by Meara Platt
Of course, a crowd was beginning to gather by the doors and doing exactly that, for she and Robbie and the foolish dare were all anyone was thinking of tonight. Fortunately, despite everyone’s avid curiosity, no one ventured out to join them on the terrace. “Here,” Robbie said, removing his jacket and wrapping it around her shivering shoulders. “The wind’s howling and you’re too lightly dressed to be standing in the bitter outdoors.”
To her surprise, he kept his arms around her. “Frances, I must ask you a question. An important one, but I’m not certain you’re ready to hear it.”
“What is it, Robbie?”
Frances nodded in encouragement, her beautiful eyes glistening as brightly as the stars shining above. “You can ask anything of me,” she said, smiling softly at him and making him want to kiss her first and talk later. Perhaps just kiss her and not bother with talking at all.
No, talk first.
Months of his refusing to see her or speak to her about the hospital extension is what got them into this mess in the first place.
He tucked several loose curls behind her ear. The persistent wind had caused them to slip from her carefully styled hairdo. “As I mentioned, this is rather important and I need your honest answer.”
She exhaled lightly, forming a vapor halo as her warm breath struck the cold air. “About the dare? What happened when you met with the trustees? Is your position secure? Please tell me that it is! I’d never forgive myself if my meddling ruined your project. Tell me what I need to do to make things right.”
His arms tightened around her. Her slender curves felt so right against him, fit so perfectly with his own hard contours. He loved the way she responded to his touch, the way her body arched toward him as though she wanted to melt into him, as though they belonged together. “First thing you need to do is stop fussing and kiss me.”
Ever so slowly, he bent his head toward hers.
She drew back, her emerald cat eyes wide in confusion. “What?”
He eased away slightly. “Unless you don’t wish to.”
She gasped. “Of course I wish to kiss you. I’ve wanted to … but… why do you want to kiss me?”
Had she been beaten down so badly by everyone’s disapproval that she’d lost all sense of how wonderful she truly was? He was partly to blame for that.
She let out another ragged breath, the light whoosh warm and intimate against his ear. He’d meant to give her a string of reasons why he wished to kiss her, but only one counted. “Because I love you, Frances.”
“You do?” He felt her heart begin to pound wildly against his chest, for he still held her close and was pleased that she had no desire to draw away.
He cast her a seductive smile. “Is that so hard to believe?” He tried to keep his tone light, but he was still fighting to hold back his anger for the ill treatment Frances had received from the men in her life, him included.
She swallowed hard. “Yes. I mean… why? I wished for you, but why would you ever wish for me when you can have any woman you desire? I’ve made your life a misery this past month and—”
He kissed her long and deep, his mouth closing over hers with all the heat and yearning built up inside him from the moment he’d set eyes on her. She responded with wondrous abandon, as he knew she would, for Frances was beautifully expressive and passionate. He wanted this woman, wanted to wrap her in his arms each night and wake each morning to her shimmering smile. “You haven’t, sweetheart. You’ve made it the best month of my life.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “The scariest as well. Those nine days…”
“I know. I’m truly sorry. But you took care of me, made me feel safe and protected.”
“Frances, I want to take care of you for the rest of our days.” He caressed her cheek. “You weren’t the only one who made a wish upon a shooting star that night.”
“I wasn’t? Oh, Robbie! Did you make a wish, too?”
He nodded. “I saw you standing in the moonlight, lost in your dreams as you gazed up at the heavens. I knew then and there I wanted you forever. You were my moonlight girl.” He kissed her again. “There’s no one lovelier than you.”
He saw the gentle curve of her lips as she smiled. “My hair’s a mess,” she said, lifting her gaze to his and blinking as the wind whipped her hair across her cheeks, “and I’m scrawny and bruised. But I’ll mend fast.”
