Authors: Charis Michaels
The fourth kiss felt more necessary somehow than the first, and he closed in again and slowed down, softening his mouth. He breathed in. His head swam with the smell of flowers and sunshine and her: the feel of her body beneath his hands; the close-up sight of her, head back, eyes closed, clinging to him; the taste of her on his tongue. He was lost: lost in the kiss and lost in her. The world slowed down, time shifted, the background of humanity melted away.
Mine
.
All mine. For today and a little bit longer. Mine.
He meant the kiss to be affectionate, thorough, and rewarding for them both. Also, in the spirit of their copious witnesses, he meant it to be a satisfying show. Piety played her part by drinking it in, kissing him back. When she sighed, ever so slightly, and followed his retreating mouth with her own, demanding one more taste, he nearly lost it. He departed “affectionate and rewarding,” and veered into something more akin to “urgent and hot.” The whole business went on thirty-seconds longer than prudent, but he didn’t care. The cheers in the congregation turned to whoops, and Miss Breedlowe giggled. Beside them, the vicar cleared his throat.
Thankfully, Piety had the forbearance to eventually pull away and rest her forehead on his chin. He could feel her grinning at his throat. He kissed her on her forehead, too, getting a mouthful of hair and an eyeful of fresh flowers from her veil, but he didn’t care. She was in his arms again, and it felt good. So very good.
The crowd roared, surprising him, because for a moment he had forgotten time and place. He blinked, grinned, and nodded to the masses. Nearly a hundred smiling faces cheered in return. Even the marchioness bobbed a hearty salute with her head.
Only the Limpetts had sour faces. They were all in attendance except Eli, sitting in the second row with various strangers who seemed to be—
Oh, God
.
Trevor’s body went taut and his breath caught. His fingers closed around Piety’s arms so tightly, she gasped and looked up.
No.
He blinked and looked again, staring hard into the face of the man beside the Limpetts. There he sat, casual as you please, clapping along with villagers and the farmers and a hundred other strangers: Janos Straka, his former boss.
At his wedding.
All the way from bloody Greece, along with two of his most vicious retainers, also painfully familiar to Trevor.
It took work for Trevor to maintain his blissful expression and relaxed posture, but he forced himself to loosen his hold on Piety. He slid his fingers down her arm and took her by the hand.
He shook hands with the vicar.
He shook hands with Joseph, who was so surprised by the gesture that he missed the look of warning in his eyes.
He bowed over Miss Breedlowe’s hand.
With playful affection, he gathered his wife more closely—tightly—to his side.
When he looked up again, the Greek slumlord and his henchmen were gone.
T
he wedding party spun against a backdrop of waning golden sun and twirled merrily into the night. Due to continued requests, the band left off playing classical pieces and veered almost entirely to a lively, modern-jig songbook. A fair number of guests embarked upon spirited singing.
When someone made a call for the bride and groom to give a song, the earl and countess agreed that it was time to express their thanks to Lady Frinfrock, to say good-bye to Tiny and Miss Breedlowe, and to retire for the night. They would have escaped cleanly, too, if Idelle had not cornered Piety alone near the row of torches that led to the house.
“Well done, daughter,” Idelle said coolly.
“Thank you,” Piety said softly. It had been her mother’s first effort to speak to her that day, and it startled her. She hadn’t thought that Idelle would seek her out.
“So you’ve married an earl.”
“So I have.”
“He’s penniless, of course. And his regard for you seems to alternate between vulgar affection and cold remoteness, but you have not sought my counsel—you never have—so I leave you to your own result.”
“He is a good man, Mother,” Piety said.
Idelle snorted. “There is no such thing as a ‘good man.’ And even if there was, I would hardly characterize your illustrious Lord Falcondale as such. I looked at the belly of a snake for enough years to know scales when I see them.”
Piety refused to allow the thinly veiled jab at her father to affect her. “I appreciate your concern,” she said simply. “How long do you plan to remain in England?”
Idelle scoffed. “Aren’t you an eager miss?”
Piety stared at her.
“We haven’t decided,” said her mother. “I wish to be certain you are
settled
in this new life you’ve designed.” She watched Piety closely. “Your marriage intrigues me, Piety. How very discreet you’ve all been, you and this cast of players who supports you. But appearances can only be maintained for so long.”
