Utterly Devoted (17 page)

When she bit her lip, he sighed. “Forgive me, Eloise. Once more I seem to have done you a disservice. I appear to be incapable of understanding you. Let me help you into the coach so you can go home.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up. “So, once again, Mr. Darby gives up.”

“Is this your final test, then?” he demanded. “Am I to persevere through whatever barriers you erect?”

“And if I said yes, would you?”

“If I knew that in the end, I would win your heart, gladly. But something tells me you hold your heart deeply. Has nothing I’ve done proved to you my intentions toward you are honorable this time?”

He wasn’t sure she would answer the question. Indeed, she was silent for a few moments as if considering it herself. “You want to speak to my father,” she finally said. “That in itself tells me you are serious. And I find that thought suddenly terrifying.”

“Why?”

She scowled. “Because you can hurt me again, Jareth, more deeply and fully than ever you could before.”

“I promise you I have no desire to hurt you again. I never wanted to hurt you the first time.”

“Yet you did. I don’t know if I have the courage to give you that power over me again.”

“So you would settle for a passionless marriage to Lord Nathaniel rather than what we might share.”

As soon as he spoke he knew he should have been silent. Her feelings for Lord Nathaniel or lack thereof had no purpose in this discussion.

She rounded on him, as he had expected. “Leave Lord Nathaniel out of this.”

“I would,” he replied, “except it strikes me that he is an example of how you have tried to put up a wall between us. Have you not noticed that you chose to encourage a gentleman who was my exact opposite?”

She raised a brow. “Because he is reliable and stable, do you mean?”

Much as he would have liked to argue, he couldn’t. “Oh, I will grant you I am far less stable then his lordship. With Lord Nathaniel, you need never fear that your husband would surprise you in the garden and sweep you off into a bower to kiss you senseless. You can rest assured he will not bring you your favorite flower simply because it pleases him. Indeed, he will likely not remember your favorite flower or even think to ask.”

“Do you remember?” she challenged.

“Certainly I remember. I remember the day we walked in the fields behind the manor and you told me all about yourself. Your favorite color is purple, your favorite food a cinnamon apple crumble only your father’s cook can make, and your favorite flowers are painted daisies, in armfuls of red, orange, and pink.”

She shook her head in what he hoped was reluctant admiration. “You’re right. I cannot imagine how you remembered all that.”

He stopped her. “I remember many things about you, Eloise. The way your hair smells like lilacs. The way your laugh rises and falls like a brook in a spring freshet. The way your body feels like ...”

“That is enough,” she said hurriedly, and even in the dim light he could see she was blushing. “You have proven your memory is exceptional.”

“And yours is selective. You remember how much I hurt you. Do you remember how much I cared about you? Perhaps I should remind you.”

Ignoring the coachman just behind her and heedless of what any passersby might think, he gathered her in his arms. Though a part of him demanded that he claim what he knew to be his, he kept the kiss gentle. With his hands and his lips, he coaxed her into remembering how good they could be together, how right it felt to touch and be touched. She was stiff for a moment, then he felt her melting, giving as much as he gave, warming his heart as well as his body.

A deep cough interrupted him, and he raised his head to eye the servants behind him. In the light from the lanterns on either side of the coach, the coachman’s frown was almost apologetic.

“Do you need my assistance, Miss Watkin?” he asked gruffly.

Eloise seemed to recall herself as well. “No, thank you, Mr. Butters. Mr. Darby was just saying goodbye.”

She was dismissing him, but he felt cause for hope. Jareth bowed. “As you will, madam. But only for tonight. We have much to discuss.”

“Perhaps we do,” she allowed. She turned to the coach, and he opened the door and helped her in. Shutting the door, he waved the coachman on. He stood on the pavement until the sound of hooves faded in the distance.

She had built a wall around herself. It had never been clearer to him than tonight. He had to find a way to break through. Final test or not, he fully intended to win her heart.

As he walked to White’s, he marveled at his determination. He had planned many a campaign to win a lady, but never had it been her heart he sought. Indeed, he prided himself on leaving hearts alone, his and theirs. Of course, that same pride had more than once been his undoing.

