Adair looked where Dangerfield indicated, and gave a slight shudder. Dangerfield laughed. Adair glared at him again.
“No, not at all. Most of them simply grate on my nerves.”
“Well, there’s really only one solution – find one you actually like, and marry her. That way the others will all leave you alone, and move on to the next poor soul they set their sights on. Marrying was by far the most sensible thing I’ve done in recent years.”
Adair still glared at him, but the words struck home. Had he not been thinking that, had he been forced to marry Lady Eleanor, it would not, at all, have been a bad thing? The idea stood out as worthy of serious consideration – assuming, of course, that the lady did not now fear him so much that she would reject him out of hand.
He hoped that was not the case, rather desperately, he found. Perhaps he should speak to her now? But when he turned, she had disappeared from the room.
He sighed, and strode towards the door – time to run the gauntlet.
~~~~~
Eleanor had hoped to have a chance to speak with Braeness, with at least a modicum of privacy, later that day. She was not sure what she wished to say, but she could not bear the distance which seemed to have come between them, as a result of the last few days drama. She did not, entirely, know the truth of her own feelings – only that she was unhappy with the situation, and that her mind kept going back to his kisses – and to the expression on his face as he had dragged Baggs away from her.
The more she revisited that moment, the less frightening he seemed, indeed, when she considered it now, what she saw was a man afraid for someone he cared for, and willing to do whatever it took to protect her. Perhaps she was deluded in thinking that, but she hoped not – for it was what she wanted to be the truth.
But she hadn’t spoken with him. For as soon as the drama in the ballroom was done, her parents had almost dragged her upstairs to the private parlour attached to their guest suite, and demanded that she tell them the whole story, including explaining why she had been in the stables on the morning of Molly’s death in the first place. She had managed to do so, carefully not mentioning a certain kiss, or being alone with Braeness, but it had been all rather exhausting. Then, when they had come down for dinner, there had been no chance to even be near him.
In the parlour, he had been surrounded by Lady Elizabeth and her ilk, then at dinner, he had been seated quite some distance from Eleanor. Their eyes had met, multiple times, but there had been no chance to speak.
She fell into her bed that night, disconsolate and exhausted, and dreamed of Braeness kissing her, of the moment when he had lifted her effortlessly, and spun her around. She had been loath to wake from those dreams, but wake she did. Bright light came through the open curtains, and Mary was building up the fire.
“Good morning, Lady Eleanor. There’s hot chocolate on your beside table, my Lady, and I’ll have the room nice and warm soon.”
“Thank you.”
Eleanor pushed herself up to sit, leaning back against the headboard, and reached for the chocolate. It was, she realised, Christmas Eve. Tonight was the Ball. Molly’s death, and the investigation which had followed, had overshadowed the approach of Christmas completely, and now, knowing that was done with, she felt suddenly unprepared.
Unprepared for Christmas, unprepared for the Ball, and especially unprepared for dealing with her feelings about Braeness, and simply getting through the day, watching the ladies who had spurned him before fawning over him.
It seemed that having been publicly declared a hero had suddenly made him intensely attractive. They were all so utterly shallow. Had she ever been so oblivious to what mattered? Unfortunately, she suspected that she had. It was rather lowering to realise it.
The room became warmer, and the chocolate warmed her from the inside, until she stretched, and thrust the covers aside to rise. She went to the window, and looked out – there had been snow overnight – just enough to make everything appear pure and perfect again.
Eleanor almost laughed at the sight. Nothing was pure and perfect – well, except, perhaps, love like the love that Juliana and Garrett shared. Would she ever have such happiness? She looked across the gardens, and out towards the stables. Nothing had changed – grooms came and went, as if yesterday had been nothing special, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She shivered, even though the room was warm. Something had happened, and she suspected that, every time she went into a stable, she would remember it, would be afraid.
