She continued on a rush. “It was all a matter of revenge. Albert had lost property and a fat purse in a game of faro to my brother. My brother, in turn, employed Juliet, the baronet’s sister, as a governess for my three younger sisters.”
His expression grew shuddered. “Juliet?”
She nodded, knowing he’d connected the presence of Juliet a short while ago to the Juliet of her story. “Juliet Marshville, Albert’s sister, is now wed to my brother.”
That hard, stone-like set to his features indicated his annoyance.
“They fell in love,” she said, a touch defensively. “She is a good woman, Weston. I would not blame her for the crimes of her brother.”
The tension around his mouth eased. He ran his gaze over her face. “You are a remarkable woman, Patrina Tidemore. Most women would be consumed with bitterness and resentment.”
She touched another key. “What will that accomplish? I’ve come to accept my circumstances.” Although, she knew she lied to herself. She detested her present circumstances and wanted more, and even with the imprudent decision she’d made regarding Albert—she deserved more. She managed a small smile. “I don’t imagine you’ve come here to discuss my scandalous past.”
Weston captured her hand and raised it to his lips. “No, Patrina.”
She furrowed her brow. “Then what—?”
“I’ve come to offer you marriage.”
Patrina’s head remained cocked at an odd angle. She’d said nothing for—Weston glanced across the room at the ormolu clock atop the mantle—for several minutes now. He acknowledged he should have spent some time preparing his words.
Or in the very least, something slightly less jarring.
She pulled her hand free of his. “Have you come to make light of me?” The lyrical, sweet quality of her voice was belied by the hard glint in her eyes. Patrina spun away from him. She placed the pianoforte between them and braced her hands on the back of the instrument. “Because I assure you, I’ve dealt with far meaner, and far more vile, creatures than you.”
He clenched and unclenched his hands at his side. God, how he’d wanted to hunt down the reprobate before and take him apart limb by worthless limb. “I assure you—”
She pointed a finger at him. “A true gentleman wouldn’t come here and mock—”
“I didn’t—”
She jabbed her finger again. “—mock me for the mistakes I’ve made. Not that I have much faith there are any true gentlemen in all of England.”
“Have you finished?” he drawled. It was the absolute wrong thing to say. Patrina stormed out from behind the pianoforte in a flurry of skirts. She stuck her finger at his chest. He winced.
She opened her mouth, and then promptly closed it. “Yes.” She wrinkled her brow. “No. I’m not finished? What vile, loathsome, reprehensible, abhorrent cad would come here and be so very, deliberately cruel?” Well, that was certainly quite the vernacular the lovely Lady Patrina possessed. “Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped. “Pityingly,” she said. “I neither want, nor need, your pity.”
He held his palms up, in an unspoken truce “Does anyone truly want to be pitied?”
She pointed her finger as if to stick it in his chest, and he caught her wrist. He raised it to his lips and buried a kiss in the satiny smooth skin of her wrist. Her fingers trembled in his. He welcomed her body’s telltale awareness of him, for it indicated he’d shaken her world just as she’d upended his.
“I’ve told you once before, Patrina. I wouldn’t dare pity you, and neither would I mock you. Might I be candid?”
“Please,” she said, eying him the way she might a thief come to abscond with her family’s fine silver. Curtly.
“My children need a mother. I’m asking you to be their mother.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “So, I’m clear. You want to wed me. A woman you met a mere five days ago.”
“Six days,” he corrected.
“Six days,” she amended.
Odd, he knew the exact moment he’d seen her, and the exact number of hours to pass since he’d come upon her hurling snowballs at his children. “Yes,” he said with a curt nod.
Patrina proceeded to tap the tip of her slipper in a steady rhythm. “A woman who scandalized the ton with her elopement.” She ran her gaze over his face, as though expecting him to demonstrate a suitable level of horror and shock at her admission. He schooled his features. After Cordelia’s treachery, it would take a good deal more than this slip of a young lady to shock or horrify him. “Should I continue on?” she asked tartly.
