by Deborah Hale
Before he could find a way to back down gracefully, Laura provided him with the diversion he needed. “Besides, money is only one of the reasons my family has stayed on at Hawkesbourne, and not the most pressing, either.”
Ford cocked one eyebrow. “What is the most pressing reason, pray?”
“Mama’s health, of course. She has been bedridden for the past few years. Her doctor warned me that a move of any distance could do her great harm.”
Ford did not doubt that, for he had seen the truth with his own eyes. Though Mrs Penrose had put on a brave show, he could tell her time was running out. “I am sorry to hear it.”
“Then you will let us stay?” For the first time since his return, a genuine smile lit Laura’s face.
Its luminous magic bewitched Ford. For a wondrous instant, he relived a golden moment from his past, when he had stood on this very spot preparing to propose to his beloved Laura.
The beginning of a bemused smile was all the encouragement she needed to continue. “We take up very little room. I promise we will stay out of your way and not be any trouble. In such a large house, you need hardly know we are there.”
Her eager rush of words shattered the spell that bound him. Heartbreak, betrayal and bitterness stung him again like a swarm of angry wasps, their venom all the more potent for the fleeting reminder of what he’d lost. Though he could never get that back again, he would get something to compensate him.
“I should like to assist your family, of course.” He steeled himself against Laura’s dangerously convincing look of gratitude. “Though, for the sake of propriety, if I am to provide you with a home, I must insist upon doing it as…your husband.”
He watched her face with greedy relish as his words sank in. Her eyes grew wide and her lips fell open in a faint gasp that brought him an almost sensual thrill of satisfaction.
“H-husband?” she repeated as if the notion never would have occurred to her in a hundred years.
Once the idea sank in, Ford was certain she would seize this opportunity, pretending to accept only for the sake of her family. No doubt that was how she had justified her marriage to Cyrus—the little hypocrite!
“Does it not make admirable sense?” He took care to contain his eagerness in case it might make her suspicious. “We were once betrothed, but you required a husband of greater fortune to provide for your family. Now I am in a position to assist them and you are free to remarry. Shall we make a match of it at last?”
Laura flinched, as if from a sudden blow. It surprised and vexed Ford that her dismay brought him so little pleasure.
What surprised him more was her guarded response to his proposal. “Why should you want to marry me if you do not love me? You don’t, do you?”
If she had drawn a loaded pistol and held it to his head, Ford could not have felt more threatened than by that one simple question.
Of course Ford did not love her! What on earth had made her ask such a daft, pathetic question?
It must be the place, Laura decided as she awaited his answer. The soft rustle of a breeze through the beech leaves, the melodic trill of birdsong, the woodsy fragrance of bluebells all revived long-buried memories and threatened to thaw long-frozen feelings. Ford had not forgotten the significance of the bluebell wood. He had brought her here on purpose to propose once again. But why?
“Love? I am quite cured of such nonsense, as I’m sure you must be.” His scathing tone reminded Laura so much of his cousin’s, it made her bilious. “That is precisely why we should marry. Neither of us is blinded by bothersome romantic delusions. You need a home for your family and I would like an heir to keep Hawkesbourne in mine. Would I not be wise to wed a practical woman who knows better than to seek other things from me that I cannot give?”
His question sent a clammy chill through Laura. Five years of loveless marriage to a domineering husband had been more than enough to last her a lifetime. But an even more urgent fear seized her by the throat and squeezed.
“An heir?” she whispered. Hard as she strove to keep her composure, her lower lip trembled.
“Naturally.” Ford’s predatory gaze fixed on her lips. “What our marriage may lack in the warmth of love, I trust it will make up in the heat of physical desire.”
He leaned toward her, as he had in the drawing room on the day of his return. This time Laura tried to retreat, only to stumble over a tree root. As she fell backward, Ford seized her, pulling her toward him. His lips bore down on hers and took possession of them, igniting a volatile brew of passion and panic within her.
