A Rogue to Avoid (Matchmaking for Wallflowers Book 2)

by Bianca Blythe

  She stared at him. “I am allowing you to go.”

  “Where?”

  “To your next pursuit.”

  “Next pursuit?” He frowned and sat up on the bed. His chest gleamed in the light, and she turned her head away. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he affected her.

  Women’s hearts weren’t supposed to flutter at the mere presence of their husbands. Not if they hadn’t made a love match. She didn’t need to spend the next five or six decades noticing his smug look in his eyes when he saw her. She didn’t need to feel actual pain when she heard about his affairs from well-meaning members of the ton.

  He’d assured her that he would have affairs the night they agreed to marry. That had been part of the bargain. It had been worth agreeing to that to get away.

  And she didn’t regret it, but—

  Lord help her, he didn’t need to know how she felt. She couldn’t afford to fall in love with him. Not when love would lead to heartbreak when he set her up on his Kent estate and returned to Scotland, his home without her.

  And he would know, he absolutely would know, if he continued to touch her so tenderly, and his voice continued to speak to her with humor, and he continued to be so magnificent.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Gerard crossed his arms over his torso, conscious of the sway as waves rippled against the hull.

  He flickered his gaze to Cordelia. Her cheeks were rosy, and his fingers itched to pull her back toward him. She tightened her grip around the sheet and wrapped it around her.

  “Have a nice day,” she said brightly.

  Too brightly.

  Suspicion forced him to scrutinize her, but her face was calm. He lingered uncertainly. “We could stay longer.”

  “Nonsense.” She rose from the bed, the sheet still tucked around her.

  She looked like a Greek goddess, every bit as perfect as one of the statues in the new British Museum that the Duchess of Alfriston raptured about, but he no longer thought Cordelia incapable of warmth.

  “I suppose I should go,” he said. “Allow you to dress.”

  “Good.” She didn’t even deign to look at him.

  Anger flared through him. She couldn’t be behaving so coldly. “You enjoyed last night. I know.”

  She shrugged. “You must be looking forward to returning to Scotland.”

  “Aye,” he said, but his chest squeezed.

  He’d never failed to find words, never failed to concoct ridiculous stories to amuse others, but was now reduced to one syllable words.

  Gerard rose reluctantly and left the cabin. He was accustomed to rushing from women’s beds. The women he bedded might not have occupations, but they had servants or husbands or obligations.

  His heart leaped in his chest, even though he prided himself on keeping calm.

  What in the world had she done to him?

  It was only after he exited the cabin and trudged up the narrow stairs to the deck, that it occurred to him: he’d made her no promises.

  He’d bedded her as if she were a common courtesan.

  He’d taken her virginity.

  He closed his eyes. Lord, she deserved so much more than to be taken on a tiny bed in the middle of a storm. It didn’t matter that she had desired it. He should have been able to resist.

  And what had he told her? That he would abandon her in Kent? A place he didn’t even deem good enough to visit for a few days?

  He shouldn’t wonder if the lass acted distant now.

  He turned around. He might be exceeding his recent history of idiocy in her presence, but blast it, she was important. He needed to tell her he did not want them to begin their marriage hundreds of miles apart from each other.

  Even if he made an utter fool of himself.

  He knocked on the door, swinging it open after a few seconds of silence.

  “Cordelia!” He hurried in.

  She’d laid back down on the bed, and her back was turned away from him. At first he believed she must have drifted off, but as he neared it became apparent that her breath lacked the steady consistency common in people sleeping.

  In fact her breath lacked any consistency at all, displaying instead the frantic pace most associated with tears.

  His chest squeezed, and he rushed toward her. The five short feet between them seemed too narrow, but at the final one, he simply hovered awkwardly over her. A strange lump in his throat thickened.

  She whimpered, and he clambered onto her bed and swept her into his arms. His body recognized her soft curves at once, but he willed himself to pay no attention to the enticing aspects of her body.

  This was about comforting.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m not the best company now.”

  He stroked her arm. “You are always the best company for me.”

  She stilled, and he smiled.

  “I should never have left you this morning. I should never have allowed you for one moment to believe that I do not care for you.”

  “Oh?” Her voice wobbled.

  Gerard tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then pulled her closer to him. “I don’t intend to have you in Kent.” He paused. “Unless you desire that of course.”

  “Where else would I go?” She asked softly.

  “I don’t desire our separation,” he said.

  “No?”

  “After we marry, I would like us to live together.”

  “Oh.” She was silent, and his heart beat with more force than he thought it capable of.

  But then she turned toward him, and everything was good. “Really?”

  “Truly.” He pulled her in his arms, and his lips found hers, as they had dozens of times before, and how he hoped he’d find them millions of times in the future.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Kent.

  The place he’d sworn he’d never return to.

  The medieval castle, that epitome of English fortitude, towered over the town. The rounded walls swept over the crisp green hilly terrain, the pale shade of grass evidence of dry months that never befell Scotland. Imposing buildings, still bearing thin windows for archers, loomed. It was easy to imagine the inhabitants, those kings and queens of old, plotting to conquer Scotland along with whichever parts of the continent proved enticing.

