Only For Their Love

by Christi Caldwell

  Red splotches suffused the dowager duchess’ cheeks and she cleared her throat. “Doris,” she said coaxingly. “Given our friendship, you are privy to my family’s deep connection with the Quigleys.”

  “Her Grace believes Lord Gregory would like to court me and she wishes to quash it,” Carol interjected, earning a glower from Gregory’s mother. All the stories he’d shared of his past; of his stilted childhood and his disapproving parents, revealed once more before her in this calculated intervention on the lady’s part. And Carol took an inordinate glee in antagonizing the cold, unfeeling woman.

  “Don’t be silly, Carol,” her mother scolded. “Whyever would she wish to quash it?” When the dowager duchess said nothing, she turned her hands up. “Samantha?” There was an aching hesitancy in that query.

  “My family has an obligation to the Quigleys, Doris. Surely you understand that?”

  For nearly four years, Carol’s mother had visibly beamed with pride in having been selected into the dowager duchess’ close folds. Witnessing the slow dismantling of all the visions she’d once held of the woman, from her mother’s crumbling face, filled her with that earlier outrage. And she fed that. That resentment was safer than the doubts of what Gregory’s feelings were, if at all, for her.

  Carol opened her mouth to speak.

  “How dare you?” It was harder to say who was more stunned by that sharp demand. Carol or the gape-mouthed dowager. “I have called you friend and you would disparage my daughter. Suggesting she is not worthy of your son,” her voice shook with outrage.

  “It is not about being worthy or unworthy, Doris,” Gregory’s mother said in placating tones that only deepened the viscountess’ frown. “Minerva needs—”

  “What about what Gregory needs?” the viscountess demanded. She spun to face Carol. “And my daughter? If they have grown to care for one another, I’ll not stand between that.” Love, at being so staunchly defended. And pride. For so long devoted to Societal rank and title, her mother now all but spit in the face of a woman one step below royalty for her daughter. For me. She’s done this for me. “Nor would I demand she wed where her heart is not engaged.”

  Carol moved her head back and forth quickly between the two women.

  “Bah, care for one another,” the dowager duchess snapped, jumping to her feet in a noisy rustle of satin skirts. “You’ve cared as much as I about whether feelings or hearts were engaged.”

  Mother flushed under that heated charge and Carol stretched a hand out, capturing her mother’s in a quiet bid for support. “Get out,” Carol quietly ordered the other woman. “We’re here as guests of Lady Theo and, as such, we needn’t be ordered about by you.”

  Gregory’s mother pursed her mouth. “Well, then,” she said crisply. With a final glare for the mother and daughter pair, the dowager duchess snapped her skirts and stalked from the room.

  Carol clenched and unclenched the fabric of her skirts. All that unholy glee she’d found taunting the dowager duchess was gone, leaving Carol with nothing but a sick emptiness. She forced her gaze over to her mother. The viscountess stood stock-still. The ashen hue of her skin only deepened Carol’s guilt. She closed the door. “We cannot stay here, Mother.”

  The viscountess gave a tight nod.

  “I am sorry,” Carol said quietly. Her Grace’s friendship had mattered more than the Cresswall jewels.

  “Pfft,” the viscountess said. “That is not a friend.”

  A knock sounded. “Carol?” Theo’s voice penetrated the wood panel.

  “Enter,” she called out. A moment later, the young duchess entered and pushed the heavy panel shut behind her. Worry lined Theo’s features as she rushed over. She quickly greeted the viscountess and looked to Carol. “I saw Damian’s mother leave your rooms, muttering to herself. She never mutters.” No, a dowager duchess would not. “What did she say?”

  Carol searched for a hint of knowing. Seeing none, she picked her words carefully. “Her Grace and I were of differing opinions on a matter of importance but I’ll not create mayhem around your holiday celebration,” she evaded.

  Theo plopped herself on the edge of the bed. “Do stop,” she reprimanded, swatting at Carol’s fingers. “Do you truly believe I care about the dowager duchess’ opinion over your own?”

