by Cheryl Holt
Besides, he’d announced his plans with regard to her, so he would never back out. He’d proclaimed the news—that she would be his—to the household and to her despicable relatives. And be his she would.
In the end, the poor girl would have no other choice.
CHAPTER NINE
“Miss Edwards?” Rafe murmured into the dark garden. “Where are you?”
“I’m here, I’m here.”
He followed the sound of her voice, continuing through the groomed shrubbery until he located her on a secluded bench. It was nestled in a natural arbor that would be hard to see should anyone walk by, so it was a perfect spot for an assignation.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said as he plopped down next to her.
“I didn’t think you would either,” he told her. “Why did you?”
“I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to be alone with Captain Harlow.”
“I’m not the Captain though.”
“Yes, I was there when your brother announced the news.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“Not a bit.”
She studied him with a feminine attention that was nearly expected by him from every woman he encountered. He was used to it, enjoyed it, and never refused what was offered.
“Why did you come?” she asked. “Tell me the truth.”
“I like to flirt.”
“That can’t be your answer,” she protested. “You have to say you were thoroughly captivated by me and couldn’t resist.”
“All right.” He grinned. “You’ve thoroughly captivated me, Miss Edwards.”
Actually since he’d arrived at Greystone, he hadn’t thought about her much. She had brunette hair, when he liked blond hair the best, and she had brown eyes rather than his favorite blue, but they were big brown eyes that sparkled with amusement. With her being plump and pretty, he’d noticed her of course but in the vague fashion he noticed every female.
In his few interactions with her, she’d seemed merry and pleasant, and he liked happy women. He was a sunny person himself and wouldn’t tolerate bickering or spite. He’d had enough of that sort of behavior from his father when he was a boy.
“Call me Eddie,” she said. “Everyone does.”
“Eddie?”
“It’s much more fun than Edwina, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, much more fun.”
“I’m not being too forward, am I?”
He chuckled. “Since you invited me out to the garden, and we’re without a chaperone, we have more pressing issues to worry about than whether I refer to you as Eddie or Miss Edwards.”
“What should I call you? What is proper? Mr. Harlow? Or Private Harlow?”
“You can call me Rafe. I don’t mind.”
She smiled such a beautiful smile that he was taken aback by it.
“I’m glad you’re not marrying Angela,” she said. “I was so afraid you might.”
“There was never any chance of it.”
“She’s very angry.”
“I know.”
“You were horrid to lead her on.”
“I led her on?” He shrugged. “It was the other way around. I tried to ignore her, but she wouldn’t let me.”
“She was hoping to be the Captain’s bride, and you didn’t tell her you weren’t the Captain.”
“Well, she didn’t ever ask me if I was the Captain.”
“Would you have told her if she had?”
“No.”
She laughed. “You’re so bad, Rafe.”
“The whole charade was my brother’s idea. He figured it would help him to discover what everyone at Greystone was like.”
“Did it?”
“Absolutely. Roland is selfish and vain. Angela is shrewish and annoying. Clarissa is pragmatic and sensible.”
“What about me? What am I like?”
“We didn’t decide.”
“Oh, drat it. I wanted to hear a pithy description.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Is your brother trustworthy?”
“More so than anybody I’ve ever met.”
“He said I can stay here after Roland leaves. Does he mean it?”
“If Matthew says something, he means it.”
Matthew was the greatest big brother in the world, and after Rafe had killed his mother in childbed, Matthew had been the steadying influence in Rafe’s life. His father, during Rafe’s early years, had been out of the country most of the time with his soldiering.
After he’d taken them with him, after declaring that they needed to learn to be men—even though they were only boys—Matthew had been the dominant force. Rafe’s father had been too drunk and cruel to ever practice much genuine authority.
Matthew was smart and tough and decent. He kept a tight rein on Rafe, kept him out of trouble and on the proper path, despite all of Rafe’s worst impulses. But Rafe was twenty-two, a wealthy bachelor with mischievous tendencies, and he often wished Matthew wasn’t quite so diligent.
“Will your brother really marry Clarissa?” she inquired.
“He’s planning on it, and he always gets his way.”
“What if she doesn’t want to be his bride?”
“He’ll talk her into it. It’s difficult to go against him, and he’s very determined.”
“What kind of husband will he be to her?”
“He won’t beat her—if that’s what’s worrying you.”
Matthew had witnessed too many whippings carried out by Rafe’s father, so he never punished anyone who didn’t deserve it. Matthew could be furious and driven to vengeance, but he wouldn’t harm someone who couldn’t fight back.
“I wasn’t worried about him beating her,” she said. “I was thinking more along the lines of how romantic their marriage will be.”
“Romantic! Can marriage be romantic?”
“He seems so dashing. Please tell me he’ll sweep her off her feet.”
“I don’t believe my brother will sweep her anywhere. He’s fresh out of brooms.”
“I’m so disappointed to hear it. Why can’t there be a happy ending?”