How many nights of her marriage had begun with a kiss only to end in curses and blows? Those memories haunted her, as she feared they always would whenever a man tried to kiss or touch her. And yet, Ford’s overwhelming desire kindled an unwelcome spark of arousal within her. Pulses of wicked heat coursed through her flesh, searing fiercest in her breasts and loins. Her husband’s attentions had never provoked such sensations. If they had, perhaps her marriage would not have been such a wretched failure.
What dismayed Laura even more was that she’d never had such a wanton reaction to the tender kisses she’d shared with Ford during their long-ago betrothal. How could her traitorous body now burn for a man who so contemptuously proclaimed he cared nothing for her?
Ford’s body sizzled with raw lust.
He hadn’t meant to claim a kiss from Laura before she accepted his proposal. But when she’d backed away, he could no more resist the temptation to follow her than a questing hound could ignore the scent of a vixen.
He could tell his mention of an heir had shaken her poised detachment. Her tremulous whisper when she’d echoed his words, the ripe color that had flamed in her cheeks and the provocative parting of her lips had aroused him beyond prudence and far beyond propriety. When he caught her in his arms to keep her from falling, primal urges overwhelmed his reason.
The dewy fullness of her lips yielded beneath his fervid kiss. His tongue sought to plunder her soft mouth of all its sweet secrets. There had been an element of desire in the feelings he’d had for Laura once upon a time, but nothing so hot and reckless as the hunger that now possessed him.
The sound of approaching footsteps and voices jolted him back to his senses. He released his hold on Laura, but not soon enough. A gasp and a giggle told him her sisters had seen them.
“Don’t stop on our account!” Susannah sounded delighted to catch her sister in such a compromising situation. “I was just telling Binny how much more interesting life has become at Hawkesbourne since Ford got home.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sukie.” Belinda’s quavering voice belied her words. “Ford and Laura must have come to pick a nosegay of bluebells for Mama.”
Ford bit back a burst of derisive laughter. So Belinda meant to protect her sister’s reputation by pretending not to have seen them kissing? He was not about to let Laura off so easily. “As admirable an endeavour as that would be, I must own I had more selfish intentions in bringing your sister here. I have just asked her to marry me.”
He ventured a glance at Laura to find her glaring at him. Was it the kiss she resented or the fact that he’d informed her sisters of his proposal? Both, perhaps. And yet, he was certain she’d responded to his kiss.
He had no time to ponder that riddle for Laura’s sisters let out piercing squeals of joy and flew toward them.
“Proposed?” Belinda threw her arms around Laura’s shoulders. “How romantic!”
“Congratulations!” Susannah seized Ford’s hand and shook it vigorously. “No wonder you made such a success in the Indies. You don’t waste any time going after what you want. I so admire a decisive man.”
“Save your congratulations.” Laura’s voice slashed through her sisters’hearty good wishes. “His lordship may have proposed, but I have not yet given him my answer.”
Susannah refused to be cowed by her sister’s stern tone. “Not in words, perhaps. But I saw what you were doing just now,
even if Binny pretends to be blind. Are widows permitted to accept passionate kisses from gentlemen they don’t mean to wed, without losing their reputations?”
The audacity of her sister’s charge seemed to strike Laura dumb. Her lips parted in the very way that had compelled Ford to take liberties with her a few moments before. They were even more tempting now—infused with deeper color and slightly swollen from the intensity of his kiss. If her sisters had not been present, Ford might have seized her in his arms again to take up where he’d left off.
“Of course Laura means to accept him!” Belinda grabbed her sister by the hand and pulled her back down the path. “But you mustn’t spoil it by speaking for her.” She called to Ford and Laura, “Forgive us for interrupting. We didn’t mean to, truly.”
As Ford spun about to confront Laura, she rushed past him after her sisters.
Caught off guard, he barely had wit enough to seize her wrist. “Hold on a moment. You did not answer my question. Will you marry me?”
