He gripped her arms and gently rattled her against himself. “No more Roman references. My ears are burning.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have come to London,” she confided brokenly. “I knew I shouldn’t have thought I could face him and then leave him. You should have seen him. He was so angry and so hurt and…” Tears burned her eyes. “I hurt him. And then when he asked me for a night, I…I couldn’t tell him no.”
He traced a hand up the sleeve of her gown and fingered a misplaced lock within her pinned hair. “You cannot go with me. If I take you to Persia and make you a princess in the hopes of protecting my own name before my father and my people, I foresee bad karma. Leaving things unsaid and love unresolved leads people down very dark paths. No one knows this more than I. His suffering will follow you, and I cannot allow for it. I have heard nothing but good things about this man. He is good to his brother and his mother and his cousins and anyone else who comes to him for assistance. And you mean to make him kneel in his own pain in your honor? How is that fair? Given that I know what you feel for him, and what I know of him, you must marry him, azizam. It is the right thing to do.” He nuzzled her cheek. “Your heart is far more beautiful than you think. You are simply too blinded by your own doubts to see it.”
Her breath seemed to solidify in her throat. Marrying Derek was the easy part. She wanted to cling to his arms. She wanted to cling to his heart. She wanted to lay beside him on pillows and trace his lips with her fingers and know what it would be like to be his. But there was more to love than that. Happy times always brought out the best in people. But bad times…they brought out the worst. And it was the worst she feared. For she knew about the darkness hidden within her. A darkness not even her paints could brush over. “I’m still going with you to Persia. I’m still—”
He snorted. “You are not going to Persia. You either marry him or I will personally deliver you to him right now. You decide. Sadly, this royal door has closed. Which means…you only have one door left to walk through. The one you fear walking through.”
Her heart pounded. Oh, God. She didn’t even have her money. All of the money she had been saving and saving and saving since she was ten-years-old was gone. She had given it all away to Andrew because she thought—
She closed her eyes in disbelief and dragged in deep uneven breaths, over and over and over, trying desperately to calm the whirling in her head knowing Derek was going to be waiting at the altar. No matter what she decided.
“If you keep breathing like that, your lungs will rip,” Nasser chided.
They already had. She opened her eyes.
What was she doing? Never mind that she had run out of choices.
She couldn’t leave Derek at the altar.
She couldn’t publicly humiliate him.
Not after everything they had shared.
She swallowed and lowered her gaze to her hands lying limply on her lap. Maybe he would bring out the best in her. Not the worst. Maybe what they had shared would be stronger than the passions she feared. Tears burned her eyes. “He will ask questions.”
“You must answer them.”
She shook her head and kept shaking it. “If I tell him about how I grew up, he’ll start comparing me to my mother. He’ll start—”
“Your pride has no place in this. If he truly loves you, he will understand and help you. Now are you going to marry him? Or do I have to get Dalir involved?”
“If I do marry him, what becomes of you? What about your name?”
He smoothed her skirts. “Our association will be enough to start me on a new path. Maybe you and I can go riding together in public for all to see. A little gossip between the pages of a British newspaper that would mention my name alongside that of a beautiful married woman would quickly find its way to my father. It would please him as he is forever complaining to me about my lack of interest in women.” He eyed her. “Is your Lord Banfield the jealous sort? Could we make use of him?”
She gasped. “You are not going to torture poor Banfield. I have tortured him well enough, don’t you think?”
“We would not torture him long,” he chided. “Maybe a week or two. Enough to get the newspapers involved.”
She elbowed him hard. “You mean to marry me off to him and then ruin me? What sort of friend are you?”
“I am merely teasing.” He grabbed at her elbow, tightening his hold. “Tell me more about this Lord Banfield, azizam. I’m curious. Dalir is overly dry and never tells me what I want to know. Is he handsome?”
She bit her lip, dreamily remembering Derek sleeping naked. “Beyond.”
“Beyond?” He dropped his voice low. “Dalir tells me he wears his hair long. Like a woman. To make him pretty. I like that. Is that true?”
She rolled her eyes. “He wears a queue. It’s not what you think. It used to be fashionable in Western society.” She paused and added, “Forty years ago. I don’t know why he wears it. I personally think he should cut it.”
“Do not make him cut it. Keep him pretty.” He eyed the doors and quieted his voice. “How big are his hands? Large enough to do things?”
She elbowed him again in exasperation. “Cease. He is mine. Not yours. Mine.”
“Oho. Suddenly the man she wanted to leave behind is no longer mine but hers.” He smirked and kissed her cheek. “We must find a gown worthy of you and make him stumble at seeing you.”
Derek most certainly would stumble given he still hadn’t cancelled the wedding or announced the end of their union to her father or the public. It was as if he was challenging her to meet him at the altar. A panic of uncertainty rose within her. “What if everything I believe about myself is true? What if I cannot control my emotions and I hurt him?”
He tsked. “You will not. Cease doubting. Have faith in yourself.”
