by Donna Hatch
seated next to her. If only it were he that she was meant to marry...
Will released her hand and visibly straightened. “So you have not seen your betrothed when he turns into a demon on a full moon? Red eyes and all?”
She laughed at the image. Something about the way he said it made the idea even more ludicrous than she’d first thought. “In truth, I have never met him.”
“Indeed? That’s unusual these days.”
“We’ve been betrothed since childhood. A member of my house always marries a member of his. ’Tis been a tradition for many generations. I do not wish to disappoint my parents, but when I learned he got one of his maid servants with child, then beat her and sent her away, not to mention those he imprisons in his dungeon, I knew I couldn’t marry him.”
A thoughtful frown creased his brow, his hazel eyes turning introspective, his fingers rubbing his lower lip absently. “I wish I could save you from such a thoughtless and violent man. But running from your family is not the correct choice of action.”
“I’ve tried telling my father how much I dread this marriage, but he says I’m too young to know what’s best for me. Am I being unreasonable in wanting a husband who will be faithful and treat me with kindness?”
“Certainly not. But you should face your problems, not run away from them.”
He was right, of course. She’d reached that conclusion in the carriage. But if she went back, she’d return to the ever-increasing pressure her parents placed upon her to marry that man. And she was running out of time.
“Moreover, you cannot travel alone,” he continued. “Where were you bound?”
“To my Great Aunt Millicent. She has always been a sympathetic listener. I’m certain she will take me in. I’m hoping she’ll write a letter on my behalf to convince my father to release me from this betrothal. She’s the only one to whom he listens.”
“How will you get there?”
She glanced at her reticule. “I have been saving all my pin money and can purchase passage on the next public coach that comes through here.”
“But you would be traveling in public unchaperoned.”
“I know...I couldn’t risk taking anyone with me when I left home. I didn’t know what else to do and I had to act quickly.”
He straightened as if coming to a decision. “Where does your aunt reside?”
“She lives in Shropshire.”
His forehead creased in a thoughtful frown. “The opposite direction from where I am bound. And a goodly distance, to boot. Still, I see no recourse. I cannot in good conscience allow you to travel such a distance alone. I’ll take you myself.”
Take her himself? Truly, she’d never met such a gallant gentleman, a knight of old, honor-bound to defend ladies.
“I couldn’t impose upon you in that regard, sir.”
“Nonsense. I’ll send a letter ahead, explaining my delay, and take you to Shropshire in my coach. I’ll need to hire a companion to protect your reputation. I daren’t risk your virtue coming under question by traveling alone with me. Perhaps someone nearby would be willing to take the post. I’ll make inquiries immediately.”
Tears stung her eyes and her heart swelled with tenderness. Was it possible to fall in love with a man she’d just met? He was everything she’d ever imagined in a husband; attentive, a considerate listener, intelligent, possessing of a healthy wit and a mild disregard for the stifling social manners and mores. And that gentleness of soul bespoke the heart of a poet. No doubt he would be a loving husband. And he was clearly a titled lord, so he would be well-connected enough to please Father. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
His jaw tightened and the warmth in his eyes cooled. “You do not wish to travel with me.” It wasn’t a question.
She blinked. “No, no, that’s not it at all. In truth, I was thinking that you are the kindest man I’ve ever met.”
He watched her as if to determine if she were in earnest. Slowly, the hardness faded, replaced by an unbearably soft expression. A moment later, his eyes twinkled. “Don’t say that too loud. I have a rather fearsome reputation as well, and I wouldn’t wish it to be softened by a mere slip of a girl, even a mysterious adventurer.”
She smiled and wiped her tears with his handkerchief she’d left lying in her lap. “Forgive me; I’m not usually such a watering pot.”
“A result of your fatigue, no doubt.”
She considered traveling with him over the next few days. A most welcome thought. Then her enthusiasm dimmed. Perhaps he was already wed or betrothed. He looked to be approaching thirty; most men were either married or promised by then. Yet, that sadness suggested he had no one to love him. If only she could be the woman who would make him forget his scar, and win more of his wonderful smiles. But he’d done nothing to suggest he had any interest in her beyond a noble desire to protect her. She searched his eyes, looking for clues as to his motives but only got lost in their beauty.
