He couldn’t quite force a smile, but he greeted Lord Carbrooke civilly enough. “Yes, indeed. Here we are.”
“Annie wanted to know if you are ready to leave. She is anxious to get home to see if the baby is all right.”
“Oh, yes.” Dorcas showed a little too much enthusiasm for Grant’s liking. Had she guessed what he was about to ask? A moment ago, the stars were wheeling above them, there was a scent of roses in the air, and the time was right. Their kiss had sealed the time and place. Something to remember. Women enjoyed that. And he had to admit, so had he.
“Besides,” Carbrooke said, “Lady Elizabeth Askew has turned up. With the Duke of Beauchamp by her side. Your mother invited them to join us in our booth.”
“I beg your pardon?” Grant couldn’t quite work out what Carbrooke meant. “Did the old duke die, then? Is this his heir?”
Carbrooke laughed. “Oh no, the old duke is very much alive. He’s joking with Annie, making suggestions I pray she doesn’t understand, but I fear she does.”
“An intelligent woman, your wife. But the Duke of Beauchamp? Is her ladyship so desperate to marry a duke?”
“Her mother is with them, lending her countenance,” Carbrooke said gloomily. “But I am beyond their reach and, in any case, she wouldn’t be satisfied with a mere earl these days.”
Grant was seized with a strong suspicion of certainty. “I am not. Beyond her reach, that is.” Not yet, though if Carbrooke had arrived five minutes later, he would have been.
“She seemed delighted to join us. Even behaved graciously to Annie. She usually ignores her.”
“Because I’m there. Don’t mistake me, it’s not me she covets, but the title I hold.”
They walked back in the direction of the Rotunda. Grant matched his pace to Dorcas’, while her brother took her other side. “The pity is that before ambition took hold, she would have made anyone a worthy wife, but she let her bitterness get the better of her. She stormed through balls like a wild beast stalking its prey. So, naturally, the prey avoided her. Matters could have become very messy if she’d caught one of us.”
“She nearly caught me,” Carbrooke said glumly. “But she was different then. More helpful, kinder.” He grimaced. “I don’t know. Losing me, or rather my title, then seeing Glenbreck slip through her fingers did something to her, I think.”
Grant agreed. Lady Elizabeth had been lovely, accomplished and gracious. They had been close enough to call one another friends when she’d been betrothed to the old earl’s son. Too cold for his taste, but she would have snagged her duke before too long, had she not been so eager. And making someone feel like prey rather than a person she was interested in did her no favors at all.
Totally unlike the Dersingham triplets who, without realizing it, had taken London by storm. His preference had always been for Dorcas. She was more down-to-earth than her sisters and, to his eyes, prettier. Literally, since she enjoyed gardening. Less likely to expect romance all the time.
He found Dorcas a woman he’d like to know further, to enjoy more. And it was time he took a wife. Past time, but he’d never met anyone he liked half so much as her.
Did she have the romantic ambitions of her siblings? Despite the sweet kiss they’d shared, Grant wasn’t looking for romance in marriage. A satisfactory relationship, in and out of bed, to be sure, a partner, a friend. His early life had been too turbulent for him to wish for strong emotions to invade him at this point. He had enough to do with his various businesses.
Dorcas had the potential to become all that. He’d worked himself up to this, invited the family to join him tonight specifically, so he could get Dorcas’ permission to talk to her brother about drawing up a marriage contract. And now that very brother had ruined his careful plans. And thrown him in the way of the worst social predator in London.
Belatedly, Gerald appeared to notice that he had interrupted something. The man could certainly be obtuse at times. “Oh, I’m sorry I interrupted you, but I wanted to warn—that is, tell you that you have more guests.”
Dorcas turned her attention to Grant, leaning on his arm. “The new baby has a sniffle. Indeed, we should get back to him.”