  A watery smile turned the viscountess’ lips up. “That is a friend,” she said to her daughter. “I will allow you ladies to speak privately.” Mother dropped a curtsy and then left.

  “What is it?” Theo asked as soon as the door had closed. That query could only come from a person who’d been her closest and only friend over the years.

  The dowager duchess’ sharp words and pleadings were still fresh in this room. “I am tired, is all,” she said quietly. This was the first time since Theo had married where any of the Renshaws and Raynes had come together. Carol would not shatter the peace of this Christmastide season with the dowager duchess’ vileness.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Theo prodded, gathering her fingers and squeezing slightly.

  About Gregory and how he’d somehow, in a handful of days, slipped inside her heart. About his mother’s threats. And her own yearnings. “My family intends to leave for London.” Closer than their country estate, there was the possibility they’d at least arrive on Christmas.

  Theo sat back. “Leave? But…but…” She sharpened her gaze on Carol’s face. “Is this about Lord Gregory?”

  Carol bit the inside of her cheek. Does she know? She dropped her gaze to the coverlet and smoothed her palms over the fabric. “I don’t—”

  “Do not insult our years of friendship. I have seen you two together.”

  Her hands trembled in relief. She did not know. Dusting her hands over her face, Carol said, “Lord Gregory and I enjoyed one another’s company.” That did not a future make. Or did it? “There is nothing…more between us.” Nothing more than ten days together, happy and laughing. And his kiss. And ruination in his chambers. She’d not allow him to be trapped. Not when it was her decision to enter his rooms and warn him of another.

  “You are blushing.”

  At Theo’s shocked whisper, Carol’s cheeks burned all the more. “I always blush,” she mumbled. It was the curse of her fair English skin.

  “But you’ve never, ever blushed over my brother-in-law.”

  “Because he’d never given me a reason to blush.” As soon as the words left her, Carol ached to call them back.

  Theo pressed a palm to her mouth. “You care for him.”

  Nay, she loved him. An entirely deeper, more gripping, aching, agonizing, and very rare, wonderful emotion. “Please, do not,” she beseeched, tugging at the lace trim over her coverlet.

  “He accompanied you to gather the bough,” Theo continued quietly, relentless.

  “He was being polite.”

  “He wished to be with you.” Theo layered her hand over Carol’s, staying her distracted movements. “Is this about Lady Minerva?”

  She drew in a steadying breath. She loved Theo. She would always be her best friend, but she’d not speak to her about this. She’d dissolve into a pathetic watering pot and she’d already lost enough of her dignity in this household. “Enough. I’ll not ruin your family’s holiday.” Any more than she already had. “We are leaving.” Not because the dowager duchess had ordered her family gone or because she wished to leave Gregory, but because she’d not remain and have Gregory, honorable in every way, insist on marrying her.

  She wanted so much more from him.

  Chapter 10

  The lady hadn’t left her chambers.

  Given last evening’s scandal, Gregory should not be surprised that Carol remained closeted away. Yet selfishly, he wanted to see her, anyway.

  He pressed his eyes closed. She’d risked her reputation to come and save him from his mother and Minerva’s treachery. In the end, she’d been discovered and ruined should a single word of her presence in his chambers reach Society. Still, with his offer to do righ
t by her…she’d rejected him, anyway.

  Gregory opened his eyes, once more. He’d offered her his name because it was the honorable thing to do. But it had been about far more than that. He wanted a life with her in it…not out of familial expectations. Not because it had been urged by his mother, long ago. Not because he required a wife and hostess at his side. But rather, because…he loved her.

  If she’d have him, he’d marry her. Fueled by the need to see her now, in a move that defied propriety and Societal norms, Gregory started for the door…and then stopped.

  His mother filled the entranceway. “Gregory,” she greeted, eying him with the same caution she had as a boy. With her practiced, graceful steps, she swept forward.

  What did one say to a Judas, with the silver of her betrayal gleaming from her palm? “Mother,” he returned, his gaze straying to the clock. He’d nothing to say to her. “If you’ll excuse me, I—”

  “She knows you cannot marry her.”

  He froze in his tracks and picked slowly around his thoughts. What was she saying? “Mother?”

