Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series (20 page)

He leaned down, drawing in a breath in a way that gave her the sense he was drawing in
her
scent. The inner drumming she thought gone forever suddenly returned, albeit unsteadily, as if not quite recovered from their argument. Merribeth knew she should leave and heed Bane’s warning about tempting fate.

“What kinds of things?” From the warmth of his tone, she guessed that he’d also put aside his anger from yesterday.

Closing her eyes, she felt the first percussive beat deep inside and drew in a deep breath of her own. “Freshly cut straw. Sandalwood. Leather. Coffee.” Her mouth watered. “The piney scent of horse liniment.”

“Ghastly.” He rubbed his nose along her temple.

She tilted her head, encouraging him to continue. “Actually, together they make a very pleasant aroma. Uniquely yours.”

“Mmm . . .” was his only response as he moved closer, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.

Oh,
that was nice
.

At the same time, he ran his finger down the back of her arm, slow and meandering, like a silk shawl slipping off her neck and gliding to the floor. “Your scent isn’t as simple as pinpointing different flora and fauna,” he offered but hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether or not to continue. His lips traversed upward, nudging her hair aside to drift along her forehead. “It evokes a memory of one spring day, long ago. I was only a lad. My parents and I were climbing the hill behind
Raven
—our Essex estate for a picnic. They had me by the hands, swinging me between them. A warm wind blew through the pear blossoms, ruffling my hair. I remember laughing.” He released a shuddered breath. “And that’s what you smell like.”

She could easily see him, smiling and laughing, with the sun shining on his face and the wind ruffling his coal black hair.
Too
easily.

He was such a private person, always guarding himself as well as his past. And yet he’d shared this memory with her. The fact that she reminded him of such a happy moment in his life made her heart feel as if it were vibrating instead of beating.

In that same instant, all her romantic sensibilities rushed through her, as if they’d been locked in a dungeon all this time. The moment she saw the boy that Bane had been in her mind’s eye, she also saw him as a man—eyes closed and face lifted to the sun, smiling—and in that brief, earth-shattering vision, she saw herself standing in his arms.

Oh dear
. She felt it when it happened—the precise instant her heart leapt from her own breast, like a horse over a fieldstone wall, and landed directly into his. For a moment, she couldn’t feel the beating of her own. Only his. And his heart pounded hard and fast enough for both of them.

Unable to help herself, she uncrossed her arms and pressed her empty hand against his chest. Then, because it wasn’t enough, she pressed the hand holding the key against him as well.

Uncertainty had plagued her for weeks until now. She didn’t know her what her future held. She was unsure of her standing among the
ton
. She’d been trapped in a state of limbo without any hope of escape. Yet now, with a sudden burst of clarity, she became certain of one thing:

She’d fallen in love. Completely and irrevocably. Perhaps, insanely. Because she’d fallen in love with an irredeemable rake and lifelong bachelor, who’d closed himself off from any hope of a future without revenge. Which guaranteed, with absolute certainty, his future had no room for her.

This was the worst moment of her life, and yet, it was also the best. Her sense of certainty had returned at last. But at what cost?

Hating her foolish heart for falling in love at the worst possible time, she lowered her forehead to his chest. Must he always keep her at odds with herself? She hadn’t had one iota of peace since they’d met.

As if sensing her plight, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Two short taps sounded on the door. This time, she did start. Her reputation would not merely be in question but
destroyed
, if she were found alone in a closet with Bane.

“It’s only Bitters,” he crooned softly, using the same reassuring tone he had with Gypsy. “He’s going to gather the items for the hunt.”

Her lips parted in shock. “You planned this?”

“I wanted to speak with you privately without endangering your reputation.”

“And being locked in a closet below the stairs with you will ensure that.” She nearly laughed at the absurdity. “You would have done better to simply escort me to my room at the end of the evening.” The moment the words were out, she realized the potential hazards of such an act, especially after the kiss they’d shared in the library. If the servants’ stairs had been too close, then a mere door would likely be
much
too close. “Then again, this was likely the better option.”

