One Scandalous Kiss (24 page)

“I love you.”

She’d finally said the words to him, and he smiled. She wanted to remember that too. A pain, that searing burn as if her heart had turned to a glowing coal, made her gasp. But it was right that it should hurt. She knew her next words would be the most difficult of her life.

“I love you, but I cannot give you what you need.”

He tensed and his body went hard in her arms, stony and still, as immovable as the statue she’d imagined him to be the night they’d met.

“
You
are what I need.”

Jess pushed gently at his chest. If she was to do this, she could not bear him so near.

“Those estimates on your desk say otherwise.” When Lucius released her and she stood two steps away, Jess chafed her hands together, suddenly cold. “I don’t mind talk of money. I was raised in a shop, after all. You need money, and I haven’t even earned my first month’s wages from your aunt.”

For several minutes, Lucius stared at her blankly, as if was looking through her, past her. Then he lifted a hand and scrubbed it across his face.

“I don’t need your wages, Jessamin. Only you.”

His words, so heart melting the first time she’d heard them, sounded now like an unbearably great responsibility. As if he believed her merits outweighed the enormous sums owed to the repairmen. As if she was more valuable to him than a grand estate. As if his desire for her negated his duty to his father. But was she that much of a prize? Jess wasn’t convinced her worth could compensate him for all that he might lose if she became his wife.

“What if I’m not enough?”

He tipped his mouth at that, though the expression was more sardonic than pleased. “For a taciturn man with an irascible father and a crumbling home?”

Biting her lip, Jess weighed the various arguments she’d been having with herself all morning.

“I love you enough to wish for your happiness more than my own.” She’d repeated the thought in her head, but her voice trembled when she expressed the sentiment.

“Me too, but I believe they are one and the same.”

Jess shook her head. That couldn’t be. Happiness couldn’t be so easily grasped when it had eluded her for so long.

Lucius crossed the space she’d created between them before she could rally another argument.

“My darling Jess, trust me to find the money.”

The moment the words slipped out, Jess clasped a hand to her mouth and began to shiver. Her body went hot then cold and her pulse slowed to a sluggish thud.

“What is it? Tell me.”

“M-my father used to say that.”

She heard it then, similar words but in her father’s London accent. She no longer saw Lucius but Lionel Wright’s beseeching face.
Trust me to find the money, love.

“I take it your father couldn’t be trusted.” Despite Lucius’s gentle tone, the words were hard to hear. The truth was hard to hear.

“Not with money, no. Not after Mother died. He only knew how to make it disappear.”

Jess didn’t have the will to resist when Lucius gathered her near, resting his chin on the top of her head. He rubbed his hands down her arms, and drew delicious circles across her back. The urge to melt into him, to reach out and grasp whatever future he offered . . . She’d never known a greater temptation.

He drew back and assessed her. “You’ve stopped shivering, but I suspect you didn’t get a bite of breakfast. Let me speak to my aunt, check on Father, and see to the remaining guests. Then we can talk.”

Exhaustion made the few steps across the study seem like a mile, and when Jess heard Lucius’s footsteps behind her, she half hoped he might offer to carry her up the stairs.

“Jessamin, if not trust, then time. Give me that and I will sort this out.”

His confidence was palpable, like a current of energy she could draw from to fuel her hopes. But hopes weren’t certitude, and Jess still wasn’t certain Lucius might not be happier with a wealthy wife, a contented father, and an estate with ceilings that didn’t collapse when it rained.

Chapter Twenty-Five

T
HOUGH IT WAS
early evening and most guests had retired to their rooms, Lucius knew returning to his own room wouldn’t bring any rest. After speaking to Jessamin in the morning and dealing with his father’s ire much of the afternoon, he’d overseen the departure of nearly all the houseguests. Only Kitty Adderly and Wellesley remained, and Lady Katherine promised to make her way back to London on the first morning train. He’d sought Jessamin out before luncheon, but a maid informed him that she was resting and he hadn’t the heart to disturb her. Still, he longed for nothing more than to spend the night in her arms, to hold her and love her, to pleasure her with every ounce of energy he had left after a day that had upended his life in the most fortuitous of ways.

Somehow he had to convince her to stay. He had to convince her to be his wife.

His body protested with every step he took past her bedroom, but he willed his heated thoughts to cool and turned toward Aunt Augusta’s door. He’d yet to find an opportunity to speak with her and formulate a plan to deal with the estate’s finances.

Fatigue and worry for Maxim had painted dark shadows under his aunt’s eyes, but her mouth still curved up when he stepped into her sitting room.

“Nothing douses a house party like a flood.”

Lucius chuckled, finding that particular sound quite easy all of a sudden.

Augusta looked as shocked by the sound as he was by the realization.

“Hardly a flood, Aunt Augusta, just a minor torrent.”

Castor and Pollux were sprawled in a heap on the settee, and she nudged one dog’s rump to make a place for him.

“Thank goodness Maxim wasn’t severely harmed.”

