by Lucy Monroe
She gulped in air before going on. “Did I tell you that he threatened to shoot me to gain my cooperation? He wasn’t going to kill me, just shoot me. He would have too. I could see it in his eyes. But that isn’t the worst of it. Not by a long shot. When I needed you most, you walked away from me and you stayed away.”
Tears began to flow and they made her even angrier. He would think she was weak, that she did not mean what she said. “I know you don’t love me. But I thought you cared, at least a little bit.” She could not go on.
This was foolish. What good was she doing herself or Ian? She would have turned to leave, but Ian closed his hands around her finger and pulled her gently toward him. When their bodies were touching, he let go of her finger and put one arm around her, his hand resting on the small of her back. With the other he pressed a handkerchief into her hand.
“I sent flowers.”
She had read the card a hundred times and could not make it any less cold with all the reading. He had simply signed it, “Regards, Ian.” She had wanted to burn it, but could not make herself do so. It had been in his own hand.
She sniffled into the handkerchief. “You left without saying good-bye and you have not been back.”
He sighed. “I was angry.”
“You hurt me.”
He tipped her chin up so that she had to look into his eyes. “You lied to me.”
“I would have told you.”
His eyes burned into hers with an intensity she could not deny. “Why?” She swallowed. She knew what he was asking. Why had she not already told him? “I was afraid.”
His face reflected confusion. “Of what?”
She wanted to move away. To look anywhere, but at him. He would not let go of her chin. “You only want to marry me because I fit your list of requirements.” He did not say anything to that pronouncement.
“I thought that if you discovered that I did not fit the one about a woman of moderate means, you would decide to look elsewhere for a bride.” He tipped his head back and laughed.
She glared at him. “My fear is not amusing.”
He let her go and continued to laugh. He laughed so hard that he bent over with the merriment. She wanted to kick him. How dare he respond to her baring her soul in this way? She whirled around, intent on leaving. His laughter stopped immediately and he was at the door of the library before she was. He leaned against it.
What a contrary man. Not a half an hour before, he had been demanding she leave.
Now, he appeared set on her staying.
“I want to go home.”
“Nay.”
She glowered at him. “You hurt me and now you are laughing about it. I am leaving.”
His expression turned serious. “I did not laugh because I hurt you, lass.” She didn’t believe him. She shook her head.
He moved away from the door. She would have walked around him, but he grabbed her arm. Taking his time, he pulled her close. “I laughed at your belief that I would have given you up because of your inheritance.”
She stopped breathing for a moment. “You won’t?” She could not look away from his intent gaze. She wanted him to kiss her so badly that she was weak with it.
“Nay.” He leaned his head toward hers. “I will never give you up.” Then he kissed her. It was such a gentle kiss that she almost started weeping again.
He pulled away from her. “I had four requirements on my list, if you will remember, Belle.”
She nodded, miserable. She knew that. He had been adamant that the woman he married fit them all.
He began to list them, ticking them off on his fingers as he went. “I wanted to marry a plain woman, older than a debutant, with moderate means and of a practical nature.”
“Yes, I know, Ian. You listed them for me in your first proposal at Almack’s.” He smiled and she felt her insides melt. “Belle, you meet none of my other requirements either.”
She stared at him for long moments, unable to speak. Finally, she asked, “What do you mean? I meet all of your requirements except the one about moderate means.
Although, to be fair, you did only stipulate that the dowry had to be of moderate means and mine is. Of moderate means, I mean.” She was babbling, but the look of tender amusement in Ian’s eyes unsettled her.
“You are not plain.”
She laughed then. He had to be jesting. He had said once before that he thought she was beautiful. She did not believe him. “The entire polite world knows that I am plain.
You, yourself, said as much when you proposed.” He frowned. “Aye. I did utter that complete falsehood. I canna help it if the gentlemen of the ton are blind to your loveliness, but I have never known a lady more beautiful.”
The sincerity in his expression told her that he did indeed find her beautiful. Her heart swelled with hope. “Thank you, Ian. That is one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me.”
He frowned. “I wasna being kind.”
Her eyes misty, she smiled at the disgruntled sound to his voice. “You cannot pretend that I am not the age you required.”
“’Twas not merely an age requirement, if you will remember, Belle. ’Twas my belief that age would make you biddable and accepting of my proposal. No one can accuse you of being biddable and accepting, lass.”
She laughed again, joy flowing through her. “No. I suppose not. And the others?”
“You are no practical woman, Belle. ’Tis no merely romantical notions that fill your head, but you see the best in everyone and often act without thought.” She should take umbrage, but she did not. She felt too much relief to know that Ian did not care if she filled his requirements. He must feel something for her to abandon them.
“You are wrong.”
He gave a long and drawn out sigh. “’Tis nothing new, you believing I am wrong.” She moved closer to him and placed her arms around his waist. His hands came to rest on her shoulders. Hugging him tightly, she did not speak for several minutes. She smiled against his shirtfront. “There is nothing more practical than my love for you.”
“Belle.” Her name came out like a moan.