  “Miss Cresswall will not stand in the way of your marrying Minerva.”

  She’d interfere once more in the course of his life. Then, her words registered. “What do you know of what Miss Cresswall will or will not do?” he demanded with a sharpness that drained the color from her cheeks. “I asked you a question,” he demanded again and she cried out.

  “Gregory, you’ve never spoken to me in that tone. I must insist…” Her words ended on a loud swallow, going unfinished. “She is leaving.”

  He sank back on his heels as the air left him on a sharp hiss. Leaving?

  “No, she was ordered gone.”

  They both swiveled their gazes to the doorway. Theo stood, her usual grinning lips set in a hard, unyielding line.

  “I a-am speaking to my son,” the dowager duchess stammered, her cheeks red.

  His sister-in-law angled her body away from the dowager duchess and spoke directly to him. “Carol was encouraged to leave. And she’ll not stay and create unrest at the Christmastide season.”

  Fury thrummed deep inside and resentment, long dormant, stirred to life. Since he’d been a young boy, his mother had attempted to shape him into an ideal she and Father had for their ducal offspring. His greatest rebellion, establishing his own business, had been met with scorn and shame. Since then, he’d spent so many years, too many years seeking approval. He no longer wanted her approval. He wanted the happiness Carol had held out. “You have spent our entire lives attempting to shape your sons into the vision you had for us,” he said in quiet tones. “You groomed Damian, the way you might a horse being traded or bartered, and then when that partnership did not come to be, you turned to me.”

  His mother clutched at her throat. “You do not know what you are saying,” she cried.

  “I know precisely what I am saying,” he shot back. “If Carol will have me, I intend to marry her.” Mother’s hopes and wishes for a match with Lady Minerva be damned. He looked to Theo. “Where is she?” he demanded sharply.

  Theo smiled. “Her belongings are being loaded in their carriages now.”

  With that, Gregory took off running. His breath came hard and fast from the force of his exertions as he wound his way through the sprawling, cold castle. He charged forward and with every step, he moved his gaze over the cheerful boughs; products of Carol’s efforts, and his, together. By God, it was Christmas and he’d be damned if she ran off.

  He turned the corridor and skidded to a stop in the foyer.

  The door hung open, while servants rushed all around. Several footmen cast him curious glances.

  Oh, God, surely she’d not left. His heart thudded painfully against his chest and propelled him forward. He rushed past the servants and ran outside. The sun gleamed bright off the stark white snow blanketing the earth and he held a hand over his eyes to shield them from the glare.

  Then his gaze found her. Her brother stood at her side, assisting her up into the carriage. By God, she’d not leave like this. The blasted insolence of her. Coming in here, stealing his heart, upending his world—and then leaving.

  In one swift movement, Gregory dropped to a knee, formed a hasty ball of snow from the remnants along the stone patio. Coming to his feet, he launched his missile. “Carol Cress—” His snowball found its mark.

  “Oomph.”

  Or rather…a mark.

  Lord Fennimore yanked off his snow-splattered Oxonian hat. “I say, Lord Gregory, did you hit me?” He may as well have taken a bullet to the chest for the outrage and indignation there.

  “Yes,” Gregory called out, striding forward. His gaze fixed solely on Carol. Her full lips parted, she stood, one knee bent, partially inside the carriage. A swell of emotion gripped him. “I did not intend to,” he clarified for the other man. Gregory paused at the top of the steps and the servants were wise enough to rush off, leaving him alone on the portico.

  “Well, r-reassuring,” Fennimore stammered, dusting his hat against his leg.

  “I intended to hit your sister.”

  “My sister?” The viscount frowned. “Even worse, chap. It’s in bad form to go hitting a lady.”

  “Balls of snow are permitted, are they not, Miss Cresswall?” Gregory directed his words to the young lady who might as well have been a carved ice masterpiece for as still as she stood.

  Then he started forward.

  *

  What is he doing? Why is he here even now?

