by Allison Lane
“Of course. Why?”
“You also screamed.”
“What did you expect? When she disappeared over the edge… That cliff is a dozen feet high in places, with jagged rocks along the base. It took me a moment to recognize where we were.”
“I see. Stay,” he added when she picked up speed.
“Why?”
“My heart hasn’t quite settled. Nor has yours,” he added, feeling her tremors.
“I will be fine, my lord. And I should be there to cover Diana’s absence.”
“They will think you are with her. Are you afraid to stand in the dark with me?”
“Should I be?”
He wished he could see her expression, but no light penetrated the shadows beneath the trees. If that tremor meant what he hoped it did…
He wanted to wait until he was sure, but perhaps he should trust his judgment one more time, as he’d done with Schechler and Merrimont. It had been sound then…
He kissed her.
It was better than the first time. Much better.
“Charles?” she murmured as he nibbled her ear.
“Hmm?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I need to.”
“Oh.” Her hands moved under his coat, stroking his back as he pulled her closer. “Since you’ve been away from town for several days, I suppose you do.”
He scowled. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It isn’t?”
“I’m leading up to a marriage proposal. You deserve more out of life than parading chits through the Marriage Mart every year. Your family deserves more than struggling in a cottage.”
“I’m not a charity case, my lord.” She tried to pull away. “Nor am I a convenient way to thwart your father’s matchmaking.”
He refused to let go. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“You are saying a lot you don’t mean tonight.”
“Damnation!” He released her to drag his hands through his hair. “I’m making a thorough muck of this.”
“That you are.” Her voice sounded suspiciously light.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“A bit. I’ve not seen you this flustered since Lady Beatrice’s drawing room.”
He kissed her again – thoroughly – then led her out of the woods so he could see her face. It didn’t improve his composure, for it was as impassive as the most accomplished diplomat’s. “Let me start over, Edith,” he said, laying his heart out for her to trample if she chose. “This has nothing to do with Inslip. I love you.”
“You’re serious!” She stared.
“Very. I don’t believe in magic amulets, but I do believe in you. I need you, Edith.”
“But you could have anyone.”
“I want you. Is there any chance you want me too?”
“Of course, but—”
He stopped her protest in the best way possible – with another long kiss that nearly set the grounds on fire. “Satisfied?”
“Not entirely.” When he raised his brows, she sighed. “Are you sure, Charles? We’ve spent the day wrapped in the Christmas spirit and surrounded by good cheer, then finished with a scare. It is bound to affect your thinking.”
“No. You forced me to trust my judgment, and I’ve discovered that it’s as sound as you claim. It’s love I feel for you, Edith. Not lust. Not infatuation. Not Christmas spirit. Love is more powerful than any of those. And far more lasting. I’ve lived around people in love all my life. They’ve always described love as the ultimate magic, and now I know what they mean. This is right, as nothing was before. You are right – right for me. Do you understand?”
She nodded, her hand lifting to stroke his cheek in wonder.
He pulled her into another heady embrace, his desperation easing when she joined him wholeheartedly. He nearly wept when he had to end it.
“More,” she murmured huskily. “You stopped too soon.”
“The rest will have to wait. One month, love. Long enough to gather my family and yours. Then we will wed.”
Edith stared at him, speechless, still barely believing her ears. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. Her, a dissipated gamester’s penniless daughter who had worked as a companion and governess for eleven years.
“You haven’t said yes.” His tongue flicked her nose.
“Yes.” When he pulled her hard against him, she repeated it. “Yes, Charles. Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve had a disgusting tendre for you since the first time I saw you. That tumbled hopelessly into love yesterday. Stupid of me, or so I thought.”
He smiled. “Jacob was right. I think I’ve been in love with you since the day you ruined my favorite coat.”
“I thought I would die of embarrassment, though it was your own fault.”
“Mine?” He turned toward the house, keeping one arm firmly around her.
“Yours. I’d no idea you would be making morning calls that day – it isn’t your habit. If you hadn’t been suddenly in front of me in all your blinding elegance, I would never have tripped. Then I was so flustered, I couldn’t get up again.”
He laughed. “That’s a story you can tell our grandchildren, love.” Merrimont was embracing Diana under the kissing bough hanging from the portico, so he stopped, pulling Edith closer as he gazed up at the heavens. A falling star blazed a trail toward the Christmas star, its radiance adding to the joy bursting through his heart. “There’s the Christmas star, Edith. Can you feel its promise? We belong together. Until the end of time.”
She laid her head on his shoulder, raising a hand to cup the star’s light. The night was so clear that it seemed to hover just beyond her fingertips. “It’s beautiful, Charles. And you’re right. Love is the ultimate magic. I’m yours. Forever.”
“As I’m yours.” Merrimont still blocked the door, so he pulled her closer. “Let’s indulge in that magic one more time before we go inside.”
His lips found hers and lingered…
PROMISES TO KEEP
Allison Lane
-1-
London was huge and full of people.
Maggie Adams stared at the crowds as her hired carriage rounded a corner. Even knowing that London was the largest city in the world had not prepared her for its immensity.
