Flirting With Fortune swak-3

by Erin Knightley

  Colin!

  Her eyes darted up, meeting his with the sort of flash one expected during a lightning storm. She braced for the thunder and felt it all through her body, through every last fiber of her being.

  He was here. He was smiling unabashedly at her, and his hand was holding hers as though it were a lifeline. Had he spoken to her brother? He had to have—otherwise he could have never been so forward, here in the open in front of her home. Her heart pounded in her chest as she allowed him to guide her to solid ground. At least it was supposed to be solid. She could have been standing on the deck of a ship at sea for all the steadiness she felt.

  With her sisters looking on and them standing practically in the middle of St. James’s Square, she knew she should say something. Wetting her lips, she smiled up at him, letting her fingers drag against his as she released his hold. “Good afternoon, Sir Colin.”

  “Good afternoon.” His voice was deep and rich and as delicious as warm chocolate. “I was just leaving when your carriage pulled up. I hope you don’t mind that I wished to say hello.”

  He was just leaving? Even in her mind, the question came out like a squeak. Then he had to have spoken with Richard. “Well, if you have a few moments to spare, perhaps you would join us for tea?”

  Beside her, Carolyn cocked her head to the side. “But we just had tea at—”

  “Carolyn,” Beatrice interrupted, “why don’t you let them know that a tray will be needed in the drawing room?”

  Her sister blinked, then—bless her—nodded and went to do her bidding. Beatrice turned to Jocelyn next, whose gaze seemed to miss nothing. “Would you mind fetching Mama and inquiring if she’d like to join us?”

  “Certainly. Is there anything else you’ll be needing, my lady?”

  Now was not the moment to be amused by her sister’s cheek. Bea widened her eyes in warning at the girl, who merely chuckled before retreating into the house. In the relative privacy of the front stoop, Beatrice paused long enough to smile up at Colin, wishing she could clasp hands with him again. “You came.”

  He nodded, the sharp angles of his jaw softening as he looked down at her. “I did.”

  She wanted to say more, but Finnington had the door open and waiting. They paused to shed their coats, then walked together across the entry hall and up the grand staircase. A footman, blast the man, followed up behind them, intent on one duty or another, so she couldn’t very well say more to Colin. When they reached the gold-and-cream drawing room, Beatrice drew up short.

  “What is it?” Colin asked, standing just behind her, close enough for her to catch a hint of his perfect scent.

  “No one’s here. How odd.”

  He slid his hand down her arm, and she looked up to him in surprise. “Not so very odd, I think,” he said, his breath warming the sensitive skin of her neck. He stepped forward, lightly pulling her into the room behind him.

  Butterflies roared to life in her stomach as he turned, facing her fully and joining hands with hers. The door clicked closed behind her, and she started in surprise. Had a servant pulled it shut? “The door . . .”

  “Is exactly as it should be. There are only a few times in life when such a thing is perfectly acceptable, and this just happens to be one of them. Beatrice,” he said, then shook his head. “Oh, to hell with it.”

  He tugged her full against him, in broad daylight in her own drawing room. He wasted no time in taking advantage of the position, leaning down to press his lips fully across hers in a quick but searing kiss. “There,” he said, his voice raspy as he pulled away. “I feel much better.”

  She grinned, happiness covering her like a warm blanket. “That makes two of us. I’ve wanted to do that for days. Now, Sir Colin, was there something you wanted to say?”

  “Marry me, a stór.”

  All the passion in the world, wrapped up into four little words. No flowery prose, no odes to her beauty or talk of their compatibility—just a pure, simple, perfect entreaty.

  One that needed only one word in response. “Yes.”

  He closed his eyes, breathing a ragged breath before opening them once more. “Yes?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms and spun her around as though she weighed no more than a rag doll. She giggled in delight, pure joy radiating from her heart as if it were the sun itself. When he set her down again, his mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her laughter, sharing it just as they would soon share everything.

  The kiss was something different from before. It was possessive, and fierce, and fiery in a way she would like to think she could be but could never achieve without him. His hands came to either side of her face, cupping her jaw as if she were made of the most delicate of porcelains. Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Can I say something without you thinking me a complete loon?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded once. He could say anything if he would continue to hold her just like this.

  “I’ve fallen in love with you, Beatrice Moore.”

  Her heart skipped two full beats at the pronouncement, and she pulled away to look him in the eye. His gaze held a wealth of emotion, silvery and steely and still somehow soft.

  “Thank goodness I’m not the only one,” she breathed.

  * * *

  Colin had never heard sweeter words in his whole life. She loved him! All the worries about the dowry, Raleigh’s condition, and his own misgivings seemed to melt away in an instant. Nothing in the world mattered except this: He loved Beatrice, and she loved him.

  With a soft, low growl, his lips found hers again, more insistent than ever. He could feel her hammering pulse beneath his fingers, matching his own racing heartbeat. They were so close as to almost seem as one. Feeling reckless, he lifted her in his arms. She squeaked in surprise, but didn’t break the kiss, instead pressing against him that much more.