Because of it, he saw now, he had walked away from Eloise once. Because of it, he had fled to the Continent rather than face the stories being told of him and Lady Hendricks. Pride had even now kept him from living under his brother’s roof. Surely it was a sign of how much he loved Eloise that that pride did not motivate him in seeking her hand.

He smiled to himself. Justinian was right. Love was no match for the cursed Darby pride. A shame he could not have learned that earlier.

* * * *

The next morning found him at the Watkin townhouse. He had to tell the butler his intentions twice before the fellow consented to take his card in to Lord Watkin. It was only retribution, he supposed, for the way he had shoved past the fellow in his hurry to reach Eloise the day before. Jareth cooled his heels for ten long minutes before the butler returned to escort him to his lordship’s richly paneled private study.

As Jareth entered, he was struck again by how little Eloise’s father resembled her. Where she was a sculpture’s ideal of curves, Lord Watkin was built on thin, spare lines. Where she dressed in the latest stare of fashion and shades that suited her dramatic coloring, he chose a plain suit of brown several shades darker than his thinning hair. Where she was tall for a woman, he was short for a man. Her green eyes glowed with warmth; his blue eyes were cool and calculating. The only feature they seemed to share was their alabaster skin. He found it far more charming on Eloise.

Lord Watkin returned his bow and motioned him to a chair before the polished wood desk. “Mr. Darby, a pleasure to meet you,” he said in a calm, quiet voice. “How might I be of assistance?”

“In truth it is not your assistance I need,” Jareth replied. He had thought to move more slowly to the topic, but formality of the room and the gentleman before him seemed to brook no roundaboutation. He squared his shoulders. “I would like your permission to ask your daughter for her hand in marriage. But I suspect you will not give it to me.”

Lord Watkin raised a thin brow as if mildly intrigued. “And why would I refuse, Mr. Darby? Are you a fortune hunter?”

Jareth laughed. “By no means. I hope soon to have an estate of my own in Somerset. You will have heard of my father and brother, the Earls of Wenworth?”

“Of course.
Those
Darbys. Let me see. The oldest son died in Naples a few years ago. Your older brother Justinian is the current earl, I believe. The young major married some time ago. That would make you ...”

“The black sheep of the family,” Jareth supplied readily. “I have only recently returned from exile on the Continent. But I promise you I have put all that behind me. I can have my family vouch for me if you like. However, I feel it only fair to admit that I was the man who seduced Eloise in school.”

There, he had said it. He waited for the explosion. The baron merely eyed him with a slight frown.

“I am afraid, Mr. Darby,” he said, “that someone has played a joke on you. My daughter left school several years ago, and she was never troubled there. I am certain she would have told me if that were the case.”

Jareth stared at him. “Eloise never mentioned the matter to you?”

His frown deepened. “My daughter’s name is Eloise, that is true. But she never mentioned any difficulties with boys, and neither did her headmistress.”

Jareth’s mind reeled. Eloise had claimed that only a few knew of their liaison, but he had assumed she’d eventually told her father. “Forgive me, Lord Watkin. I don’t know what to say. I can only encourage you to speak to your daughter about the matter. I know it has caused her some distress, and for that I am gravely sorry. For now, I can only repeat my request that you allow me to pursue her hand in marriage.”

“You put me in a difficult position, Mr. Darby.” He tapped his chin with his finger. “You tell me you are a reformed scoundrel, yet you wish me to give you complete access to my greatest treasure, Eloise. Even if I believe you are a gentleman now, I cannot feel comfortable with your offer.”

“I understand. You are within your right to refuse me. May I point out in my own defense that if I were still a scoundrel, I would have ensured beforehand that your daughter was in a position in which she could not refuse me.”

His brow went higher. “And you think it noble you have not done so?”

“No, not noble. Merely an indication that I now try to follow the proper way of doing things.”

He pursed his thin lips. “If I were to agree, Mr. Darby, what do you think your chances are of gaining my daughter’s acceptance?”