“Are you a dreamer, Eddie? You sound as if you are.”
“Yes, I’m a constant dreamer.”
“What do you dream about?”
“What every girl dreams about, I guess. I’ll convince a wonderful man to wed me.”
Looking sly and crafty, she peeked at him, leaving no doubt that she viewed him as husband material. But he had no intention of shackling himself when he was so young, and even if he’d wanted to, Matthew would never allow it.
“Are you hoping that man might be me?” he asked.
He expected her to deny it, but she brazenly replied, “It could happen.”
“No, it couldn’t.”
“I have a dowry. Roland can’t touch it, so it’s still there, and it’s quite a substantial amount.”
“I’m rich myself, so I don’t need an heiress.”
“You’re rich?” Her skepticism was obvious.
“Yes.”
His relatives were wool producers in the north, absorbed with sheep and mills and cloth. His father had hated the family’s trade, so he’d taken his share in money, had invested it in property and an army commission. After he’d met with his accident, shrewdly arranged by Matthew, Rafe had inherited it all.
“If you telling the truth,” she said, “why are you a lowly private? Why didn’t you buy yourself a commission so you could be an officer?”
“Matthew bought the commission, and he’ll let me have one when I can prove I’m able to persuade men to follow me.”
“You don’t know how to make them?”
“No. I’m too frivolous. Who would put their life on the line for me?”
He supposed other men might have protested the situation, but not Rafe. Matthew could bluster and command and deal with the headaches that authority produced. Rafe liked to drink and play and chase women.
“Whe
n is your furlough over?” she asked.
“In a few weeks.”
“You’ll return to the army.”
“Of course. What else would I do?”
“What if you stayed here?”
“At Greystone?”
“Yes. Would that be so bad?”
“I’d be bored to tears.”
He enjoyed being a soldier, liked the traveling and camaraderie and action. He couldn’t imagine coming to rural England and settling down to become a husband and farmer.
“What about your brother?” she inquired. “Has he resigned his commission or is he on furlough too? Will he leave with you?”
“Yes, he’ll leave.”
“He’ll wed Clarissa, then ride off into the sunset?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, you men!” she huffed, and the merry gleam in her eye faded. “If you’re not interested in marrying, what good are you to me?”
“Not much good at all, I’m afraid.”
“That’s the most honest remark you’ve uttered since you arrived.” She scowled. “Would your brother let me go husband hunting in London?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Roland would never allow me, and he’s such a penny pincher, he wouldn’t give me funds. He’d like to wed me himself—to get his hands on my dowry.”
“You poor thing.”
“Yes, that’s how wretched my life is. I’m trapped in the country, in a neighborhood with no bachelors, and Roland the only available suitor.”
“Is that why you invited me into the garden? Were you planning to charm me so I’d beg you to be my bride?”
“Well, not beg, precisely. I couldn’t picture you doing that, but I thought I might be able to tempt you toward the idea.” She waved to the house. “Would you go? I’d like to be alone.”
“Why? So you can mope and feel sorry for yourself?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. “Shouldn’t I at least get a kiss for my trouble?”
“Why would I kiss you if you have no desire to be a husband? What would be the point?”
“If you practice with me, maybe you’ll be better able to entice the next fellow.”
“I’m beginning to suspect there’ll be no enticing for me. I’ll likely die a spinster.”
He laughed again, humored by her melodramatic flair. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Have you ever been kissed?”
“Never.”
“Then you should try it. If you’re destined to die a spinster, this might be your only chance.”
He stared at her, wearing her down with the smile women could never resist.
“I might let you,” she ultimately said, “but I probably won’t like it.”
“You think you could be kissed by me and not like it?”
“It’s not as if I have anyone to compare you to.”
“Trust me, it’s all down hill from here.”
“You’re so vain.”
“Isn’t that what you love about me?”
She studied him, taking in his lanky frame, his blond hair and blue eyes. “Yes, I believe that is what I love about you.”
He pulled her to him, lifting her up and over so she straddled his lap. Her knees were on the bench, her skirt and petticoats rucked up, and he eased her down so her private parts were flat to his own.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he told her.
“Like this?”
“Yes, and close your eyes.”
She was exactly the sort of girl he liked, biddable, compliant, eager to please.
He touched his mouth to hers, starting gradually, then increasing the pressure. At first it was a bit awkward, but she was a game learner. Very quickly, she was participating with an unbridled enthusiasm.
When he flicked his tongue against her lips, she instantly grasped what he was requesting. She opened wide and welcomed him inside. When he plucked the combs from her pretty brunette hair, she didn’t whimper a word of protest. When he caressed a palm over her breasts, she didn’t complain or try to stop him.
She was a plump, curvaceous gem. He had his hands full with her, and he was surprised that he liked her as much as he did. Typically, he preferred slender females, but he relished her extra weight, the solid feel of her, as if she was steady and true and capable.