“Yes.” If anything, his father’s injury made him more indignant than usual, but it was a relief to know his wound would heal quickly. No doubt his anger over being removed from his usual rooms would take longer to cool. While his father had finally relented and agreed to relocate temporarily, Lucius had yet to further broach the topic of Hartwell’s future and his own. Though he hadn’t witnessed it, his father had apparently spent the better half of an hour complaining to Augusta about Lucius’s mismanagement of the estate and his desire to marry to suit his whims rather than as duty dictated.

Settling himself in a chair across from his aunt, Lucius was uncertain how to begin. All his hopes rested on his ability to find a way out of the estate’s financial troubles.

Augusta generally loathed silence and often jumped in to fill the quiet with a quip or platitude. Tonight she simply watched him with an inscrutable expression.

“I plan to ask Jessamin to be my wife.”

His aunt sniffed and fussed with the folds of her gown.

“I take that as a given. I did allow you two more than a moment unchaperoned. I thought you might have asked her then.”

“No. I can’t ask her until the rest is settled. She trusted her father to overcome their financial difficulties, and he failed her. She needs to
see
that I can find a way.” Lucius eased back in his chair, letting a deep breath whoosh through his lips. “But you approve of the match?”

“How could I not? You seem set on it, and you know my feelings for the girl. I consider her a treasure.”

Lucius opened his mouth, snapped it shut, and then began to speak again, only to find his aunt had left him at a complete loss for words.

“She’s a quite singular young woman, and I can only take pleasure in losing her as a companion if I will gain her as a niece.”

“Father—”

“—will come to admire her as we all do. Don’t worry yourself on that point, my boy.”

With a moment’s reflection, Lucius wasn’t truly surprised by his aunt’s approval. She adored Jessamin. But he felt none of Augusta’s certainty about Father blithely accepting Jessamin as his bride.

“Did she often speak of returning to London?” Lucius fisted his hand as he asked the question. A nagging fear had unsettled him throughout the day. What if Jessamin’s resistance to their match had as much to do with the kind of life she preferred as the sort she thought he needed? Perhaps he’d presumed too much. Surely she missed her shop and the ladies of the Women’s Union Lady Katherine mentioned. He didn’t even know if she had family in London who might be missing her as fiercely as he would if she left Hartwell.

He wouldn’t be a man who suffocated his wife with demands, jealous of every moment she spent out of his sight, so possessive that all she longed for was escape. He wouldn’t be his father.

And yet, what if he was like him? He’d never wanted anything as he wanted Jessamin. He did long for each moment he could have her to himself, and all morning he’d feared nothing so much as the possibility that she would leave.

His aunt considered his question a long while before tilting her head and replying. “No, my boy, she never did. She mentioned a friend called Alice and a coffee shop she used to frequent.” A devout tea drinker, Augusta shivered at the mention of coffee, but Lucius had rather enjoyed a hearty cup of it on his occasional visits to London. He made a mental note to have Hartwell’s cook order coffee.

“And she did mention the desire to visit London, just a day trip, perhaps in the spring.”

Relief deflated and buoyed him all at once. The tension in his body eased and yet he leaned forward, eager to attack the matter at hand.

“I have an idea, Aunt Augusta. Several, actually, about how we might address the repairs to the estate and secure its future financial health.”

Augusta moved so that she truly faced him on the settee, her eyes alight with eagerness. “I also have information that might prove useful to you, but carry on and tell me your plans first.”

“Information?” He could see she was bursting to divulge it. “Perhaps you should share your information first. Particularly if it involves knowledge of a hidden treasure buried on the estate.”

“I’m afraid not, my dear. This concerns my own contribution to your happiness, and Jessamin’s.” She puffed out her chest, inhaling deeply, as if preparing herself for a momentous declaration. “I will, of course, release her as my companion.”

Lucius leaned forward and lifted a hand. “Now, wait. I haven’t asked her yet. She hasn’t agreed to be my wife. I don’t wish to coerce her into that choice.”

“Of course not! I will wait for the proper moment. However, I wish to give her something, and I fear she won’t accept it if she views herself as my employee.”

Knowing his aunt, her history, and her affection for Jessamin, Lucius guessed what she might be planning.

“I would like to provide her a dowry.”

Lucius didn’t care if Jessamin brought a farthing into their marriage, but he could see in Augusta’s face that she was determined. She’d lost a daughter, his cousin who’d only lived long enough for her christening, and he hadn’t missed the maternal care his aunt had shown Jessamin. Gratitude made it difficult to speak and certainly impossible to say all that he wished to, but he managed to dip his head and reach for his aunt’s hand. “Thank you.”

“You may have to help me convince her to accept it. Did you know she returned Miss Adderly’s payment for kissing you?”

The news burst in his heart like fireworks, shooting hot sparks through his veins. He gripped the back of the settee and shivered, not from chill, but from the force it took to stay seated when all he wanted was find Jessamin and kiss her senseless. Had she given back those sorely needed funds because she’d felt in their kiss what he had, a strange alchemy of need and desire, a sense that whatever he’d been seeking might have finally been found? He hoped that impulse had driven her.

“I can see that pleases you.”

“Immensely.”

Augusta smiled, a flash of pleasure, and then turned on him with a serious expression he’d rarely seen on her face. “Good. Now tell me your plan.”