  He closed the distance to the sofa in three sure steps, then lowered them both to the cushions until she was square in his lap. The weight of her against his chest and thighs was intoxicating, and he had the sudden image of her naked, her honey hair cascading down her shoulders and across his bare skin.

  Everything about her—her smell, her taste, her size, and even her voice—seemed custom-made to drive him mad. He wrapped both his arms fully around her, pressing her more snugly against him. She gave a breathy little moan, and he smiled against her lips.

  He could make her happy. He knew it without doubt. She could have her painting and do with her money whatever she desired. They could have as many children as would suit her, and they would always, always have this perfect passion between them. Raleigh was right—there was no reason to ruin what they had for something that wouldn’t even be an issue after the wedding. What mattered was that he loved her, and damned if she didn’t love him as well.

  An odd tapping noise broke through his muddled senses, and he paused, his lips pressed still against hers as he listened. Footsteps! Beatrice must have realized it at the exact moment he did, because she sprang from his lap as if shot from a cannon.

  She shook out her skirts and tugged at the wrinkles, desperately trying to put herself to rights. She looked charming as hell, all rumpled and red-lipped, and he couldn’t help but smile. “How do I look? And good heavens, why are you looking at me like that?”

  The footsteps, inordinately loud and slow, had almost reached the door. “It’s all right, my love. They know that I was here to ask for your hand. I think a little kissing is to be expected.”

  The emotions on her face scrolled from worry, to shock, to surprise, to impish delight. He came to his feet, straightening his jacket and planting a kiss on her nose. “Clearly they are giving us ample warning as to their presence.”

  She grinned, shaking her head as the person outside the door jiggled the knob as if they had never worked such a contraption before. By the time the door swung open—slowly—they were standing side by side, her hand cradled in
the crook of his arm.

  Lady Granville looked between them, her whole face glowing with pleasure. “Well, I assume a question has been asked and answered?”

  “What question?” Beatrice asked, tilting her head in wonderment.

  The marchioness drew back in surprise, her gray eyes rounding. “Er, well, I—”

  “I’m only teasing, Mama. Yes, a question has been asked and answered.”

  “And?”

  Beatrice squeezed his arm, pulling them more tightly together. “The answer was a most emphatic yes.”

  Three feminine shouts of joy rang from the corridor, and the twins and Lady Raleigh poured into the room. There was laughter and hugs and plenty of congratulations to go around. The earl came to join in the celebrations, ringing for a celebratory round of sherry for the ladies and port for the two men.

  Once everything had calmed a bit, Lady Granville settled onto the sofa and took a small sip of her drink. “Of course, we mustn’t make any announcements until your father and sister have been notified.”

  “I can only imagine how surprised they will be,” Beatrice said, her eyes dancing with happiness.

  “Not so very surprised, perhaps.” The marchioness grinned, her impish expression making her look years younger. “At least not your father.”

  “Mama,” Beatrice exclaimed, her hand going to her mouth as she laughed. “What did you write him?”

  “I may have mentioned that there was a certain young gentleman who had caught your interest . . . and that the gentleman in question appeared to reciprocate.”

  A very encouraging sign, indeed. If her mother had taken enough note to write to Granville about him, she must have seen something between them. Just as Raleigh had. The lingering uneasiness about his deception eased that much more, and he settled back into the cushions of the cream-colored sofa, silently observing as the women discussed things like flowers and gowns.

  “When would you like to have the wedding, Sir Colin?”

  Immediately. The sooner they were wed, the sooner he could dispatch with the circling creditors and be done with the worry of Beatrice asking about the use of the dowry. “Sooner rather than later, I would think. Perhaps in the New Year, after the celebrations of Christmas are behind us.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The air was cold but not biting, the wind gentle enough to stir the multihued fallen leaves along the path, but not so much as to sting the exposed skin of Colin’s face. The sun slipped out intermittently as the low clouds rolled overhead.

  In other words, it was perfect. Since it wasn’t raining, he could escape to Hyde Park with Beatrice without raising any eyebrows, yet it was cold enough to keep most from the grounds. Colin adjusted his hand, pressing Beatrice’s fingers more firmly against his arm as they strolled along the nearly deserted banks of the Serpentine. With all the excitement surrounding the betrothal, they had had almost no time for just the two of them, and it was driving him mad.

  He felt relaxed, at peace in a way he hadn’t been since the moment he knew of his father’s downfall. He had not only accomplished what he had set out to do, but he hadn’t compromised his own heart to do so. He glanced down at Beatrice, smiling at her red-tipped nose and rosy cheeks. She was a thousand times better than he had hoped for, a million times better than he deserved. And yet she was his.

  Already this morning they had talked of the future—of having their families meet for the first time, of traveling to Italy for their honeymoon in order to tour the works of the old masters, and of renting a small town house here in London as he completed his last year at Lincoln’s Inn.

  But there was one last thing he wanted to do just for her. “I daresay we’ll have trouble finding a place with as nice a studio as you have now.”

  She gave a little shrug, unconcerned. “I don’t mind. I can always visit Granville House to use it if I need to.”

