“Say,” he said, after examining the small canvas resting there. “This is really good. I didn’t know you’d started doing landscapes, too.”
“Well,” Maggie said uncomfortably. “Around here, I sometimes run out of people to paint.”
“I saw that portrait you did of my cousins. Very impressive. It could easily have passed for the work of a professional. You certainly haven’t been wasting your time, whatever else you’ve been up to, these past five years.”
Maggie didn’t know what to say. She had never received a compliment from the Duke of Rawlings before—unless one counted the ones he’d delivered earlier in the day, about her new figure, which she didn’t, because her new figure was something that had occurred independent of any effort on her part. The compliment on her painting, however, meant something, and she found herself blushing even more furiously than before. Because she was so uneasy, what she did say came out sounding less gracious than she’d intended: “Look, Jerry, I’m very flattered, but why don’t you just say what you came to say and get out? You really did get me into a lot of trouble, you know.”
“I know.” Jeremy stood in the center of her room, his hands still in his pockets, and looked at her. In the lamplight, Maggie looked just as beautiful as she had in bright sunshine. The darkness of her hair and eyes, contrasted with the ivory tone of her skin, was more startling at night, and lent her a more exotic air. In another simple muslin gown, this one of the palest pink, she appeared almost otherworldly, like a sylph, or even a Gypsy princess. She certainly held herself with all the regality of royalty. Jeremy didn’t have the slightest trouble picturing her with a tiara on her head or ermine about her shoulders.
Except, of course, that she had a very ungainly white handkerchief tied around the middle finger of her right hand.
He nodded toward it. “Does it hurt much?”
She glanced down. “Only when I paint. You?”
He grinned. “Only when I smile.”
Maggie took a few steps forward until she stood only a foot away from him. It was a little unnerving, the fact that he was now so much taller than she was, but she reached up anyway. Taking hold of his chin, she turned his head so she could get a better look at his swollen lip. She saw him wince a little at her touch, but he didn’t try to stop her. It was then that she noticed the purpling bruise on his jaw.
“Hmmm,” she said, with admirable calm. “Lord Edward really did thrash you, didn’t he?”
“Oh,” Jeremy said lightly, with a short laugh. “That. Yes, he popped my cork, all right. Between the two of you, I’m not sure who’s got the better punch. No more than I deserved, though.” He gazed down at her, observing that she still worried her lower lip with her teeth when she looked at something closely. “I really am sorry, Maggie, about what happened today.”
To his disappointment, Maggie dropped her hand from his face, so quickly it was almost as if she’d been singed. “Yes,” she said, lowering her eyes. Two deep red stains began to grow in her otherwise pale cheeks. “Well …”
“I would have called on you like a normal person, at the front door, if I’d had any confidence that you’d see me,” Jeremy went on quickly. “But I knew you’d only say you were indisposed, or some such nonsense, and I wouldn’t have been able to stand it. I’d have probably struck your butler, or something, in a rage. That’s why I climbed up the back way. I had to see you, Mags … .” He reached out and seized her uninjured hand. It felt vibrant and warm in his fingers, the way the rest of her had felt, back in the stables. “There’s something I’ve got to ask you.”
Maggie looked pointedly down at their hands. “What happened to your promise?” she demanded.
He followed her gaze, but saw nothing but his large brown hand engulfing her small white one. “What promise?”
“To keep your hands in your pockets, you miserable sot.”
Jeremy glared at her. “Do you have any idea how exceedingly difficult it is,” he inquired, through clenched teeth, “to propose to a young woman who’s just called you a miserable sot?”
Chapter 8
“Propose?” Maggie’s big brown eyes went even larger still, until they seemed to consume half her face. Then, to Jeremy’s chagrin, she burst out laughing. “Oh, I like that!” she cried cheerfully. “And do you propose to every girl you kiss, Jerry, or am I just lucky somehow?”