Grant forbore to remind Dorcas that it wasn’t her baby. But the child was precious, he understood that. He was the son and heir to the earldom. Little Viscount Kempton would ensure the descent of the title, but until Lady Carbrooke fell pregnant again, he was the one and only.
Dorcas could hardly stay if Lord and Lady Carbrooke left, so he had to rethink his plans. Tomorrow, perhaps. A formal proposal in the drawing room. That would mean another kiss, which he wasn’t at all averse to. Perhaps tomorrow her gown would be draped over a smaller hoop, or even none at all, and he could get even closer to her. His desire grew again, proving his point for him.
Giving in to the inevitable, Grant let Dorcas put her hand through his arm, and they strolled back to their box in the main arena with her brother. “Perhaps I may call on you tomorrow, my lady,” he said. He should see her brother first, but damn that. He wanted Dorcas, not Carbrooke. And Carbrooke wouldn’t object to Grant’s suit, he was sure of it.
“Oh.” A pretty flush rose to her cheeks. Grant enjoyed seeing it, imagined kissing it. “Yes, yes, of course.”
He left the party early, escorting his mother, who complained of a headache, back to their London house, but when they arrived, he was satisfied with this evening’s work.
The footman folded up the steps and closed the door before raising his hand to give the driver the signal to leave.
Although the carriage barely jerked as it set off, his mother moaned and put her hand to her forehead.
“We’ll have you in bed soon, Mama,” he assured her.
“I really don’t know why you need me in town,” she complained. “Your poor brother is left to his own devices, and you know he cannot bear to be alone for long.”
Yes, he knew. “You don’t have to stay,” he pointed out. “Go to Greenwich in the morning. I can send word if I need you again.”
She opened her eyes, but kept her hand pressing her left temple. Grant doubted she had a headache. That was her usual excuse for leaving anywhere early.
“You are not seriously planning to marry that girl.”
“I am,” he assured her. “What is more, I plan to ask her tomorrow.”
“At least you haven’t done it yet,” she muttered, wincing when the carriage went smoothly around a corner. “The Dersinghams are not suitable people. They live in London all year round, for one thing. They have no idea how to go on in the country, and to ask one of them to become your duchess! What are you thinking of, Blackridge? You cannot be thinking clearly, that is for sure. They lived in Shoreditch. How do you know they aren’t nonconformists? That area is a hotbed of apostates.”
“Even the king likes Quakers,” Grant pointed out, trying to be reasonable. “In any case, the Dersinghams are not Quakers. They preferred town, that is all. Each of the triplets has an interest that was best pursued in London. Except Dorcas,” he added, trying to be fair.
She rolled her head, finding a soft resting place on the padded rest. “She is only lately become an earl’s sister,” his mother continued. For a woman with a bad headache, she was talking a lot. “She’s too old, and she doesn’t have the finesse required for a duke’s wife. Do consider, my dear, before you rush into a rash marriage you are bound to regret.”
Would he regret his decision? No matter, because he had no intention of backing out. “Dorcas is intelligent, funny and elegant. Everything a duke could want. Her brother assures me all the girls had the best education, so she will know how to handle herself.”
“And she’s too old. She must be twenty-seven if she’s a day,” his mother continued.
“Women older than that have come through childbirth well.”
“She might never become enceinte.”
Grant smiled. “I don’t care. I have a brother, and after him, a cousin. The title and estate are
safe.”
“Is that all that matters to you?” Her indignation and the way she glared at him didn’t bode well for her headache. “The estate?”
“It’s all you’ve ever taught me to care for,” he said grimly.
He would marry Dorcas whatever his mother said. If the duchess chose not to set foot inside the estate, that was all to the good, since he couldn’t see her deferring to a new duchess. And his brother could stay where he wished. David would never lack while Grant was alive. More than that he wouldn’t say.
Chapter Two
Trying not to feel nervous wasn’t working, so halfway through the following day, Dorcas gave up waiting for Blackridge and went into the garden. Unfortunately, she was wearing new, fashionable clothing, the cherry red gown with flowers printed in shades of cream and ivory. At least she wasn’t wearing white. She found a clean, practical apron to go on top of the delicate, fashionable lace one and tied her hair up in a linen cap that she could whip off once the butler told her he had come.
