by Jenna Jaxon
Unable to stop them, tears gushed down Fanny’s face. Then he pressed her against his chest and she watered his hunting jacket amid the acrid smell of gunpowder and the comforting scent that was purely him. At last the watering pot ceased to water and she stepped back from him, wiping at her eyes with her gloved hand. “No.”
“No?” He stopped in the midst of passing her his handkerchief, his tone deeply shocked.
“No, I don’t think you faithless. Not anymore.” The watering pot upended again, and she clutched the handkerchief to her streaming face.
With a deep sigh, Matthew gathered her to him again, rocking her gently. “Does this mean that you are prepared to say yes to my proposal?”
Relief stealing through her, Fanny nodded, suddenly overcome with a peace and joy she’d never experienced before.
“I think I will not take a nod nor a handshake on this agreement, my dear.” He pulled her head up to look at him, and she discovered the joy in her heart reflected back to her in his eyes. “I wish to hear the words, please.”
“Yes, Matthew, I will marry you.” Sweet words that had taken too long to come.
He pulled her against him once more and his lips met hers, hungry and possessive in a way they had never been before. Of her own accord, she opened her mouth, moaning loudly to urge him to enter. No further encouragement needed. Grasping her head, he plundered her at will, tasting her mouth as though they’d never kissed before. When he tried to step back she slid her arms around his neck and held on, lifting herself off the ground in an effort to maintain the kiss.
He laughed and she took the moment of distraction to thrust her tongue into his mouth, holding on as she stroked his mouth with fierce, light caresses. His arms came around her, pressing her to his body, the stiffness of his cock a hard presence between them. He managed to disengage their mouths long enough to say in a husky voice, “Either we stop now or I take you here on the ground, Fanny.”
Much as she would love to have him lay her down here and now, it would not do to appear before the rest of the company with grass stains on her gown and her bonnet broken. She backed away. “Little as I wish to, we had best refrain for the moment.”
The hunger in his eyes lingered, but he breathed deeply and walked a little bit away, his hand massaging the back of his neck. He’d have to retie his cravat; everyone would notice how it had been pulled askew. When he turned back to her, he’d gained control of himself and came toward her, hands outstretched. “Name the day, Fanny, although by God if you make it longer than three weeks I won’t be held responsible for anything I do.”
Fanny took his hands, holding them lightly. “I would have us married as soon as possible; however, I feel you must come to London to meet my daughter, Ella.”
“Does she have the final say in the matter?” His tone was light, but contained an edge of concern. “What can I do to win her regard?”
“For heaven’s sake, she’s six years old, Matthew. And no, I have the final say in whether we marry or not.” He smiled at that, though she was serious. “But from the moment we marry, you will be her guardian, her new papa. I want her to love and respect you as I do.”
“Then I will come as soon as I can possibly manage it.” He wound her arm through his and began to walk them slowly back into the woods. “This party leaves on Tuesday; however, I am to go to Scotland for a month for some shooting with Kinellan.”
“And you would indulge in that form of sport rather than another that we both could take pleasure in?” Fanny gazed up at him innocently, then licked her lips.
Matthew groaned. “I’ve been promised to Kinellan since Brighton. If I renege, he will call me every foul name from a turncoat to a slubberdegullion.”
“Just think of what I’ll call you—in bed. That should take away the sting of his epithets.” Squeezing close to him, Fanny rubbed her shoulder against his. “We could celebrate our betrothal tonight, in fact.”
“Tonight?” His voice deepened and a tingle shot down Fanny’s spine.
“You disapprove?”
“Not in the least.” He squeezed her hand. “I am delighted at the prospect. Shall I come to your room or you to mine?”
“You come to me—after you tell Kinellan your plans have changed.”
“Although you may have the winning cards now, my love, the play goes around the table.” He stopped them and folded her in his arms. “And eventually the dealer will take all.”
Grinning at how wonderfully well his hard body fit against hers, Fanny relaxed in his arms. “Any words of wisdom before tonight’s play?”