“There isn’t always a villain behind every bush, Mother. Some circumstances simply fall together. No dark, secretive scheme; none at all.”
“Yes,” agreed Idelle. “Perhaps. But not this time.”
Piety made a noise of frustration and threw her hands in the air. She’d spent years ignoring her mother—how much simpler it seemed to walk away—but she felt suddenly compelled to win a point. Just once. “Aren’t you weary? Tired of following me around, finding new things to hector? Do our accusations about the Limpetts not disturb you? I’m sorry Papa did not leave the money to you, but I’ve offered to divide it equally, many times. You don’t seem to want it unless it comes with a pound of my flesh. I will never marry Eli or any of the Limpetts. They are horrid, and it breaks my heart that you, of all people, have tried to force them upon me.”
“Oh, do grow up, girl! Men can be managed. This month’s awful suitor is next month’s benign husband. If you had given me even
an ounce
of the respect that I deserve, I could have taught you a thing or two about how to procure what you need from a man, rather than running away from him. But you’ve always been so strong-headed. So independent.”
“I had no choice but to make my own way! You wanted no part of me. Do not pretend that you did.”
Idelle rolled her eyes, gesturing in short, angry chops. “How dare you cry neglect of me? Papa’s little princess. All of his attention; his pride and joy. And now all of his money!” She pointed a long, thin finger. “I will take the money—all of it—when I earn what was duly mine, not when you toss it at my feet like alms to the poor.”
“It was meant to be a draft from the bank,” said Piety quietly. “I’ve ‘tossed’ nothing. How would you earn it? By
selling me
to Eli?”
“It was meant to be the union of two strong, well-placed families. We could rule New York!”
“Why would I wish to
rule
New York? All I want—all I’ve
ever
wanted—is to see new places and meet new people and to live in a happy home. A husband to love. Children!” Her voice broke, and she turned away.
And then she saw Falcondale. He stood behind her, taking in every word.
Oh, God.
Behind her, Idelle chuckled. “Ah, and here he is, the man himself. Do go on. How clear it is that his lordship wishes to hear more of this dream you hold for home and hearth.”
Falcondale did not allow Piety to answer. “Indeed,” he said. “But first,
my
dream. My dream is to never lay eyes on you, madam, ever again.” He stepped into the path and held out a hand. “Come, darling. I couldn’t find you, and it alarmed me. Let us ask Joseph to arrange for Mrs. Limpett’s immediate departure.”
Piety went to him, allowing him to sweep her into a tight, almost fierce, embrace. She melted into his strong, solid warmth, and he bent forward to drop a kiss on the top of her head. Piety’s composure nearly dissolved.
“Look after her, your lordship,” called Idelle. “If you can keep up with her, you’ll earn every gold coin!”
Fresh rage erupted in Piety’s chest, and she spun around. “It’s not a matter of money, Mother!” she said. “It’s a matter of love. If you’d loved Papa, he would have left the fortune to you. If you loved me, I would freely give it to you. What do you want? What do you
want
?”
“I want you to snap out of this fairy-tale world that you’ve built in your fluff-headed imagination! You always thought you deserved better than the rest of us. Well, look where it’s gotten you.”
“Yes!” Piety shouted, striding back. “I’ve married a fine man from a noble family. A man who loves me and wishes to share his life with me. I’ve bought a house that I adore in a city that enchants me. I have friends who look after me. My life—my real life,
not
a fairy tale—is only beginning!”
Idelle did not blink. “Is it?” She studied the man beside her.
Falcondale soured under her gaze. “Perhaps I was not clear. This celebration is over for you, madam.” He stepped forward again to retrieve Piety, pulling her tightly into his arms. “I would have you go.
Now.
Please be aware that the countess and I intend to leave for London in the morning. Whether you are welcome here in Berkshire after we go, I cannot say, but you should be advised that neither you nor your family will be admitted to our home in Henrietta Place.”
“And which home would that be? Piety’s rattletrap construction or your empty shell of a foreclosed relic?”
“Make no mistake, madam,” Falcondale said. “If I see even the feather of your bonnet, I will summon the authorities.”