That thought startled her, and she paused, examining it. She did not want to be always afraid. Yet the stables loomed out there, full of bad memories. Sudden determination filled her, and she spun back to the room, not seeing, as a result, the horse and rider approaching the house from far across the fields.
“Mary, I’d like warm clothes and a pelisse, and my boots, I want to walk outside for a little, before I break my fast.”
“Yes, my Lady – the green dress?”
“That will do nicely.”
Ten minutes later, Eleanor slipped down the stairs, and out onto the terrace. Few people were up yet, and no one saw her go – which was for the best, she thought. No one to distract her with pointless conversation. Outside, the cold crisp air brought a glow to her cheeks, and made her feel truly alive. Determinedly, she turned her steps towards the stables.
As she stepped onto the gravel yard, her heart beat harder, and her mouth became dry. She swallowed, a chill of fear going through her. Annoyed, she chastised herself, mentally – Baggs was locked up, and no one else had ever threatened her here. Molly was buried and gone – there was nothing to avoid. Yet the chill in her bones intensified as she stepped through the door.
The dimness inside momentarily blinded her, after the bright light bouncing off the snow outside, and she ran straight into something – someone. She emitted a loud squeak as large warm hands caught her and steadied her.
She knew the feel of those hands. They had caught her before. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dimness.
“I am so sorry – it is so dim in here, after the brightness outside, I could not see, and I foolishly assumed that there was no one in front of me…”
His laughter came, soft and resonant.
“I am happy to keep catching you, my Lady, as you require it. But what brings you out here this chill morning?”
His hands still held her, their warmth detectable, even through her warm clothes, and she felt her lips twist into a self-deprecating smile as she met his eyes. Somehow, she could not prevaricate – something in her knew instinctively that he would understand.
“Your Grace… I… I looked out of my window and saw the stables, and something in me was afraid. I do not wish to feel afraid, every time I enter a stable! So I decided that I had to come out here, immediately, and walk around, even go to that feed room where Baggs took me… and choose to not be afraid.”
She had made the right decision, her instinct had been correct, for he did not mock her words, or look disbelieving. Instead, his eyes held hers with warm concern.
“A wise choice, my Lady. Would it help if I escorted you, to that room? Or do you prefer to go alone?”
Did she want him with her? What if she began to shake with fear? But then, he had seen her terrified, had seen her at her worst, and had not flinched. And it would help, to have someone else with her.
“I thank you, Your Grace. I believe that would, indeed, help.”
His hands dropped from her waist, and she felt all the more cold for their absence. He turned, and offered her his arm. She placed her hand upon it, for all the world as if they were promenading in a park, and he led her down the aisle of the stables. They passed grooms and stableboys, all at their work, who nodded in greeting, stepped out of their way, and said nothing.
It occurred to Eleanor then that she was being rather rash – here she was, yet again, effectively alone with Braeness. She didn’t care. For somehow, the ease between them was returning,
and her heart sang in response.
When they reached the far end of the carriage house wing, where the other aisle of stalls began, he turned her down a narrow hall and led her into the corner of the building. She recognised the dusty space, and the smell of grain sacks sent a quiver of fear through her. He must have felt it, for he brought his other hand across, to cover hers where it rested on his arm. She was glad of that touch.
“Stay calm, lassie, there’s no one here to hurt ye. Nothing but grain sacks and dust, and maybe a few wee spiders.”
She looked up at him, and smiled. The only time his speech lapsed into even the tiniest bit of Scots seemed to be when he was with her. And she rather thought that she liked it.
They turned another corner, and stopped. She stared at the space in front of her, at the less dusty patch on the stack of grain filled hessian bags, where she had been held helpless, at the mess of footprints which disturbed the dusty floor, from all of the scuffle around her rescue. The fear was still there, but it lessened by the moment. For there was no threat, nothing but the pathetic traces of a man’s selfish, foolish desperation.
She sighed, and felt the tension leave her.
His hand lifted then, and cupped her cheek, turning her face towards him. That touch sent heat to the very core of her, and she licked her lips, nervous for an entirely different reason now. His thumb brushed across her lips, following the path of her tongue, and her insides did the strangest fluttery things in response. She looked up, and near stopped breathing at the expression on his face.
“Thank you. I… I see that there is nothing to fear, only the memory of fear. And as you did then, your presence here saves me from my own foolishness.”
“Ye’re ne’er foolish, lassie, far from it.”
“I have been, though, much more than I ever understood before now.”
“That’s the past. Nae dwell on it, lass. Ye can’t change it, but ye can choose what happens from now on.”
Her heart thundered in her breast, and she looked into those forest green eyes, and made a choice.
“Then if I can choose, what I choose to do is ask you to kiss me. Wipe away all memory of fear in this place with something far more pleasant, more valuable.”
Heat flared in his eyes, and she felt suddenly unsteady on her feet, in the most delicious way possible. He bent slowly, his arm slipping about her waist as he did, and brought his lips to hers. It was a slow kiss, full of exploration, his tongue tracing her mouth, and hers responding, his body warm and hard against hers, and his hands holding her safe. When they finally drew apart, his eyes shone, and she clung to him, not wanting the moment to stop.
But of course, it had to.
“Does that serve your wishes, my Lady?”
Oh, indeed it did. But the hesitant edge to his question did not.
“Yes. For now… but I suspect that I could become rather fond of such kisses…”
Was she being too forward? Probably. But the removal of fear had left her feeling strangely free, and almost wild, as she never had in her life. He looked almost shocked for a moment, then laughed, and lifted her effortlessly in his arms, spinning around as he had in the library that night.
“That’s good, lassie, for I am quite certain that I could be far more than fond of kissing you, and often…”
“But if you wish to do that…”
She could not say it. What if he did not wish it? What if she had misinterpreted everything? Her breath caught in her throat.
“If I wish to do that, I’d best, as an honourable man, ask you to marry me, hadn’t I?”
“Ye… yes… if you truly wish… you’re not just being honourable because…?”
He laughed, and spun her around more, kissing her again.
“I am not just doing it out of honour, no. I have, I think, come to love you far too much to bear the idea of letting you go. Marry me, Lady Eleanor? Please?”
Her head spun, and emotions spiralled through her – joy, uncertainty, almost fear, then joy again.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you. Because I seem to have fallen in love with you too.”
“Ye’re no afraid of me lassie, not after seeing me shake that cad, like a terrier deals with a rat? For I worried…”
“No – I don’t think I was ever truly afraid of you. You can be rather overwhelming, its true, but no, you do not make me afraid – if you did, I’d not have just said yes!”
“Then let me kiss you again, before we go back inside, and speak wi’ yer father, lassie.”
Chapter Fourteen
They slipped into the house separately, and Adair went in search of Lord Delbarton, whilst Eleanor went up and shed her pelisse, then went to the breakfast room, attempting to look as if nothing momentous had just happened. She suspected that she failed, for Juliana gave her an odd questioning look, which she chose to ignore.
She barely ate, though, for her stomach was knotted with nerves. Would her father be happy about this? She wasn’t sure at all, although he cared mostly for her happiness, and could not complain about her marrying a Duke – even a Scottish one! Still, by the time she settled in the parlour with a book, she felt as if the day was passing at a snail’s pace, and her mind could not focus at all.
Half an hour later, a footman slipped into the room, and came to her.
“My Lady, your father asks that you come to speak to him. He is in His Grace of Kilmerstan’s study.”
She nodded, rose, and left the room as calmly as she could.
~~~~~
Adair first found Kilmerstan, in his study as he had hoped he would be, and asked him if he might borrow the use of the room for a short while. Kilmerstan raised an eyebrow, but did not ask further, simply bowed, and left him there. Adair then sent a footman with a polite request for Lord Delbarton to meet him in the study.