He had become the older brother that had never been born. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe…I…I’m so nervous.”
He grinned, his eyes crinkling. “Good. That means you are doing the right thing.” His grin slowly faded, his husky features turning somber. He squeezed her back. “I have been taking private lessons on how to be more comfortable around women and have progressed very well. While I am in London these next few weeks, you must help me. You must make everyone think I am a virile man. Perhaps you can introduce me to women in your new circle? With you now getting married, I must convince someone else to be my princess.”
She pointed at him. “Do not be a rake about this. If you do intend to marry, she had better know what she is getting into and that your love is for men. You had better be honest with her.”
He quirked a brow. “As you were with me?”
She eyed him. “Do as I say but never do as I do. I’m an American. Remember?”
He smirked and poked her cheek again. “Yes, madâr. You most certainly are.”
Bustling back toward the direction of her waiting carriage, just as the sun began to fade from the late afternoon sky, Clementine jerked to a halt, her eyes widening.
Her father flicked his cheroot onto the pavement, crushing it with his boot and widened his stance, staring her down. “Mrs. Langley sent a footman over to the hotel to inform me what you were up to. I immediately rode out, sent her away and am taking over.”
An exasperated breath escaped her. She forgot who was getting paid by whom.
Mr. Grey wagged his finger toward her. “You. Come here. We are going for a long walk through the park.”
She cringed, feeling as if she were six again. “Yes, Papa.”
He swung toward the direction of Hyde Park, which was just across the cobbled street. He held out the crook of his arm, waiting.
She grudgingly walked toward him and slipped her arm into his.
Glancing both ways for oncoming carriages, he hurried them across the street. The late afternoon breeze rustled her skirts and the ribbons of her bonnet as she tightened her hold on her father’s arm.
“Are you leaving him at the altar
to be humiliated?” he asked. “Is that the plan?”
She peered up at him, her throat tightening. “No. I…I decided against it.”
“So you were going to leave him?” he pressed.
“Yes.”
“And when were you going to tell me?”
She inwardly winced. “I was going to write you a letter and ask you to see me in Persia.”
His voice hardened. “Is that all you think I’m worth?”
“It was stupid, I know, but I knew you wouldn’t take it well.”
His gaze was trained firmly on the path leading them into the quietest section of the park. “I would have never insisted on this marriage if I didn’t believe it was going to make you happy. Especially after what I went through with your mother. I knew his father for over seventeen years. He was a great man. He saw the world in a way few do: he saw opportunity when there was none. I’ll never forget how I met George. The same night he and his wife were robbed outside of Paris, while that woman cried, he knelt before her, holding both of her hands and sang her a ballad in the hopes of getting her to smile as if they weren’t in a smoky tavern full of drunken strangers in a helpless situation. That was how I found them. Her hair a mess and he was trying to make her smile, brushing her hair from her face. It made me stop and ask them if they needed assistance. What those two had shared was…I don’t know how to say it…enchanting. It was how I imagined my life being with my future wife. Before I married your mother and…” His voice trailed off.
Tears stung her eyes as she set her other hand against her father’s arm. “You never told me any of this.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m rather sorry I didn’t. After everything you and I have been through, I sometimes forget there is still a lot unsaid between us. Simply know that Banfield comes from a good family. Not the crazy one your mother came from.”
She swallowed and trained her own gaze ahead of them, remembering the way Derek had cradled her head against his chest as if it was all he had ever wanted. “Yes. I know.”
“If you know, Tine, then why the blazes are you still associating with Nasser? I am astounded that he followed you out all the way to London. What is this? What is going on? I am demanding you be honest with me. Are you and he romantically involved?”
She groaned. “Noooo. Men and women are perfectly capable of being friends, Papa. That is all he and I are to each other. Friends.”
“Friends? And what is this Nasser offering that Banfield can’t? Explain this to me.”
A shaky breath escaped her. “It’s different with Banfield. He…he isn’t interested in being my friend.”
He glanced over at her. “And how do you know that?”
Oh, if she could count out the ways. “Being around him is like being in Paris. Do you not remember how the men there would publicly whistle at women and use the head of their canes to lift the back of their skirts in passing? That is exactly how I feel whenever I’m around him. Our conversations always return to him whistling and wanting to lift my skirt. Always.”
His laughter rippled through the air. “I think you told me far more than I needed to know about you and him.”
“But that is exactly how it feels being around him,” she insisted. “You’ve read every one of his letters. It has always been his intent to make me blush. He knows nothing of sharing in a conversation that doesn’t involve me blushing.”
“There is nothing wrong with blushing, Tine.”
“Yes, well, when it’s all a girl is doing, it gets rather...exhausting. And it bothers me given what I feel for him.”
He paused, his shoulder purposefully bumping into her own. “Oh, well, now. This is news to me. What do you feel for him? Tell your father.”
She almost swung at the air for letting that one out. “Nothing. I’m babbling right now.”
“Of course you are,” he chided. “Why would you admit to feeling anything for him? You’ve never even been able to tell your own father that you like him.”
