Wallflower (Old Maids' Club, Book 1)

by Catherine Gayle

Noah cut her off by placing a finger to her lips. “Hush. Stop apologizing to me.”

  “But they were ghastly to treat you in such a way.”

  He chuckled. “I’d be more cross if they hadn’t. They were accepting me into the fold, Tabitha. Something they are more prepared to do than you, it seems.” He searched her eyes in the shrouded moonlight. “Miss Faulkner was just clearing the way for me to be your husband—to more officially become part of the family.”

  “Still, she oughtn’t to have done it.” A breeze blew over them, teasing at the hair coming loose from a knot at her neck and Tabitha shivered.

  Moving both his arms down to her waist, Noah drew her closer to him, almost in an embrace. “Was it all a ruse?” he asked. “Have you not been longing for a gentleman to write you a romantic poem?”

  This, more than the rest, was the true stinging point.

  “Ah,” he said when she did not respond right away. “I see. Well, if I must be a fool, at least I can be a fool for love.”

  Tabitha spoke over him in a rush. “I do enjoy poetry, Noah, I really do. I’ve never known anyone to make such a chivalrous gesture, certainly not for me. Will you allow me to hear the rest of it?”

  A wry grin came to his lips and he winked. “Yes, I suppose I can...now that we’re without all of your relatives around to gibe at me as I recite it.”

  A moment of spontaneous abandon overtook her, and Tabitha stretched up on her toes to kiss him. It was a chaste kiss, hardly more than a peck and certainly a far cry from the other kisses they had shared.

  “Will I deserve another of those when I finish?” Noah asked. “Or do I have to write another poem in order to warrant a second kiss?”

  Thankfully, the growing gloom of twilight served to conceal her blush as she said, “This poem will suffice for such a prize.”

  Noah guided her to sit on the stone bench, then took a seat next to her, again taking her hand in his own. As he gazed into her eyes, Tabitha’s heart sprinted and her breath caught.

  “Amidst the gems of life’s elite

  A paragon on the edge awaits

  For one to notice and defeat

  The dictates of the fabled Fates

  Patiently, she plays the part

  Resigned to never glow or shine

  Yet underneath resides a heart

  As wondrous as the world’s design

  Through silvery orbs, her soul bequeaths

  The essence of life’s boundless drive

  Liberating breath beneath

  My chest until at last I thrive

  Akin to God’s own pure white dove

  The beauty of my ladylove.”

  Tears sprung to her eyes, but she managed to keep them there. Never in her life had she allowed herself to think a man would do such a thing for her. “That was lovely.” She leaned across and cradled Noah’s face in her hand, placing her lips to his. “Thank you.”

  “Happy birthday, Tabitha.” Noah put both hands on Tabitha’s face and drew her back for a long, languorous kiss that built her to a slow burn. “The next time I write you a poem, it will be just between us.”

  Tabitha couldn’t miss the inherent promise in his statement. He intended there to be a next poem—another moment just between them. And despite herself, she desperately wanted it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I publish the Banns of Marriage between Noah Standish deLancie, Lord Devonport of Haverthwaite, Cumberland and Lady Tabitha Eleanor Shelton of Cotehill, Cumberland. If any of you know just cause, or just impediment, why these two persons should not be joined together in holy Matrimony, you are to declare it. This is the third time of asking.”

  A trill of trepidation coursed through Tabitha’s body at the parson’s words. The third calling of the banns meant only one thing: her fortnight was up. If Tabitha didn’t cry off, her wedding would be in held in three days’ time, right here in this very church.

  Beside her, Noah took her hand and gently squeezed. Damn him, he knew her too well. He could always sense her mood, whether she wanted him to or not. That was one trait she wished, more than anything, he did not share with Jo.

  She tried to remove her hand from Noah’s—such a display was unseemly in a church, of all places—but his grip held firm. When she tugged again, more forcefully this time, he resituated their joined hands on his lap with a flourish, drawing the eyes of her entire family and half the congregation. Even the parson looked up at the commotion. Tabitha knew her face had to be as bright as a raspberry.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t try that one again. Who knew what Noah would do the next time? So she sat there, with her hand enveloped in his, for the next hour as the parson delivered a sermon on the message of love in 1 Corinthians 13.