Jeremy, though he had never been in a similar situation before, was fairly certain that proposals of marriage were not generally received with gales of laughter. He found Maggie’s reaction disheartening. Still holding on to her hand, he said stiffly, “I’m not joking, Maggie, and I’d appreciate it if you quit laughing.”
She seemed perfectly incapable of obliging him, however, and so he just kept speaking, in a quiet voice. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I feel that, all things considered, you and I are eminently suited for one another. I have to go abroad for a while, but I think it would be good fun if you’d come with me. We could stop in Gretna Green along the way—”
Maggie, during the course of this speech, seemed to recover herself. Straightening, she rubbed at the corners of her eyes with the back of her free hand while looking up at him suspiciously. “Good God,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse now from all the guffawing she’d been doing. “You’re serious!”
“Of course I’m serious,” Jeremy said irritably. “I hardly make a habit of going about tossing off marriage proposals right and left, you know.” Reaching into his waistcoat, he drew out a gold pocket watch and, after examining the time, said, “If we leave now, we could be at Gretna Green by morning. Are you going to need help packing your things? Because it would probably be best if we didn’t alert the mater and pater by asking your maid for help … .”
Maggie wrenched her fingers from his and took a few hasty steps backward, until her backside met up with the far wall. “You’ve gone mad!” she cried, her dark eyes wide and incredulous. “You can’t be serious!”
“You keep saying that,” Jeremy said, calmly putting his watch away. “Clearly I’m not mad. I’m speaking to you in a perfectly rational manner. It’s you who keeps laughing like some kind of demented hyena—”
Maggie barely heard him. She was trying to make sense of the fact that the Duke of Rawlings had actually asked her to marry him. Funny, he didn’t look like a madman. But of course he was one. Only a madman would want to marry a sixteen-year-old girl who’d just a few hours earlier split her knuckles on his front teeth.
Taking advantage of her bemusement, Jeremy crossed the few feet of floor that separated them. He saw Maggie’s eyes flare even wider at his approach. She cast her gaze about the room in search of something … probably a weapon, he thought wryly, with which to defend herself against him. He placed both hands against the wall on either side of her, so that escape was impossible. Then, leaning so close to her that his chest skimmed the peaks of her breasts, Jeremy said, in his deepest, most persuasive voice, the one that never failed to get him what he wanted, “Maggie. I mean it. I want you to marry me. Now. Tonight.”
Maggie, desperately attempting to shrink as far back into the wall as possible, swallowed. She was trying not to breathe too deeply, because every time she inhaled, her senses were assailed with the manly smell of him … and the swell of her breasts swept the front of his satin waistcoat. This couldn’t be happening, she thought. Not to her. This was the sort of thing that happened to girls in books, not to Maggie Herbert. Never to Maggie Herbert.
Jeremy, reading the uncertainty in her face, sighed. He hadn’t wanted to have to resort to this. He had wanted her to agree to marry him without having to try to sway her using his more physical charms. But his pride had been tweaked by her initial laughter at his proposal; her subsequent behavior had left him feeling a little desperate. He’d expected some resistance to the idea … that was only natural. After all, she had hit him earlier in the day, and forcefully, too. But he certainly hadn’t expected this.
Nor could he u
nderstand it. Maggie Herbert wasn’t a simpleton. He was one of the wealthiest men in England, and had the land and the title to prove it. And for once, he didn’t care if this particular woman wanted him for his money, so long as he got her, somehow. Besides, despite what he’d told his uncle that morning, he knew perfectly well that women found him attractive for his person, and not always his purse. That could only work in his favor, where Maggie was concerned.
But Maggie seemed unswayed by all of these things. She was actually looking up at him with anxiety in her eyes—even fear—and seemed about as ready to agree to marry him as to strip naked and dash through her father’s library singing “God Save the Queen” at the top of her lungs.
He was going to get to the root of that fear, even if it took all night.
Lowering his head, Jeremy pressed his mouth against hers, cutting off whatever it was she’d drawn breath to say, most likely the word no, which’ seemed to tumble from her lips with disturbing regularity.