He brushed back the long, loose strands, eager to run his fingers through her silken hair. He’d imagined running his hands through that lush mane of deep, fiery red so many times, imagined fanning it out across his pillow as he carried Frances to his bed and settled his body over hers. “I was angry when I learned you were meant for Charlie, but I have only myself to blame. You were in my heart from the moment I set eyes on you, a deep, yearning ache that could never be quelled. I should have met you sooner. I should have been the MacConnell to court you, but I was too arrogant to meet with you when you came knocking at my door. Because of my pride and disdainful actions, I feared I’d lost you forever.”
She smiled. “Good thing for both of us that Charlie had the good sense to fall in love with Meredith.”
His expression turned serious. “Charlie came to see me right after he left you and Vi today. He thought it important to give me his blessing.”
Her eyes began to sting with tears, but she blamed it on the harsh wind. “I’m glad he did. So glad. I wished for true love that night we met. I thought I was wishing to fall in love with Charlie, but it was to you my heart called out. It was your kiss I craved and you I saw in my dreams each night.”
“Marry me, Frances. Will you?”
She melted into his embrace. “Lord Digby will fall into spasms. I’ll accept if only to see the look on his wretched face.” They both laughed at the notion, and when they stopped, Frances cupped her hand against the rugged contours of his jaw. “I gladly accept your offer, Robbie. There’s no one else for me but you. I love you.”
Their noses were cold from the biting wind, but their bodies were warm as they held each other close.
“Shall we go in now, sweetheart?”
She handed him back his jacket and nodded.
He kissed her deeply once more and then placed her hand on his forearm to lead her indoors to the Duke of Edinburgh. “He’s no fool, Frances. The trustees have been whispering in his ear all month long, but he’s ignored them. I met with him yesterday. That’s why I couldn’t stop by to see you afterward. We spent the day discussing you.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You did?”
He nodded. “Whatever his decision, I want you to know that your thoughts are important to me. You might not be permitted to express them in a boardroom, but you’ll have my complete attention at the breakfast table.”
“And not in the bedchamber?” Her eyes widened. “Robbie, are we to have separate bedchambers?”
He frowned. “Do you wish it?”
“No, I want to be with you.” She nibbled her lip. “But will I not be permitted to discuss matters while we’re in bed together?”
He shook his head and chuckled. “My love, you may talk at me all you wish, but in bed my thoughts will be on your luscious body and not on the ills of the world.”
“Fair enough.” She cast him a wicked grin. “I look forward to discovering the joys of your body as well. Some of Vi’s tawdry novels were quite explicit.” She blushed. “I’m not sure I believe most of what was described. I can’t wait to find out.”
He wanted to turn from Frances and her soft stare because he was in danger of kissing her again in front of the hundreds of guests already gaping at them. Bollocks. Who cares? She would be his wife soon, no tiresome etiquette and extended plans for a grand wedding.
The guests continued to gawk at them, but he paid them no attention—not even a little—for he was too caught up in admiring Frances. Her beautiful smile and trusting eyes made him soar with pride.
A fanfare introduced the Duke of Edinburgh, who immediately summoned Robb
ie and Frances forward. “This dare,” he intoned with regal authority, “is now at an end. It is up to me to declare the winner.” He paused to scan the hushed crowd. “I am told that Miss Cameron failed to report to the clinic these last two days.”
The men broke into cheers.
“But,” the duke continued, raising his hands to quiet the men, “I have also been told by the Duke of Kintyre that she worked at the clinic on two Sundays when she ought to have been home with her family.”
The women began to cheer.
Frances glanced at him in surprise, for those two Sundays were days she’d been quietly placed in quarantine in his office bedchamber. “You worked. They counted,” he whispered in her ear. “You earned it, Frances.”
I love you, Robbie.
“So do these two wrongs erase each other?” The Duke of Edinburgh paused again to gaze across the anxious crowd before returning his attention to the two of them standing before him. “Miss Cameron,” he said with a broadening grin, “you’ve won the dare.”
Feminine cheers erupted and mingled with deeper groans from the men who’d lost not only the dare, but their hefty wagers.
An angry Lord Digby and incensed Lord Pertwee approached.
