The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) (37 page)

Having Ian
deeply in like
with her wasn’t perfect. It would have to do for this evening. “If she didn’t start the rumor, then who did? I think we ought to find out.”

“No need. I already know.”

She gasped. “You do? Who did it? How long have you known? And why keep it from me?”

“I’ll tell you later. After the ball. Wipe that pretty pout off your face. Our guests are about to arrive.” He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “By the way, you look beautiful. Far prettier than the diamonds at your throat.” He kissed her again. “Or those dangling at your ears.” And another kiss. “Or those in your hair.” He sighed. “You’re so damn beautiful, you steal my breath away.”

She was surprised, didn’t know how to respond.

She was glad that he was
deeply, deeply in like
with her.

***

“Well, how long are you going to deny it?” Lady Phoebe Withnall said, approaching Ian as he stood on the receiving line. The ball was under way, most of the guests having been announced. He and Dillie would soon open it officially with a dance and then mingle among the throng of guests. The Prince Regent would arrive later, and Ian was glad of it. He had something important to do and didn’t wish the royal appearance to distract him from his purpose.

He glanced at Dillie, who was practically leaping out of her skin with joy, for Lily and Ewan had just arrived and she’d spotted them making their way slowly up the long queue of guests. He turned back to Phoebe. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Dear boy, I’d smack you in the shins with my cane if you weren’t needed to open the ball. When are you going to tell her?”

“Stop glowering at me. I plan on telling her tonight.”

“You had better. Lady Eloise and I will be watching you.”

He raised Phoebe’s gloved hand to his lips and planted a light kiss. “I have no doubt.”

More guests came by—countless Farthingale relations, including all of Dillie’s sisters and their husbands. He watched Dillie break into a beaming smile as Lily and Ewan now reached them. They had come down from the Highlands for this affair, and although Dillie and her twin exchanged letters almost daily, she couldn’t contain her joy. She threw her arms around Lily and hugged her fiercely. Lily responded with affection and equal lack of restraint.

Ewan turned to him and laughingly shook his head. “The Chipping Way curse is powerful indeed. Och, I dinna think ye’d ever fall under its spell. Look at ye now. The duke who was never going to marry. You’re as well tamed as the rest of us.” He nodded toward Gabriel, Graelem, and Julian, who were standing beside their respective wives, Daisy, Laurel, and Rose, and seeming in no hurry to move away.

These rare creatures were known as happily married men. Never in his wildest imaginings had Ian thought to become one of them. But he was. He was also a monumental ass, taking all Dillie offered while holding back the one thing she yearned for most.

He waited until Dillie had greeted the last of the seemingly endless stream of Farthingales, and then took her hand and led her into the ballroom to officially start the ball.

Dillie blushed furiously as they stood in the center of the room, all eyes upon them. She was anything but cool and collected, and held his elbow in a death grip. “You can do this, sweetheart,” he said in a whisper of encouragement.

She let out a little
eep
. “I don’t think so. We ought to have practiced. Why didn’t we think to practice the waltz? Oh, crumpets! Eloise and Lady Withnall are staring at us.”

He took her into his arms, preparing for the dance. “Everyone’s staring at us.”

She
eeped
again as the first notes struck, now in obvious panic. “Don’t tell me that!”

“Very well, what shall I tell you? I know.” He guided her steps as the music started, but instead of whirling her in a circle around the ballroom, he whirled her across the floor toward the terrace.

Her eyes widened. “Ian, what are you doing?”

A murmur of confusion arose from the crowd as well, but he continued toward the open doors leading onto the terrace. Their guests began to follow.

“Ian?”

He grinned at her look of utter confusion, the delicate arch of her brow above her glorious, blue eyes, and the purse of her full, rosy lips. Dillie grew more beautiful by the day. She looked so beautiful even now in full, crimson blush. As for him, he knew exactly what he was doing. Indeed, this was the first time he was thinking clearly. Once out of the ballroom, he stopped waltzing and knelt before her, ignoring the music as the orchestra played on.

Dillie let out a soft gasp. “Everyone’s watching. You have to get up.”

He took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “I’m a duke. I can do anything I please.” He glanced at the crowd of onlookers and saw Eloise and Phoebe poking their way through the doors to the front. “I can
say
anything I please.”