It had taken two hours to reach Mayfair from the docks, though they had crossed only a portion of the city. She had seen areas of unimagined squalor, streets so elegant that her breath caught, and more people than she could count. A market square had seemed to hold the entire population of Halifax, yet even more women had bustled along the next street than had huddled outside the mine after last spring’s disaster. Every corner they rounded revealed more – piemen vying for a workman’s custom, maids scurrying about on errands or flirting with handsome young footmen, horses jamming the intersections, delivery boys, shoppers, crones, pickpockets…
Never had she felt so insignificant – or so helpless. She’d already been turned away from every hotel Captain Harding considered suitable for ladies. What if the Grand Regent was also full?
“I still think we should go to Adams House,” said Alice stoutly.
“No. I promised Father to heal the breach with his family, but he warned me to remain cautious. Arriving on their doorstep without warning will put me at a disadvantage. I must learn more about the family before making demands.” To begin with, she must find out whether her grandfather was still alive. It had been twenty-eight years since her father had left home.
An altercation outside the window distracted her attention. Half a dozen men cheered on two youths, who were pummeling each other as they rolled about on the ground. A matron glared, then berated a gentleman collecting wagers on the outcome.
“You know how your father would feel about patronizing a second-rate hotel,” Alice said, returning to their ongoing argument.
“The clerk at the Clarendon swore that the Grand Regency is an excellent house.”
“The clerk at the Clarendon thought you a rustic colonial with little money and less consequence.”
Alice was right – not that she’d had any choice. Hiding her circumstances was another promise she’d made to her father. If she failed to heal this breach, she wanted no further contact with her English family. The only way to assure that was to hide her home and give them no incentive to look for her.
Yet dressing shabbily had been a serious mistake today. She had not understood how rigid the English were about class – far more than anyone at home. So at this hotel, her demeanor must convince the clerk that she was aristocratic despite her provincial gown.
The carriage pulled to a stop.
“It’s impressive enough,” conceded Alice as the door opened. Columns punctuated the facade, which overlooked a broad street divided by a tree-studded garden.
“Let’s hope they have room.” Maggie accepted a footman’s hand down, but did not utter her usual thanks. She must radiate power.
Ignoring the elegant lobby, she stiffened her spine and marched to the desk.
“Good day, Mr. Simmons.” She prayed the nameplate was his. “Mr. Louillier at the Clarendon believes you have a suite available – all he could offer was a single room. I trust you can accommodate me.”
She glared in the way that usually cowed her employees, giving him no chance to assess her gown. It worked.
“Of course, madam.”
She nodded regally. “Margaret Adams, of Halifax.” This lie had little to do with promises. She could hardly admit being an American. War had raged between England and the United States for two years.
She signed the register and paid a week in advance, then sent Alice to deal with their driver. Exhaustion swept over her in a debilitating wave. The journey had been grueling – jolting along corduroy roads, canoeing down rivers, leading pack animals through dense forest. Eventually she’d caught a fishing boat to Halifax, where she’d boarded a ship for England.
But now that she was finally here, the uncertainty she had been ignoring returned. How was she to approach her family?
Deep in thought, she headed for the stairs and promptly ran into a gentleman.
“Pardon me, madam,” he said stiffly, grabbing her arm to keep her from falling.
Flames burned her cheeks. “It was entirely my fault, sir. Are you all right?” Odd sensations radiated from his hand. “I should have been paying attention – though it could have been worse. I might have sent you sprawling.” She winced at her babbling, for the words were embarrassingly true. She had been beset by clumsiness since leaving for England. Only last week, she’d nearly knocked the first mate overboard.
“Am I supposed to be grateful?” he asked coolly.
“That wasn’t what I meant!” New heat flushed her face. She shook her head in an effort to restore wits scattered by his touch. Where had her sangfroid gone? He was only a man.
But what a man! His clothes were more fashionable than evening wear in Pittsburgh. A striped waistcoat peeked from under a dark blue coat stretched across powerful shoulders. Gray pantaloons showed off muscular thighs and impeccably polished boots. His eyes were an odd shade of green – something between old moss and a pale stone she’d once found along the river. Only his hair countered his elegance, framing his face in a riot of dark curls. She suppressed a ridiculous urge to test its softness.
“The accent is American,” he said after quizzing her from head to toe. “But from neither Philadelphia nor Boston.”
“Canadian,” she countered, meeting his gaze in a test of wills.
He blinked, his eyes lightening with laughter. “Intelligent.”
“What is your point, Mr.—”
“Widmer. Marcus Widmer. Forgive me. Your nationality is your own business, though this demonstrates why I resigned from diplomatic service. My tongue sometimes runs on its own.”
“Maggie Adams, from Halifax.” She offered her hand as if meeting a business acquaintance, then chided herself as he gravely shook it. “What can you tell me of the Grand Regent? I had expected to stay at the Pulteney or the Clarendon.”
“You and half the aristocracy.” He offered his arm to escort her upstairs. “All the better London hotels are crowded because of Napoleon’s abdication. In June, we entertained a host of foreign dignitaries, including several heads of state. In July, innumerable dinners honored Wellington. Now London is holding the public festivities. They will conclude tomorrow, but you should be careful when you venture out. Excitement often leads to rowdiness, and this heat has done nothing to soothe tempers.”