“Those clots again,” Robbie muttered. “Time to shut them up for good.” In the next moment, he held up his hand to quiet the crowd. “As chairman of the board of the Edinburgh Royal Hospital, I wish to formally introduce you to our newest trustee, Miss Frances Cameron. Welcome to the board, Miss Cameron.” That said, he swept her into his arms and held her tight against his big body as he kissed her in front of hundreds of gathered guests.
The Duke of Edinburgh roared with laughter. “Is this how you welcome all your new trustees?”
“Only those I intend to marry.” He kissed Frances again as a collective gasp rang out and then cheers and clapping resounded through the ballroom. “I love you, moonlight girl.”
“My parents are vastly relieved. I’ll be your problem now.” She laughed and kissed him back with equal abandon. “But you can stop now, Robbie. Those horrid toads, Digby and Pertwee, have crawled back into their hidey-holes.”
“Hell, no. I’m not nearly done kissing you.”
“Oh, dear.” There was no avoiding scandal with Robbie.
There was no avoiding marriage after that smoldering kiss, but Frances had no complaints. I dared a duke. I made a wish upon a shooting star. I found true love.
Not bad for a month’s work.
THE END
IF YOU
Kissed Me
MEARA PLATT
CHAPTER 1
Mayfair District, London
Late March 1819
“OH, DEAR!” LADY Evangeline Cameron exclaimed, slipping on a patch of dark ice as she stepped out from Madame de Bressard’s fashionable ladies shop to await her grandfather’s ducal carriage. She dropped her packages and flailed her arms in a desperate attempt to keep from falling, but was spared the indignity of a most unpleasant landing when a gentleman suddenly caught her by the waist and drew her firmly against his surprisingly solid chest.
A nice chest.
“Lady Evie, are you all right?” The gentleman’s softly spoken question felt like a caress against her ear. She tried to respond, but her heart was still pounding and she hadn’t yet caught her breath.
Gazing up, she peered into the splendid blue eyes of George Farthingale. To be precise, Dr. George Farthingale, a Cameron family friend, and one of the handsomest men she’d ever set eyes upon. Calming herself was impossible now, for her heart always quickened whenever he was near.
He was blessedly more than near just now. Her entire body was up against his, every organ cheering her good fortune and responding in most embarrassing ways. Her hands, seeming to have a mind of their own, were clinging to his shoulders with no intention of ever letting go.
She would have to let go eventually. Soon. Not just yet. She needed another moment to regain her composure, what little of it was left. George Farthingale had the ability to leave her quietly panting like her cousin’s overly friendly lump of a dog, Jasper.
Oh, dear. Does he know? Can he tell?
She took a deep breath and caught the scent of sandalwood on his neck. Being thrown against him was a happy circumstance, but wanting to stay there for the rest of the afternoon and brazenly nuzzle his throat… Well, that was only possible in her dreams. “Indeed. Yes, I tripped. That’s all. Good afternoon, Dr. Farthingale,” she said, hiding her disappointment when he released her and took a step back. “How fortunate you were here to save me. I ought to have been paying closer attention to where I was walking, but one of the packages was about to fall from my arms and…”
She prattled on in a stream of meaningless drivel while carriages clattered past them on the busy street and passersby cast her odd looks. Although she was the granddaughter of the powerful and respected Duke of Lotheil, she’d never quite developed the air of cool refinement that would mark her as one of the Upper Crust. Sadly, no. She was quite the opposite of distant and haughty, as evidenced by her cheeks, which were a hot, pink blush as she continued to chatter and gawk at him.
Dr. Farthingale, always a man of few words, merely regarded her with amusement. Stop talking! Don’t make a complete ninny of yourself! But there was something about the mix of his dark brown hair, deep blue eyes, and handsomely curved lips that disconcerted her and turned her into a babbling brook.
He’d always had the power to melt her insides. Indeed, they were melting now, turning into a puddle of warm pudding. Not just any pudding, either. Chocolate pudding, which was the best kind of pudding.