The last thing she wanted to do was sit in the parlor sewing a fine seam waiting for her possible future husband. Possible future husband! She wasn’t even entirely sure that was what he meant. He had given every intimation of it, and she could have sworn he meant to propose, but he had not actually said it. The kiss, though…that had kept her awake for hours last night.
Dorcas made herself busy, checking her list for preparations for the summer. Gerald had given her carte blanche in the gardens wherever they lived, and she’d been delighted when she’d seen the one here. Many families leased houses for the season, but Gerald had inherited this one. Leasehold, but the lease would run out when they were all dead. And she could have the garden as she wanted it.
A simple task was required. Dead heading the roses was perfect for her purposes. She found a trug and her clippers, and set about her work.
That occupation had given Dorcas much solace and contentment through the years, but it wasn’t working now. She fumbled with her clippers and nearly dropped them on her foot. Setting them right, she took a few heads off the plants, then nearly dropped them again. Her muttered curse was met with a laugh as a large hand came around her and neatly caught the clippers by the handles.
She gasped and spun around, tangling her skirts around her legs. “I thought…I didn’t hear…”
“No, you didn’t.” Blackridge was smiling, no clouds in his eyes. She’d never seen him so cheerful. His craggy face was clear of trouble, his eyes gleaming.
“Oh!” Reaching up, she pulled the strings of her apron, releasing the bow. Hastily, she dragged it over her head, snagging the tapes of her linen cap and pulling off the simple straw hat she’d forgotten about. Heat flooded her, and her breath shortened. The sight of him always did that to her, in a minor way.
When she’d lain awake in his Greenwich villa, moaning in pain because of the megrims, he’d come to her.
Usually she preferred to be alone, but somehow he’d provided a soothing presence. Very strange, since Dorcas couldn’t even manage with her siblings in the same room.
She’d thought she’d imagined it. Perhaps she had. But the sight of her then had not deterred him from becoming her friend, and perhaps more. If that hadn’t put him off, nothing would.
Blackridge put his hands on her upper arms, steadying her. “Let me help.” He tightened his hold when she would have pulled out of them. “Don’t wriggle.”
To her chagrin, she had to stand still while he untangled her. Apron strings, cap strings, and hat ribbon had become seriously twisted around each other. And she had to undergo his touch, skin to skin as he unwound this and that, and finally pulled everything free.
She’d bent her head by then, so perhaps he had not seen the flush on her cheeks or the way she clenched her fists as she was forced to play the child to his nursemaid.
“I’m sorry,” she said for the umpteenth time.
“I know you are,” he murmured. “You already said that.”
In other words, don’t say it again. But she didn’t know what else to say. Once she was clear of strings and linen, she had to look up. He handed her her hat, but instead of letting her put it on herself, he tied the ribbons on the right side, just under her ear. By then she’d regained some of her sangfroid, which was probably why he’d done it.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m aware I must look like a scarecrow in August, but without your help I would have looked a lot worse.”
He tilted his head, smiled. “Why August?”
“Because that’s just before harvest, and the crows are diving all over the cornfield.”
His smile broadened. “How would you know that? You live in London the year round, do you not?”
“I read.” Not as much as Delphi, but still…she did pick up a book occasionally.
“Of course.” He stroked one finger under her chin. “So soft. You know, since I kissed you last night, I’ve been longing to do it again. May I?”
Well, it was good of him to ask. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, too.”
So he kissed her. And it felt as good as it had in Ranelagh Gardens, with the essence of night-scented flowers around them. Today, with the sweet, heady perfume of roses, it was still as wonderful.
