CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cerian pulled away sharply and wiped a shaky hand across her lips. Oliver concentrated on restoring his breathing to rights and willing his overheated body back to normalcy.
“What was … that?” she asked, slowly pulling her fingertips away from her mouth.
“It was…” He couldn’t answer it either.
It was a rhetorical question and they both knew it, but Oliver couldn’t help but ask himself the same thing. What was that? This time there was no mistletoe, no excuse, no pretending in front of other people. They were alone, just the two of them now, and that had been the kind of kiss that made his cock throb. He blew out deeply through his nose and shook order back into his mind.
“It was nothing,” Cerian said, answering the question for both of them. “It’s Christmastide. It’s romantic. That’s all. Yes. Yes.”
“Christmastide?” Did his voice sound less sure than hers?
“Yes. That’s all. We mustn’t let our little game confuse us.”
“Our little game?” Christ. Now he definitely didn’t sound sure of himself.
“Yes. You know, pretending to be courting?” She cleared her throat and glanced away. “For the sake of the others.”
Oliver blinked. He sure as hell hadn’t just kissed her for the sake of the others or because he was playing a game. He’d kissed her because he wanted to, damn it. Wanted to badly. But Cerian seemed intent on relegating whatever had just happened between them to a mistake and Oliver wasn’t about to declare himself to a woman who thought kissing him was a blunder.
“Quite right,” he responded, steeling his resolve. “I forgot myself, forgive me.”
Cerian nodded. “I … we … It’s quite all right. We should simply be more careful henceforth.”
He glanced at her. She smoothed a hand over her hair and straightened her shoulders. She looked as prim and proper as someone’s fussy maiden aunt, nothing like the woman who’d just responded passionately in his arms. And she’d just used the word ‘henceforth’; no good could come of that. But it was another word she’d used that worried him.
“Careful?” he asked. What the hell was she talking about?
“You know? We should, well, perhaps we should stay away from each other.”
Oliver fought his groan. Cerian suggested they stay away from each other just when he relished her company the most.
* * *
“Dear, come for a walk with me in the conservatory.”
Cerian gulped. She couldn’t very well say no to Kate, but the conservatory was the last place she wanted to go. She’d spent the last hour trying to banish the memory of the kiss she’d shared with Oliver there earlier.
She smiled weakly at Kate. “Why don’t we walk down the corridor, instead?”
Kate gave her a broad smile. “Whatever you’d prefer.”
Cerian entwined her arm through Kate’s and the two women began a leisurely stroll.
Cerian took a deep breath. “Kate … I…”
Kate glanced at her. “Yes, dear?”
“I wanted to thank you for inviting me here.”
Kate squeezed her hand. “I’m so happy you came.”
“And for … sponsoring me and introducing me to every one.”
Kate patted her hand. “You’re quite welcome, dear. I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself.”
“Oh, I have, very much and I just…” She squeezed her hand into a fist and bit her knuckle.
Kate’s brow furrowed. “Go on. What is it, Cerian?”
“I just … Oh, Kate, I’m so sorry … about your husband.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, suddenly afraid she’d said the awful word too loudly as it echoed off the marble surfaces in the corridor.
Kate stopped and turned to face her, smoothing her hands over Cerian’s shoulders. “Oh, Cerian, dear, you’ve no reason to be sorry. That was all a long time ago.”
“It must have been a nightmare for you. And Mama wouldn’t let me come, and oh, Kate, you must have felt as if your family had abandoned you. I’m so sorry.”
Kate nodded. “Your mother would hardly be doing her duty as an apt chaperone if she’d allowed you to visit an accused murderess in prison. I should have written you myself, but I was just so embarrassed and ashamed.”
“I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been,” Cerian sobbed.
Kate tipped up Cerian’s chin and looked her in the eye. “I admit there were nights I went to bed praying that I wouldn’t wake up.”
Cerian gasped. “No! Kate.”
Kate smiled wanly. “But then I met James and George’s valet confessed to the murder and well, the truth is that my life is much happier now than it ever was when I was married to George. I spent many months feeling guilty for thinking that way, but it’s true.”
Cerian squeezed her cousin’s hand again. “I’m just glad you’re so happy now. Truly I am. I just didn’t know about you and His Grace … Oliver.”
Kate’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? What about Oliver?”
“I didn’t know that he wasn’t raised to be a duke. It’s just surprised me, that’s all.”
They resumed their stroll down the corridor. “I noticed you called Oliver by his Christian name,” Kate said.
Cerian blushed profusely. “Oh, I—”
Kate shook her head. “No need to explain. Oliver tells me you two are pretending to be courting.”
Cerian sucked in her breath. “He told you that?”
“James guessed actually and Oliver admitted it.”
Cerian glanced away, examining the faces of the Medford ancestors in the portraits that lined the walls of the hallway. “It’s true.”
“And how do you feel … about Oliver, I mean?”
“Feel about him? I barely know him.”
Kate gave her a skeptical look. “I heard about that kiss in the library. By all accounts it didn’t seem as if you two were pretending.”
