Minx (32 page)

"Thank you," Henry murmured as they resumed their walk toward the drawing room. As she strode alongside Emma, she clenched her fist into an excited little ball. Tonight he would tell her he loved her. She could feel it.

Chapter 18

11:57.

Henry clutched at the folds of her dressing gown as she glanced at the clock on her bedside table. She was a fool for going along with this, an idiot for being so in love with him that she had agreed to this scheme even though she knew her behavior was beyond indecent. She chuckled wryly to herself when she remembered how unconcerned with etiquette she'd been back at Stannage Park. Unconcerned and unknowing. A fortnight in London had made clear to her that if there was one thing a young lady was not to do, it was let a man into her bedroom, especially when the rest of the house was dark and asleep.

But she couldn't seem to manage to summon enough maidenly fear to refuse him. What she wanted and what she knew was right were two distinctly different things, and desire was winning out over propriety by a vast margin.

11:58 .

She sat down on the bed and then, realizing where she was, jumped up as if burned. "Calm yourself, Henry," she muttered, crossing her arms, uncrossing them, then crossing them again. As she paced across the room, she wandered by a mirror, caught sight of her stern countenance, and then uncrossed her arms again. She didn't want to receive him lounging on her bed, but there was no need to look quite so forbidding.

11:59 .

A light rap sounded on the door. Henry flew across the room and opened it. "You're early," she whispered frantically.

"I am?" Dunford reached into his pocket for his watch.

"Will you come inside?" she hissed, yanking him in. "Anyone could see you out there."

Dunford dropped his watch back into his pocket, smiling broadly all the while.

"And stop smiling!" she added rather fiercely.

"Why?"

"Because it—it does things to me!"

Dunford shifted his gaze up to the ceiling in an attempt to keep from laughing out loud. If she thought that statement would get him to stop smiling, she was addled in the brain.

"What did you need to talk with me about?" she whispered.

He moved to her side in two easy paces. "In a minute," he murmured. "First I have to..."

He let his lips complete the sentence as they captured hers in a searing kiss. He hadn't meant to kiss her right away, but she'd looked so damned adorable in her dressing gown with her hair floating around her face. She made a soft mewling sound, and her body shifted slightly, settling into his large frame.

Reluctantly, he drew himself away. "We're not going to get anything done if we continue on like..." His words trailed off as he caught the dazed expression on Henry's face. Her lips looked unbearably pink, even in the candlelight, and they were slightly parted and damp. "Well, perhaps one more..."

He pulled her against him again, his lips searching hers in another remarkably thorough kiss. She was kissing him back with just as much feeling, and he dimly realized that her arms had wound themselves around his neck. A tiny spark of reason, however, somehow managed to remain active in his brain, and once again he disentangled himself.

"That's enough," he muttered, the scolding intended solely for himself. Taking a shuddering breath, he looked up.

Big mistake. Another fiery bolt of need rocked through him at the sight of her. "Why don't you just sit over there?" he said hoarsely, waving his hand in no particular direction.

Henry had no idea that the kiss had left him as shaken as it had her, and she took his direction literally. Her eyes followed his arm's motion, and she said, "On the bed?"

"No! I mean—" He cleared his throat. "Please do not sit on the bed."

"All right," she said slowly, moving to a straight-backed, blue-and-white-striped chair.

Dunford walked over to the window and looked out, trying to give his body time to cool down. Now that he was actually here, in Henry's room at midnight, he wasn't at all certain that he was following the wisest course of action. In fact, he was convinced he was not. He had originally planned to take Henry out for a picnic the next day and propose to her then. But that night at dinner, it had suddenly hit him that his feelings went beyond affection and desire. He loved her.

No, he didn't just love her. He needed her. He needed her like he needed food and water, like the flowers at Stannage Park needed the sun. He smiled wryly. He needed her like she needed Stannage Park. He remembered how, one morning at breakfast back in Cornwall, she'd been gazing out the window with an expression of pure rapture. He imagined that must be how his face looked every time he saw her.

And so while he was sitting there in Westonbirt's informal dining room, a piece of asparagus dangling off his fork, it suddenly had become imperative that he tell her all this that night. These feelings were so powerful they were painful to keep inside. Making a secret assignation had seemed the only option.

He had to tell her how much he loved her, and as God was his witness, he wasn't going to leave this room until she told him the very same thing.

"Henry." He turned around. She was sitting up very straight in her chair. He cleared his throat and said again, "Henry."

"Yes?"

"I probably should not have come tonight."

"No," she said, not sounding as if she meant it.

"But I needed to see you alone, and tomorrow seemed an eternity away."

Her eyes widened. It was not like Dunford to speak in such dramatic terms. He looked quite agitated, almost nervous, and it definitely was not like him to be nervous about anything. Abruptly he closed the distance between them, then knelt on the floor at her feet.

"Dunford," she said in a strangled voice, not at all sure what she was meant to do.

"Shhh, my love," he said. And then he realized that was it exactly. She was his love.

"I love you, Henry," he said, his voice like rough velvet. "I love you like I never dreamed I could love a woman. I love you like everything in this world that is beautiful and good. Like the stars in the sky, and like each and every blade of grass at Stannage Park. I love you like the facets of a diamond, and Rufus's pointy ears, and—"

"Oh, Dunford," she burst out, "I love you too. I do. So much." She slid to the floor next to him and grasped his hands with hers. She kissed each one, then both together. "I love you so much," she murmured again. "So very much, and for so very long."