“Yes. Pray my mother does not catch us.”
CHAPTER 14
The gentlemen’s after-dinner conversation that evening centered chiefly around the day’s shooting. Comparisons were inevitably made between the before-luncheon and after-luncheon counts and every man had his own theory about how much a full stomach helped or hindered his aim. Matthew attempted to keep the conversation on an even keel, although Lord Selkirk would always advance the same opinion.
“Cheese and bread and a pint of ale out at the stands,” he thundered from the far end of the table. “That’s what we had when I was a lad, loading for my father. The counts don’t lie, Lathbury. All this heavy food at mid-day does nothing but put a man to sleep. Can’t shoot birds in your sleep.”
“You’ve advanced that theory time and again, Selkirk,” Matthew spoke up before anyone else could take the bait. “But I will tell you my numbers after lunch were almost double those of the early morning. Perhaps the quality or quantity of food has little to do with the skill of the hunter. However, gentlemen, I fear we have waxed too long on this subject.” He raised his hands as if to shoo them from the room. “I know my mother will send Gates to fetch us if we do not turn up shortly.”
Fleeing the wrath of the countess, the gentlemen headed out the door and to the right toward the central drawing room where the ladies had repaired over an hour before. Matthew hung back, allowing the rest of his guests to precede him. He sipped the last of his brandy, watching the parade of noblemen file out of the dining room, biding his time. When Kinellan spoke a final word to Selkirk, set his glass on the table, and looked to him expectantly, Matthew beckoned him away from the door. “A moment, Kinellan, before we join the ladies.”
“Knew it. You’ve had that hangdog look about you all night.” With a heartfelt sigh, his friend shook his head and cast his gaze on the decanter once more. “She’s turned you down again, hasn’t she? Your much touted plan didn’t work. Be done with her, Lathbury. You’ve taken up too much of your life with this woman.”
“On the contrary, she’s agreed to become my wife.” Matthew couldn’t help a smug smile.
Hand outstretched for the brandy, Kinellan stopped halfway to the sideboard, his face quite comical in its surprise. His mouth dropped open, and he turned his head from side to side like a dog not sure of its master’s command. “She’s accepted you? Just like that?”
“Afraid so. Will you wish me happy?” Matthew’s ear-to-ear grin almost hurt his face.
“Will I wish—” In two strides his friend reached him, grasped his hand, and shook it with a force that could have cracked bones. “I’ll dance a jig at your wedding. Well done, old chap.” He clapped Matthew on the back. “When’s the happy day?”
“Soon, I earnestly hope. I came perilously close to taking her in the meadow when she accepted me.” Matthew snared the decanter and poured them each a good amount.
“A gentleman goat, indeed.” Kinellan laughed and accepted his libation. “But if she’s accepted you, why the glum countenance?”
“There’s a condition to her acceptance.”
“What?” The earl frowned so deeply his brows almost touched his nose.
“Don’t look like that. It’s a reasonable request.” Matthew tossed back the contents of his glass, then poured another one. “She wants me to go to London to meet her daughter. Once we marry I will become her legal guardian and Fan
ny naturally wishes for us to meet before that. It won’t change the outcome of our marriage, but I couldn’t refuse such a request without sounding churlish.”
“I see. Well, put that way, I can’t see the hurt in it either. That still doesn’t explain your gloomy mood this evening.” Kinellan took a long pull at his glass.
“As we wish to marry with all speed, I’m heading to London with Mother and Beatrice next week, so I’ll have to cry off shooting with you in Scotland.”
Attempting a cry of protest, Kinellan choked, coughed, and spewed Matthew’s best French brandy all over the table. “No,” he wheezed at last. “You don’t mean to say you’re going to give up some of the best grouse shooting in all of Scotland to go to London to see a baby?”
“Not a baby. The child’s about five or six years old.”
“A boy?”
“Girl.”
“Pah.” Kinellan poured more spirits and gulped it down. “Make sure she gives you a boy right off.”