“My packages,” she mumbled, stifling a sigh as she bent to retrieve them, and doing rather a poor job of picking them up, for Dr. Farthingale had knelt beside her to help. Their hands grazed as they reached for the same bundle.
She hastily drew hers back with an apology, wishing she were the sort of girl who could allow her hand to linger upon his, or look him boldly in the eyes and convey, I’m yours, take me. “Thank you, doctor. But I fear I’ve delayed you long enough. I’ll manage them on my own. Truly. My maid will be along at any moment. She’s waiting for Madame de Bressard to finish wrapping the last of my purchases.”
She turned back to the shop and prayed for the old harridan to come marching out so they could be on their way. Of course, since her grandfather’s carriage had yet to arrive, they weren’t on their way to anywhere just yet.
What was taking Hannah so long?
Several snowflakes dropped on Evie’s nose as she stared at the shop door wishing it to open. Grinning, Dr. Farthingale casually touched a finger to her nose to dust off the flakes. “Seems she’s smarter than both of us. She’s warm inside while we’re out here shivering in the cold.”
Evie laughed softly. “I do hope this is the last snow of winter. The season will be upon us before we know it and I’d rather not have to cover up the pretty gowns Madame de Bressard has just designed for me. I’m ever hopeful that the sun will burst out someday soon and warm the cobblestone walks.”
“I’ll miss very little about this winter,” he agreed, glancing across the street and fixing his gaze on a short, squat vendor standing on the corner. The scent of roasted chestnuts wafted toward Evie from the vendor’s cart, enticing her senses. “I will miss those chestnuts, however,” he murmured. “They’re my favorite vice.”
She took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mine too, though I’d hardly call loving them a vice.” Especially since the man had no vices or flaws of any kind. No, he was perfect.
“Would you care for—?”
“I’m sure you have far more important matters to attend to this afternoon. You needn’t concern yourself with me.” She glanced up the street. Where is Grandfather’s carriage? “Despite appearances, I can walk and carry packages at the same time. I promise to be more careful. One almost-dive onto the ground is my limit for the day.”
He rose along with her and laughed.
“You’re absolutely right,” he said with a teasing roll of his eyes. “I cannot think of a more onerous or displeasing duty than to spend the afternoon with a charming and beautiful young lady. I’d far prefer to look in on Lord Walsey and his gout-inflamed foot.”
Her heart began to flutter again. He’s a friend. Only a friend.
Evie’s maid chose that moment to exit the shop, shuffling out with a sullen look upon her face. She took one glance at Evie’s smile and frowned. “Nothing to be cheerful about, my lady. The weather’s bound to remain cold for another month, and I’m sure we’ll all catch the ague. How can we not, with the dampness and the air so black with soot? ’Tis a wonder any of us are still alive. If it weren’t for the good Dr. Farthingale here, you would have lost your poor old grandfather last month.”
The cold air pricked against Evie’s cheeks, no doubt leaving a pink blush on them even as she paled. “The marquis and I are most grateful to Dr. Farthingale,” she said, referring to her brother, Desmond, made Marquis of Blackfell only last month and now in line to inherit the Duke of Lotheil’s title upon their grandfather’s passing.
Evie meant it sincerely, for having finally reconciled with the old man, neither she nor her brother was in any hurry to lose him. In truth, she had mourned the loss of too many loved ones ever to value wealth above happiness.
“Lady Harrow’s ball is tonight.” She offered the remark in a desperate attempt to change the topic of conversation, for she preferred to think of spring and warmth and parties, not sickbeds and funeral arrangements. The only bright spot in these past few months had been Dr. Farthingale. He’d come around Lotheil Court quite often, sometimes twice a day, to care for her grandfather, and she missed his presence now that his services were no longer required.
She missed him as a friend, of course. Nothing would ever come of their acquaintance, for he was a commoner, although quite intelligent and distinguished. He was also a man of the world, for he’d served as a battlefield doctor in the many wars and conflagrations that flared across the vast British empire. He’d been married and lost his wife to illness. He had lived a full life, and she had lived most of her twenty-three years under her grandfather’s thumb.