Cerian hung her head. “Oh, Kate. Mama’s fondest dream would come true if I married a gentleman with a title. But you know as well as I that I’m not cut out to be in Society. I didn’t grow up in this world. I’d always be a horrible outsider.”
Kate tucked a curl behind Cerian’s ear. “May I give you some advice, dear?”
“Of course you may.”
“First, stay away from Sir Gilliam. We invited him because he’s one of James’s business associates but I’ve heard rumors that he’s in terrible debt.”
Cerian nodded. “No trouble on that score. I wondered if he was only sniffing after me because of my dowry. It certainly isn’t because we have much to talk about. Aside from his cousin’s foot ailments.”
“Ick.” Kate shook her head. Then she continued, “As for Oliver, remember that I wasn’t raised to be in Society either. I didn’t fit in for many years. But now, I couldn’t imagine my life without James.”
Cerian nodded and Kate continued, “You don’t want to marry just to suit your mother and I understand that perfectly. But be sure not to discard someone you may care deeply for just to spite your mother either.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
By the time Lady Selina’s mother, Lady Kinsey, sidled up to Oliver in the breakfast room, he’d already mentally planned his escape. He’d been reading the paper, clearly indicating he didn’t relish company and he’d just swallowed the last bit of his poached egg when the lady slid into the seat across from him.
“Good morning, your grace,” she said in a gratingly pleasant voice.
How did that woman manage to make his honorific sound dirty? He fought the urge to grind his teeth and eyed her warily. Lady Kinsey had been good-looking in her day, no question. But now she wore a bit too much rouge and, if rumors were true, she was a bit too free with her favors with men who were not her husband. “Good morning, Lady Kinsey. I was just about to—”
Lady Kinsey leaned over the table, affording him a more than ample view of her aging breasts. She lowered her voice to a hiss-like whispe
r. “Please tell me you’re not serious about that Blake chit.”
The paper nearly dropped from his fingers. He clenched his jaw. “Pardon?”
“Why, she’s no more qualified to be a duchess than the parlor maid.”
Oliver savagely twisted the sides of the paper in his fists. “I fail to see how that’s any of your concern, my lady.” He nearly spat the words.
Lady Kinsey lowered her voice and glanced around. “She’s Welsh for God’s sake.”
Oliver took a deep breath. “Again, none of your concern.”
She leaned ever closer, her eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t have to tell you how tarnished the Markingham title became after Lady Medford’s little escapade last year. I fear your family name cannot withstand another smear upon it.”
Oliver stared at her with unblinking eyes. “Do you have a point?”
She raised her chin. “Must you force me to spell it out, your grace?”
“Seems so,” he drawled.
She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Very well then,” she said, her voice still low. “I am close, personal friends with Lady Jersey, Lady Castlereagh, and Lady Cowper, the patronesses of Almack’s. As you well know, one cross word from them and your family name would be quite sullied beyond all hope of redemption. Not to mention if they don’t approve of your new wife, she’ll be given the cut direct by everyone in the ton.”
Blood pounded through Oliver’s temples. “Might I remind you that my wife shall be a duchess?”
“Indeed, but a Welsh nobody wouldn’t survive as a duchess, Markingham. Not without the backing of those ladies. Do I make myself clear?”
Oliver stood and tossed the crumpled paper to the tabletop. “What exactly is it that you want from me, Lady Kinsey?”
She grinned at that. An evil-looking grin. “Selina is the perfect choice for a duchess, Markingham. You know that. She’s been raised to the title since she was a babe.”
“I’ve no doubt she would fit the role to perfection but what about the fact that we don’t suit? I’m looking for a wife who’s more interested in me than my title.”
Lady Kinsey smirked. “You’re a fool, Markingham. Who cares about interest? This is about money and combining two great houses. And keeping your family name intact.”
Oliver’s knuckles cracked. “And you intend to ensure that my wife and I are given the cut direct by all of Society if I don’t choose Lady Selina?”
“Precisely. Selina and I have invented a final game to play before the house party is over. Let’s just say you’d do well to pick her when the time comes. Do I make myself clear?”
Oliver pushed back his chair with a loud scrape. “You’ve made yourself entirely clear,” he spat. He stood up, turned on his heel, and stalked away.
* * *
Cerian turned away from the back entrance to the breakfast room. Whatever Oliver and Lady Kinsey had been discussing, it seemed intense. And intimate. She shuddered. Lady Kinsey had leaned over and touched Oliver’s hand. That was the type of woman who populated Oliver’s world, not Cerian. Not a silly little Welsh mouse who didn’t belong in London Society, let alone on the arm of a duke. Lady Kinsey and her daughter were beautiful and worldly and self-possessed. No doubt they never said awkward, silly things like Cerian seemed to blurt at every turn.
Cerian thought back to her conversation with Kate and cringed. Kate had spoken about Oliver as if she actually had a chance at winning him. And Cerian had been so bold as to actually discuss it with her cousin. What an idiot Cerian was. It didn’t matter that Oliver hadn’t been raised as the heir to a dukedom. He’d still been raised as the grandson of a duke. He still inhabited the world of the ton, a world Cerian had no place in. Oh, she could travel to Oxfordshire for a Christmastide house party and put diamonds in her hair and dress up and pretend. She might even meet a real duke and—gulp—kiss him. But that was as long as that fairytale would last, no matter what she or her Mama wished for.