He tipped her head up and his lips covered hers in an intense kiss. The passion that was always there between them sprang to the surface. She opened her mouth and demanded his tongue by offering her own. Within seconds, she was so hot, she would have lay down on the floor of Ceddy’s library and opened her body to Ian.
He broke off the kiss.
She protested. He picked her up and placed her in a chair then moved away to stand near a wall full of bookcases. “We have much to discuss.” She would much rather be kissing him, but he appeared intent on his course. She let him have his way. She composed herself, placing her hands demurely together in her lap.
“Very well.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Dinna agree so readily, Belle. ’Tis frightening. It makes me wonder what you are planning.”
She winked at him. “A woman prefers to keep some mystery.” She could not believe the freedom she felt telling Ian of her love for him. She was still reeling from his reappraisal of her attributes as well.
He did not respond to her teasing. “I am sorry I hurt you. I went to the country to search for Renton, but he did not go to his estate in Kent.” The final band around her heart broke free. He had not been avoiding her. Ian had never meant to break their engagement. He had been trying to find the man who threatened her. She smiled radiantly at him.
“’Tis no good news I’m giving you.”
She begged to differ. “What is our plan now?”
“We will be married by special license in three days time.” It was a sound plan. Renton would not attempt to abduct her again once she and her fortune were married to Ian. “All right.”
He looked stunned. “You agree?”
She shrugged. “It is the most logical plan of action.” She looked at him in wonder.
“Did you expect me to disagree?”
“How can you blame me, B
elle? You have fought the idea of marrying me with a great deal of energy.”
She did not understand. “I already agreed to marry you.”
“Aye.” He shook his head as if to clear it.
She grew worried at his odd reaction. “You did mean it, didn’t you? You do still want to marry me.”
He gave her a fierce frown. “Never doubt it.”
“Poor Aunt Griselda. She will be heartbroken to give up her wedding plans,” she said.
“She can have as fancy of a wedding as she desires.” Ian crossed his muscular arms across his chest. “So long as she can have it planned in three days time.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Are you all right?” Diana’s concerned voice pierced the fog surrounding Annabelle.
The closed carriage jolted over the road as the ladies made their way to the Pall Mall to do their last minute shopping before Annabelle’s wedding. She wanted to purchase something for Ian as a wedding gift.
Diana wanted to make sure that Annabelle’s wedding outfit lacked no accessory. It had taken some subterfuge for the ladies to leave. Ian had insisted that Annabelle stay home and receive no one without her aunt and John Footman present.
Looking at her friend in the shadowy interior of the carriage, Annabelle gave a reassuring smile. “Yes, of course, I’m fine. I’m getting married tomorrow. I should be ecstatic.”
“But, you are not?”
Annabelle did not know how to respond to Diana’s question. She was thrilled to be marrying Ian. Her love for him grew each day. It was his unwillingness to let himself love her that had her worrying.
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” She sighed. “I want to marry Ian more than anything I have ever wanted. That frightens me.”
Diana put her hand over Annabelle’s and squeezed. “You’re not the first bride to have wedding nerves. I cried the morning of my wedding, remember?” Annabelle smiled. “Yes, I remember. You were an absolute watering pot.” She lifted the curtain from the carriage window to see how far they were from the Pall Mall. “I just wish I could be sure I was not making a mistake.” Leaning forward, Diana squeezed Annabelle’s hand. “You and Ian were made for each other.”
Annabelle agreed, but she wanted Ian to realize his good fortune as well. She wanted more than just his desire to marry her. She wanted his love. “Diana, what if he falls in love with someone else after we are married? I could not bear it.”
Diana stared at her as if she had just suggested Ian would murder the Prince Regent.
“Do not be ridiculous. Ian has eyes for no one but you. Even a fool could see that.” Then she must be a fool, because she didn’t see it. “But he does not love me.”
“What do you mean? Of course he loves you.” Diana sounded completely disbelieving. Her compassionate eyes searched Annabelle’s face.
“No he doesn’t,” Annabelle argued, “He told me.” Diana’s look of concern turned to amusement. “Oh, really, Annabelle. I thought you were wiser than that.”
She desperately wanted to believe Diana’s views. Ian said she was beautiful and that he wanted her. That he would never let her go. Yet, he was adamant that he did not love her. “I wish I was wise enough to see into Ian’s heart.” Diana looked at her pityingly. “Surely you realize that gentlemen would rather lose a bet at Whites than admit their tender feelings.”
“I don’t see Robert having any difficulty where you are concerned.” Diana laughed. “Do you forget so quickly the two years I set my cap for him and he pretended I did not exist? You know he did not even tell me he loved me when he proposed. Had I not been so certain of his love, I would have sent him packing.” Annabelle was shocked. She knew her brother could be stupid, but this was beyond her imagining. So unlike the Robert she witnessed now with his wife. “He’s so affectionate.”
“Yes, several months of married life and good battle tactics on my part convinced him of the error of his ways.” Diana straightened her gloves and gave Annabelle a considering look. “You are the last person I would expect to give up the contest before you have even begun the campaign.”