She nodded, though London was cooler than August at home.
“As to your question, I’ve lived at the Grand Regent since it opened last month. The service remains what Americans call spotty, but the prices are reasonable and the food is outstanding. Would you dine with me this evening?”
“My companion and I will be delighted,” she replied without thinking.
* * * *
Maggie shut the door to her first-floor suite, leaving Mr. Widmer to continue upstairs. What had possessed her to accept an invitation from a man to whom she had not been introduced? Recklessness was alien to her nature, but something about him scattered her wits. She still felt uncomfortably warm.
Or was it merely exhaustion?
She frowned, turning the encounter over in her mind. She’d spotted a flash in his eyes that usually denoted avarice, though that was unlikely. His examination would have convinced him that she was beneath him socially and probably naïve. Thus the only thing he could covet was her body. This invitation was probably the first step in a seduction.
The idea hurt. “Take care, Maggie,” she murmured aloud. No one had ever piqued her interest so quickly. He exuded a powerful masculinity, which made him dangerous. If she hoped to keep her wits sharp, she must rest before dinner.
But first, she had promises to keep. She found pen, ink, and pressed paper in the sitting room’s writing desk. Moving aside an oil lamp held aloft by a Greek maiden, she addressed a brief letter to her grandfather. With luck, he would be in London for the festivities.
Alice arrived as she was sanding the page. “What a wonderful hotel,” she exclaimed. “They even have a dumbwaiter to haul the heavier luggage upstairs. I must include one when I build.”
“Don’t introduce too much ostentation,” Maggie warned. “The Grand Regent would overwhelm Pittsburgh. Most of those passing through cannot afford luxury.”
“I know. I intend to start small, but I’ve every intention of serving the affluent. Pittsburgh has grown large enough to need a quality hotel, and mine will be the best.” She ran her fingers over a black lacquer cabinet decorated with chariots and swans. “Mr. Simmons was soothing an irate dowager just now. He has a knack for knowing exactly what to say. I wonder if he would share information on hotel management with a mere female.”
Maggie sealed the note, listening to Alice’s chatter with half an ear. She doubted that the stiff Mr. Simmons would help, though if anyone could convince him to do so, it would be Alice Sharpe. Her former governess was the most persistent woman she had ever known.
* * * *
Marcus berated himself all the way to his third-floor room. What was it about Maggie Adams that had prompted him to act the fool? Quitting the government had nothing to do with any lack of diplomatic skill. He had been a valued member of delegations to several countries. Never had he revealed any fact without purpose. So why had his tongue run away with him today?
Wrong question, his conscience announced.
The problem had not begun today, he admitted. He had behaved recklessly since quitting his position two months ago – arguing with his family, taking up residence in a hotel, allowing a pleasant flirtation with the maid to grow into a lusty liaison…
What a stupid idea that had been. Betsy expected him to set her up as his mistress, so breaking off the affair would invite retaliation – not that he’d considered doing so until half an hour ago, but one loo
k at Miss Adams had banished any desire for others.
Maggie Adams. American, despite her denials. She was magnificent – tall enough to reach his nose, blue eyes, dark hair. Her manner might be almost masculine, but it formed a piquant contrast to the most delectable body he’d seen in years – his mouth watered at the image of cradling her breasts, of caressing her hips, of—
“Down!” he ordered his unruly passions. They were another change since quitting diplomacy. During the years he’d slaved to earn his superiors’ respect, he’d been too focused on business to bother with more than an occasional encounter. Now he could rarely go a day without needing a woman. Yet Miss Adams was unobtainable. He could neither seduce an innocent nor court a foreigner. Inviting her to dinner had been stupid, but the words had emerged without thought – another new trait, and one he would rather do without. Now he must spend an entire evening lusting after someone he could not have.
Pushing the problem aside, he reviewed his afternoon meeting with Trevithick.
He was fascinated by inventions, especially those newfangled machines his grandfather derided. Diplomacy had never stirred his senses like the thought of operating his own business. Unfortunately, his talents lay in organization and oversight, so he needed a creative partner.
His family was appalled. Gentlemen did not dabble in trade. Nor did they display vulgar interest in things mechanical. Never mind that as the younger son of a baron’s younger son he had no hope of achieving the title. Never mind that his interests did not run to agriculture, the church, government service, or even the military. As a gentleman, he was expected to emulate his ancestors.
“No,” he vowed, pacing the floor. A large legacy from his maternal grandmother and a smaller one from his Great-aunt Margaret allowed him to follow his dreams. Change was inevitable, despite the hidebound thinking of men like his grandfather. A new order was coming. He must be part of it.
He had encountered progress wherever he’d gone. In Italy, Volta was producing electricity by immersing metal plates in a chemical solution. In Russia, a tinker had raved about his French cousin, Appert, who could pack meat in metal cans that kept it fresh for months. In the United States, he had watched gins separate cotton from its seeds in a fraction of the time slaves needed to do the job.
