by Merry Farmer
That meant putting on a polite smile and returning to Lady Kilrea’s side. Her potential future mother-in-law was the only bright spot in the muddle, so she would focus her efforts there to start.
“You must be so pleased to have daughters-in-law on the horizon, my lady,” Marie opened the conversation with the woman. She reluctantly included Lady Aoife in the small circle they made adjacent to the conversation the men carried on with. Henrietta wheeled Fergus into that conversation, then joined the women herself.
“I am,” Lady Kilrea said, placing a hand on her chest and glancing fondly from Marie to Lady Aoife. “I have had so little female companionship in my day, you see.”
“Oh? Do you not have sisters?” Henrietta asked.
“Alas, I had a younger sister, Evelyn,” Lady Kilrea sighed. “She was a year younger than me, but the poor thing died of a fever when she was ten.” The tragedy had clearly happened decades ago, but Lady Kilrea teared up all the same. “And I have given birth to two beautiful baby girls in my time,” she went on. “Sadly, neither of them made it out of the cradle.” She glanced between Marie and Lady Aoife again. “They would be about your ages now, I believe.”
Marie wanted to burst into tears herself at the revelation. She wanted to throw back her head and wail. Lady Kilrea was far too precious and much too fragile for her to callously throw over her son. She couldn’t possibly deny the woman the love that she must have felt she’d been missing her whole life. Even though it meant she was about to enter a prison that she would never be able to escape.
A prison that would be made a thousand times worse by the proximity it would bring her to Christian. She glanced to the side, finding Christian staring at her with his lips pressed shut and anger in his eyes. Marie felt that anger in her soul. It was bloody well unfair of the fates and their male relatives to ruin their lives before they’d even had a chance to begin. And yes, she was fully aware of the reality that she had only just met Christian. It was impossible for her to have developed feelings for him worth building a lifetime on after one encounter, no matter how jolly and…and naked that encounter had been. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to scream over the whole thing.
“It’s only right that Miles marry first,” Lady Kilrea said, pulling Marie’s attention back to the matter at hand. “He is the eldest, after all. And I believe my husband is in something of a hurry to have the wedding. You wouldn’t mind if it was held in September, would you, my dear?”
Marie smiled, in spite of the fact that she wanted to weep. “Not at all, my lady.”
Lady Kilrea beamed, then turned to Lady Aoife. “And yours shall be a Christmas wedding. Won’t that be grand.”
“Lovely, my lady,” Lady Aoife muttered, eyes downcast and cheeks pink.
“What’s this I hear about a September and a Christmas wedding?” Lord Kilrea asked. He managed to subtly maneuver them all so that they formed one large conversation.
“Are we certain September is soon enough?” Lord Agivey asked, leering at Marie.
Christian looked as though he wanted to throttle his brother.
“We’ll have a party to announce the engagements immediately,” Lord Kilrea said. “An engagement party is as good as a wedding in some circles.” He laughed proudly, as though he’d accomplished a coup.
“Will the engagement party happen here?” Fergus asked. “Or would you rather have it at Dunegard Castle?”
“Oh, at the castle, of course.” Lord Kilrea’s eyes shone, as though the mere thought of being seen hosting a party at a castle would raise his standing in Ireland and England both.
Fergus sent Henrietta a look as though the two of them knew precisely what the man was thinking. Marie would have joined in, but the reality of having a party planned for her engagement to a man who had yet to actually speak to her directly had chased any hope of seeing humor in the situation right out of her. She peeked desperately at Christian. He felt like her only ally in the dire situation.
“Excuse me, Father,” Christian said, glancing away from Marie. “Could I have a word with Lord Boleran?”
“Yes, of course,” Lord Kilrea said with a slight frown.
Marie frowned as well. As Christian stepped away with Lord Boleran, she felt as though she’d lost her last ally. Only when Christian sent a short look back over his shoulder to her, a hint of mischief in his eyes, did Marie consider that he was up to something. Perhaps his efforts to break away from the group at large had nothing to do with speaking to his fiancée’s brother—dear God, that was what Lord Boleran was to him now—and more to do with getting away from his father. If that were the case, she needed to find a way out as well.
“Excuse me, my lady,” she said, leaning close to Lady Kilrea’s ear. “Could I make use of your retiring room?”
Lady Kilrea blinked at her for a moment, then seemed to understand. “Yes, yes, of course.” She waved to one of the maids—who were standing at the ready around the perimeter of the room. “Laura, please show Lady Marie to the facilities,” she asked one of the maids in a hush.
It was all a lot of fuss to get Marie out of the room, but she didn’t care. As soon as the maid led her down the hall to the water closet, Marie thanked the girl, then pretended to go about her business, shutting herself in the tiny room. A scant few seconds later, she popped her head back out into the hall. If she’d guessed correctly, Christian would slip out of the parlor as well.
She was right. Her heart sang with joy and mischief as Christian stepped into the hall. He saw her head peeking out from the door and broke into a wide grin, picking up his pace. Within seconds, he’d slipped into the water closet with her.