It was a far cry from his first proposal to her, all those years ago. He’s held her hands gently in his then, and looked deep into her eyes, sealing their pledge with a soft kiss once she accepted. How could he ever have been so blindly trusting and hopeful?
“You gave me no opportunity to answer.” Laura tried to wrench her arm away, but Ford held fast. “Your proposal was quite unexpected. I need time to think it over.”
Time to seek dear Crawford’s advice, hoping he might make her a better matrimonial bargain?
“I will give you one day to weigh the advantages of my offer,” said Ford. “Now that I have returned to England, I am anxious to settle my affairs and get on with my life.”
“Very well then.” She shook off his hand and retreated out of reach. “Tomorrow you shall have my answer.”
One day to weigh the advantages of his offer? Laura spun away from Ford and fled down the wooded path after her sisters. That would not take one hour.
By marrying him, she would secure a home for her family. Her mother would be well cared for in the comfort of familiar surroundings. Belinda could remain near Sidney Crawford, giving him time to work up the nerve to court her. Susannah would be able to go about in local society and mix with gentlemen of good family.
But how long would her mother live? A year, perhaps two. And her sisters? Laura doubted it would take much longer for them to be happily settled. Meanwhile she would face many more years of unhappy wedlock to pay for their temporary comfort.
The girls looked surprised when Laura caught up with them.
Susannah broke into an impish grin. “You made quick work of accepting Ford. And you were so certain proposing would be the last thing on his mind. I knew better, though.”
“I haven’t accepted.” Laura gasped for breath. “I only asked for time to decide. Until then, I want neither of you breathing a word of this to Mama.”
“Why wait if you mean to say yes?” demanded Susannah, who seldom gave her own actions much fore-thought. “You’d better not take too long or some other lady may snap him up. I’m sure either of Lord Bramber’s sisters would have him before you could bat an eye.”
Despite all her confused, often hostile, feelings about Ford, a bewildering qualm of distress gripped Laura at the thought of him married to someone else.
“It was because we interrupted you, wasn’t it?” Belinda reached for Laura’s hand and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “We spoiled the magical moment, so you want to recapture it later in private. How romantic that Ford proposed to you so soon. He’s probably been yearning for you these past seven years. The moment he heard you were free, he flew to reclaim his first and only love!”
Her sister’s cloying flight of fancy made Laura’s gorge rise. She knew better than to indulge in such starry-eyed delusions about Ford’s proposal. Not only did he no longer love her, if he ever had, the man now proclaimed love an absurdity he was incapable of feeling for any woman.
“Don’t talk such nonsense, Binny.” What she meant to be an impatient demand came out sounding more like a desperate plea. “This isn’t a fairy story and seven years is a very long time. A great deal has happened to both of us since we parted. We have changed and our feelings have changed—it is only natural.”
Susannah scowled. “Ford’s feelings cannot have changed a great deal if he still wants to marry you. Whatever your feelings, he’s a vast improvement over your first husband. I think you’d be a fool to turn him down.”
Before Laura could box her ears for her impertinence, Susannah flounced off toward the house.
“I do not care what you think!” Laura cried after her. “After this, kindly keep your opinions on the subject to yourself!”
“Don’t mind her.” Belinda’s arms stole around Laura from behind. “She was too young to understand why you married Lord Kingsfold. I’m sorry if what I said before upset you. I’m certain Ford still loves you. A man cannot kiss a woman that way unless he feels something for her.”
“Don’t say that, Binny, please!” With a massive effort, Laura shored up her flagging self-control. Her sister was too innocent to understand that what Ford felt for her had nothing to do with love.
“Very well, if you don’t want me to.” Belinda sounded bewildered and a little hurt. “But whyever not?”
Laura refused to answer. Indeed, she refused to enquire too closely into her reasons. She feared if she did, she might discover some tiny, very foolish part of her wanted to believe it could be true.