  Patience and kindness—Noah gave them both to her in abundance. Freedom from envy, boastfulness, and pride? She’d known him for many years now, and had never seen evidence of a boastful nature. He was far more likely to bolster another than to vaunt his own consequence. And would a proud man have lowered himself to deliver such a poem before her family? Hardly. The envy part of the equation was still up for debate, however. Tabitha had seen Noah’s response to Lord Oglethorpe’s pursuit all too often over the past month. But was that envy, or was it more the aspect of love that always protects, hopes, and perseveres?

  The section about keeping no record of wrongs, however, was a sticking point. Not where Noah was concerned, however. Tabitha was the guilty party there. She’d held him responsible for the actions of other men in her past, when he had done nothing to deserve her animosity or distrust. Indeed, he had never failed to prove himself worthy and true.

  And love never fails.

  Suddenly, Tabitha became aware of Noah’s thumb tracing circles over her palm where it lay lax on his lap. But this time, the swirls flowing through her body were not those of lust, heating her body’s need. Damnation, he had gone and made her fall in love with him.

  It was more than just that, though. Everything he had done over the last month, every interaction they’d had over the previous fortnight, had served to prove that he truly loved her too. Why, just yesterday, he and Owen had taken Tabitha and Elaine to see Owen’s newest foals at the stables. There was no mention of riding. He only wanted her to enjoy the youthful horses as they were.

  Noah didn’t just want her dowry. He didn’t even just want her body. He wanted her. Tabitha. Just as she was.

  What a blithering idiot she’d been.

  The parson brought his sermon to a close and dismissed them. Noah let go of her hand and moved his to her waist in that protective-possessive manner he had. Then he pulled her to her feet. “Shall we go?”

  He drew her along beside him, propelling her feet forward with a gentle pressure on her back, until they stood before the parson under the entryway. “And a good day to you both, my lord, my lady. I’ll see you on Wednesday morning then.”

  “That you will, Mr. Hyde,” Noah said. He winked down at Tabitha and pulled her out the door. Her father and Toby were waiting by the carriage while Owen helped Elaine and Lily climb in. When they moved closer, Noah said to her father, “If it is all right with you, I’ll take Tabitha home in my carriage.”

  Father narrowed his eyes at Noah for just a moment. “Very well. We’ll expect you for luncheon then.” Toby winked at Tabitha, and then they both took their places in Father’s crested coach and closed the door.

  Noah’s driver brought his carriage around. A closed carriage today, not a curricle or something in which she could be seen from the outside. They’d be secluded once they were inside. Alone. There would be no escape from giving the answer she knew he’d beg from her.

  Once the steps were set down, Noah took her hand and assisted her in before climbing up behind her. He sat across from her, not next to her. She felt uncommonly bereft at his absence by her side. But then he rapped his knuckle against the roof and the vehicle lurched into motion.

  “So,” Noah began.

  He’d worn blue t
oday—a rich blue superfine overcoat over buff breeches and a stark white shirt and neck cloth. Everything about him was sheer perfection, from the sparkling, smiling blue eyes to the starch in his cravat, save the always mussed hair. Even that, to Tabitha, was perfection.

  “You’ve had a fortnight. The banns have been called. We’ve each held up our end of the bargain. Are you prepared to give me an answer?”

  Tabitha looked into the crashing waves of his eyes. They were filled with love—the same love the parson had been preaching about all morning. The same love Noah had shown her every day over the last month—maybe even a lot longer than that, if she’d taken the time to notice. The love she’d somehow been afraid to see. “Yes,” she said. She couldn’t deny him any longer. She would probably never be able to deny him anything ever again.

  “Yes, you’re ready to answer me?” His voice broke at the end. She’d tormented him far too long.

  “No. Well, yes to that, too. But yes, I’ll marry you.”

