by Meara Platt
She doubted he’d gone in to read a book in the middle of this party. Gerald was not particularly introspective and enjoyed being the center of attention.
Sighing, she decided not to overthink the matter. Knocking lightly, she waited to the count of three and walked in. “Gerald, I–”
She blinked taking a moment to understand what she was looking at. Gerald was up against the shelves, his body pressed against Lady Alexandra, his pants down about his ankles, and her gown pushed up around her waist. “I...” The breath rushed out of her. Her madly pounding heart shot into her throat.
She felt ill.
The pair scrambled to put themselves in order. “Bloody hell,” Gerald muttered with a snarl.
She turned to run out and slammed straight into Ronan’s solid chest. He caught her before she could bounce off him and tumble backward. “What’s going on here?”
Of course, being no dullard, he quickly realized what had just occurred. He curled his hands into fists at his sides. “I’m going to hit him.”
“Don’t you dare!” Dahlia tipped her chin up in the air. “I will handle this.”
Ronan eyed her dubiously. “You are out of your depth here. Let me–”
“No.” She stepped in front of him. “Captain Brayden, I will not have you interfering.”
He clenched his jaw, obviously wanting to take charge of the situation. After a moment, he gave a curt nod. “But I’m not leaving.”
“Dahlia has only herself to blame for this.” Gerald immediately went on the offensive, which might have been more effective had he not been doing up the last buttons on his trousers as he feigned outrage.
What gall!
Ronan growled.
She cast him a warning glance.
But Gerald seemed to have a death wish, for he would not keep his mouth shut. “Her conduct these past few months has been unbecoming of a lady, and I will no longer tolerate it.”
“Mine? Are you jesting?” she sputtered. “Don’t be ridiculous. That Queen Pea silliness is a harmless holiday tradition. Over and done with now. Is this all you wish to say to me after all the years of our acquaintance?”
“No, there is one more thing.” He cast her an imperious look, seeming not to care that they were now starting to draw a crowd. More importantly, he seemed not to notice that Ronan had gone deathly still. But she had and was now worried about it. Ronan was not patiently listening to Gerald. He was an uncaged beast about to pounce on him and rip out his throat.
Ronan’s simmering rage was a palpable thing. She could feel his tension in the sudden crackle to the air. Oh, dear. Could she hold him back if he decided to take matters into his own hands? She did not think so.
His jaw was still clenched, and now his hands were curled into fists. It did not escape her notice that when fisted, they were the size of boulders.
“I had hoped your coming to London would give you some polish,” Gerald continued, his manner snide and condescending, “but I realize this will never happen. You will never be elegant or sophisticated. My parents warned me that you would prove an endless source of embarrassment. I see now they were right. I wish you well, Dahlia. But do not expect me ever to call on you again.”
Dahlia felt like a fool as more guests began to gather in the hall and were now elbowing each other out of the way to peer into the library and watch the bloodbath going on. Her blood. And Gerald was thoroughly dunking her in that bath.
Ronan turned to the onlookers and cast them a warning glance. He was not going to let any of them in.
As for her, she stood there gaping like a fool, too stunned to respond.
Perhaps she ought to have allowed Ronan to handle the situation. She was just standing there like an idiot and taking Gerald’s verbal barbs. She wanted to say something tremendously clever and cutting, but words failed her.
Gerald could have taken her aside privately to say this. But it seemed his pettiness knew no bounds. He was the one in the wrong. He’d been caught with another woman and was now insulting her in front of her entire family just to be hurtful.
Ronan placed his hand to the small of her back and wordlessly drew her behind him.
He strode toward Gerald. “Wainscott...” He smashed his fist into Gerald’s face, then strode back to her side. “Sorry, Dahlia. I had to do it.”
She groaned. “No, you didn’t.”