“I assure you, we will try our absolute best to oblige you as quickly as possible. And therein lies the reason for our haste. We wish to be married the soonest possible, so once I meet the child and we are seen to get along fairly well, you will receive a summons to St. Georges.” Matthew winced, but continued. “If all fares well, you may need to cut your shooting trip short as well.”
“What?” The spray was confined just to the earl himself this time.
“Need you to stand up with me, Kinellan. No other man for the job.”
A sigh came from deep in his friend’s soul. “It is a sin, Lathbury, a downright sin for a man to let a woman come between him and his shooting party. Mark my words”—Kinellan struck a pose, one finger raised—“forever after this, no woman will ever come between me and my shooting pleasure.”
“I will bear witness to it, old chap. But I will make your excuses if you wish to change before joining us. I’d like for you to be there for the announcement of our betrothal.”
“Certainly, certainly.” The earl waved him toward the door. “I have aided you twice in your wooing and now in wedding as well. Will you also require my assistance on the wedding night?”
Matthew burst out laughing. “In that, Kinellan, I can assure you, your services will not be required.”
* * *
The drawing room at Hunter’s Cross teemed with the after-dinner chatter of women. Sipping tea, they broke into small groups of twos and threes for the most part, discussing the picnic, clothes, the coming Little Season in London. Fanny sidled up to Jane, who had gotten into a lengthy conversation with Lady Pamela Guire about the latest fashions in bonnets. Raising an eyebrow at her sister-in-law, Fanny tasted her tea, only to exclaim, “Gracious, there’s no sugar in this tea. Do pardon me, ladies.”
Hurrying away to the tea table, she hoped Jane would follow her soon. “No sugar” was their signal for need of a private conversation. By the time she’d pretended to chip off some small lumps of sugar, Jane was at her side, gathering a fresh cup for herself.
“Where have you been all afternoon?” Fanny began as her friend poured. “I tried to find you after the luncheon but you were nowhere in sight. I didn’t even see you in the brake on the way home.”
“Lord Kinellan invited me to come to his stand during the afternoon shooting.” Jane sipped her tea, made a face, and added more milk. “Scandalous, I know. Shooting is such a man’s sport, and they are usually so secretive about it, I really felt as though I should go, if only to experience it once.” She sent a subtle sideways glance to Fanny. “Although now, I suspect I shall have more opportunities.”
“Indeed?” Fanny led them to a chaise in a relatively secluded corner of the drawing room. “Have you made yet another conquest, my dear?”
Jane’s soft laugh brought a twinkle to her eyes. “I suppose one could call it that. He’s invited me to his shooting party next week in Scotland. There’s to be two weeks of it, which may prove frightfully boring. This afternoon watching him shoot was fascinating, but it is a very loud business and I suspect the fascination will pall quickly.”
“If you fear you’ll be bored, why attend? You could have pled an obligation in Town.”
“Yes, but I believe there will be sufficient compensations. At least during the nights.” A self-satisfied smile appeared on Jane’s lips. “Perhaps beginning tonight.”
“Of all the members of our club, you are certainly taking advantage of your widowhood, my dear.” Fanny could scarcely believe how many men her sister-in-law had reputedly dallied with since June.
“As have you, I believe, if Elizabeth is to be believed about your exploits in Brighton.” Jane’s arch tone said Fanny might tread on delicate ground.
“I doubt she knows all that occurred there, but yes, I have had a bit of fun.” More than a bit, and more to come. “But only with one man. You, on the other hand, are beginning to seem like a lady rake.”
“A lady rake!”
“Shhh.” Lord knew who might hear them.
“I like the sound of that.” Jane settled back with her cup, seemingly delighted with the term. “Why should men have all the fun?”
“Because men do not increase. A reason you need to heed well lest you wish to become a wife again. Although”—Fanny set her cup on a nearby table, finally ready to tell Jane her news—“that constraint no longer concerns me.”
Jane jumped and her cup rattled in its saucer. She set it aside and clutched Fanny’s arm. “Fanny! Tell me you are not with child.”