  “Yes, but I thought perhaps you might wish for a place just for you. So I visited my solicitor today and had him extend the lease on Father’s studio for another year.”

  She grinned up at him, her blue eyes putting the rippling water of the Serpentine to shame. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “You were? And here I thought it would be a surprise.”

  “I covet that space far too much to leave such a thing to chance. I was prepared to beg if necessary.”

  “Is that a fact?” he said, his eyebrows raised.

  “Indeed. Fortunately for me, you saved me the trouble.” She gave him a teasing wink, pleased with herself.

  “Well fine, then. But in the future, I fully intend to make you work for what you want.”

  “Do you?” she said, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Well, do be careful, because I can very easily do the same to you.”

  “You think so?”

  She nodded imperiously, lifting her chin as though she just knew he would be putty in her hands. He loved how irreverent she could be. He would have enough seriousness in his life with his chosen career—knowing he would come home to her every day filled a part of him that had been empty almost his whole life.

  “And what if it’s something you want as well? After all, I want nothing more than to make you happy. Would you still make things difficult for me?”

  “Ah, a woman’s prerogative, remember? Yes, I may very well make you work for something, even if I want it as well. It’s good not to always get what you want, when you want it. Wouldn’t you agree?” Her grin was pure cheek.

  “Oh sure, but I doona think you’d be able to follow through. A woman’s prerogative is generally exactly that: to have what she wants, exactly when she wants it.”

  She scoffed, lifting a shoulder. “Clearly you don’t know me very well if you don’t think I’ll follow through.”

  Casually, he glanced around, checking to see who might be able to see them. Few people were braving the cold, none of whom seemed to be paying them any mind.

  Quickly, so as to catch her off guard, he whisked her from the path and into a copse of weeping willows. Sliding his arm from beneath her fingers until he could clasp her hand in his, he slipped between the cascading branches of the largest tree, tugging her in behind him. The tree’s limbs flowed like a waterfall down to the earth, shielding them from both the elements and any prying eyes. Golden light filtered through the autumn leaves and shimmered in Beatrice’s widened eyes.

  “Colin!” she gasped, covering her open mouth with her hand. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Putting your theory to the test.” He turned to face her fully, savoring the thrill of being well and truly alone with her. The feeling of being a little reckless, carefree even, was as intoxicating as the very best scotch. Just like the night they had met, she looked every bit the nymph in this light, as ethereal and beautiful as anything he’d ever seen.

  He reached out and untied the ribbons of her bonnet, then gently pulled it away. She neither helped nor hindered; she merely watched him with the bemused expression of one unsure of what was happening, but unwilling to stop it.

  Pulling his own hat off, he set them both on the ground before resituating himself directly in front of her, close enough to smell the slightest hint of lilac on the cold air. He soaked in the moment, savoring the growing desire that spread with every beat of his heart.

  “There now,” he said, allowing a hint of challenge to lift the corners of his lips. “Make me work for what I want.”

  * * *

  Beatrice drew a short breath, taken aback by his command. Her heart, not yet recovered from their sudden dash, pounded that much harder at the seductive look in his eyes and the utter wickedness of being alone in a public place with him. For heaven’s sake, someone could walk right by them and not even know they were there.

  She licked her lips, looking up into his eyes, the same dark color as the web of branches around them. “And what is it that you want?”

  “I should hope you’d know the answer to that by now, sweet Beatrice.” He stepped
closer still, his movements slow and deliberate. “I want nothing on earth so much as I want you.”

  Her eyes fluttered closed at the pleasure of his words as she exhaled. Opening them to peer up at him once more, she said, “But you already have me.” Her voice was breathy, quiet.

  “So you’re prepared to relent, just like that?” He was teasing her, not only with his words, but with his closeness, making it hard for her to think straight.

  “Of course not,” she said, rallying. “I never give in.”

  He clasped his hands behind him and walked in a small semicircle, coming to stand just behind her. He leaned forward until his mouth was close enough to her ear that she could feel the warmth of his breath. “Prove it,” he murmured, daring her to play along. “I want you to kiss me. Let me see if I can make that happen.”

  She loved this side of him, when the mischievousness within him outweighed the practical. She nodded, pressing her eyes closed and concentrating on the warmth of his skin mere inches from hers. Every nerve in her body seemed attuned to him, waiting for the moment he would touch her.

  Only he didn’t.

  Instead, he slowly exhaled, stirring the fine hairs at her nape and sending hot air fanning across her neck. She shivered; she couldn’t help it, even as she knew it was exactly what he wanted.

  He chuckled softly, knowing he affected her. Oh no, she wasn’t going to let him win that easily. Taking a deep breath, she straightened both her spine and her resolve, then tilted her head to the right, granting him better access. Challenging him.

  It was madness, standing there beneath a tree in broad daylight, denying her betrothed the kiss she already wanted. The feelings he stirred within her, the heady rush of emotion and anticipation was at once so much better and far worse than simply giving in to her desire.

  After a rustle of fabric behind her, she felt the warmth of his bare skin as he drew a finger down the length of her jaw. He was cheating, taking off his glove like that.