“Please.” The more she spoke, the more he found out about this bold, tart-mouthed lady who’d fascinated him since he’d first seen her. “I have no desire to wed again, yet if I do not, my children would remain motherless.”
A humorless smile played about Patrina’s lips. “So, you would wed me to provide your children with a mother?”
He nodded. Only, the truth his mind shied away from was that he wanted her for far more than just as a parent to Charlotte and Danielle—he wanted her… for her. “You’d want for nothing. My only request is that you care for my children.” He finished, realizing how wholly inadequate such an offer was. Any woman would want more and Patrina certainly deserved more. A pressure tightened about his lungs as he awaited her response.
She stood in silence so long he suspected she didn’t intend to address his offer. He imagined outside of security, a young lady dreamed of love and happiness and laughter from a future husband. His coldly calculated offer was more an arrangement in line with the haute ton’s well-ordered world.
She sighed. “My reputation is ruined, Weston. There would be little benefit in marrying me for the sake of your children.” She paused. “Especially Charlotte.”
It did not, however, escape his notice that she didn’t say no, so he was encouraged. It appeared the young lady at least considered his outlandish proposal. “I’m the Marquess of Beaufort.”
“My how arrogant you are, my lord.” The rebuke was softened by the sparkle in her eyes. Her lips pulled at the corners in the first, real smile he’d seen on her heart-shaped face.
He froze. The smile transformed her from rather pretty young lady to stunningly beautiful woman. He trailed his gaze over the delicate planes of her face. How had he failed to appreciate the extent of her beauty before this moment? How—
Her grin slipped. “What?”
He gave his head a clearing shake. “Charlotte is just a child. When she makes her Come Out, Society will not even remember—”
Patrina burst into laughter. “You are delusional then, my lord. The ton remembers scandals such as the one I’m guilty of.”
Weston balled his hands into fists. He’d wager the totality of his holdings that the sole blame rested with the cad who’d ruined her good reputation. No, the innocent Patrina’s one crime was tossing her love away on an undeserving bounder. God, how he detested the fiend.
Patrina cleared her throat. “I thank you for your offer, my lord, but I could not in good conscience risk your children’s reputations, even if they do need a mother.” She averted her gaze. “It is quite enough I’ve ruined my sisters’ reputations.” She dipped a curtsy and turned as if to leave then started for the door.
Hell, she did intend to leave. With just that perfunctory no. Weston closed the distance between them in three long strides. He laid his hands upon her shoulders. She stiffened but did not pull away. He leaned down and brushed his lips against the elegant line of her neck. “What if I tell you I want more than a mother for my children? What if I tell you I want you?”
Her body trembled and he continued to make tender love to her neck with his lips. “I-I would say you’re mad, my lord.”
He moved his attention to the other side of her neck. “Perhaps I am, Patrina. I want you. And though you do not love me, I will give you a family of your own, I will give you children, and I will show you the pleasure to be had in my arms.” He lazily turn
ed her back to face him.
The tendons in her throat moved with her swallow.
“Marry me.”
She studied him a long moment. He could practically see the flurry of questions in her intelligent eyes. Patrina closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them, he stiffened and braced for her rejection.
She gave a tight nod. “Yes, my lord. I’ll marry you.”
Chapter 11
The winter wind battered against the frosted windowpanes of her brother’s office.
Patrina stared at her brother’s bent head. Just as she’d been staring at it for…Her gaze strayed over to the mantle clock. Seven minutes now.
With a sigh, she looked over at her sister-in-law. Juliet stood at the edge of Jonathan’s desk. She frowned at her husband.
When Patrina had been a girl of six, she’d placed ink inside her nursemaid’s tea. She’d been summoned to her father’s office and stood before the very desk she now stood, shuffling back and forth upon her feet awaiting the inevitable scolding.
This moment felt remarkably similar.
In fact, the prolonged pall of awkward silence was so vast she wondered if she’d not spoken the thoughts a—
“No.” Jonathan did not pick his gaze up from the ledgers in front of him.