He reached up to run a hand through his hair in a Wellesley-like manner, reaching back to rub the nape of his neck. But the tension he expected to find wasn’t there. He’d considered this plan for months, long before Jessamin Wright kissed him in that gallery. But thank God she had. It had been a catalyst to push him beyond his father’s expectations.

“Part of the estate must be sold.” He saw his aunt’s throat working and the pained look in her eyes, but he rushed on. “We are fortunate that a portion of the estate was not included in the entail. Clever forefathers, or foremothers, I suspect. And some acres were acquired later.”

Augusta began shaking her head, a slow back-and-forth movement of denial or dismay, but Lucius expected resistance. He’d learned young, with the loss of his mother and his move to Scotland, that change inspires resistance. He’d been fighting change and scrabbling for control all of his life.

“I don’t simply propose diminishing the estate. Mr. Leighton, a land developer and entrepreneur, plans to purchase our acreage near the village and use a portion for housing and a portion for manufacturing. And I plan to invest in his ventures.”

She frowned at that. “Invest? I thought the objective was to find money, not spend it.”

“As Uncle Buchanan taught me, one must invest to earn.”

Augusta narrowed one eye at him, clearly unconvinced.

“Tenants have abandoned our land to seek manufacturing jobs in the cities. Agriculture alone won’t support Hartwell. We must invest. Wisely, yes. But we must invest.”

Lucius waited as his aunt cast her face down and examined the carpet, pursing her mouth and scrunching her forehead in apparently deep contemplation.

He wanted her support and would likely need it to bring his father around, but he would approach Maxim without her backing if necessary.

A scratching sound drew his attention to the door, and Lucius expected to see one of the pugs seeking a way out. Instead he looked down to see a shiny shoe and dark trousers attached to the lanky figure of Rob Wellesley emerge through the doorway.

“I couldn’t sleep and had a wander. Then I heard voices and thought I might join in.”

“Why?”

His aunt mistook Lucius’s tone and shot him a chastising glance.

“Don’t be rude, Lucius. Most of our guests have departed. We should be grateful we haven’t frightened Robert off too.”

“I don’t frighten easily.” Wellesley beamed a charming smile.

“We should carry on our discussion tomorrow. Give me time to consider your plan.” His aunt spoke the words quietly as if she thought Wellesley might not take notice, but the man was as alert as a terrier.

“What plan is this? Please tell me it involves Miss Wright. Have you asked the woman to marry you yet? The suspense is doing my head in.” Wellesley turned toward Augusta and then looked at Lucius.

“Your discomfort has not quite found its way onto my list of current concerns.”

As ever, Wellesley seemed impervious to Lucius’s sarcasm and settled into a chair, stretching his legs out, crossing them at the ankles, and then folding his hands over his stomach.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Lucius rarely rolled his eyes, but few people exasperated him as effectively as Robert Wellesley.

“I must speak to my father about some changes in the way we manage the estate.”

One of the pugs jumped down to sniff their visitor and Wellesley reached a hand out to give it a scratch behind the ear.

“You mean to sell Dunthorpe lands.”

Lucius glanced at his aunt, who looked surprised by Wellesley’s deduction.

He chuckled when he saw their faces. “Oh, I’m not Sherlock Holmes. I was listening at the door.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes twice in the space of minutes, Lucius moved forward on the settee, resting his elbows on his knees. “My father will be resistant, to say the least.”

“How old is he?” Wellesley asked the question in a light tone, almost flippantly.

“Though I’m not sure how it signifies, he’ll be eighty come May.”

Robert sat up in his chair and leaned forward, mirroring Lucius’s posture by placing his elbows on his knees.

“Don’t you see? Your father has seen wars and revolts, the deaths of three English kings, survived the loss of his wife and eldest son. The man endures change better than you allow.”

He was right. Lucius didn’t know if he could bring himself to admit it to him, but the reassurance in Rob’s words settled his mind.

“Tell him your decisions, Lucius. He’s put you in charge of this estate, so take it. Don’t ask him or cajole him. Just tell him what must be done.”

Aunt Augusta opened her mouth but then closed it without uttering a sound.

Wellesley reached a hand up to muss his hair and sighed in frustration. “Does it never strike either of you that the one person he loved most in this world was the only one who ever stood up to him? From what I recall of your mother, she was never afraid to tell him the truth.” He grinned at his own declaration, as if utterly pleased with himself. “Our suffragette reminds me of her a bit.”

My suffragette.
Lucius didn’t say the words, but he allowed himself a moment of the possessiveness he’d never understood in his father.

“I’m astounded.” Lucius infused his tone with as much seriousness as he could manage. It was a challenge considering how much lighter he felt, and how effectively Wellesley’s arguments had bolstered his confidence.

Wellesley returned a rare frown. “Why?”

“To realize that under all that disheveled hair and charm, you’ve been hiding a bit of good sense and cleverness.”

His smile broke slowly, glacially considering Wellesley’s usual mirthful manner, but when it finally came, followed by a low chuckle, neither Lucius nor his aunt could resist smiling too.

“High praise, indeed. Then shall I expect an invitation to the wedding?”