“And allege what? You do not own the streets of London.”
Gently, he set Piety aside and stepped closer. “That I am the bloody Earl of Falcondale, and that myself and my lady wife are being harassed by a pack of maddened sock-factory workers from America. One of whom assaulted the countess and did his level best to bludgeon me.” He lanced her with one, final pitying glare, took Piety’s hand, and turned to go.
“Good-bye, Mother,” Piety said over her shoulder, following along. “Please, please return home. I think it will be best for everyone.”
F
alcondale tugged Piety by the hand, nearly dragging her, shaking his head as they rounded first one rhododendron and then another on the dark path.
“Where in God’s name does this lead? It’s a wonder I found you at all. What were you doing, off in the shadows?”
“Slow down, Trevor. My shoes!” She stumbled, and he slowed, but only a little. “It’s the path to the fountain. Regardless, I am not—”
She stopped herself; it wouldn’t do to accuse. He’d been agreeable all day despite the obvious shock of the large audience and an extravagant celebration. More softly, she said, “I have been coming and going on my own for so long, I am not accustomed to accounting for my whereabouts. I was lecturing footmen about the torches. It never occurred to me that you would be alarmed.”
“Yes, well, your mother is poison in human form.” He sounded distracted. “I thought we agreed that you would keep out of her way.”
“She sought me out.”
They rounded a hedge and found themselves on the terrace, looking out over the party. Falcondale scanned the crowd. “If you were like me,” he said, “you would purposefully avoid her. Avoid everyone. Run
from
people, rather than
to
them.”
“May I never be like you,” she whispered.
He looked down at her. “How right you are. May you never be like me.”
She narrowed her eyes. After two weeks of silence, the last thing she wished to finally hear was him agreeing that he was a selfish lout.
“You . . . you are unnerved about what I said to my mother. When I described our marriage. I’m sorry.”
Falcondale shook his head. “I’m not unnerved, Piety, merely disappointed. I wish I could be the man you require.”
She smiled weakly at his back. “You have saved me from her; what more could I need?”
He paused. “I am sorry that I am not a fine man from a noble family, as you said. I—”
“Do not feel sorry for me, Trevor. Just because you are not sweeping me off to a world of domesticity and love does not mean that you are not rescuing me, just the same. And that is enough.”
He nodded and looked away. His expression was new. Worry? Anxiety? Anguish? She could not read it. She ventured instead to console him. “Don’t look so tortured, Falcondale. It makes
me
want to rescue
you
, and you’ve said that I cannot.”
“Piety,” he said, glossing over her last comment, “why did you invite so many people? Why is this wedding so large and elaborate? The guests are strangers who couldn’t possibly wish to celebrate us.”
It was the last thing she expected him to say, but she nodded and spoke to the ground. “Well, planning a large affair took my mind off of the fact that you had grown so incredibly remote.”
When she looked up, he was staring down at her with an intensity that made her blink.
“I stayed away to protect us both. You know this. To protect our future.”
“Not
our
future,” she corrected with a bitter laugh. “
Your
future and
my
future. Our
separate
futures. But do not feel guilty. I know this was the agreement.” She took a deep breath. “The large party is hardly your style, I know, but did you mind too terribly? Are you cross?”
“How did you decide on the guest list?”
Another unexpected question. She looked around, eyeing the guests dancing beyond the terrace gate. “Well, it was an open invitation, really. Everyone in the village. This is a fine home. Lady Frinfrock lays a colorful feast. People enjoy fancy dress, and music, and dancing. It is a rare and special night for them, even if they don’t know you or me. It made me happy to invite them. And Lady Frinfrock, for all her bluster, is a generous landowner. She deserves to see their gratitude.”
“But did you invite anyone specifically?” he asked, his face still tight. “Anyone by name? Were printed invitations sent by post?”
“In what time?” She laughed. “Everything happened in such a rush. No, Jocelyn and I rode around in the wagon and put out a personal invitation.” She studied him, trying to determine what he wanted from this conversation. “You are disturbed by the Limpetts,” she guessed. “I’m sorry, but it was easier not to fight them. Mother said everyone but Eli intended to come, and it took too much energy to change her mind. I knew they would be harmless at such a public event. But perhaps—”