Chapter Five
What was Laura playing at? Ford wondered as he watched her hurry down the wooded path away from him. Much as he hated to admit it, some part of him found perverse enjoyment in the challenge of guessing her motives and anticipating her next move. So far, she had defied his expectations at every turn.
Despite her barely concealed antagonism, he’d been certain she would seize the opportunity to secure another wealthy, titled husband. Especially when the plum landed in her lap with so little effort and an admirable excuse to accept. Yet in spite of her surprising response to his kiss, she seemed reluctant to wed him.
How could that be? Ford asked himself as he strode away through the beech coppice. After all, she’d married Cyrus—a full generation older and never a favorite with the ladies. But perhaps that did not signify. Cyrus was not his rival for Laura’s hand. Young Mr Crawford, however…
That thought sent Ford in search of information from the one person at Hawkesbourne he dared ask. He found Pryce, the butler, in the drawing room, supervising a troop of new maids and footmen as they swept, scoured, dusted and polished every visible surface.
Catching sight of Ford, the butler bowed. “May I be of service, my lord?”
“I have a few questions about our neighbour, Crawford.” Ford made it sound like a trifling matter. “Does he call here often?”
“Not in a formal way, my lord. He does stop by now and then to pay his respects to Mrs Penrose.”
Using the ailing mother as an excuse to get closer to the daughter. Ford’s lip began to curl. “Have you any idea of his fortune? Does his family still own that brewery in Southwark?”
“Mr Crawford takes no active part in running it, but I believe the family maintains a share of the profits.” Pryce mentioned a figure he’d heard bandied about in connection with Crawford’s income.
Ford’s brows shot up. No wonder Laura liked the fellow so well.
“What do you make of his temperament?” Ford thought the young fellow rather insipid. Not the type of man capable of making his fortune in distant, forbidding lands.
“Mr Crawford has been very kind to Mrs Penrose and the young ladies since the master died,” replied the butler. “He often sends presents of game or fish. Sometimes fruit from his hothouse.”
No question the fellow knew how to ingratiate himself. Him and his miserable fish! Laura had gone on as if they were the greatest delicacy in the world, procured by the most extraordinary effort. Meanwhile, Ford’s offerings
of spices, silks and all the treasures of the Orient had scarcely merited an acknowledgement.
Pryce seemed to sense that his praise of their neighbor did not please Ford. “I have observed the young gentleman is rather backward in the social graces. Her ladyship is one of the few people with whom he converses freely.”
Ford lowered his voice so the other servants would not hear over the scrape of scrub brushes and the slosh of water. “Do you reckon Crawford has any interest in her ladyship? Interest of a romantic nature, I mean.”
“Oh, no, my lord,” the butler answered, swiftly and emphatically.
But before the tension in Ford’s body could ease, Pryce added, “Though now that you mention it, I often see them talking together. Her ladyship speaks highly of him and he goes out of his way to make himself agreeable to her.”
The butler’s observation prodded Ford’s conscience. Since returning to Hawkesbourne, he had been rather severe with Laura. No more severe than she deserved, his embittered heart protested. Besides, she provoked him at every turn with her quiet defiance, her flagrant lies and her damned icy allure! His mouth tingled with the memory of their kiss, as if he’d just eaten a highly spiced curry.
Reviewing Crawford’s attractions as a prospective husband, Ford found the list weighted far too heavily in the young man’s favor. He feared if Laura told their neighbour that she was being forced into marriage, it might spur the young fool to make her a better offer.
He must give her no opportunity to go running to Crawford. And, much as it irked him, he must put aside his gnawing resentment and make an effort to be more agreeable.
The person most likely to prevent her from accepting Ford’s proposal was…Ford, himself. Laura pondered that bit of irony as she hurried to check on her mother. She was determined never to endure another marriage as wretched as her first, and Ford’s manner toward her suggested she would be no less miserable as his wife than she had as his cousin’s.