“In the short term, miserable,” Jareth admitted. “But I hope to prove to her that I am utterly devoted. I want to be the man to make her happy. If, however, I find I cannot be that man, I will step aside.”

Lord Watkin regarded him. Jareth held his breath. Abruptly, Eloise’s father nodded. “Very well. You have my permission to pay your respects to my daughter. But I expect to be kept apprised of your progress.”

Jareth breathed in relief. “Of course, my lord. Thank you. I will give you no cause to regret this decision.”

“See that you do not. Now, I would be delighted to call Eloise for you, but I believe Bryerton told me she is out.”

“I made certain she was away before calling on you,” Jareth confirmed. “I was uncertain of my reception and did not wish to trouble her. But you can be assured I shall return later, ring in hand, with your permission, of course.”

“Granted. Good luck, Mr. Darby.”

He grinned. “Thank you, my lord. I have a feeling I shall need it.”

Chapter Eighteen

Eloise had barely returned from shopping that morning when Bryerton announced that her father wished to see her. She stiffened in the act of allowing the footman to remove her pelisse. “Did he say why, Bryerton?”

The butler’s long nose was high. “I am certain I could not say, Miss Watkin.”

She should have known better than to ask. She thought carefully how to phrase the next question as she puffed up the sleeves of her green-sprigged muslin gown where the pelisse had flattened the lace edgings. “Can you say whether Mr. Darby has been here this morning?” she tried.

“He called on your father,” Bryerton answered. By the light in his gray eyes, she had the feeling he knew exactly how much that information meant to her.

“And the nature of that conversation?” she asked carefully.

“Is not something to which I was privy. If you would follow me?”

Follow him and have him hear that Jareth had confessed all? She thought not. “No, thank you, Bryerton. I know the way to my father’s study.”

Bryerton drew himself up and walked away without another word. No longer caring whether she insulted him, Eloise gathered up her full skirts and hurried down the corridor and up the stairs.

At the door to her father’s study, she paused to smooth her curls back from her face. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and knew it wasn’t from climbing the stairs. What would she face inside that door if Jareth had explained their situation to her father? She should have been more forceful in her warning to him last night. But the very fact that he truly did wish to marry her had stunned her.

She wanted to be happy about that. Jareth Darby claimed to be in love, and in love with her. Why didn’t that delight her beyond words? Isn’t that what she’d hoped for years? If she were truly honest with herself, wasn’t that why she had derived those silly tests to begin with? She’d wanted him to have a change of heart, and miracle of miracles, that was exactly what had happened. But when it came down to asking her father for permission to offer, she had refused.

It was ridiculous. A part of her was glad Jareth had seen through her posturing and come calling anyway. But the far larger part of her stood trembling outside the door of the study, cursing him for putting her in this position. Their past was over. Why should she have to face it again with her father?

She almost turned to leave, then remembered that her father had asked for her. She had no choice but to walk through that door. Steeling herself, she hazarded a knock. At her father’s call to enter, she stepped boldly through the door on shaking limbs and shut the panel firmly behind her.

“You asked for me, Father?” she asked, bracing herself against the door for strength.

He smiled and indicated the chair before his desk. “Yes, my dear. Please sit down.”

The air in the room was warm yet she felt chilled. She did not budge from the door. “Is something wrong?”

“Now why would you think that? Do I only call for you when there is trouble?”

“Well,” she admitted, shifting nervously, “the number of times you have called for more frivolous reasons is limited.”

“Is that true?” He frowned thoughtfully. “How very remiss of me. I shall attempt to rectify that in the future. For now, please take a seat. I would like you to tell me how you know Jareth Darby.”

She had moved toward the chair but his last words caused her to sink onto the hardwood seat with a bump. “Jareth Darby?” she managed. “Why would you ask after him?”

“He was here this morning to see me. He wished my permission to offer for you.”

Her heart could not help but leap at the confirmation. “And did you grant it?”

“Reluctantly. The fellow is charming enough, I suppose. However, his confession that he had seduced you while you were still in school was a bit daunting.”