And the most miserable thing was that she’d realized something watching Oliver and Lady Kinsey. Cerian was jealous. Desperately so. And one didn’t get jealous unless one had feelings for someone.
She’d been having schoolgirl fantasies about Oliver and somehow managed to forget that he was the most sought after man in London. And she was seven kinds a fool for forgetting it.
Cerian shook her head. No. No. No. This was all wrong, not how it was supposed to go at all. The playacting must stop. She must end it all now before she truly got hurt.
* * *
Oliver slammed his fist into the bag of hay. He’d come to the stables to borrow a mount to ride but instead he found himself in an empty stall, driving his fist into the first inanimate object he found.
Damn Lady Kinsey and her smug innuendo. How dare that woman threaten him and his family name? And damn George and his treatment of Kate and his fight with his valet that got him killed and smeared the Markingham name to begin with. His grandfather’s legacy was something Oliver had been proud of his entire life, and now it was somehow miraculously entrusted to him and he carried the burden of restoring the name to its former glory. By God, the Markingham name had been esteemed for centuries and it would continue to be, with or without the approval of the bloody patronesses of Almack’s.
But even as he thought the words, he knew they weren’t true. The patronesses could and did control the gossip and approval of the majority of Society. If they chose to cut him or his family, there would be little he could do to restore the good name. One miracle had already happened when Kate had been allowed to reenter the ton’s good graces. But that had been largely due to the reputation and connections of her husband, Medford. The Markingham name was no longer hers.
But the worst part was that even if Oliver didn’t give a bloody damn about himself, he did care about Cerian. She’d told him how vulnerable she was when it came to fitting into Society. How she dreaded it, wanted no part of it. It made her nervous, made her want to rush back to Wales and marry a nobody who truly loved her and lead a simple life. When he thought about the viciousness of members of Society like Lady Kinsey, he couldn’t blame Cerian for her wish.
Damn her to perdition, but Lady Kinsey had got one thing right, and that was that if those smug, awful women decided to give Cerian the cut direct, she would be an outcast. And she was already trying desperately to fit in. They could completely destroy her. Even if he did give her the protection of his name. And regardless of how he was rapidly coming to care for her, Oliver would not allow his new inconvenient title to ruin a young woman as sweet and loving and funny as Cerian. He slammed his fist into the bag again. No. He would stay away from her. He had to. For her sake. By God, he’d stay out here in the stables hitting hay bags for the rest of the bloody house party if that’s what it took.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The moment Oliver strolled into the drawing room after dinner, Cerian made her way over to him, steeling her resolve. “Your grace, a moment of your time?”
He nodded, an inscrutable look on his face. “Of course.”
He allowed her to precede him to the corner and followed her there. Thank heavens they were partially obscured by a large potted palm. But not before Cerian noted Lady Kinsey’s dark watchful eyes upon them.
The words tumbled out of Cerian’s mouth in a rush. She’d been practicing them all morning and now that the moment was here, the words seemed to have become hopelessly jumbled. Typical.
“Your grace, I want to … that is … I wish to … That is to say, I…”
“Perhaps you should take a deep breath,” he offered.
Had that been the duke talking or the voice in her head? Regardless, it was a fine idea and no matter its origin, she would take that bit of advice. She breathed in deeply, sucking air into her lungs and then blowing it out evenly, briefly closing her eyes.
“Feel better?” he asked.
Ah, so it had been his idea.
“Immensely,” she replied. Courage, Cerian.
Say what you’ve resolved to say. She could only hope that the duke would be able to hear her next words over the insane tapping of her nervous little foot. “Your grace, I wanted to tell you that I think it’s time we agreed to, I mean, that we decided upon ending our agreement.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “Our agreement?”
She lowered her voice and glanced over her shoulder glaring at the potted palm as if that sneaky plant might be listening. “Yes. The one in which we were pretending to have affection for one another.”
She held her breath, waiting for his response. Would he be angry? Would he be sad? Would he be…? No doubt about it. The look on his face was pure … relief. She wrinkled her nose. Deflating, to be sure.
“I do think that’s best, Miss Blake.” He nodded.
She blinked. “You do?”
“Yes. Most prudent.”
Unexpected tears stung the backs of her eyes. Wait a moment. Why was she upset? She’d begun this conversation. It had been her idea. “Oh, I’m so…” She searched her mind for the correct word. Devastated? Shocked? Unhappy? “Glad you agree, your grace,” she finished, trying her best not to choke on the words. “Because here I’d been thinking I’d be letting you down easily and you’ve clearly been wanting to do the same.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. How humiliating. Her only comfort was that she’d been able to say the actual words first. Ugh and she’d got the “most prudent” reply.
Doubly humiliating.
He nodded perhaps a bit too emphatically. “There is only one more day of the house party after all.”
“Exactly my reasoning,” she replied, the smile she posted on her face overly bright.
It Happened Under the Mistletoe: A Holiday Novella Page 6