“Your blush is lovely, even in the dark,” he said, his lips curving into a grin as they grazed her temple. “Now, give me your key.”

His fingers trailed down the length of her arm to where her hands were resting against his chest. She slipped the key into his palm and felt him close his fingers around it securely. Then, with her hand still covering his, he lifted it up to his lips for a quick kiss against her knuckles. Her romantic sensibilities fluttered at the gesture. Turning, he opened the door a crack and handed the key to Bitters without a word.

The latch fell into place again before he resumed his place before her. He took both her wrists, lifted her arms so they encircled his neck, and settled his hands at her waist.

This
was how he planned to speak to her
without
endangering her reputation?

“I can hear the arching of your brow, Miss Wakefield.” As if to prove it, he bent his head and pressed a kiss there. “There is nothing I can do about it. I must hold you this close in order to keep our voices low. A whispered conversation where one’s back is constantly bent would likely cause me to require a cane before the end of the night.”

He said it with such humorless conviction that she couldn’t keep a breathy giggle from escaping. She stayed in his arms. Her heart wouldn’t have allowed her to pull back if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t. They were tethered now by strands of misguided emotion and rash judgments. Sewn together by fine threads of silly romantic notions and no possible future.

Lovely.
She wasn’t sure if she should cry or sing.

She did neither, trying her best not to reveal this horrendous mawkishness. No wonder William had seemed crazed when he’d told her about his love for Miss Codington. Having experienced love for only a few moments, she was already feeling completely
mad.

She knew if she managed to convince William to marry her when he arrived for the end of Eve’s party, she’d be saving them both from insanity. Only now, the necessity of doing so felt incredibly painful and dishonest.

“This is not what I expected,” she sighed, resigned to madness for the time being. “I couldn’t even look at you at dinner.”

“Forgive me,” he whispered, his lips moving from her brow to her temple again, his nose burrowing into the fall of curls.

It was more of an order than a request. She couldn’t help but smile at his arrogance. Only he could rail at her for invading his privacy, offer her a glimpse at a precious memory, and then demand her forgiveness, as if her opinion mattered to him.

Perhaps it does
, her romantic sensibilities told her. Wanting to believe that voice more than anything, any residual anger she might have had evaporated. “Your temper, it seems, is as quick to recede as it is to ignite.”

“Hmm . . . so it seems,” he mused, his lips grazing the shell of her ear once more. His heated breath swirled inside.
Ooh
. “In my own defense, I thought you were conspiring to marry me.”

What a lovely idea
.

However, just as the thought of having Bane with her like this for the rest of her life started to form, the cynicism and practicality she’d adopted took over. Too quickly, she reminded herself of the certainty of utter despair if she continued to keep her eyes closed to the truth.

“That would be a fruitless endeavor,” she said, leveling with herself. “You’re not the marrying kind. In fact, you likely keep a mistress in every county from here to France.”

His chuckle vibrated through the delicate flesh beneath the corner of her jaw. “It’s a wonder I have any time to myself.”

She stiffened. That wasn’t a denial. Her hands slipped from his shoulders to push against his chest.

He lifted his head and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, another arrogant chuckle rumbling in his throat. “I don’t currently keep any mistresses. My assignations are usually of a shorter duration, by way of mutual understanding.”

She imagined that he added the last for her benefit, as if he thought her jealous. For now, she didn’t let his incorrect assumption deter her from their topic. “So every woman you’re . . .
with
knows from the beginning that you will not marry her?”

“Of course.” The slight edge to his voice made him sound mildly offended. “I’m not so callous as to toy with a woman’s affections.”

She’d guessed as much by his straightforward manner. Like her, Bane seemed to prefer honesty above all else. However, that thought gave her another. “Do they all know why?”

He brushed the curls away from her forehead and traced the shape of her brows with the pad of his thumb. “Other than my aunt, you are the only other woman to know my reasons.”

