the thought of seeing pity in her eyes, of feeling sorry for him for his hopeless feelings…he couldn’t bear it.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Gritting his teeth, he slowly released her arms. “Fine,” he said, more brusquely than he’d meant to. He took an awkward step back from her, careful to keep his weight balanced on his good leg, then jerked his jacket back into place.

Her gaze shifted to the pile of letters. “I guess we know what those are. More cancellations.”

Not yet trusting his voice, he merely nodded.

“Poor Meredith,” Charlotte said. “She’s worked so hard, she doesn’t deserve to be cast away like this.” Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. “But that’s how people are. They use you, then toss you aside like so much trash. You and I know that better than most, don’t we, Albert?”

“Yes. But not all folks are that way, Charlotte.” He savored the sound of her name on his tongue. “Miss Merrie ain’t like that—you and I know that better’n most.”

Her fierce expression relaxed a bit. “If only everyone were like her.”

“Impossible to wish that all folks were good,” he said gently.

She looked at the floor, twisting her hands together. “Yes. But sometimes I can’t help but wish for impossible things.”

Her quiet voice grabbed him by the heart, and unable to stop himself, he gently touched his fingers under her chin to raise her face. He held his breath, waiting for her to re
coil, but to his surprise she stood her ground. Her skin felt like…he didn’t know. Like the softest thing he’d ever felt. Her gaze met his, and his heart thumped so hard he knew she had to hear it. “Wot do ye wish for, Charlotte?”

For a long moment she said nothing, and he simply stood, absorbing the feel of her warm skin beneath his fingertips, the sight of her eyes, so fathomless and full of shadows from past hurts and pains. The desire to make all her dreams come true, to destroy anyone or anything that would ever dare hurt her, throbbed through him. His gaze roamed her face, touching on the faint scar bisecting her left brow, and the slight bump on the bridge of her nose. An image of her, beaten and bruised, flashed through his mind.

Never again
. He’d never allow anyone to ever hurt her again. To be near her and never be able to touch her, love her, would be nothing short of torture for him, but it was the way it had to be. She deserved so much more than the likes of him.

And even if, impossibly, his ruined leg and physical limitations didn’t matter, her words, those fervent words he’d heard her speak to Miss Merrie when she first came to them, haunted him, making him know that there was no future for them.
I’ll never let another man touch me again
she’d said through her cracked, swollen lips.
Never again. I’d kill myself, or him, first.

It had taken a long time for her to come to trust him, but trust him she did—at least as far as she trusted anyone. He’d do nothing to risk that. Ever. If this was all he could have of her, so be it. But God forgive him, he wanted so much more.

“What do I wish for?” she repeated softly. “All my wishes are for Hope. I want her to have a good life. A safe life. Happiness. I don’t want her to ever have to do…the things I’ve done.”

Her voice went totally flat, as did her eyes, and Albert’s heart squeezed. “Hope is goin’ to have a grand life, Charlotte. You, me, Miss Merrie, we’re all goin’ to see to it.”

The hint of a smile touched her lips, warming her eyes. “Thank you, Albert. You are a dear boy. And a wonderful friend.”

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