“I’m simply not that sort of girl, Papa. I’ve never been.”
“You and I both know that, but does Banfield know it?”
A breath escaped her. This was all so twisted. “No. He doesn’t.”
“You see? You need to allow him to see another side of you, Tine. Or he may think you don’t feel any devotion for him at all.”
“Another side of me? And what side are you referring to? I’m not at all interesting or exciting, Papa. I don’t even have a sense of humor. He says things sometimes and all I can do is stare. Do you know how awkward that is?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Maybe you don’t share his sense of humor, but you did help your father away from the sideboard. And you don’t cower when men break into the house. In fact, with over a dozen paper curlers in your hair, you ran for a pistol you didn’t even know how to use. To me…that is interesting.”
She snorted. “You’re making me sound pathetic.”
His voice became firm. “Show him the girl who isn’t afraid to share more of who she really is. If you want friendship from him, make an effort to take it.”
Now there was an idea. She could physically wrestle Derek down to the ground in the hopes of gaining his… friendship. She quickened their steps, trying to push out some of the building angst within her. “So you really think he and I could be friends? Real friends? Despite the fact that he only sees my lips?”
He brought them to a halt. “Banfield is not unreasonable in nature. He will see whatever you want him to. The question is: what do you want him to see? The girl who wants to leave him at the altar because she can’t admit to liking him? Or the girl who I’m talking to right now?”
For a man who had been shackled to a miserable marriage and couldn’t give himself advice, he certainly knew how to give it to others. She squeezed his arm and chided, “You can be so smart sometimes.”
He smirked. “Only sometimes?”
She gently rattled his arm. “Must you really leave after the wedding, Papa? I’m not dashing off anywhere. So why should you? Can’t you live here in London? New York is dreadfully boring. More importantly, if you stay here in London, you’ll be able to travel quicker to the places you always have to go to. Meaning Spain and France.”
He eyed her. “Are you inviting me to stay for grandchildren? Because I will quit politics for that. But only if you guarantee it.”
She bit her tongue knowing she wasn’t quite ready for that. It was unnerving as it was knowing she was marrying a man whom she adored but who only ever seemed to notice her breasts. “Let me think about it.”
Two days later – St. Paul’s Cathedral
Excited whispers floated all around as Derek silently strode down the long aisle, heading to the altar where the bishop in his ceremonial robes and domed cap waited.
As per his instructions, every wooden pew and every marble pillar in the grand cathedral had been meticulously decorated with wreaths of white blossoms, pale pink roses, and forget-me-nots. They sweetly perfumed the muggy air around him, mingling with the sultry scent of melting beeswax.
Countless candles lit the marble altar, making everything appear golden.
It was everything he had ever wanted in a wedding. The red carpet at his booted feet. Too many candles to count. Violins playing from the pulpit. An abundance of eager faces belonging to his friends and family that included every last one of his cousins and their children.
But it all blurred into superficial nothingness. Because it wasn’t real.
Within the hour, everyone in London would know the truth.
That he had walked down the aisle knowing she wouldn’t come.
He arrived at the altar, which brought all of the violins to a final lull in honor of the official commencement. He half-turned as he had been earlier instructed by the bishop to do and waited. The bright sun sparkled in through the rows of stain glass above, highlighting portions of the altar with a rainbow of muted colors. Minutes ticked by and only the occasional whis
pers and coughs of people in the pews interrupted the silence.
Derek eyed the large double doors at the end of the altar, his pulse drumming. He knew she wasn’t going to walk through that door, but a part of him still stupidly hoped she would. After what she painted, he couldn’t imagine that she could just walk away from an image like that.
Setting his trembling hands behind his back, he swallowed and waited.
He mentally counted out another minute and another minute and twenty others. One could say he had the patience of God because he was standing in a church. The restless conversations and whispers of people shifting in their pews and glancing toward the closed doors became more of a pronounced rumble. People were staring at him. Many of them already offering up silent horrified apologies.
Letting out a slow breath, he decided not to wait the full hour. He turned to the bishop and finally said in a strained tone, “My Lord Bishop, I wish to—”
The doors opened.
An excited murmur overtook the crowd.
Derek swung toward those open doors and dragged in an astounded breath.
His pulse roared to life and he almost staggered.
She came. She— He couldn’t believe it.
Dressed in a stunning lace lilac gown, Clementine calmly and regally walked down the aisle toward him, one gloved hand resting on her father’s bent forearm and the other gloved hand holding a bouquet of orchids. A yellow silk bonnet decorated with silk flowers was poised atop bountiful pinned black curls, a short veil draped over its rim in true French fashion. Although there was still quite a distance between them, he could faintly see her flushed, pretty face through the thin, white veil beaded with pearls.
He paused, realizing she wasn’t even looking at him.
Her eyes swept from one side of the pews to the other as if she were intently looking for someone of more importance. She even slowed her steps to allow herself to better look.
Night of Pleasure Page 16