“I’d say we’re in a bit of a tight situation,” Marie whispered as the two of them squeezed into the small space. The water closet was bigger than a bedroom closet, but not by much. On top of that, it was jammed with modern plumbing. The space had obviously been carved into the existing structure of a house that had been designed before the invention of indoor plumbing, but it had been designed poorly.
Not that Marie was in the mood to complain about the necessity of wedging herself closer to Christian at the moment.
“This is more than a tight situation,” Christian said, his expression seeming to have a hard time deciding whether to be jolly or morose. “This is an emergency.”
“I could strangle my brother for pushing me off on your brother this way,” Marie said, moving her arms restlessly, not sure where to put them.
Christian settled the matter for her by grasping her hands and holding them between their bodies. “And I had no idea who Lady Aoife was, let alone that my father thought she’d be a suitable match.”
“Did you learn anything from her brother just now?” Marie asked, hope rising in her. “Why he’s in such a rush to marry off his sister?”
“No,” Christian said with a sigh. “Only that he’s adamant his sister marry as soon as possible. Which is highly suspicious, if you ask me.”
“Definitely suspicious,” Marie echoed. “Why anyone would need to marry in such a rush is beyond me.”
Christian’s eyes suddenly danced with mischief and delight. Marie found herself uncommonly aware of the closeness of the water closet and how necessary it was for them to stand almost flush against each other.
“I’m not opposed to the idea of marriage in general, you know,” Christian said, the warmth in his eyes growing. “It has its uses.”
“It certainly does,” Marie agreed. The water closet was amazingly warm all of a sudden, and she had the uncanny urge to giggle in spite of the muddle they were in. “I wouldn’t mind marrying myself,” she went on. “Provided I was allowed to choose my groom.”
“My feelings precisely.” Christian nodded. “That is to say, marriage isn’t something I had even thought to contemplate at this stage of my life, but if I were in the market for a wife—”
“And if I felt as though now were the right time in my life—” Marie added.
“Who is t
o say what exciting and vivacious bride I might choose?”
“I might be persuaded to shackle myself to someone who keeps me on my toes,” Marie agreed.
“If it was an absolute necessity,” Christian said.
“If it were a requirement that the decision be made immediately,” Marie said.
“I might find it within my power to—”
She lifted to her toes and threw her arms over his shoulders, kissing him with all the daring and desperation she felt. He let out a wild sound of acceptance and relief, kissing her back and wrapping his arms around her the way Marie had wanted him to the day before. It was sheer madness for them to kiss that way, in a water closet located right in the center of his house when both of their families were only rooms away, but Marie didn’t care. His body was scintillating against hers, and the emotions and urges his hungry mouth inspired in her were headier than the finest beer.
“Wait,” Christian gasped, breaking their kiss. “This is thoroughly mad, isn’t it.”
“That we’re kissing in a water closet mere minutes after being engaged against our will to other people?” Marie suggested.
“Yes?” His grin widened. “That and considering we only met yesterday.”
“It is.” Marie nodded, staring at his kiss-reddened lips. “It’s completely mad.” She launched into him again, throwing her whole heart into kissing him and exploring him with her tongue.
“Good,” he said between desperate kisses. “I always wanted to do something hair-brained and shocking.”
“I’m sure you’ve done plenty of hair-brained things and will do many more that are twice as shocking,” she cooed as she threaded her fingers through his hair. All her life, she’d been warned about the allure and seduction of the flesh. She’d been told that sensuality was powerful and could lead a woman down a dangerous path in no time. As she kissed Christian, loving every moment of his mouth against hers and his hands exploring her sides, she knew it was true.
“You’re not marrying my brother,” Christian said at last, breathless and alive with energy.
“And you’re not marrying Lady Aoife,” Marie told him. “But how do we stop the weddings?”
“We can start by stopping the engagement party.” Christian had the same mischievous light in his eyes that he’d had when he asked her to play the prank on the old woman the day before.
“Yes,” Marie said. “Whatever wickedness you’re plotting, I say yes.”
“Good.” He kissed her once more, soundly, then leaned back. “I have an idea. I’m sure by the time we get back to the parlor, my father will have set a date for the engagement party. Whatever day that is, I want you to meet me in the carriage house here, at Kilrea Manor.”
“The carriage house?” Marie blinked up at him.
Christian’s grin widened. “They can’t announce our engagement if they never make it to the party.”
Marie sucked in a breath, then let it out in a giggle. “Whatever you’re plotting, it’s brilliant.” She kissed him again, more certain than ever that it was possible to know in an instant when you’d met your match.
Chapter 5
Of all the things that Christian learned at university, the most useful was to hope for the best but to plan for the worst. He had a plan to free both himself and Marie from their painfully unsuitable betrothals—a jolly, high-spirited plan at that—but he wasn’t the sort to prank his way out of his problems without trying every rational and reasonable means to fix things first.