  Foamy waves crested off the hull, and the ship rocked. The white cliffs stretched before him, growing larger and more foreboding. The chalky cliffs were bright beacons, but to him Kent had always signified everything unpleasant.

  Salty air wafted about them, and Gerard savored the scent and the reminder that now, for the time being, they were still on the channel. Soon Cordelia and he would go ashore and visit the county he’d always sworn he’d never set foot in again.

  The ship approached the port, thrusting through dirty water, the shade a novel combination of green and brown that could only be attributed to an overabundance of ships in the harbor. The Hebrides did not have this problem, and he missed the clear sapphire waters.

  The few passengers expressed their gratitude of finally seeing the walls of the medieval castle sprawled over the top of the hill.

  Dover Castle was renowned.

  Kent was renowned.

  An absurd urge to tell the captain to turn the ship around filled him.

  The last time he’d visited Kent, he’d been five, and his father had been at his side. They’d taken a ship from Edinburgh. His father had seemed hopeful though Gerard only later learned what had inspired his father’s hasty trip.

  His father had been wrong to hope.

  His mother hadn’t loved his father, even if he had taken the time to follow her to the bowels of England.

  His heart clenched.

  Gerard strove to focus on the changing rhythm of the waves. Perhaps then he might avoid the image of his father being dragged from the river. Perhaps then he might avoid remembering the stricken countenances of the servants scurrying about. Perhaps then he might avoid m
emories of his father’s sickbed, and of how the man’s hoary hair had seemed to blend into the white pillows and bedsheets as if to give him practice being without life.

  He concentrated on the seagulls’ squeals, and not on the furious coughing of his father as he lay dying. He tried not to remember the sound of the doctor’s coach rolling over the gravel or of the sight of his father’s coffin being loaded into the hearse.

  Cordelia rubbed her hand over his and smiled at him. The wind blew against her hair, and she leaned her head against his chest.

  She tilted her head up, and they kissed.

  The embrace was in no way proper. Not when a sailor might saunter by them. But Gerard’s heart hammered, and he couldn’t care less about a sailor’s walking patterns.

  The wind seemed colder, but when Gerard glanced up, Cordelia’s soft smile seemed fully capable of warming him.

  Tension eased from his body.

  Perhaps this was the southernmost part of England, perhaps this was a location his Scottish neighbors had gleefully derided, perhaps this was where his father had died, but right now he had Cordelia, and everything would be fine.

  The water calmed, protected by the harbor, and the ship glided languidly toward the shore. They wove their way to the front of the ship. The ship eventually halted, and they followed the passengers and much of the crew onto the land, stepping over the thick hemp ropes.

  “I’m going to need to get used to being on land again,” Cordelia said, when they finally came ashore. “I’m accustomed to the ground swaying beneath me.”

  Gerard stared into her eyes. “Fortunately I plan to never let you go.”

  Passers-by chatted in thick Southern dialects, and there wasn’t a long-haired Highlander in sight. Sailors strutted through the streets, confident in their whereabouts, mingling with merchants and wide-eyed foreigners.

  Their gazes shifted toward Lady Cordelia with blatant frequency, and Gerard ushered Cordelia to a row of hacks. He arranged transport for them with his dwindling coin, convincing the astonished coachman to take them on the long journey.

  They entered the hack, and he tucked the tartan blanket about Cordelia’s legs. She pushed the flimsy curtain aside, and sunshine splattered over the carriage floor. Gerard extended his legs though this time his nonchalance was unfeigned.

  The hack lurched forward and ascended the hill. The curve of the white cliffs stretched before them.

  Cordelia clapped her hands. “The view is so magnificent.”

  Her enthusiasm charmed Gerard. “Let’s stop.”

  He rapped against the side of the carriage and explained the matter to the driver as Cordelia issued him a gaze of pleasure.

  Gerard didn’t bother to keep from beaming. Everything was different now.

  “Very well.” She exited the carriage swiftly, not requiring his assistance and placed the blanket over the ground. “Sit.”

  He smiled and settled onto the strip of tartan, likely the only one in a hundred miles.

  She lay down, and Gerard automatically averted his gaze from the delightful curve of his bosom, before he remembered that no one was about, and that Cordelia was his.

  He squeezed her hand, marveling at the elegant arcs of her fingers. His grandmother’s ring pressed against his palm.

  “Will your whole family be there?” Her voice seemed tentative.

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” Cordelia smoothed her dress. “I hope they will like me.”

  He chuckled. “Well last time they saw you they believed that you had shown up at my brother’s home late at night to convince me to marry you.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “And,” Gerard continued, “Because they have some toleration for me, I am sure they will adore you.”

  “I think they do more than tolerate you. They love you. How could they not?” Pink surged promptly over her cheeks, and she averted her eyes. The view of the cliffs and ocean might be before her, but Cordelia seemed to be displaying much more interest in the hack.

  Wildflowers waved in the light breeze, and foamy waves crashed against the shore. Seagulls flapped their wings above, and no noises drowned the sound of their cawing. A rabbit hopped over the thick grass. Gerard took in every image, every noise, every scent.