No, she’d spoken and her brother had heard. He’d merely not enjoyed hearing what she’d had to say to him. She cast a silent appeal in Juliet’s direction.
The other woman placed her palms on the edge of his desk and leaned forward. “Put your pen down now, Jonathan, and do not be a curt beast.”
He tossed his pen down and glared at Patrina. “Very well. You may not marry him. Thank you for asking.”
This time. He might as well have thrown those last two words dancing about the air.
She took a step closer and borrowed strength from the back of the leather chair opposite his desk. “I wasn’t asking, Jonathan,” she said gently.
Her brother leaned back in his chair with a glower on his usually affable face. “I didn’t intervene before when I should have, Trina,” he said, using her girlhood moniker. “I’m intervening now. I’ll not have you wed a man you’ve just met—”
“Six days ago,” she supplied.
“Fine, a week then. To what purpose? So he can have a mother for his ill-behaved children?”
She bristled. Though she’d held similar thoughts to Weston’s children from their first meeting, for some reason, Jonathan’s ill-opinion of them grated. She came out from behind the seat. “They’re lovely children.” Of course there was the whole business of throwing snowballs, but hadn’t her sisters exhibited far more lamentable behaviors?
He shook his head and picked up his pen. “I said no. I’ll find you a gentleman who will love you and take care of you and—”
A bark of laughter escaped her. “You are so very high-handed.”
He tossed his pen down. “I love you,” he said simply. “I failed you before. I’ll not fail you again. You deserve a husband who will love you.” Heavy regret laced his pronouncement.
“I lost the right to love when I eloped with Albert,” she said with a bluntness that made her sister-in-law wince.
Except…Patrina thought back to earlier in the day. Warmth unfurled in her belly until she fair burned with the sheer memory of Weston’s hands upon her naked shoulders, his lips on her neck. What if I tell you I want more than a mother for my children? What if I tell you I want you?
Her brother shoved back his chair and jumped to his feet.
“Jonathan,” Juliet murmured, with a pointed look.
He raked a hand through his tousled black locks and began to pace. “What manner of gentleman would ask you to give up all hope of happiness just to care for his children?”
“You did,” Juliet said gently.
Jonathan jerked to a halt. Patrina bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. He stood still, unblinking. Then a mottled flush stained his neck and cheeks. “That is—”
“True,” Juliet said arching a red eyebrow.
He cursed. “This is different.”
“How?” Patrina pressed.
Jonathan resumed pacing. “Because…because…damn it, you’re my sister and I was a worthless scoundrel. Just as Beaufort is for even daring to ask.”
Juliet made a sound of protest.
He waved a hand. “It is true. I wasn’t deserving of Juliet, but she managed to overlook the wrongs I committed against her. But you…”
“I want to marry him, Jonathan. I want a family of my own. And a home of my own.” And if she didn’t want to spend the rest of her days the sad, sorry spinster to the Earl of Sinclair remembered by her family and Society as one who’d made a great mistake that robbed her of respectability, she’d accept Weston’s generous offer.
A knock sounded at the door. Smith stepped inside. “The Marquess of Beaufort to see you, my lord.” He coughed loudly. “I took the liberty of asking him to wait in the drawing room.”
Jonathan scrubbed a hand over his face. “Bloody hell,” he muttered either forgetting or uncaring about the ladies present. “Show him in.”
Juliet took her husband’s hand and gave it a squeeze. A look passed between them and he nodded once. With a smile, she walked over to Patrina. “I want you to be happy,” she said quietly, the words intended for her ears alone. “And I suspect, Patrina, that you’d not marry the marquess if there wasn’t more there than a desire for a family and home of your own.”
Heat flared in her cheeks. She stared after her retreating sister-in-law. Patrina cared for Weston. In just six days, she’d come to miss him in his absence, smile when he was near, and Juliet was indeed correct—she wanted to wed him because there was more there. At least on her part.