Maggie struggled for only a second or two this time. She seemed to know she was caught and, with a sigh of resignation, finally relaxed against him. And though she kept her hands thrust out defensively against his chest, and did not Circle his neck with her arms, or in any other way invite him closer, her lips did part again beneath his. And that was invitation enough, as far as Jeremy was concerned. Slipping his hands around her narrow waist, he drew her to him until she was standing on her toes, her weight supported almost completely by his arms, and ravaged her mouth with his.
Maggie, her heart thudding dully in her ears, could not quite believe she was in the exact same position she’d been in only a few hours ago … only worse, because this time, there would be no one to interrupt them, and there was a bed just a few feet away. God, what was wrong with her? Why hadn’t she even tried to fight him off? There was something seriously wrong with her. She yearned for this man’s embrace, and yet when she found herself in his arms, all she could think about was how frightened she was of what might come next!
And he had asked her to marry him! He didn’t even appear to be intoxicated, but he had asked her to marry him. Oh, he hadn’t exactly professed his undying love for her, or anything like that. In fact, as far as proposals went, his had been remarkably unromantic.
But, oh God, when he kissed her, how nice she felt! Well, not nice, exactly—in fact, the opposite of nice. His kisses made her feel positively wicked … which was actually a lovely feeling, she was discovering. But surely this couldn’t last. At some point, kissing gave way to other things, things Maggie had only witnessed in the sheep meadow, and which she wanted absolutely no part of, thank you very much. It seemed all right for the rams, but the ewes had never seemed to be enjoying themselves very much … and then, a few months later, they looked astonished when a lamb popped out their backside! Maggie wasn’t about to spend the rest of her life popping out lambs. Not when she’d finally convinced her parents to let her go to Paris … .
But marriage? To the Duke of Rawlings?
No. Maggie’s blood went cold at the thought. Maggie Herbert, the duchess of Rawlings? Why, that would be like having to endure a season in London every day for the rest of her life. What could he possibly be thinking? Was he mad? She would make the worst duchess in the history of England! What kind of duchess had paint under her fingernails and spent all of her time falling out of trees? Why, no amount of kisses, no matter how wicked, could ever compensate for that!
It was right about then that Maggie felt something stiff prodding at her through the whalebone stays of her corset. She wasn’t certain, but it seemed to be coming from the front of Jeremy’s trousers. Without thinking, Maggie dropped one of her hands from his chest and laid it, curiously, on the hard thing, thinking that she was going to find a knife hilt, or more amusedly, the butt of a derringer, and that she’d then be able to tease Jeremy about why he’d felt the need to come to Herbert Park armed.
But what she felt beneath her fingers was neither a knife hilt nor a derringer. It was pure, unadulterated Jeremy.
To say that Jeremy felt surprised when Maggie suddenly placed her hand on his burgeoning erection would be something of an understatement. The truth was that he was suddenly filled with hope—among other things—that he’d managed to change her mind after all. He hadn’t expected her to be quite so daring, however. After all, she was only sixteen, and he was fairly certain that the kiss they’d shared that afternoon had been her first. Still, if Maggie Herbert wanted to fondle his erection, he wasn’t going to try to stop her … .
And so when she abruptly pulled her hand away, as if it had been pressed upon a red-hot coal and not a simple piece of flesh, Jeremy realized that Maggie hadn’t had the slightest notion what she’d been doing. She went stiff in his arms. He felt it, and instinctively knew what was coming: His kiss, like his words, had failed to persuade her. Damn, what was wrong with the girl? What more could she possibly want? Did he have to fall to his knees and pledge unrequited love to her?
Apparently so. Because suddenly, Maggie pushed him away, with so much unexpected force that he staggered backward. Quick as a cat, she darted behind the pink satin chair, as if an armchair could afford her some sort of protection against the force of his will.
When she spoke, she only uttered one word, but her voice still broke heart-wrenchingly on it. “Why?”