“Oh, no. Don’t say anything idiotic that you’ll regret.”

He laughed lightly and shook his head. “And what pleases me is... you. I love you, Dillie.”

She looked at him as though she might faint. The crimson blush on her cheeks had faded to chalky white, even against the torchlights. “I love you,” he repeated, rising to take her into his arms before her legs gave way. Fortunately, the crowd mistook his gesture and thought the way he embraced his wife quite romantic. In truth, Dillie was about to swoon and he meant to catch her before she fell and did herself harm.

The music continued softly behind them, the melodic strains wafting from the ballroom onto the terrace. He kissed her on the lips, putting his heart and soul into that kiss, possessive and hungry and tender as his lips locked onto hers. He held the kiss longer than deemed proper, held it until he heard the titters and gasps of the onlookers, and held it because he wanted everyone to know how much he loved his wife.
His wife.
She wasn’t an obligation arising from a scandal. She was his salvation.

As she regained her composure, he slowly resumed the waltz. “Thank you, Ian. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I did.
I love you, Dillie.”
Hell, he’d taken far too long to get around to saying it. He bent his head to hers and kissed her again in a way that left no doubt as to the truth of his words.

He kissed her and whirled her across the dance floor in time to the waltz. Their guests erupted in chortles, gasps, and gleefully horrified chatter, but Ian wasn’t nearly ready to behave himself and refused to end the kiss until he was satisfied that he’d thoroughly scandalized the old biddies in attendance... and until the music stopped and he finally heard the
thuck, thuck, thuck
of Phoebe Withnall’s cane behind him.

Reluctantly, he released Dillie and turned to grin at the old harridan.

“About time you finally let the gel up for air.” Phoebe, in her usual forthright manner, pounded him on the back. She then turned to smile at Dillie. “Well done, lass. Well done indeed. What a scandalbroth your wicked duke has created. No one ever thought he’d marry, certainly never believed he’d fall in love, but I’ve never seen a more pathetic, love-bitten fool than Edgeware. That kiss will be all anyone talks about for the rest of the season.”

“Good,” Ian said, the grin still on his face. “Are you quite finished, Phoebe?”

Dillie’s eyes glistened and her smile was as broad as a moonbeam. Ian loved her smile. He loved the sparkle in her eyes, meant just for him.
He loved her.

“Almost. I haven’t told Dillie who started the rumor that got you into so much trouble.”

Dillie’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Lady Withnall, do you know who did it? In truth, I thought it was you.”

“No, my dear. Although I would have had—”

Bloody hell.
Ian stepped forward. “My mother did it.”

Dillie’s gaze darted to his. She laughed, and then noticed that neither he nor Phoebe had joined in. “Ian, is this true?
She
? Why? She must have known what the outcome would be.”

“No, she didn’t think I’d ever marry you. And even if she were wrong and I did propose to you, she expected I’d be dead before a wedding could take place, killed in the stables at the Black Sail Inn, leaving you alone and ruined.” He clenched his jaw, trying to stem his anger. He didn’t wish to give Celestia another moment’s thought, but Dillie appeared ready to ask more questions. Better to tell her quickly and be done with it. “This is the nature of my family. Celestia and my cousins wished to punish you because you’d saved my life, foiling their first attempt in November. For that, you had to be made to suffer.”

She shook her head and simply stared at him. Confusion, surprise, disbelief were all mirrored in her eyes. “How did she know about us? About your stay in my bed?” Suddenly, she groaned. “Of course! Those men reported back to her. She knew exactly where you were.”

“It’s all behind us now.” He dipped his head and kissed her again, the kiss deep and tender. “The irony of it is, she did me a great favor. I’ve always loved you,” he said in a whisper. “I was just too stubborn to admit it. Then that clunch, Ealing, came along and I couldn’t let him have you. I didn’t want anyone to have you. Only me, but I didn’t deserve you. I was almost ready to let you go.”

The sparkle faded from her eyes. “Would you have done it?”

“No, sweetheart. I knew I couldn’t ever do it, but I wasn’t able to admit it to you. Then the scandal broke, giving me a safe excuse to marry you. I didn’t have to put my heart at risk. Everyone would believe I’d married you out of a sense of duty.”