What had Ronan accomplished other than to make himself feel better? It wasn’t helping her to see Gerald on his knees in the middle of the library with blood gushing from his nose. She drew out her handkerchief and handed it to him, not that she cared a whit for this man who had done nothing but belittle her since she’d arrived in London.
However, she did not want him dripping blood on the beautiful carpet she had helped pick out not two months ago.
Lady Alexandra rushed over and knelt by his side. “My darling!”
Her darling?
Could this get any worse?
Ronan’s hand was at her waist again.
Comforting.
Protective.
“Miss Farthingale,” Lady Alexandra said, “this is most awkward, but you may as well know the rest of it. There’s no point in keeping it quiet now that we’ve been caught in this compromising situation. Lord Wainscott and I have been secretly betrothed for a month now. Unofficially, that is. We dared not make the official announcement before the betrothal contract was signed, which it was yesterday.”
Her words were like a punch to Dahlia’s face. “What?”
“I’m so sorry. I did not think it was fair to keep it from you. But Lord Wainscott insisted. You must realize he was never yours. He never considered marrying you. But I do apologize it had to come out this way. Come, Gerald. Father and I will take you home now.”
Dahlia moved aside to allow Alexandra’s father in. At the same time, she took Ronan’s hand and drew him aside, purposely keeping her fingers entwined in his until Gerald and the Mintons quit the room. She did not want him doing anything else to the oaf while he was in a seething rage.
Let him think she was a meek flower in need of his support.
It was not very far off the mark.
She had never seen a man look as angry as Ronan looked now. His eyes were ablaze, and if he were a tea kettle, he would have had steam pouring from his ears. “Bollocks,” he said with a heartfelt groan, pity for her situation etched in his handsome features. “I’m so sorry, Dahlia. I did not see that one coming.”
“Nor did I.” She shoved her way through the crowd and ran from the room in tears.
CHAPTER TWO
Ronan found Dahlia sobbing on the bed in one of the upstairs guest bedchambers.
Her sisters, Holly and Heather, had run up with him, as had a flurry of her cousins, but he shooed the cousins away. “Give her a moment to herself. Holly, this is your party. You ought to return to your guests. Heather and I will look after her.” Of course, he was going to stay beside Dahlia because...well, because he was her King Bean and she was his Queen Pea, and therefore, he was responsible for her.
As everyone dutifully filed downstairs, he and Heather strode in and shut the door behind them. Heather rushed to her sister’s side. “I’m so sorry Gerald hurt you, Dahlia.”
Dahlia responded by sobbing louder.
Now Heather looked ready to burst into tears herself. The sisters were close, not only in age but in their affection for each other. If one was hurting, then the other would hurt, too.
Ronan ran a hand through his hair, uncertain what to do or say.
These girls were both so young and innocent. Dahlia was not quite twenty years old. Heather had just turned eighteen.
Wainscott’s betrayal had been a devastating blow.
Bollocks.
He knew how to handle a French army firing artillery at him, but he had never had to console two crying women before. He was lost. Still, he had to say something. Didn’t he? “Not all men are like him, Dahlia. You’ll understand when the right one com
es along.”
“Go away, Ronan. Why did you have to hit him? It only made matters worse.”
He did not see how that was possible.
Sighing, he drew up a chair beside the bed and sank onto it. “You must understand. I could not let him get away with speaking to you that way. He meant to humiliate you in front of your friends and family. That was a low thing to do even for a snake. Lady Alexandra ought to have been appalled by his behavior.”
“Why? I am nobody to her. I will never be in her elevated circle.”
“Your connections in society are just as good as hers, perhaps better. How many of your cousins have married dukes, earls, viscounts, barons? And what of my family? We have three earls among us, including my own brother, Tynan. Also my two cousins, Marcus and James. Westcliff, Kinross, and Exmoor, respectively.”
“But I am no relation to you.”
“Your sister is married to my brother. That is close enough.”
She sniffled. “He made me feel so awful.”
“I know.” He took out his handkerchief and handed it to her. “Dry your eyes, Queen Pea. He isn’t worth another moment of your anguish.”