  A gust of pent-up air flooded from Noah’s lungs. With a single, rapid motion, he grabbed hold of her hands and tugged, pulling her halfway on top of him. Tabitha’s eyes flew wide and her lips landed on his as they came together, and he kissed her with ardent devotion. After a moment, he let out a little growl in his throat and set her on the velvet-covered bench next to him. “I can’t keep kissing you like that or I’ll take you right here in the carriage.”

  Tabitha struggled to catch her breath. “Why would that be a problem?”

  He closed his eyes and removed her hand from where it had landed mid-way up his thigh to her own lap. “We’re supposed to be having luncheon with your father once we get you back home. Or had you already forgotten?”

  “I might have wanted to forget, I suppose,” Tabitha murmured with a blush.

  His eyes roamed over her. “I love it when you color up like that. It makes me w—” Within the span of a hair’s breadth, he moved himself to the opposite bench and pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing his eyes closed. “By gad. I can’t talk about that. I can’t even think about that. Not now. Not here.”

  This was getting to be a little ridiculous. “Why not?” Tabitha asked silkily. She slid into position beside him, placing her hand back where it had been on his thigh. He jumped at her contact—and her eyes caught a jump somewhere else.

  “Three days,” Noah choked out. “Three days, and then this can happen. But not here. Not now.”

  “But if it is only three days, why not here and now?” Ever so slowly, Tabitha inched her hand up his thigh. He watched her progress with turbulent eyes. When she was just below the apex, she stopped.

  Noah let out a ragged breath. He pulled her hand away and held it tight, and with the other hand he held her head firm so she could not look away if she’d wanted to. “Because I love you. We can’t do this now because I love you, and you are to be my wife. The Marchioness of Devonport will not be treated like a common trollop, like a lightskirt to be tossed about at will anywhere that can boast a modicum of privacy. Not by me or anyone else. You deserve better than that.” He let her go, then once again shifted to the opposite seat. “Now stay on your side of the coach.” With a yank, he adjusted his overcoat, attempting to pull it into a position in which it could hide the growing evidence of his desire.

  Tabitha tried to force her attention elsewhere. She didn’t want to embarrass him. And she didn’t want to allow her imagination to run rampant. After several moments of silently staring at the luxurious fabrics lining the inside of the coach, Tabitha tentatively said, “Noah?”

  With his hands still firmly holding the edge of his coat in place, he made a sound similar to one of Owen’s grunts. She took that to mean she should continue.

  “I love you, too.”

  ~ * ~

  Dusk settled over the congregated party at Vauxhall, casting Tabitha in an ethereal glow. She’d worn a silvery gown this evening, some sort of silky, gossamer with lace trimmings that twinkled like stars in the growing moonlight, much as her eyes did. She’d had that sort of glimmer in her eyes almost constantly since the day before—since she’d finally confessed that she loved him, and nearly drove him mad with need. It was as though she knew the special form of torture she was enacting upon him, and drew a fiendish delight in it.

  Two more days. Less than that, actually. In closer to thirty-six hours (not that Noah was keeping track of these matters, mind), she would be his wife. Then he could act on his impulses. Then he could satiate his need.

  He’d have to teach her a thing or two about what her wanton looks and brazen touches did to a man. To him, in particular.

  Lady St. Benedict let out a loud sigh from a few feet away, over the heads of the gathering she’d invited to join her. “That was an excellent supper, if I do say so myself. But I feel the need for a bit of exercise after all of that. Would any of you care to join me?”

  Noah’s gaze fell upon a movement in the distance, away from their supper box. He strained his eyes to see what, or more specifically who, it was. The man walked into a pool of light from a hanging lantern, and finally Noah could make out his face: Oglethorpe. The bastard. But the lecherous blackguard was no longer a concern. He would never collect on his bet now. Noah forced his attention to return to their hostess’s speech.

  “The fireworks will not take place for a good time, yet, so we might as well find some other way to entertain ourselves.”

