Marry Me (6 page)

Raymond nodded.

Jab-jab-jab, hook.

Quick blocked effectively. “He’s not a Harvard man, is he?”

Raymond shook his head. He launched into Quick with a quick combination, only one of which landed its mark. Quick riposted and Raymond had to duck. Sweat dampened his brow.

“Yale?” He blocked Raymond’s return delivery.

Again, no.

“Miss Minchin’s School for Big Girl Blouses?”

Raymond laughed and dropped his guard. Quick took advantage, knocking him to the mat. Smith started his count.

Quick held out a fist to assist Raymond up before Smith got to three. “If he gives you or your lady friend any grief, you just let me know. What good is it having friends if you can’t call on ’em to have your back?”

“Thanks,” he replied.

When it came to Miss Moore, Elliott may have seen her first, but it was who a lady ended up with last that mattered.

Raymond intended on being that fellow. If only he could get that bounder out of the way.

A powerful punch laid Quick out on the mat. Smith started to count.

Raymond shook his anger out of his head. “S-s-sorry, b-bud—”

Before he could get out his apology, his feet were swept out from beneath him by a resourceful Quick.

Down Raymond went, his breath knocked out of him. Yep, he deserved that.

****

The next morning Millie wore the green sash she’d been forced to set aside yesterday. If she chose to wear green, then Millie would wear green. Her feet didn’t feel too bad despite yesterday’s marathon promenade enough to go for a walk.

Of course Mr. Elliott planned on calling on her today. She aimed not to be home when he did. Let her parents deal with him. Millie had a plan.

Her solid conviction lasted until she stood on the Chandlers’ front porch. The Chandler home was a grand affair, a tall, noble Italianate framed by mature trees. The scent of wealth tickled her nose. How could Mr. Elliott scoff at such a grand family, especially for something as insignificant as a stutter?

The doubts crept in. Was it too early to call? What if Mrs. Chandler thought her too forward, asking for Mr. Wilson’s direction? It was bad enough to have been seen with Mr. Elliott all day yesterday. Surely that had shaken her good reputation. Would an action like this crumble her foundation?

The maid answered the door before Millie’s courage could desert her completely.

Oh dear. In her rush to leave the house, Millie had forgotten a calling card. With a shaky voice she introduced herself. “Is Mrs. Chandler in? We spoke yesterday at the Regatta.”

The maid was a little thing, no older than fourteen at best. “Sorry, miss. Mrs. Chandler is overseeing the children’s breakfast.”

“Oh.” She was too early. “I’m sorry.” She turned, and then reconsidered. “I only wanted her brother Mr. Wilson’s direction. I can call back later.”

“That’s easy enough. He’s come for breakfast.”

Millie’s heart caught in her throat. “He’s here?” The words squeaked out.

“Yes miss. Breakfasting with Mr. Chandler.”

The maid gently shut the door, leaving Millie on the porch. A blush suffused her cheeks. Best to retreat while one had the chance. She put one foot on the step, then another. At least the street was deserted at this hour. No one would be there to witness her embarrassment.

Before she reached the pavement, the door burst open, startling her.

“Mmm-mm Miss Mm-mm-oore.” Mr. Wilson dashed out to her, chest heaving. His hat was missing.

Millie turned. Her pulse pounded.

Mr. Wilson slowed as he came down the steps. “Y-you came to s-s-see m-m-ee?”

Millie gulped. She didn’t expect him to be here. Her thoughts froze. She didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She could only nod.

He spoke first. “Ss-sorry I s-ss-startled you. C—come s-sit down.” He patted the stoop next to him.

Millie took a fortifying breath and joined him. How nice it was to sit on the steps as if they were children. The iron handrails provided a quiet little cage to shield them from the world. It was now or never. “I need to tell you something.”

The smile on his face faded. But he listened.

“That man I was with? He doesn’t mean anything to me. Well, he’s courting, or rather, he’s trying to court me, but I’m not interested.”

Mr. Wilson let out a sigh of relief. That lovely bright, genuine smile of his returned. Millie couldn’t help but take his hand. “It’s important you know this because,” she took another deep breath, “I like you very much.”

“I l-like you t-too.”

The warmth of his hands comforted her. What would it be like to hold those hands for the rest of her life?