“Ugh! Don’t call me that. This stupid Twelfth Night cake is what started this mess.”
He cleared his throat. “Wainscott started this mess months ago. Now that he’s secured an earl’s daughter, he was looking for any excuse to pick a fight with you and cut ties.”
She looked up at him, her nose pink and tears streaming down her face. “He could have just told me.”
Heather nodded. “He should have. Why did he lie to Dahlia?”
Ronan ran a hand across the nape of his neck, still feeling the discomfort of the situation. “I don’t know. Perhaps he meant to return to Dahlia if things did not work out with Lady Alexandra. But now, with the ink drying on his betrothal contract, he may have felt the need to cut ties fast. I think his aim was to provoke a fight and have you appear as the villain when you began to shout at him and cause a scene.”
Heather looked confused. “Dahlia would never do such a thing.”
“I know, but obviously, Gerald did not realize it. In his dim mind, he thought he had to make Dahlia out to be unreasonable or deluded because if she came forward and claimed he had made promises to her, it would have put his betrothal to Lady Alexandra in jeopardy. He needed to discredit Dahlia before Lady Alexandra’s father publicly announced their betrothal.”
Heather finally caught on. “Because if Dahlia sounded logical and reasonable, then everyone would know Gerald had been a disreputable snake, and it would have made him look bad.”
“And given Balliwick a reason to rescind the betrothal.”
Dahlia sat up and regarded him, her eyes so sad and filled with pain. “So he had to humiliate me?”
“It was stupidly done. A big blunder on his part. But he’s pompous, thoughtless, and a coward. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking.”
Heather, who was seated on the bed beside Dahlia and hugging her, shook her head in confusion. “He did not appear to be thinking at all. How did the dreadful scene he caused help him in any way?”
“It didn’t. But he came here with a plan in mind and was not quick-witted enough to change it after Dahlia unexpectedly walked into the library and...um, caught him in the act.” He cleared his throat, unable to state aloud what Wainscott and Alexandra had been doing. Not that he needed to explain it to Dahlia.
She’d gotten an eyeful.
Dahlia heaved a sigh. “You said Lady Alexandra was a ninny. It seems she was the clever one in all this.”
Ronan rolled his eyes. “She is a ninny. The last thing Wainscott wanted was for her to announce to one and all that he’d been secretly courting her for months. All his scheming blew up in his face. No matter what he says or does now, everyone will know he was the conniving weasel, and you were the–”
“What was I? The spurned fool? The clueless rustic?” She dried her tears and cast him a look of resolve. “Well, not anymore. I’ve had my cry, and I am determined never to shed another tear over him again.”
Ronan did not believe her for a moment. She had an expressive face that revealed all, and she was obviously still in pain. Her lips were trembling, and her chin began to wobble. Bollocks. She was going to burst into tears again.
He did not know what to do.
She looked so hurt and vulnerable.
He reached out and gently stroked her hair. What he truly wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and kiss her brow, tell her she was worth a thousand Lady Alexandras. But Heather was with them and might get the wrong impression. So he did nothing but remain by Dahlia’s side and continue to stroke her hair.
“I’m done with men. I will not attend any balls or elegant supper parties,” Dahlia declared a moment later. “No more musicales or teas for me. I’m going to hide up in my room for the next ten years.”
“Oh, Dahlia. You can’t!” Her sister was once again distressed and absorbing all her hurt. The two of them were sniffling and threatening to turn once more into watering pots.
He was not prepared for this.
He was going to send Heather out of the room on a made-up errand if she burst into tears.
Perhaps he would have managed them better if he’d ever had sisters. But he was the youngest of four brothers. And youngest of the eight male cousins the family had affectionately dubbed as the wildebeests because they had been wild as beasts when growing up.
Wildebeests did not cry.