  A number of the ladies present murmured their approval of her suggestion and got to their feet, Tabitha and Miss Faulkner amongst them. “A good promenade is precisely what I need,” Tabitha said, linking her arm with her cousin.

  Noah and Leith exchanged a look. From the hardened, black expression in Leith’s eyes, Noah could only suspect he’d seen Oglethorpe too. They got to their feet almost as one.

  “We’ll join you,” Leith said to Miss Faulkner. He placed her hand in the crook of his arm. Tabitha unfurled her grip on her cousin and instead took Noah’s arm. She smiled up at him in that wicked manner she’d taken on of late.

  The entire party headed out onto one of the well-lit paths meandering through the gardens. Most of the ladies were on the arm of a gentleman, though a few groups of them clustered together as debutantes were wont to do, leaving a few gentlemen to hang back from the crush and talk amongst themselves. Several of the young ladies exclaimed in delight as they passed the cascade, or giggled as they walked beneath one of the storied archways.

  Noah and Tabitha walked along in near silence. The sweet scent of peaches kept wafting across his nose every time the wind rustled over her—a scent he would forever associate with his bride-to-be. He wondered how she achieved such a scent, whether it was a particular oil she added to her bathwater or something she daubed behind her ears. The idea of discovering her secret, and then aiding her in producing it each day, crashed headlong into him. He had to stop thinking like this. Thirty-six hours. He could make it thirty-six more hours without succumbing to death from this torment.

  He’d already survived almost thirty-two years without taking Tabitha to his bed, after all.

  As they walked, the assemblage began to dissipate, with smaller groupings breaking off to travel down this path and that, straying away from the main path and sneaking off to the Druid Walks—and away from the ever-watchful eyes of their chaperones, in the bargain. Soon, only a spattering of the original party remained strolling along the lamp-lit walkway.

  Noah glanced over his shoulder at Leith and Miss Faulkner. They were engrossed in conversation and not paying even the slightest attention to Noah and Tabitha.

  “Come with me,” he whispered into Tabitha’s ear. With a gentle tug, he guided her away from prying eyes and into the dark. Not that he intended to do more with her than he had in the past...but it might ease his anguish if he could steal a kiss or three.

  She didn’t complain. Indeed, she came along eagerly, hurrying along beside him. As they moved farther from the lights, her hand closed more tightly on his
arm, but she kept pace with him, wending and turning through the tree- and flower-lined trails. Finally, the only light left to guide them on their journey was the crescent of the moon in the night sky. An occasional cloud passed over the moon, blanketing them in darkness.

  They hadn’t passed another person in at least a few minutes. An expanse of grassy field opened before them, with a thick copse of trees on the other side. “Over there?” he asked.

  Tabitha’s eyes shimmered bright in the narrow shaft of light. “Yes. That looks perfect.” He didn’t think to ask perfect for what. Surely she had the same idea in mind as he.

  Noah took her hand into his own and led her across the meadow. Her slippered feet slid on a damp patch, and he pulled her to his chest to steady her. Her breath caught at the contact between their bodies. He understood all too well. The heat between them was palpable. “You’re all right?” He studied her expression, but she displayed no sign of worry.

  “Yes,” Tabitha whispered, smiling and stretching up on her toes to peck him on the nose. Her coy, coquettish kiss set Noah’s loins aflame. Perhaps this wasn’t such a grand plan, after all.

  Reaching for his hand, Tabitha directed them the rest of the way across the pasture. When they arrived at the shelter of massive oaks, he slowed to stop, but she pulled him deeper into the sanctuary, only stopping when they were altogether enshrouded in the cover of night and surrounded by the aroma of thousands of freesias.

  He couldn’t see her any longer. But he felt the curves of her body press against him as she strapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss. The sugared, fruity, feminine scent of her drew him down, closer to her warmth, and her lips tasted like golden honey. Her breath came on ragged moans and soft sighs.

  “Touch me,” Tabitha commanded when he repositioned his lips to taste the frantic pace of her pulse beneath her ear and then lower, to the hollow of her neck.