Diana’s words had a ring of truth in them. Was Annabelle a weak-willed miss who would concede defeat before she even saw combat? No. She was a modern woman. She did not need to wait for Ian to come to his senses. She would help get him there. She would set siege against each of Ian’s defenses and see them fall.
“You are right.”
Diana nodded. “Anyone with eyes in their head cannot miss the way Ian looks at you as if he’s thirsty and you’re the only drink available.” Annabelle grew warm at her friend’s words, but they gave her pause. She believed passion did not equal love, but maybe it preceded the deeper emotion. She could not deny
that Ian felt a great deal of passion for her. He would have to be a better actor than Keen to have pretended his overwhelming reaction to her body.
Perhaps her battle tactics should begin with a kissing campaign. She chuckled at the thought, but considered that it might well work. It could not hurt and she certainly liked kissing Ian.
They arrived at their first destination, Hatchard’s Bookshop. Annabelle wanted to buy a book on the latest farming techniques for Ian. Diana had made a list of those Robert liked the most.
A clerk greeted them upon arrival. “Something I can get for you ladies?” Annabelle replied, “Yes, I’m looking for a book on farming or sheep. I’ve got a list here of likely prospects. Do you carry any of these titles?” She handed the list Diana had made to the clerk.
The clerk nodded. “Several. Yes. Several. Perhaps some more beside.” Indicating two chairs near the door, he suggested they sit and wait while he collected the books.
Annabelle agreed. She and Diana were busy discussing the changes in Annabelle’s favorite magazine, The Repository of Arts, Literature, Commerce, Manufacturers, Fashions and Politics, when the door opened.
“I know you like your weightier matters, but I like it better now that it has more fashion and less politics,” declared Diana.
Annabelle was about to argue when she recognized Chester P. Thorn. Her insides grew tight. She tried to get Diana’s attention, by kicking the toe of her boot. Still in the throes of her argument, Diana ignored Annabelle’s tap. Her back to the door, she had not seen Mr. Thorn come into the bookshop.
Mr. Thorn looked haggard with dark bruises under his eyes and his appearance even more rumpled than usual. He smiled at her, showing tobacco-stained teeth.
“Ladies.”
Diana sucked in air and seemed to hold it. She whipped her head around. “Mr.
Thorn.”
Annabelle did not like the look of pallor that came over Diana. She glared at the intruder. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps I came to find a book.” Not likely. The vermin was too busy tormenting innocent ladies like Diana to find time to read. More likely he had followed them. The thought rankled. If he had followed
them without detection, then that horrible squire could as well. Annabelle wanted to let out an unladylike curse. She had to find a way to turn this situation to their advantage.
“What do you want?”
Mr. Thorn chortled nastily. “You’re a right blunt one aren’t you? More spirited than your friend here.”
Diana looked like she was trying not to be sick.
“Your observations do not concern me. Tell us what you want. Do you have another letter to sell? You must realize that we won’t have the money on us to buy it.” Thorn nodded. “Yes, exactly. I want to sell all of the letters. I want five thousand pounds for them and not one penny less.”
Diana exclaimed, “I could not possibly come up with five thousand pounds without telling my husband what it was for.”
Approval coursed through Annabelle. Diana played her part to perfection. Her friend might be nauseous from her pregnancy, but contrary to what the rat before them believed, she did not lack spirit.
“Ask your friend here for the blunt. In fact, I want her
to bring it.” He turned his attention to Annabelle. “Meet me at the North entrance to Hyde Park with the money at six o’clock. Come alone.”
Annabelle nearly sighed aloud with relief. That would give her plenty of time to find Ian and make their plans. Renton had to be behind this. It would be his idea to get her to come alone. They would catch both men in their own trap.
“I must at least bring a footman or a maid.”
Mr. Thorn lost his smile. “You go where you please without escort. If I see anyone else with you, I will leave and the letters will be published this week.” Although she knew that the foul man would not succeed, the cruelty in his voice sent shivers down her spine. She nodded. “Very well. I will come alone.” Diana protested. “I will not have it.”
Mr. Thorn ignored her. He turned to leave as the clerk approached. “Be there.” Then, he was gone.
Annabelle hurriedly selected a book about new farming techniques and one about sheep breeding. She and Diana left and headed to the bank.
“Shouldn’t we go home and alert Robert and Ian to this development?” Diana asked.
“Mr. Thorn may still be following us. He will expect me to go to the bank,” Annabelle replied.
Diana nodded. “I won’t feel safe until we are home again, though.”
“Neither will I.” Annabelle shuddered. “The thought that he has been following me gives me the willies.”
“I think we fooled him.”
A smile split Annabelle’s face. “I am so proud of you, Diana. You did a credible job of looking like a woman in mortal fear of her husband finding out her awful secret.” Diana laughed. “I had a terrible attack of nausea. It helped.” The trip to the bank went without incident. Annabelle was nervous about leaving the bank again. She feared that the plan to meet that evening had all been a ruse and once she came out of the building, supposedly five thousand pounds richer, Mr. Thorn would attack. She breathed a sigh of relief when she and Diana climbed back into the carriage and it started toward home.