  He was going to remember this moment for the rest of his life.

  He took her hands in his. They were so small, so slender in his own, and he pressed his palms against them. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

  “Oh?” Cordelia still avoided his eyes, and his chest squeezed. Lord, knows what she must be thinking. He’d given her enough reasons to doubt him. He cursed that he’d spent so long telling her that they would live apart.

  Part of him wondered if she still desired that. Part of him felt more nervous now than he’d ever felt. He inhaled and barreled on. “I love you.”

  Cordelia jerked her head toward him. “You . . ?”

  She blinked at him uncertainly as if she doubted her ears’ capability of hearing the correct words.

  “I love you,” he repeated. He forced his voice to sound serious. He’d never been more serious of anything in his life. “You are the most spectacular woman I have ever met.”

  “Well,” she said. “That is interesting. For you are the most spectacular man. And I love you.”

  “My darling.” His voice roughened, and he embraced her. Words were unnecessary at this moment. He feathered kisses over the delightful trail of pink that tinged her cheeks.

  “The hack driver—”

  “—is taking a nap,” Gerard said. “And I will not have my actions determined by some man from Kent.”

  She laughed.

  “I’m going to marry you,” he reminded her. “First thing tomorrow.”

  “Mmm . . . That sounds nice,” she said.

  “And then I am going to bed you,” he announced. “Over and over and over again.”

  “Wickedness gleams from your eyes,” Cordelia said.

  “It will gleam from yours,” he said, and he chuckled when her skin flushed again.

  “It’s amazing that so much can grow here,” Cordelia said hurriedly, despite a wobble in her voice. “The ground is so fragile.”

  “Which is why we are not dangling our legs off the cliffs.” Gerard kissed her again.

  “You would probably have difficulty embracing me were our legs flopping from the precipice.”

  “That too.” Gerard smiled. “I am a man of the utmost practicality.”

  “It would also be challenging to explain how plants manage to grow on this soil if we were risking our lives.”

  “Chalk must be an undesirable soil,” Gerard admitted.

  “But with some rain, it still suffices,” Cordelia said.

  “I suppose it doesn’t need to have the perfect conditions to thrive,” Gerard said.

  Cordelia blinked. “I suppose not.”

  He squeezed her fingers again. “You don’t need to worry so much about being perfect, my dear. You’re still perfect to me.”

  “Gerard.” This time he didn’t bother to check that the hack driver was still napping, before he crushed his lips to hers, equaling the vigor of the waves below.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  You’re perfect to me.

  Gerard’s words echoed in Cordelia’s mind when they returned to the carriage, and they still lingered when he settled beside her and placed his arm about her.

  The driver urged the horses over the dirt lane that divided the pale green fields. Pink and white blossoms adorned the trees, and vibrant wildflowers dotted the countryside. Lambs played in the grass, and even the laborers had broad smiles on their faces.

  Gerard loved her.

  “You strive for such perfection. I wonder,” Gerard said, his voice thoughtful, “if you felt you had to be perfect to make up for the fact he was missing.”

  She pondered the words. “I suppose.”

  Lord, she’d been so foolish. As if she could ever make up the l
oss of such a spectacular sibling. Rupert had been the heir. She would never have been able to replace him. It was foolish for her to even attempt to do so.

  “You wanted to give them a son-in-law who was a duke,” Gerard mused. “You wanted to give them a grandson who would become duke. Not of your father’s estate of course, but another, perhaps equally grand estate.”

  She turned toward him. She hadn’t expected him to be so insightful. Gerard seemed more prone to recklessness than intuitiveness, though she’d long realized that she’d misjudged him.

  “It sounds so foolish when you say it aloud.”

  “It’s admirable to desire to make your parents happy.” Gerard tucked her closer to him.

  He didn’t despise her. He was brilliant.

  It had been insane to strive so much to make her parents happy when life itself was brief. For years she’d felt constrained, following only guides for whom she should be, rather than being herself.

  Her fiancé rested his arm over her shoulders, and she sank back.

  The marquess pointed to a large Gothic building with two towers that soared into the sky as if they were each trying to rival the tower of Babylon. “That’s the cathedral. Tomorrow I’ll get a special license from the archbishop and he will marry us there.”

  It was not the first cathedral Cordelia had seen. Winchester was in possession of one. But it was the first one which mattered to her.

  “He’ll do it with haste?”

  “Aye.” He nodded, but a thoughtful expression descended his face.

  “This it, my lord?” The hack driver called out.

  “Yes.” Gerard removed his arm from Cordelia’s shoulder, and she folded the blanket. Her heartbeat pounded an uneven rhythm that rivaled the frantic piano playing of a weak student that rushed into adagio in her haste to finish the piece promptly if not with any precision.

  Clanging sounded, and the gatekeeper opened an iron gate. The coach crunched over gravel and drove between rows of blossoming magnolia trees. Cordelia gazed at the brilliant bursts of pink, at the sudden beauty, but Gerard tensed beside her. His jaw was clenched, and his gaze fixed on the manor house.