Taken aback, Jeremy lowered his eyebrows into a glower. “Why what?”
“Why do you want to marry me?” Maggie asked, her anxiety readily apparent in her eyes.
Why? The girl had to ask why? He nearly burst out laughing. Wasn’t it perfectly obvious? No other girl he’d ever known had leapt at him from tree branches, kissed him with such fervent abandon, punched him in the mouth, then seized hold of his erect penis as if it were a badminton racket. What man wouldn’t want to marry a girl like that?
“What do you mean why?” he asked, unable to stifle a grin.
“Just that,” Maggie said, appearing to be perfectly serious. “I mean, Jeremy, you hardly even know me … .”
“Hardly even know you?” Jeremy echoed with a laugh. “I know you better than anyone, Mags. I know the way your eyes shine when you laugh. I know the way you squint when you’re trying to see something far away. I know the way you chew your bottom lip when you look at something up close. I know the way your nostrils flare when you tell a lie.” Maggie drew swift breath to deny this, but even as she did so, he chuckled. “Like they’re doing now. Maggie, there isn’t anything about you that I don’t know. I even know how your lips part when you’re kissed … .”
That statement brought Maggie’s eyes instantly to his mouth. Which reminded her of the bruise along his jaw. And suddenly, it all became very clear to her.
Of course. That explained it perfectly.
Her eyes narrowing with suspicion, she said knowingly, “It was Lord Edward, wasn’t it?”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lord Edward put you up to this.” She was suddenly furious. Really, truly, spitting mad. How dare he? How dare he burst into her room like this and demand that she marry him? His uncle had put him up to it, of course! “Well, you can tell your uncle from me that he’s really being too old-fashioned for words if he thinks that just because you kissed me, I expect a marriage proposal. I mean, that may have been how things were done when he was our age, but this is eighteen seventy-one! Does he really think—”
“What?” Jeremy looked confused. “Maggie, what are you talking about?”
Maggie shook her head so energetically that all of her loose brown hair fell over her shoulders to frame her face. “You can just march right back to Rawlings Manor and tell him thank you very much for the concern over my reputation, but if he’d found me standing stark naked in your bedroom, I still wouldn’t marry you, not if you were the last man on earth!”
Though he was more than a little bit taken aback by this last piece of information, Jeremy stood his ground. Even the expression of sheer fury on her
face could not dissuade him from the course upon which he’d set himself that afternoon. He knew the fury only masked what she was really feeling just then, which was fear, plain and simple. Maggie, he knew now, was afraid of him. He had a pretty good idea why, too: Maggie only feared what she didn’t know.
And he was going to see to it that he, and no other man, was the one who assuaged that fear.
“My uncle Edward,” Jeremy said, slowly and deliberately, “did not put me up to anything, Mags. This was all my idea.”
But Maggie looked as if she hadn’t heard him. “I think,” she said unsteadily, “that you ought to leave now, Jerry.”
Her cheeks, he noted, were crimson. Not pink. Not just red. But the color of blood.
“I’m not leaving,” he said evenly, “until you say yes.”
“Then you’re going to be here a long time,” Maggie informed him tartly. “Because I’m not marrying you, Jeremy.”
He didn’t even flinch. “Why not?”
Behind the chair, Maggie stamped an impatient foot. “What do you mean, why not?” she demanded. “Why do I have to give you a reason? Just get out!”
“No,” he said, calmly folding his arms across his chest. “Not until you’ve told me why you won’t marry me.”
“Because,” Maggie said with another stamp. “It’s perfectly ridiculous! We’re too young to marry.”
“Granted,” Jeremy said. “I’m willing to wait for you. Will you wait for me?”
“I—”
How could she tell him that he could wait until he was one hundred years old, and she’d still be too afraid of him to marry him? Maggie had never been able to admit to weakness of any kind. Better that he think she didn’t like him than that she was frightened of him.
Portrait of My Heart Page 8