He licked his way into her mouth with finesse. She was hardly aware that he was holding her closer, or that they were standing in view of several windows, though thankfully, not in direct sight. That in and of itself declared his intentions. She relaxed, melted against him and slipped her hands under his coat. The heat of his body warmed her even more than the sun.
When he finished the kiss, she sighed with pleasure, and took her time opening her eyes.
“I take it that’s a yes?”
“To what?” She regained her senses. “You haven’t asked me anything yet.”
He blinked. “Ah yes, I was too eager to get to the kissing part. I should have asked first. My apologies.” But he mitigated his apology by kissing her forehead, and the tip of her nose. “Before we return to the best part of this meeting, I’d better take care of the formalities. Lady Dorcas, would you do me the great honor of marrying me? In short, can you take me for better or worse?”
“If there’s more better than worse.”
Now that she was in his arms, everything seemed possible. Her nerves disappeared, which was definitely a good thing.
“When?”
“I’ll get the special license tomorrow. Actually, couldn’t we leave contracts and agreements to your brother and my man of business? I’ll tell him to agree to anything.”
Her head rested comfortably on the place below his shoulder. She hadn’t met a man as tall as Blackridge before, but she was discovering there were advantages. “We have to do the contracts and such. Would you have wanted me if I were just the sister of the third heir to the earldom and living in Shoreditch?”
“Undoubtedly, if we’d ever met.”
She liked that he hadn’t hesitated to give his reply. “We used to attend society functions once or twice a year. The old earl used to tell us that we needed to know how to ‘go on’, as he’d put it.”
“I cannot understand why you three women weren’t remarked upon before. Triplets are hardly usual.”
“Ah, but we’re not identical, and we took care to develop our own styles. We merely called ourselves sisters, and since our fortune was, as one lady said, ‘adequate’, there was no reason to take notice of us.”
“I’d say there were plenty of reasons,” he murmured. His lips were against her temple. Each word was like a kiss.
She wanted to ask a question, but she dared not, in case this lovely idyll was spoiled. But she thought it.
She’d seen love, the way Damaris and her husband looked at each other when they thought nobody was watching, the way they would hold hands at the opera. Their utter devotion to each other. Dorcas wanted that for herself. But what if it wasn’t there?
Did he love her?
Chapter Three
After a delicious interval in the shadow of a convenient hedge, they went inside to tell her family. Lord and Lady Carbrooke were waiting but pretending they were not. So were the servants. Some had evidently seen at least one of the kisses he’d claimed from Dorcas before he moved her to a less obvious place in the garden.
But he’d wanted that first kiss to be seen, a seal on their forthcoming union. As much a declaration as the no doubt weighty contract they would have to sign. The gossip would be all around London by dinnertime.
Sitting in the drawing room, sipping tea when brandy was what he really wanted, Grant congratulated himself on a job well done. Despite his mother’s animadversions, he had chosen his bride, and he would wed. The restless feeling that had attacked him for most of the season had gone.
Grant liked his life set out neatly. He felt much better when vagaries were changed to certainties, and that was certainly the case now.
However, that sense of satisfaction didn’t completely explain the warm sensation invading his groin, and the stirrings of desire. While he expected to be attracted to his future bride, the intensity of his emotion shocked him.
He had always remained in control of his body but, this time, twice now, he’d been tempted to take his encounters with Dorcas further than he should.
He’d have time to control himself, he consoled himself, even while his erection raged for fulfillment.
Now for the paperwork and the tedious negotiations. They would not take long, because he wanted Dorcas in his bed. Tomorrow.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We may meet to discuss the contract.”
Carbrooke heaved a sigh. “I’ll send word to my lawyer. We should be ready.” He glanced at Dorcas. Grant liked that he referred to his sisters. Dorcas was a grown woman. She would know what she wanted.
“Glasshouses,” she said firmly.
Grant frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“I want glasshouses to cultivate my plants.” Turning in her seat, she addressed him directly. “As long as I have that, and free rein to a section of the garden, then I’ll be happy.”
A Trace of Roses Page 2