“I know we’ve only just met, but I would like to see you again.” She looked up into his green eyes. “I’ve kept the hearts you gave me.” Both times he’d given her a candy heart she was starving. Yet if she ate those hearts, how would she have ever remembered him? She feared his memory would be as fleeting as the sugar on her tongue.

“Y-you can ee-eat them. It’s ok-k-ay.” He reached into his coat pocket and extracted a paper bag. But when he pulled out a humbug, he blushed and apologised. “Nn-not what I w-w-was l-l-l-l-ooking for.”

A giggle rose up inside Millie. “Do you always carry around candy?”

“A g-g-ood uncle is a-a-a-always p-prepared.”

Raymond patted down his pockets. His hand rested over his heart for a moment. A coy little smile played his lips. Then he reached into another pocket and brought out a rumpled white bag from Smith’s. He pulled out a heart.

“I—I’ve been s-s-aving th-th-these in c-c-ase I f-found you ag-g-gain.” From the inside of his jacket he produced a pencil.

He wrote a tiny message on the heart before he gave it to her.

“Eat me!” it squeaked.

How adorable.

Her laughter bubbled up unrestrained. “Is it safe?”

He nodded.

She looked at the heart, hesitated, and then held it up to his lips. “You first.”

He opened his mouth and accepted the heart from her delicate fingers. He sucked on it and closed his eyes in delight. “Mmmm…” He leaned back against the iron railing and gave himself over to the joys of a little conversation heart.

Millie let out a breath. “Are you teasing me?”

He lifted a single eyelid. “Yep.”

Extracting another heart, he wrote, “Sweet Lips.” He held it up for her. “Y-your t-turn.”

Reassured, she parted her lips, but as his hand came forward to pop the heart on her tongue, she surged forward, drawing his finger as well as the heart into her mouth. Slowly she slid back, her lips caressing the pad of his finger. A thrill rippled through his hand.

As the heart dissolved on her tongue, she peeked up at him through her eyelashes. He watched her, hand still upraised, his mouth slightly agape.

She said, “May I write one?”

He offered her the bag and the pencil. A carriage rumbled by on the street as she selected a heart and pencilled her message. He watched the carriage pass and scooted a little closer to her.

Millie held up a blue heart that said, “Taste me!”

“Open wide.”

He complied, his lips parting and ready to receive.

Millie leaned closer, the heart close to his lips, ever so teasingly close. He leaned in with anticipation.

At the last moment, Millie popped the heart on her own tongue and leaned in for a bold, open kiss.

As her mouth closed over his, he gasped in surprise.

Before he could pull back, she moved into his lap, pressing even closer. Her hands slid over his shoulders as her tongue shared the candy heart with his.

His hands settled on her hips, but not to push them away.

With the heart so intimately transferred over, Millie pulled back. He drew her closer, deepening the kiss.

She wanted more. The yearning desire that had driven her courage to come over, to speak with him, to dare kiss him, blossomed into a demanding hunger.

He drew away breathless, resting his forehead against hers. “I-I—”

She caressed his face. “Shh. I am free to do as I please. And you please me.”

Her heart thumped hard, so hard, she didn’t hear the sound of an approaching carriage until it was almost upon them.

An awareness of the world came back to her. How did she get into his lap?

She pushed herself to her feet and he rose after.

“Mm-m-iss Mm-mm-oore?”

She put a finger on his lips. “I’m Millie. To you, I’m Millie. And your name is Raymond, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Always w-w-ill be.” He gave her a hopeful smile, breathless.

The pencil was still in her hands. On the back of the paper bag she wrote her address. “Please call upon me as soon as you can. I don’t want to waste another day.”

She looked up into his eyes, those green and expressive eyes. Oh, she could get lost in those eyes. Her gaze dropped to his lips flushed from her kiss. Her courage wavered and gave out. Without another word, Millie turned and fled down the street. Her feet did not stop until she’d reached the porch of her own home.

****

Raymond watched Millie hurry down the street. Did that just happen? He raised fingers to his lips, the scent of candy tickling his nose. When she kissed him, the fire of her passion had shot through him. His skin buzzed from the contact. He’d never been kissed like that before.

He wanted more.

She’d left the paper bag of hearts in his hand, her address scribbled on the back. Carefully, he tore the address free and tucked it in his top pocket next to the “Marry Me” heart. She did not live far from here—only a few blocks.