Phoebe struck him lightly with her cane. “Not well done of you. How could you leave the sweet girl in doubt for so long?”

Dillie stepped closer and put a hand on his arm. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” She smiled up at Ian, stars once more glistening in her radiant eyes. “You love me,” she said in a whisper.

“Forever, sweetheart.” He caressed her cheek.
“Always.”

Phoebe let out a snort. “Enough, you two. Stop foolishly gazing into each other’s eyes and pay attention to your guests.” Her command given, Phoebe turned and walked away.
Thuck, thuck, thuck
, the sound of her cane diminished as she made her way across the ballroom.

Ian took Dillie’s hand, but she held him back a moment. She looked happily bemused. “Thank you,” she said again.

“For being a stubborn ass? For being an arrogant, idiot duke?”

She nestled against his chest. “For being you. For wanting me as much as I want you. I love you so much.”

He kissed her again. “There’s only one girl I could ever marry. Only one girl I could ever love. The girl I kissed beside the lilac tree. The girl who almost shot me with an elephant gun. You, Dillie. I love you. You’re my forever girl.”

Lake District, England

Christmas Eve 1819

DILLIE WAS SITTING
in the nursery at Coniston Hall, her parents’ large country home, fussing over Felicity. She had dressed Felicity in a gown of dark green velvet with a matching ribbon in her hair, but Felicity was having none of it, tugging at her little curls and wailing. “Oh, well,” Dillie said finally. “I don’t suppose anyone will notice the lack of a ribbon.”

The house was filled to the rafters with Farthingales gathered for the traditional Christmas Eve supper. Rose, Laurel, Daisy, and Lily were downstairs with their husbands and the other adults, while their children were chasing each other up and down the hall outside the nursery. All save Ivy, of course, who was in the arms of her nanny, Miss Grenville, waiting to be brought downstairs. Ivy looked like a little princess in a gown of red velvet trimmed with white lace at the collar and sleeve cuffs.

Miss Poole, who had been helping Dillie with Felicity, rose from the chair beside her. “Time to get the children down to supper. I’ll come back up as soon as the little hoydens are safely delivered to their parents.”

Dillie laughed as Felicity began to bounce on her lap, no doubt eager to join the others. “You needn’t bother. I’ll be down in a moment with Her Highness.”

All had been invited to Coniston for a week of Christmas celebrations, and Dillie was looking forward to a long, noisy evening with the sisters, parents, and assorted relatives. Ian hadn’t arrived yet, but she knew he would be along soon.

She untied Felicity’s ribbon, which really was no loss since the child had very little hair and what existed was adorably unkempt. Felicity abruptly stopped complaining.

With the military efficiency of a Roman general, Miss Poole quieted down the horde of little Farthingales, mustered them in a single column, and then marched them downstairs.

Now alone in the nursery with Felicity, Daisy took several deep breaths to steady herself. She was feeling a little dizzy, but didn’t wish anyone to know. Not yet, anyway. Not until she spoke to Ian. Where was he?

It wasn’t long before she heard his carriage draw up to the front of the house, and then a moment later she heard his footsteps on the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. He must have encountered Miss Poole in the entry hall and she must have said something to make him rush to her side.

Suddenly, he filled the nursery doorway. “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart.” He strode to her side and kissed her on the lips, an achingly gentle kiss. “I was delayed at Swineshead. Mr. Dumbley had a mountain of papers delivered for me to sign. Took forever to make my way through the stack.” He gave her another gentle kiss, then cast a boyishly tender smile that melted her heart. “Miss Poole said you looked a little pale. How are you feeling?”

Before she could answer, Felicity let out a squawk to gain his attention.

“I’m getting to you,” he said with a laugh. “Do you think I’d ever forget you, Your Highness?” He bent to nuzzle Felicity, but her chubby little fingers went straight for his nose and tugged on it. He let out a pretend yelp that Felicity thought was hilarious. She let out a hearty laugh, all giggles and squeals.

Ian took Felicity into his arms. He looked quite at ease as he settled the playful child against his chest and lightly tickled her belly, but his gaze was trained on Dillie. “Sweetheart?”