They were big and brawny and one step above jungle animals when it came to grabbing their share at mealtimes. They did not hesitate to protect their territory from interlopers, even if it meant getting bloodied from time to time. And if one of them was in trouble, the others would band together to help him out.
He would do the same for Dahlia.
How could he not protect this gentle doe?
He took her hand in his, relieved when she did not attempt to draw it away. “If you hide away, then that codswallop wins. Will you allow him the victory? No, you won’t,” he answered for her immediately because he was not certain how she would reply. “First of all, your sisters will not let you. Holly gave you The Book of Love for a reason. You were meant to have it for the purpose of finding love, and this is what you are going to do. Where is it now? What have you done with it?”
“It’s on my night table. I was going to read it tonight, but I haven’t the heart for it now.” She sniffled as she turned toward her sister. “Why don’t you take it, Heather?”
“Heather doesn’t need it yet.” Ronan knew he was interfering, but he’d be damned if he would let this innocent girl ruin her life over that undeserving wretch. He tossed a glance at Dahlia’s sister, silently warning her not to contradict him. “Seems to me, this is precisely the reason why you must read it. You cannot let that bounder continue to control your life. You came here to find yourself a husband, so this is what you must do.”
“Who will have me now? I am a laughingstock.”
He growled. “You are not. Don’t ever call yourself that.”
“And was Gerald so wrong in telling me that I will never fit in among the cream of society? Look at me. I’m no typical English rose. You must admit my looks are...I don’t even know how to describe myself. My hair’s an unruly mess.”
She put her hands to her hair and began to take out the last of the pins holding the upswept twist in place. Most of the pins had already fallen out since she’d been burrowing her head under the pillows and that fashionable twist no longer looked recognizable. “And how would you describe its color? Have you ever seen anyone with hair like this?”
Blessed saints.
No, he hadn’t. He’d never seen a lovelier mane on a lass. Her hair was a splendid dark red with hints of brown and gold.
His fingers began to itch.
He wanted to bury his fingers in the long, silky strands and–
What was wrong with him?
“My eyes, t
oo.” She wiped away the last of her tears and opened her eyes wide while leaning closer to him. “What color would you say they were? You can’t tell, can you? It is as though an artist tripped and splashed his paints everywhere on them.”
They were a stunning mix of green and blue with an outer ring of violet, and flecks of gold tossed in for good measure.
“And,” she said with a groan, collapsing back against the pillows, “I have freckles on my nose.”
“Heavens! What a disaster,” he teased, wanting to laugh at her utter innocence. But she was too fragile still and would not take kindly to his attempt to coax her out of her misery. The few freckles she had were adorable and endearing, as was everything else about her. This was why she would never meet the ton standards of beauty.
Nor could she carry off that proud, disdainful look so many considered sophisticated. There was nothing cold or haughty about Dahlia.
Quite the opposite, she was vibrant and compassionate. She would never come across as anything but charming.
No, she wasn’t a ton beauty.
She was something far better. “Don’t forget your dimples.”
“What?” She sat up again looking kittenish and pouty with her hair in a tumble, and her slightly too wide mouth turned down at the corners.
She had no idea how incredibly beautiful she looked.
He ran a finger lightly along her cheek. “You have dimples in your cheeks when you smile.”
Heather nodded. “It’s true, Dahlia. You do.”
“Then I won’t ever smile again,” she said with a huff.
Ronan arched his eyebrow. “Fine. Whatever you do, don’t–”
She broke into a smile because she knew this is how he always teased her. Sweeter still, she laughed and shook her head. “You are a wicked fiend! I am not through wallowing in my misery, and you are determined to have me see the folly in it. Thank you, Ronan,” she said softly, emitting a ragged breath. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you for your kindness.”
“It isn’t necessary.”
“Please, let me do something to acknowledge my appreciation. I was so out of my depth when confronting Gerald. He was eating me alive and would have utterly destroyed me if you hadn’t been there to protect me. I won’t take no for an answer.”