She didn’t know why being one of the people who knew about his past tragedies and his plot for revenge caused a light to flutter beneath her breast. Perhaps it was just the way he said it. Or perhaps it was the way his touch made her feel cherished instead of ridiculed. “You’re no longer angry that I know?”

“I decided it was only fair,” he said, bending his head so that his lips could follow the same path as his thumb. “After all, you’ve shared your secrets with me. I will keep yours, and I’ve no doubt you’ll keep mine.”

“I will,” she promised on a breath, feeling her entire being turn liquid. “I only ask one thing in return.”

He stilled. His body tensed as if he were suddenly made of armor. Slowly, he lifted his head.

She missed the intimate caress immediately. When he didn’t respond, she quickly continued. “Do not be alarmed. It’s a simple request to know your given name.”

He didn’t exactly relax, but some of the tension left him. “No one calls me by my given name. So why would you want to know it?”

Because no one calls you by your given name. Because a woman should have the name of the man she loves in order to whisper it to the heavens in her dreams. Because I love you, and perhaps saying your name will keep my heart from shattering when we part company in eight days.
“Because if we ever find ourselves together in a darkened closet, I believe standing this close demands a modicum of familiarity.”

The remaining tension left him in an instant, the muscles relaxing beneath her hands. She even heard him smile again. “That would make our bargain uneven. Not to mention, the likelihood of our meeting again in a darkened closet is remote at best.”

Her silly idealistic notions wouldn’t allow her to be disappointed. Instead, she held on to an absurd hope that this wouldn’t be the last time she’d be in his arms. Somehow, she’d make sure of it. “There is still a week of the party remaining. You might have the need to apologize to me yet again.”

“There is always that hope,” he said with another chuckle. “All right. I give you leave to call me Simon whenever we might find ourselves in a darkened closet together.
If
you pay me a forfeit for its use.”

A forfeit. Mm-m.
Rapid staccato beats of the drum rumbled through her at the endless list of possibilities. “I will call you Simon whether I pay a forfeit or not,” she said, hoping her voice sounded sure and strong instead of breathy and eager. “And since I do not play at bargaining, it will be the latter.”

He tilted up her chin as if he were peering through the darkness and into her gaze. “You do not play at bargaining? You are perhaps the slyest bargainer of all.”

A short laugh escaped her. “When you are the one who demands a forfeit? Who promises to keep a tally of each one of my hidden smiles in order to collect a debt? I have demanded nothing in return.”

“I know enough to realize that the one who demands nothing, seeks everything.”

Her mouth opened on a lie. “I don’t want—”

“Know this, Venus,” he stopped her, his voice abruptly gruff and cold, even while the arm at her waist snaked around her tightly, pulling her closer. “I can never give you what you want. I could set you up with a house, visit you from time to time, give you money enough for your material needs . . . But I cannot give you certainty for your future. No husband. No children. And soon enough, you would grow to hate me for robbing you of your dreams.”

Pressed flush against him, her breasts flattened to his chest, she could hardly breathe, let alone think. Even so, she made no move to free herself. “For the use of your name, the forfeit I pay is to become your mistress?”

He inhaled sharply, his hand flexing into her lower back. “Not a single woman has ever possessed the option or wanted it. They were all content with what I could offer. You . . .” He let out a breath, slow and harsh, as if it were pulled from the very center of his being. Then, suddenly, he dropped his hands and took a step apart from her. “You would never be.”

Denial was on her lips, along with a plea to be held again in his arms, to accept the terms of this unexpected bargain. But before she could do anything so completely foolhardy, another knock sounded on the door.

Bitters had returned at the precise moment when her romantic sensibilities died a miserable death, and she was left with only cynicism and practicality. Not to mention a bruised heart.

“As always, Lord Knightswold, I appreciate your candor. Now, if you would excuse me, I would like to return to the party.”

“One day you will thank me, Miss Wakefield.”

“I believe I already have. Now we are even.”

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN