‘I did experience a previous attachment,’ he admitted. ‘Indeed, it is precisely because of that…unhappy affair that I’ve come to believe a marriage between like-minded partners, based on mutual esteem and a genuine, deepening affection, is more likely to lead to a happy union than extreme emotion, which can as easily cause acute misery as intense delight. You too have lost someone very dear to you. Do you not think it possible I might be correct?’
She nodded. ‘It is possible. But what if you’re wrong? What if affection does not grow and deepen? What if, instead, it were to fade…perhaps in the face of some new, much stronger passion? Is that not equally likely?’
Did she question his commitment to the bargain he was asking her to make? ‘Not if both partners pledge their lives and honour to each other. I know you are drawn to me. That you like me at least a little. Do you deny that?’
She smiled slightly. ‘No. I like you a great deal.’
‘Then why have you tried so hard to resist the attraction between us—a connection I’m sure you felt, as I did, from the moment we met? Do you think that because I offer my affections to you so soon after severing a prior attachment that I will prove inconstant? Though I crave your consent now, I’m perfectly willing to prove my steadfastness. Only allow me to show you—over the course of the Season if I must—how devoted I can be.’
Anxiety and a driving need to win her overwhelmed his caution. Raising her hand, he turned it over to nuzzle the soft skin where wrist and glove met, filling his nostrils with her sweet rose scent. ‘Won’t you give me that right?’ he whispered, kissing the skin he’d caressed.
As if burned, she jerked her hand away. ‘I…I don’t question your honour or your constancy. I am sorry to…disappoint you, but I must refuse your offer. I want a husband who proposes to me out of passion and ardour, not mere esteem. Fortunately your attachment to me has been of short duration. I hope you will recover from it as quickly, and offer my most sincere wishes for your eventual happiness.’
Though he had known she might possibly refuse him, still he found himself shocked. ‘That…that is all? Can I not hope to persuade you otherwise when we meet again in London?’
Pressing her lips together, she looked away. ‘I think it would be best if you did not. And as I shall not refer to this…matter again, we may go on as we have been for the rest of your visit here. I expect I shall see you at dinner.’
Still not believing she would turn him down so completely, Allen continued to kneel, frozen in stupified silence as she rose, dipped him a quick curtsey and headed off down the pathway. Belatedly standing up, he watched until seconds later she exited the rose garden and disappeared from sight.
As, in just a few days, she intended him to disappear from her life. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Allen set off at a furious pace on a circuit around the garden.
How could he have miscalculated so badly? He’d been so sure that, even if she felt his offer precipitate, she would agree to his continuing to court her during the Season. He had never allowed himself even to contemplate her rejecting him completely.
A wholly unexpected sense of desolation rose in him. They’d seemed to complement each other’s interests and strengths so completely…how could she just walk away? Dismiss him as if he’d been nothing more to her than an amusing and casual acquaintance?
Anger followed on the heels of desolation. Dammit, she did feel more for him than she was willing to admit—he was certain of it! But for some unfathomable reason she wasn’t prepared to risk the small possibility that their union might be unhappy against the much greater probability that it could be joyous and fulfilling. Uttering another oath, he kicked at a stone cherub in the dormant rosebed that had the misfortune to be within reach.
Miss Wellingford’s refusal had been even less gracious than Susanna’s. She at least had been apologetic when she had admitted to him that her parents were forcing her to break her engagement to him and marry the Earl.
Not that she’d looked coerced, he recalled, his lip curling in distaste. And she’d certainly thoroughly enjoyed the savage, angry goodbye kiss she’d invited him to give her. Indeed, rubbing her lush body against him, she’d whispered that she couldn’t bear to give him up completely, that she was sure she could find some way to be together with him after her marriage. That then, when conception was no longer a risk, she could give him all he desired.
The memory of it still curdled in his gut every time he thought about it. As if he’d profane his honour by willingly committing adultery…or allowing a child of his get to be claimed by another man.
The mode of their parting had, however, helped temper his anguish by giving him a first hint of her true character—one that had led eventually to a distaste that finally allowed him break the hold she’d established over his mind and senses. In time he’d come to believe a kind Providence had intervened to prevent his marrying a girl who could hold her wedding vows so lightly.
This time he’d been attracted to a woman of unquestioned honour and integrity—a woman he was convinced was as attracted to him as he was to her on both a physical and intellectual level—only to be once again deceived. A shaft of hurt and disappointment lanced though him, making the future that just half an hour previously had seemed so ripe with promise look bleak and empty. Turning away from Meredyth Wellingford was going to be a great deal harder than forgetting the duplicitous Susanna Davies.
The very idea brought an instinctive swell of protest. Damnation, he thought, setting his jaw, he would not just walk away. If Miss Wellingford meant to discourage him, she would have to bring forth more convincing reasons than she’d thus far offered.
For the remainder of his visit he would accept her invitation to go on just as they had. A roguish smile creased his lips as the hazy outlines of a plan began to solidify. Exactly as they had.
She wanted ‘passion and ardour’, did she? he thought, with a new sense of purpose energising him. A gentleman ought never to disappoint a lady. He would avail himself of every opportunity to pique her intellect, beguile her with his charm…and tempt her with the desire that simmered ever hotter between them.
Until Meredyth Wellingford’s own innate honesty forced her to acknowledge that refusing him had been a mistake…and realised she had no choice but to give her heart and her hand to Allen Mansfell…
Chapter Eight
After escaping the walled garden, Merry set off towards the stables at a near-run. Her rendezvous with Mr Mansfell was so widely known that it would be nearly impossible to return to the house without encountering someone who would quiz her on it. Scraped raw by conflicting emotions after refusing him, she simply couldn’t dissemble, nor did she feel she could bear to tell the truth. Especially since her entire family seemed to have conspired in encouraging Mr Mansfell’s pursuit of her.
These last two days, every time she’d walked into a room, whoever was sitting next to him had risen to insist she take that seat. Her sisters had deserted her at the tea table, ceding their place to Mr Mansfell. She had only to begin a game of cards or chess and her opponent would invite him to join them. And the company positively clamoured for the two of them to perform at the piano every evening.
Breathless, she ducked inside the stables, to her relief finding them empty of human inhabitants. From the box stall opposite, her mare, Frolic, nickered at her.
Gratefully inhaling the comforting, familiar odours of hay, harness and horseflesh, Meredyth walked over and stroked the horse’s neck.
She shouldn’t condemn her family when she was equally at fault. She simply hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of Allen Mansfell’s company. The unhappy fact was that she enjoyed chatting with him at breakfast, discussing politics in the parlour, matching wits with him at chess and matching voices in song. She’d broadcast her plan to ride this morning, virtually inviting him to join her and secretly delighted that he had. She was energised by his company, his wit, his intelligent and penetrating observations.
She’d found
herself shamelessly seizing every opportunity to enjoy his touch, from allowing him to take her arm into dinner, to grasping her fingers to assist her from a chair, to lifting her down from her horse…where his hands burned into her sides and his lips, so tantalisingly close above her, made her body clamour to rise up and claim the kiss he seemed quite ready to offer.
Oh, how she wanted that kiss…and more!
Which made the proposal she had been trying to forestall doubly tortuous. First because—as she’d suspected—he could not offer her the love she craved. Second, and worse, because she had been so tempted to accept his offer even without it.
Her family would be as unlikely as Allen Mansfell to understand her reluctance to wed him. Sarah herself had made a marriage of convenience to a friend—based initially on nothing warmer than mutual esteem—which had ended up becoming spectacularly happy.
But Sarah had been lucky; such unions did not always prosper. Nor had her sister spent long years with their mother as that lady had slowly slipped towards death, listening to the tales of bitterness and regret that were all that remained of her own marriage of convenience to the handsome man she’d once adored.
Was Meredyth being foolish in categorically refusing Allen Mansfell’s offer?
Uttering an angry oath that startled her horse, Meredyth paced away from the stall. She wouldn’t do this. No more agonising. Allen Mansfell was everything that was gentlemanly, intelligent and witty; he made her burn with desire but he did not love her, and that was an end to it.
Tempted as she was to try and recapture the rapture she’d experienced with her James, she would not invite disappointment and heartache by settling for less. She wouldn’t allow Allen Mansfell to insult her by offering less, bartering for her acceptance as if she were simply a suitable brood mare on the block.
Of course, unable to fathom how a proposal most women of their society would consider flattering could conceivably be thought an insult, at this moment Allen Mansfell was probably as angry and frustrated as she was. But by the time she met him in the spring he would likely be well over her, already courting some more rational and amenable female.
Which was a very good thing, she concluded. Even if, as she exited the stables to return to the house, she couldn’t quite make herself believe it.
Through that evening and into the next day, Meredyth was reminded of the adage that it was wise not to yearn too fiercely for something lest it be granted. After having assured Mr Mansfell they could go on for the rest of his visit as they had been, she had discovered that it was apparently much easier for him than it was for her.
Indeed, she was beginning to suspect darkly that, as if to punish her for the sensual delights she’d spurned, he was being even more devilishly attentive than before. For instead of keeping his distance, as she’d supposed he would, he lingered closer than ever.
In the parlour before dinner he stood behind her, one leg bent so it touched the back of her thigh, the point of contact sparking and burning so that she could barely converse coherently. He leaned down when he replied to her, his breath teasing her ear as he murmured his remarks. He clasped her arm tightly as he escorted her to table, caressing her fingers before releasing them.
Several times while seated his knee ‘accidentally’ bumped hers, then rubbed over her leg before moving away. When, after several such instances, she gave him a pointed look, he merely raised his eyebrows and smiled benignly at her.
At the tea tray after dinner he managed to tangle his arm in hers while supposedly reaching for a teacup, sliding his fingers along the inside of her wrist and causing a bolt of sensation so intense she almost poured hot tea all over his sleeve. When they sang those now obligatory blasted duets later, he propped a hand on the pianoforte and leaned so far forward that his torso nearly touched her back. She misplayed more notes than she had in her first piano recital at the tender age of six.
Throughout this display her family looked on, smiling indulgently at what they doubtless believed was a courtship in progress.
She supposed she ought to be grateful—for had Mr Mansfell suddenly grown cold and distant one or another of her sisters would surely have cornered her privately to ask what had transpired between them. But, with her senses in a continual uproar that kept her nerves on edge and made her brain go stupid, she sometimes felt like slapping him.
He was at it again now, this morning, all obliging smiles as he somehow managed to bump into her, nudge her or touch her as they gathered food from the sideboard and sat at table.
She’d just about decided she would drag him somewhere private and demand he cease tormenting her when, as they walked out the breakfast room door, they were halted by a beaming Bella. Giggling with delight, she pointed to Aubrey, who stood on a hall table beside the door—holding a mistletoe kissing ball above them.
‘Kiss her! Kiss her! Now you must kiss her!’ Bella cried.
‘Yes, you must,’ Aubrey exclaimed. ‘’Tis tradition.’
Allen Mansfell, devil that he was, merely nodded and said, ‘One must always respect tradition.’ And before Meredyth could think to protest, he yanked her into his arms and kissed her.
This was no light peck on the cheek, but a brazen, tongue-in-mouth, ferocious all-out assault that she felt down to her toes. After a rigid instant of surprise, Meredyth felt herself leaning into him, her senses exulting as she kissed him back just as fiercely.
Light, voices, the children’s laughter—all faded as they stood there, tasting each other with the frantic urgency of lovers long parted. When he finally broke the kiss, with her pulse hammering and her knees gone limp, Meredyth might have fallen had Mr Mansfell not grabbed her shoulders and held her upright.
‘Never again tell me I lack ardour or passion,’ he said in a fierce undertone, before pushing her roughly away and striding off without a backward glance. Leaving her standing scarlet-cheeked while Thomas and Colton hallooed, the children clapped, two maids gaped, and Clare and Sarah stared with bemusement.
How dared he make spectacle of her like that and then just walk away?
Too furious to worry about what she would tell everyone later, she turned on her heel and ran after him.
Catching up to him in the downstairs hall, she grabbed his elbow and all but dragged him into the parlour, slamming the door after them before turning to face him.
‘Whatever possessed you to kiss me like that?’ she demanded.
‘I’ve wanted to kiss you like that since the moment you welcomed me to Wellingford,’ he retorted hotly. ‘Lately I’ve wanted much more—but, excuse me, you’ve already rejected that. I’m sorry that honesty, honour, loyalty and affection aren’t enough. That you found an offer based only on those insulting.’
‘Of course I’m not insulted by honesty, honour or loyalty,’ she replied, equally incensed. ‘But since you seem to find my refusal inexplicable, you force me to put it more bluntly. I know you were recently disappointed in your pursuit of a wife. Perhaps you thought that at my advanced age I would be eager to accept the offer of any respectable gentleman. But I’ll have you know I have no wish to be an interchangeable cog inserted into your matrimonial plans—a suitably skilled, suitably qualified replacement for the part you discovered would not fit.’
‘Is that what you think I’m trying to do?’
‘I think it’s quite possible,’ she retorted, glad finally to have baldly stated what she most feared.
‘You truly think I would choose so casually the woman with whom I will spend the rest of my life? I may not be able to profess a grand passion, but a marriage of like-minded partners is hardly unusual. In your own sister’s case it has resulted in the happiest of matches! Given the interests and the attraction we share, I think it very likely we could build the same kind of relationship. Yet you spurn me for honestly admitting my feelings, for wanting to establish a home with an amenable wife and family…even for controlling my desire and treating you with respect!’ He shook his head angrily. ‘I don’t kno
w what women want!’
‘’Tis not so complicated,’ she responded. ‘I seek to be loved for myself alone. Not because I possess the correct virtues—like a…a horse of pleasing paces who will pull a carriage well! I have known what it is to be loved and I do not wish to settle for less. I have property of my own, a valued place among my family, nieces and nephews to cherish. Is it so unreasonable that I refuse to give up my comfortable life unless I know my love, not just my talents, is craved by the man who seeks my hand? A man who entreats me to accept him because he vows his happiness will be forever blighted if I do not?’
‘One who can avow a mindless, intemperate passion, then?’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘We are not likely to agree on the desirability of that, and nor do I believe that sort of love exists much past one’s hot-tempered youth. Or is all this talk of grand passion only an excuse? Is it that you prefer to stay here, content to experience life second-hand as Colton’s housekeeper, the children’s aunt? Immersing yourself in memories of a lost love that over the years you’ve polished into such perfection no mortal man could ever match it rather than accepting the risk of pursuing a new and real relationship? If that’s so, I am sorry you are too much a coward to seek the love you say you want.’
‘I’m a coward?’ she gasped, incensed. ‘Content to settle for a safe and easy life? Is that not just what you are doing? After having lost your heart’s desire, you now seek to make a safe, practical bargain based on mutual interest and esteem, selecting a woman who may not inspire you with grand passion but who will never cause you doubt or concern? You claim I should throw my heart away, but what of yours?’
‘Yes, we’ve both been heart-wounded,’ he acknowledged. ‘But while I’m ready to risk seeking happiness, you are not. It makes me angry to see you waste such potential for intimacy. But I shall say no more.’ He made her an exaggerated bow. ‘I apologise for making you the object of speculation by behaving in a less than gentlemanly manner. I shall not so trouble you again.’ He raised her hand as if to salute—and then, his eyes smouldering, unexpectedly pulled her back into his arms.
One Candlelit Christmas Page 7