It was, he had to admit, rather out of the ordinary for the suitor to summon the woman’s father, but as they were not at home, he had to make do. And he was not, most definitely not, going to speak to Lord Delbarton with an audience of gawkers!
He dropped onto one of the armchairs near the fireplace, and waited. Soon, footsteps echoed in the hall outside, and a tap came at the door. Adair stood.
“Enter.”
“Lord Delbarton, Your Grace.”
The footman bowed, and then closed the door after Lord Delbarton had entered.
“You asked to see me, Braeness?”
“I did, my Lord. I apologise for summoning you like that, but I could see no other way to speak to you in privacy.”
“And what do you wish to speak about, that needs privacy, Braeness?”
Adair waved the man to a seat, and dropped back into the armchair.
“I… ah… that is to say… I want to marry your daughter, my Lord.”
There, it was out. With no finesse whatsoever, but he had said the words. Lord Delbarton said nothing, but simply studied him. Adair felt rather like an insect faced with a scientist’s scrutiny. He waited, refusing to move, although he wanted to, desperately.
“I see. Does she wish to marry you?”
It was not the question he had expected.
“Errr… yes… my Lord. I have already been so precipitous as to ask her.”
Lord Delbarton studied him again, with a half amused look on his face.
“I won’t ask just how or where you managed a suitable moment to ask her. I need not ask you about your financial position either, for I well know that you’re wealthy, and not a rake or a gambler, beyond the few months after your father’s death. It’s obviously not her dowry that motivates you. But I will ask you a different question. Why do you want to marry her?”
Adair swallowed hard.
“I want to marry her because I love her. I know that it seems rather sudden, but I am sure. She… she’s not like most women I’ve met – she sees me differently…”
Lord Delbarton nodded, as if satisfied with that answer, and thought for a moment.
“And where will you
choose to live, if you marry her? I’d like to see my daughter at times, and Scotland is a long way away.”
“We’d spend some time at Braeness, I’ll not deny it, but I have estates in England too, one not so far from here, and a decent house in London too. I’d not seek to keep her away from her family.”
“Good. Then I see no reason to object. But before I agree completely, I’d like to call her here now, and hear what she has to say on the matter.”
“As you wish, my Lord.”
Lord Delbarton stood, and went to the door, calling a footman. Once the footman had gone to summon Lady Eleanor, Lord Delbarton went to the sideboard, where Garrett kept a decanter of brandy, and selected two glasses.
“I think that Kilmerstan will have no objection to us partaking of his spirits, in the circumstances.”
He filled the glasses with sizeable portions, and handed one to Adair, just as a tap came at the door again.
“Enter.”
The door opened, and Lady Eleanor stepped in. Her eyes came to his immediately, and she smiled, seeming a little nervous. Then she turned to her father.
“Father? You wanted to speak to me?”
“Yes. Tell me truthfully – do you want to marry Braeness? He tells me that you do, but I’d hear it from your own lips.”
At first, she did not speak, but simply turned and walked across to Adair. Her face was alight with happiness, and certainty. She reached for his hand, and grasped it firmly, twining her fingers with his.
“Yes, I do want to marry him. He’s not anything like the sort of man I told you I wanted, I know, but he is the man I want. I love him.”
Lord Delbarton smiled.
“I knew you’d make the right choice in the end, my girl, but, mind you, you had me worried with a few of those fops you entertained a thought of last Season. Braeness is a good man, no matter what the foolish gossips may have said at times. You’ve chosen well.”
Lady Eleanor dropped his hand, and went to embrace her father.
“Thank you, Father!”
“Now, my girl, we’d best send for your mother – if we waste even a moment before telling her, she’ll never let us forget it. Braeness, be prepared to be organised within an inch of your life – Emilia’s been planning this wedding in her imagination for years now!”
A Christmas Bride for the Duke: Clean Regency Romance (The Nettlefold Chronicles Book 4) Page 11