To him she was Millie, as if the intimacy of the kiss wasn’t enough. She wanted him to call on her. He wanted to see her. Candy heart or no, he wanted to taste those lips again, to feel how much she wanted him. To be so desired was intoxicating.

Raymond dashed up the steps into his sister’s home. So much to do before this afternoon.

As his hand came to rest on the banister of the stairs, Raymond noticed his audience. Six very curious nieces and nephews lined the landing.

Helen didn’t bother to hide her grin of delight. Thomas looked less than enthusiastic, almost as if he disapproved of something. The younger Chandlers peered between the rails in varying states of surprise and awe.

It was Ruth who said aloud what was on all their minds. “Will you marry that lady?”

****

That afternoon Raymond found himself on the porch steps of the Moore residence, a lovely townhouse on a street with trees and garden boxes. While not as extravagant as the Chandler home, it was far nicer than the bachelor apartment he currently occupied.

He’d been practicing her name: Miss Millie Moore. At first he stumbled over so many “M”s. The more he tried, the more he found the beauty and the rhythm of her alliterative name. It lent itself nicely to a tune, and thus he was able to hum it to himself. By the time his happy feet mounted the brownstone steps of her home, he’d perfected its pronunciation smoothly.

A maid answered the door.

He presented his card. “Miss Millie Moore, please,” he sang.

Of course he sang. Ever since she had declared herself that morning, the song in his heart never ceased.

The maid didn’t bother with a curtsey, but took the card and shut the door.

He didn’t mind. He hummed “Miss Millie Moore” as he rocked back and forth on his feet.

His tune stopped as the door reopened.

The lady there was not Miss Millie Moore. This one had quite a few more years on her face, as well as a few more pounds on her ample figure. So surprised was he at seeing this unexpected matron he forgot to remove his straw boater hat.

Then he remembered Mrs. Moore, to whom he had been introduced at the Junior Regatta.

Mrs. Moore had his card in her hand. She held it at arm’s length for reading. “Mr. Wilson, I see.”

“A-aftern-noon.” Perhaps she would put his stutter down to nerves?

Behind her came a familiar, beautiful voice. “Mother, is that the door?” A whirlwind of energy came bounding down the steps, her skirts fluttering with her descent.

There she was, Miss Millie Moore. He couldn’t help but smile.

Millie all but shoved her mother aside. “You came.”

Without asking, she hauled him into the house by his hand. As he passed Mrs. Moore, he remembered to doff his hat in pleased greeting.

Mrs. Moore’s hand fluttered over her ruffled collar. “Excuse me?” she said faintly.

Millie dragged him into the most flower-filled parlor he’d ever seen. Vases covered every surface and even occupied most of the chairs. “G-g-g-oodn-ness!”

Millie wrinkled her nose. “I know. Hideous, aren’t they?”

He had to agree. While he loved flowers as much as the next person, this riotous array made him feel queasy.

Then he sussed it out. These were Elliott’s gifts. His brand of oily-weak magic suffused every blossom. What kind of spell was that? Attraction? Compulsion? Repulsion, it felt like. Poorly done magic grated on the soul the way bad opera grated on the ears.

This would not do. Why hadn’t the Moores thrown these out? As Millie fretted and flustered over clearing seating space, Raymond made a circuit of the room. This magic was easily undone, its influence evaporating into the ether.

He saw her attempting to lift a rather heavy vase off the sofa in front of the window. “H-here. L-l-let m-me.” His fingers closed over hers as he wrapped his arms about the arrangement. Her hands were soft and warm. He remembered how they had caressed his face that morning and he nearly dropped the vase. Luckily he was able to set it on the floor without incident. A wave of his fingers dispelled the last of Elliott’s weak magic.

The room felt fresher and lighter.

“Oh, Mildred.”

Raymond turned at Mrs. Moore’s voice. He’d forgotten she was in the room.

Mrs. Moore likewise seemed to have forgotten him, for she looked about in awe, her hand still clutching the ruffles at her pigeon bosom. “Did you open a window?”

Millie blinked at her mother. She looked to Raymond who winked at her. A secret smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She sat on the sofa. “Mr. Wilson. Do sit down. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” She patted the seat next to her.