He kissed her for a long while, long enough that the moon moved across the sky, the stars drifting into new positions. As he drew away, he grinned, and she grinned too, looking sly again and happy with what she’d wrought.
“You’re a good kisser,” she said.
“I’ve had lots of practice.”
“What about me? Am I good at it?”
“You’re spectacular.”
“You’re not simply being polite? You mean it?”
“Yes, Eddie, you’re grand.”
She breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed onto him, her chest pressed to his, her chin resting on his shoulder. He held her for another long while, liking the quiet interval where she didn’t seem to expect anything from him.
“Let’s get you inside,” he eventually said.
“I suppose I should.” She sat up. “Can we come out here tomorrow? Can we do it again?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, No, we can’t do it again. Yet he opened his mouth and what emerged was, “Yes. How about after eleven when everyone is in bed?”
“Eleven will be perfect.”
She slid away and hurried off. He tarried in the dark, listening as her strides crunched across the gravel and faded away.
What was he doing? What was he thinking?
He was leading her on, that was for sure. He might be just twenty-two, but he understood women much better than he ought. She’d spend the night in ecstatic reverie, contemplating weddings and marriage and nurseries filled with children.
But he wanted to return to the army. He had no desire to be saddled with a wife and a houseful of squalling brats. The very idea made him break out in a cold sweat.
Finally, when he was certain he wouldn’t run into her, he sneaked in, being careful not to bump into Matthew. If his brother caught him creeping in, there’d be hell to pay, and he’d just as soon not pay it.
Matthew had ordered him to stay away from Eddie, but Rafe couldn’t see any reason to obey his brother’s stern edict. What did Matthew know anyway?
* * * *
“It’s not fair,” Angela wailed, and Roland rolled his eyes in disgust.
“When has a single minute of the past few years been fair?”
“I thought he was the Captain. I put all my effort into seducing him—only to learn that he’s no one at all.”
“Be thankful you discovered the truth before you went too far with him. Imagine if you’d had to wed the annoying scalawag.”
“That’s what he is, a scalawag! He toyed with my affections.”
Roland actually agreed with Captain Harlow—Angela had no affections—but he didn’t say it. She was incredibly distraught, yet he couldn’t bear her whining.
“Captain Harlow is preparing to marry Clarissa!” Angela fumed.
“I realize that fact.”
“You can’t permit it, Roland. You can’t!”
From Clarissa’s reaction when Captain Harlow had announced his plan, she hadn’t seemed interested. In the end, Roland doubted Clarissa would have much choice. Captain Harlow was an imperious tyrant, and Roland couldn’t fathom how they might dissuade him. So they had to use the situation to their best advantage.
But how?
He glared at his sister. “Will you stop your caterwauling and hear me out?”
“About what? If you’re about to claim that you…you…concur in her being his bride, you ought not to mention it, Roland. I can’t predict what I might do.”
“Cease your theatrics, Angela. We have important issues to hash out, and I can’t have you so hysterical.”
“I’ve haven’t begun to grow hysterical.
Tell me that you intend to let Clarissa wed him, and you’ll see hysterics!”
He and his sister had never liked Clarissa. Roland’s antipathy had developed because he didn’t like sharing, especially now with their finances having collapsed. Why must they continue to support her? He was also a snob, Harold Merrick’s only son, with Harold once renowned as an affluent landowner. In contrast, what was Clarissa? An actress’s daughter.
She’d always insisted her parents had been wed, but who could guess if the story was true? It was outrageous that she’d been raised with him and Angela. It was an insult. It was a gross offense to their dignity and status.
As to Angela, she’d never admit it, but she hated Clarissa because Clarissa was smarter and prettier and more appealing in every way. Angela couldn’t stand to be outshone by anyone, but particularly not her poverty-stricken cousin.
“If Captain Harlow is determined to marry Clarissa,” Roland said, “we’ll have to accept it and figure out how to benefit from the union.”
“You’re joking,” she seethed. “If anything is to happen, you should inform him that he’ll choose me or he can jump off a cliff.”
“Get it through your thick head, Angela. He doesn’t want you. He watched you throw yourself at his brother.”
“Whose fault was that? You ordered me to flirt with Rafe Harlow.”
“Yes, and now the Captain believes you’re a trollop, and he’s very stubborn. I couldn’t convince him to have you if I argued for an entire month.”
“You’ll let him wed Clarissa without a fight? Clarissa, Roland? Seriously?”
“Do you think I’m glad about it?”
“I have no idea what you think.”
The butler took that moment to knock. They were shut away in a rear parlor where they were hidden from Captain Harlow. Roland had spent an exhausting night, struggling to devise an appropriate course of action. He simply had to persuade Angela and Clarissa to help him, but he’d never been able to lord himself over either one.
“Miss Clarissa is here,” the butler said.
“Show her in.”
Angela rose in a huff. “If you’re about to discuss what I assume you’re about to discuss, I will not stay and listen.”