Luckily for him—and for Marie—the fortnight that followed the revelation of their horrific engagements involved the three families seeing each other on an almost daily basis. That meant he and Marie were able to spend a surprising amount of time together, though none of it spent alone. In a way, Christian didn’t mind. Being thrown into crowded social situations with Marie meant that he was able to talk to her, to get to know her better. And he liked everything he learned about her—about how intelligent she actually was and how industrious, about her shockingly modern views of the world, and her good heart. The way she took to his mother, and his mother to her, was even more encouragement for Christian.
By the morning of the engagement party at Dunegard Castle, he was convinced that his initial impressions of Marie as being the perfect woman for him in every way were correct. Which meant he wasn’t going to stand by and watch both Marie and himself be treated like pawns in a chess game.
“Surely, Father, you must see that Miles and Lady Marie have nothing at all in common,” he argued while pacing his father’s office hours before the family was due to leave Kilrea Manor for the party. “Miles has barely spoken two words to her since you announced the engagement.”
“I have nothing to say to her,” Miles argued without glancing up at Christian. He leaned against his father’s desk, inspecting his nails—which had the perfection of a man who hadn’t done a lick of manual labor in his life.
“You don’t need to say anything to her,” their father added without looking up from the papers on his desk.
“That is preposterous.” Christian glared at his brother. “One should have a loving, or at least cordial, relationship with one’s wife.”
“And is that why you’ve been paying Lady Aoife so much mind?” Miles asked with a sharp smirk.
Christian let out a breath, trying not to let the guilt of largely ignoring the woman he was supposed to marry bother him. He had no intention of ever going through with that marriage, after all. “Lady Aoife is difficult to converse with,” he said in a low voice. “She doesn’t seem to have any opinions. She’s always glancing out the window as though she’d rather be somewhere else.”
“At least my fiancée is interested in conversation,” Miles snorted, as though he’d scored a point against Christian.
Christian clenched his jaw and glared at his brother. They’d battled for everything from pudding to attention for as long as he could remember. And for what? There were no rules saying a man had to be close to his brother. The urge to best Miles was still there, though, but before he could tell him off, their father said, “Conversation in a marriage is irrelevant. All you need is a hostess to entertain your company and a womb to bear your heir.”
Christian gaped at his father, disgust welling up in him. “What kind of an antiquated, misogynistic opinion is that?”
The vehemence of his question was enough to startle his father out of the business of the estate spread across his desk. “I beg your pardon?” he seethed.
“Is your head so buried in disputed estate boundaries and cheating our neighbors that you haven’t stopped to realize how important women are in our world?” Christian demanded.
Miles snorted. “They’re important in the bedroom, all right. Although I’d just as soon have a mistress. A wife could never satisfy my particular tastes.”
Christian shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Women are being admitted to universities now,” he said. “They are entering the workforce in larger numbers than ever before. They own businesses, manage estates. Some even hold public office.”
“No woman with any sort of breeding does anything half so scandalous,” his father huffed, looking genuinely put out. “And no son of mine will speak of such atrocities, let alone champion them.”
“I cannot believe what I am hearing,” Christian said. “I knew your opinions were old-fashioned, Father, but I had no idea they were so backwards.”
“Backwards?” His father snorted with laughter. “This from a rapscallion who waltzes about the countryside in his altogether, leading daughters of the aristocracy astray.”
“I was having fun.” Christian raised his voice. When both his father and Miles sneered, he went on with, “Life is meant to be fun. It is meant to be filled with joy and laughter.”
“It is meant to be filled with diligence, hard work, and the maintenance of proper order,” his father argued.
A strange sort of pain filled Christian. His father and brother woul
d never understand him. He shouldn’t need their understanding or approval, but, damn him, he did. Even if he didn’t have the slightest idea how to gain that approval.
“Life is meant to be happy. Even you deserve to be happy.” He flung out a hand toward Miles. “These marriages you propose will bring about misery. I won’t stand by and let them happen.”
“You have no choice.” His father rose abruptly, leaning forward over his desk and glaring at Christian. “I am your father,” he said, snapping each word. “I rule this family. God has ordained it to be so. You will do as you are told or you will be flung out like so much chaff.”
“You are making a mistake,” Christian countered. “A mistake that will have all of us cursing your name for decades to come.”
“Then curse me.” His father shrugged as though he didn’t care. “Just do as I say.”
Never before had Christian had such a strong urge to strike his own father. The man was blinded by his pride. Worse still, Christian knew the louder he protested the betrothals, the more his father would dig in his heels. It seemed as though reason and logic couldn’t win out against arrogance and cynicism after all.
Too aggravated to say anything more, Christian turned and stormed out of the room. Miles sniggered at him as he went, which only darkened Christian’s heart more. If he couldn’t talk his and Marie’s way out of the betrothals, he would have to resort to pranks after all.
By the time he reached the carriage house, his frustration had coalesced into wicked purpose. It was a long-shot, but if he aggravated his father to the point of madness by making his every living moment a lesson in obstruction, maybe he could convince the man to see things his way.
“You look like sunshine and roses.” Marie startled him by pushing away from the carriage house’s door and stepping toward him.
A rush of joy cut through the darkness growing inside of Christian and he breathed a sigh of relief. “You remembered,” he said, moving toward her and pulling her into his arms.