One of his brows lifted. “I seldom meet people who spend more time meeting my gaze than focusing on my scar. And usually they look away because they cannot bear to see it.”
“It isn’t so bad. And you have fascinating eyes. I can hardly keep from staring at them.”
“I pray the young lady to whom I’m betrothed will be as accepting as you are.”
Her heart sank as her dream crumbled. “You’re betrothed?”
“I was traveling to see her and finalize the arrangements. Yet I dread witnessing her turning away in horror.” He turned thoughtful. “If only you and I could both cry off and run away together instead.”
She choked. Was he serious? Could it be possible he was developing feelings for her as quickly as hers were forming for him? If only it could be.
He hastened to say, “Forgive me, that was terribly forward of me. Just because I don’t make you shudder, doesn’t mean you’d ever consider—”
“I most certainly would.” Then she blushed. She was taking this bold adventurer role too far. “I mean, if circumstances were different, and if you had the interest—not that I’m suggesting you do—I would not refuse should you express any desire to…”
He grinned broadly and she was grateful she was already seated, otherwise her weakened knees would surely have failed her. His enormous grin transformed him from handsome to positively stunning.
“This will be a most enjoyable trip to Shropshire, Lady Marie.”
“Oh, my,” she said, a bit winded. “It most certainly will.”
“And it shan’t end there. All I have to do is show my face to my betrothed, and when she shrieks and cries off, I will go immediately to your father, announce that I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with you, and demand he consider me.”
“Will…”
“I’m most determined. When I want something, or someone, I never allow others to stand in my way.”
Weakly, she said, “You’ve fallen hopelessly in love with me?”
The fierce determination in his expression softened into utmost tenderness. “Do you mind so very much?”
She let out a half laugh, half sob. “Of course not. I believe I’m falling in love with you, as well.”
He took her hands into his and kissed them both, one at a time, so slowly and gently that her heart ached.
“Lovely Marie….”
His secretary appeared at his elbow. “Lord Rosenburg, the carriage is ready. Should I have the driver wait or walk the team?”
“Lord Rosenberg?” Abby stared.
Will was the terrible Lord Rosenberg? Her heart stilled.
She looked down at the handkerchief crumpled in her hands and carefully smoothed the fine cloth, tracing the initials monogrammed on the white linen.
“Have him wait. We shan’t be but a moment,” Will replied.
Abby swallowed hard. “Y-you’re Julian de Malet, Marquis of Rosenberg?”
His eyes widened. “Yes.” He straightened and the light of speculation entered his eyes. “You aren’t, by chance, Abigail Marie Lansford,
daughter of Lord Suttenshire?”
Her heart skipped. “Yes.”
His lips curved slowly until a grin spread across his entire face. “My betrothed.”
She blinked, almost dazzled by his smile, and thoroughly befuddled by the turn of events. “But you aren’t misshapen or terrifying or cruel.”
“I am gratified to hear you say that.” Again that knee-weakening smile. “You are even lovelier than I’d been led to believe. And better yet, you don’t hate the sight of me.”
“But you…” She ran her hand over her eyes. “You told me your name was Will.”
His smile was tender. “I told you my friends call me Will. ’Tis a nickname based upon my courtesy title of Viscount Wilton. I grew up with that title and only became Lord Rosenburg upon my father’s death two years ago. Everyone close to me still, on occasion, calls me Will.”
She blinked. It was all coming too fast. The kind and honorable Will was the cruel and horrible Julian de Malet, Marquis of Rosenberg? Her betrothed? It didn’t seem possible.
“The things I’ve heard about you…”
Nodding, he took her hand. “I assure you I’ve never beaten a servant, my dungeon hasn’t had an inmate in a hundred years, and I’ve never dallied with any of my staff, nor have I sired any illegitimate children.”
Abby smiled, her heart filling with light. “And you most certainly do not have red eyes.”
“No horns, either, not even on a full moon.” His eyes danced. “Are you disappointed I’m so ordinary?”
She let out a weak laugh. “Of course not. I’m delighted you’re everything I’d hoped to find in a