“Heavens, no.” Fanny frowned, appalled that her friend would think such a thing. “I have had my courses since the last time I was with Matthew and I did not dally at Charlotte’s.” Thank goodness, she added silently.
“Then why are you not concerned about getting with child? I will simply not believe you have sworn off men or are about to take the veil.”
“Nothing so unlikely,” she said, taking Jane’s hand. “I have agreed to marry Matthew.”
“My dear, how wonderful!” Jane threw her arms around her. “I am very happy for you both. You deserve true happiness after the hell Stephen put you through.” Sitting back, Jane took her hands once again. “What changed your mind about him? The last time we spoke of it you were still unsure of Lord Lathbury’s ability to remain faithful to you.”
“I know. I have had grave doubts about all men in that respect.”
“And no one who knew your circumstances could blame you for those doubts.” Jane waited, then prompted her. “So what has changed?”
“Not my reservations on men’s fidelity. I still have those and likely will until I am old past caring.” She hesitated, wringing her hands, the horrible sensation of irreparable loss she’d experienced earlier stealing her breath once more. She hadn’t lost him. He was hers, soon forever. “However, I realized at the picnic today, that I love Matthew. I watched him talk and flirt with many of the young ladies last night and today and was overwhelmed with the sense that I’d lost him through my own folly.” Tears threatened again. Perhaps they would do so every time she thought about what she’d almost thrown away. “And suddenly it didn’t matter so much if he’d be faithful to me if we married, only that I would be truly miserable for the rest of my life if we did not. And when he asked me for the fourth or fifth time, I said yes.”
“Bravo, my dear.” Jane patted her hand and offered her handkerchief. “I believe you will find Lord Lathbury nothing at all like your first husband. Do you announce your betrothal tonight?”
“We had agreed to do it tonight, but now I am not certain we should.” The company would be appreciative, she was certain, save Lady Skelton perhaps. She’d be hard-pressed not to gloat when accepting the countess’s best wishes. However, until she and Matthew had settled things officially, with the settlements drawn up, perhaps it would be prudent to wait. “I have accepted him on the condition that he meets Ella in London next week. I don’t feel I should marry him without seeing how she takes to him. And Theale will have to arra
nge for the settlements, I assume. I have no other male family members.”
“Yes, in those circumstances, perhaps you should speak to Lord Lathbury before he makes the announcement.” Glancing toward the doorway, Jane nodded and smiled. “Right on cue, here they come. Go speak to your betrothed. I declare I feel quite among the elite in having knowledge of a wedding that no one else does.”
Throwing a smile at her sister-in-law, Fanny rose and sauntered over to the doorway where a stream of men had slowed to a trickle. Where was Matthew? She checked the room again. Easy to do when looking for a man who literally stood head and shoulders above the rest of the company. What was he playing at? A glance back at Jane saw her shrug her shoulders and mouth the word Kinellan.
Jane was correct. Neither Matthew nor his friend had returned from the dining room. Were they perhaps hatching a scheme regarding the announcement of the engagement? That must not happen. A quick look at the room showed no one marked her and she slipped out of the doorway. Tracing her way back toward the dining room, she turned a corner and ran slap into a tall, inflexible body.
“May I help you, my lady?” Matthew peered down at her, eyes hungry like the wolf in the Little Red Riding Hood tale.
“Yes, you may.” Fanny pulled him to her, resting her head on his wonderfully firm chest. “I think it best if we do not announce our betrothal tonight.”
“Why not?” The wary tone jolted her and his body tensed. He pulled her away from him, his eyes now glittering and hard. “Have you reconsidered?”
“Good Lord, no.” Shaking her head, she pushed his arms away again and burrowed against his chest. “But until the settlements are done and the question with Ella settled, I’d just prefer to keep the news between us two. Well, and Jane. I told her.”
“I told Kinellan, but he’ll keep the secret.”
“Where is he?” She looked around the dim corridor, but they were alone. “Have you two been plotting something?”