Then, that wasn’t altogether true. I will show you the pleasure to be had in my arms. She suspected everyone thought she’d thrown away her virtue on Albert. When in actuality, she was as virginal as the day she was born. Albert hadn’t even attempted to kiss her. Her lips twisted wryly. That in itself should have been the only indication she needed that he’d been wholly uninterested in her.
Jonathan spoke, calling her back to the moment. “You’re certain, Trina. You’re certain you’d wed him.”
Smith reappeared. Weston’s broad-shouldered frame filled the entrance. “The Marquess of Beaufort.”
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. She smiled at Weston. He appeared so serious, so unyielding. And then he grinned. A thrill of awareness coursed through her. The absolute rightness in this decision filled Patrina. “Yes, I’m certain,” she said softly.
Jonathan gave a curt nod and motioned Beaufort inside.
He paused beside Patrina and captured her hand. He bowed over it. “My lady,” he murmured, placing his lips along the inner portion of her wrist. Most gentlemen would have gone ashen at the growl that escaped the tall, foreboding figure of her brother. Weston continued to hold her hand. He gently squeezed her fingers.
“Release my damn sister,” Jonathan snapped.
Her soon-to-be intended placed another kiss as if in blatant challenge to her brother’s command and then released her.
Patrina dropped a curtsy and with a smile took her leave.
The Earl of Sinclair motioned to the seat across from his desk.
Weston sat. “I want to wed your sister,” he said not mincing words with the glowering gentleman who’d soon be his brother-in-law.
The other man’s brows dipped. “I’d tell you no and send you to hell if I didn’t think my sister would hate me for the rest of her days.” He spoke as nonchalantly as if he’d offered a brandy and refreshments.
Yes, from what Weston had come to know, Patrina possessed a strength and determination that would put most gentlemen to shame. Even her powerful brother couldn’t quell the woman’s spirit.
“I don’t like you, Beaufort,” the earl continued. He remained standing, his face black like a thundercloud. Outrage fairly seeped from the other man’s taut
ly held frame.
Weston folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t even know me.”
“I knew you,” Sinclair reminded him. “I used to like you,” he muttered under his breath. “You’d seemed like a decent enough chap.” His eyebrows lowered in a threatening fashion that would mayhap terrify most gentlemen. The earl was to be disappointed. Weston wasn’t most gentlemen. “I don’t like that you’d wed my sister to give your children a mother. She deserves more than that.”
Yes, on that, Weston would agree. Patrina deserved a good deal more than a man like him. She deserved love and a union based on nothing but mutual affection and warmth. His hand burned with the remembrance of her fingers in his. Then, there would be plenty of warmth.
“Get that bloody look off your face, Beaufort,” Sinclair snapped.
He grinned, taking a perverse pleasure in riling the imperious earl. “What—?”
“You know the damned look.” The earl cursed roundly. He strode over to the sideboard against the far left corner of the room and poured two glasses of brandy. He carried one over to Weston. “What do you know of my sister?”
Weston accepted the drink. He rolled the glass back and forth between his hands. “I know about Marshville,” he said quietly. He stared into the amber depths of his drink wanting to know more, needing to know more…and yet appreciating any further telling belonged to Patrina.
Sinclair’s mouth tightened. “The bloody bastard ruined her. Hurt her. I’ll not see her hurt again.”
The earl’s admission hit Weston with the same force of a punch being driven into his mid-section. “I have no intention of hurting her,” he spoke with quiet conviction. He’d come to Patrina intending to offer her a marriage of convenience, but now, he could admit there was more. He wanted to be the gentleman Patrina deserved. Wanted to restore her smile, fill her days with laughter. Make her forget there was ever a heartless cad by the name of Albert Marshville who’d disabused her of her gentle innocence.
The earl took a long swallow and grimaced. “But you will hurt her,” he said. “Sooner or later you will. She’ll grow to care for you and you’ll not return those sentiments.”
A Little Winter Scandal: A Regency Christmas Collection Page 15