"I've been an idiot," he said. "I should have realized what a treasure you are the moment I saw you. I've wasted so much time."

"Only a month," she said tremulously.

"It seems like forever."

She moved to sit down on the carpet, pulling him down with her. "It has been the most precious month of my life."

"I hope to make the rest of your life just as precious, my love." He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. "Will you marry me?"

Henry had known he would propose, had expected it on that trip to the country even, but still she was overcome. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she could only nod, having apparently lost the power of speech.

Dunford uncurled the fingers of his fist to reveal a stunning diamond ring, an oval-cut stone set very simply in a plain gold band. "I couldn't find anything to rival the sparkle in your eyes," he said softly. "This was the best I could do."

"It's beautiful," she breathed. "I have never owned anything like this before." She looked up anxiously. "Are you certain we can afford it?"

Dunford let out a short burst of laughter, amused by her concern for their finances; obviously she didn't realize that, although previously untitled, his was one of the wealthiest families in England. He was also absurdly pleased with the way she had said, "Are you certain we can afford it?" He lifted her hand to his lips, gallantly kissed it, and then said, "I assure you, minx, we still have enough left over to buy an entire new flock of sheep for Stannage Park."

"But several of the wells need fixing, and—"

"Shush." He pinched her lips shut. "You don't have to worry about money anymore."

"I neber exacdly worried aboud id," she tried to say while he was still holding her mouth closed. He sighed and let go, and she continued, "I'm just thrifty, that's all."

"That's fine." He tilted her chin up with his index finger and placed a sweet kiss on her lips. "But if I want to be a little extravagant once in a while and buy my wife a present, I expect no complaints from you about it."

Henry admired the ring he'd slipped on her finger, a shiver of excitement rushing through her at his use of the word "wife." "None," she murmured, feeling quite frivolous and utterly feminine. After regarding the ring from the left, the right, and two inches away from the flickering candle, she looked back up and asked plainly, "When can we be married?"

He took her face in his hands and kissed her again. "I think this is what I love best about you."

"What?" she asked, not caring in the least that she was fishing for compliments.

"You are utterly frank, disarmingly forthright, and refreshingly direct."

"All good qualities, I hope?"

"But of course, minx, although I suppose you could have been slightly more forthright with me when I first arrived at Stannage Park. We might have been able to clear up that whole mess without venturing into the pigpen."

Henry smiled. "But when can we be married?"

"In two months time, I think," he said, the words sending an agonizing wave of frustration through his body.

"Two months?"

"I'm afraid so, my love."

"Are you insane?"

"Apparently, for I will most probably perish for wanting you during that time."

"Then why don't you simply get a special license and be done with it next week? It cannot be that difficult to obtain one. Emma said she and Alex were married by special license." She paused and frowned. "Now that I think of it, I think Belle and John were, too."

"I don't want you hurt by any gossip regarding a hasty marriage," he said gently.

"I'll be more hurt if I can't have you!" she said, not gently at all.

Another wave of desire pulsed through his body. He didn't think she'd meant the word "have" in the carnal sense, but it inflamed him nonetheless. Forcing his voice into even tones, he said, "There will be talk because I am your guardian. I don't want to make it any worse, especially since it would not be very difficult for anyone to discover that we were alone for more than a week in Cornwall."

"I didn't think you cared about ton gossip."

"I care for you, minx. I don't want to see you hurt."

"I won't be. I promise. One month?"

There was nothing he wanted more than to have the wedding in one week, but he was trying to be mature about the matter. "Six weeks."

"Five."

"All right," he said, giving in easily because his heart was on her side even if his mind was not.

"Five weeks," she said, not sounding terribly pleased with her victory. "It's so long."

"Not so long, minx. You'll have many things to keep you busy."

"I will?"

"Caroline will want to help you shop for your trousseau, and I expect that Belle and Emma will want to take part as well. I'm certain my mother would also want to assist, but she is vacationing on the Continent."

"You have a mother?"

He quirked a brow. "Did you think mine was some sort of divine birth? My father was a remarkable man, but even he was not that talented."

Henry screwed up her face to show him that his teasing would not be taken seriously. "You never mention her. You rarely mention your parents at all."

"I don't see much of my mother now that my father has passed on. She prefers the warmer climes of the Mediterranean."

An awkward silence fell between them as Henry suddenly realized she was sitting on the floor of her bedroom in her dressing gown in the company of a rakishly virile man who was exhibiting no intentions of leaving anytime soon.

And the most appalling thing was that she was not the least bit uncomfortable about it. She sighed, thinking she must have the soul of a fallen woman.

"What's that about, darling?" Dunford murmured, touching her cheek.

"I was just thinking I ought to ask you to leave," she whispered.

"You ought to?"

She nodded. "But I don't want to."

He took a ragged breath. "Sometimes I think you don't know what you say."

She placed her hand in his. "I do know."

He felt like a man being willingly led to torture. He leaned forward, knowing that this could only end in a solitary frigid bath but unable to resist the temptation of a few stolen kisses. He traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, savoring the sweet taste of her. "You're so lovely," he murmured. "Exactly what I wanted."

"Exactly?" she echoed with a quavering laugh.

"Mmm-hmm." He slipped his hand inside her dressing gown and let it rest on her chemise-covered breast. "Not that I knew it at the time."