  Questions tumbled around her mind as he stopped beside her. Hope stirred in her breast. Hope that he was, in fact, here for the reasons she wanted him to be. When presented with nothing else to say, she blurted, “Gregory.” By the way he dipped his midnight eyebrows, he was wholly less than pleased with her greeting. “What do you want?” That question tumbled forth, only bringing his eyes narrowing all the more.

  “A moment alone with your sister, Fennimore,” he growled.

  Oh, dear. He was irate. She shot a beseeching look at her brother, but he’d already scrambled inside the carriage.

  Gregory held out an arm in silent challenge. He’d no doubt found out she’d been run off, or rather, chosen to go. He was too much a gentleman to ever let an insult stand. She’d never been a coward, however. Wordlessly, Carol allowed him to escort her away.

  “What is it?” their mother called loudly, pressing her forehead against the frosted lead windowpane.

  “Renshaw wishes to hit Carol…”

  “…Hit Carol?” the viscountess squawked. “Not gentlemanly…”

  “…I told him as much…”

  He stopped and the muffled discourse between mother and son faded into silence. “Gregory,” she again greeted when they were afforded privacy from her family. “What do you want?”

  “You were leaving.” At that gruff, accusatory charge, she winced. “Nothing to say?” he commanded.

  “It is wrong for me…” She grimaced. “…for my family to remain.”

  “My mother spoke to you.”

  As his wasn’t a question, she remained silent. Carol folded her arms and glanced absently about the snow-covered grounds. Gregory brushed his knuckles back and forth over her cheek, forcing her gaze gently to his.

  “I didn’t like you,” she whispered and he halted that faint caress. A panicky laugh burst from her lips. “I was so sure you were a pompous nobleman with an inflated view of your family and self-worth.” Just like so many of the peerage, in fact, were. It had made it all the easier to reject her mother’s hopes for her these four years. After all, to wed a man bound by propriety was consigning herself to an empty union like her mother’s. Except, he’d thrown her world into upheaval. Carol pushed away from him and retreated several steps. “You weren’t supposed to tease and laugh at being teased. Or throw snowballs. Or make boughs of fir.”

  A pair of strong hands gripped her shoulders and her eyes fluttered. Gregory placed his lips close to her ear and a little shiver radiated from
where his mouth nearly brushed her skin. “You were right.” His words penetrated the desire he roused with a mere touch of his hands and a placement of his lips.

  She angled her head and their gazes caught. “I didn’t throw snowballs or make boughs of pine. My laughter was hollow and empty…until you.” Gregory palmed her cheek and brought her round to face him. The wealth of emotion pouring from his eyes, robbed her of words. “You are everything I never knew I wanted.” She gasped and he continued over that shocked exclamation. “And I was a bloody fool for failing to see the gift before me.”

  Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back. “In fairness, I wasn’t t-truly before you,” she managed through the swell of emotion stuck in her throat. “We were both avoiding one another and—”

  Gregory cupped her by the nape and claimed her lips. Her toes curled deliciously in the soles of her boots as his lips touched off a firestorm of desire. She leaned into his embrace, mourning when he pulled back. “Marry me, please,” he added, sinking to a knee. “Not because of any scandal, but because I love you.”

  Oh, God. Carol pressed trembling fingertips to her mouth. “I…I…” Since she’d been a girl, she’d feared that she would one day find herself like her mother; a Societal lady, married to a man whose heart and fidelity would never belong to her. As a woman who’d suffered through four Seasons, she’d accepted that love was an elusive gift not for every lord or lady.

  He faltered, his gaze doing a frantic search over her face.

  Carol drew in a steadying breath. “I expect, given your kiss…”

  “Our kiss,” he swiftly interjected.

  Yes, she’d quite returned that embrace. “That my mother and brother will insist on nothing less than marriage.”

  Gregory shook his head. “I don’t give a jot what your family wants.”

  She chewed at her lower lip. “Your mother—”

  “Or my mother.” Who Carol had been unforgivably cheeky with. That would warrant an apology. “Or Lady Minerva,” Gregory continued. “Or the King and Queen of England.” He gathered her gloved hands and raised them to his mouth one at a time for a lingering kiss. “I care what you want. I love you,” he said and the world briefly ceased to spin as she was left suspended. “And I—”