The Shocking Secret of a Guest at the Wedding (Millworth Manor)

by Victoria Alexander

  She scoffed. “I don’t believe you for a minute.”

  “You think I’m just trying to make myself look good in your eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  “I doubt that confessing the dull nature of my past is the best way to go about that.” He shook his head. “It’s been my observation that women are intrigued by men who refuse to follow the rules.”

  “Men who break rules end up in prison,” she said in a prim manner.

  He laughed. “Men who break laws perhaps, but men who break rules, those are the kind of men who tend to have adventures rather than read about them.” He paused to slice a piece of cheese. “I wish I was more like him, you know.”

  Her brows drew together in confusion. “Who?”

  “My father.”

  “Oh.” Theodosia peeled the sections she had scored, curled them, and tucked them into the base of the orange. She glanced at him. “What makes you think you aren’t like him?”

  He snorted. “I think that’s fairly obvious.”

  “Not to me.”

  “For one thing, he’s done all sorts of things I stopped dreaming about years ago. He’s seized opportunity when it presented itself to venture into the unknown. He’s traveled the world, had grand adventures, seen things not everyone does.” He shook his head. “Until I came to England, I’d never left American shores.”

  “Anyone can travel, as you said it’s opportunity more than anything else. Besides, he never had any sort of real responsibilities to hold him back. When you think about it, he’s never had to concern himself with anyone other than himself.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.”

  “As for dreams of adventure, it seems to me, until one dies, there’s still the possibility of adventure. One simply has to seize it. Carpe diem and such.”

  He raised a brow. “Latin?”

  “Miss Bicklesham’s Academy for Accomplished Young Ladies was very progressive.”

  He chuckled. “Apparently.”

  “Although I am scarcely one to talk about seizing the day.” She studied the orange that now looked more like a work of art than something to eat. “But then I am female and adventures for women in this world tend to leave them ruined and abandoned. Unless . . .”

  “Unless?”

  “Unless they have a great deal of money. Then they are able to do exactly as they please.” She smiled. “And that, Jack, is my observation.”

  “Very astute.”

  “I can be quite astute.” She considered him thoughtfully. “But I thought we had agreed you can be anyone or anything you want to be.”

  “That’s all very well and good on a terrace under a full moon but in the light of day . . .” He shook his head. “What I am is a thirty-year-old banker.”

  “A banker who doesn’t find banking particularly interesting.” She separated the orange segments and set them on her plate.

  “I did say that, didn’t I?” Odd, he’d always thought his work at the bank was useful and fulfilling. His life was solid and content. It was only since he’d met his father that he’d come to suspect there was little difference between useful and dull, and no difference whatsoever between content and boring. How was it that a few months ago he had thought his life was just fine and now it didn’t seem to suit him at all?

  “Yes, you did.” She broke the orange segments apart. “I’ve always thought your father was a remarkable man.”

  “When I was a boy and wondered about my father, the colonel is exactly the kind of father I wanted to have. The kind of man any little boy would like to be when he grows up.”

  “The kind of man any young girl would dream about.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh my, yes.” She chuckled. “When I first met the colonel, I thought he was a most heroic figure. Bigger than life. Quite exciting.” She picked up an orange segment and took a bite. “He was the kind of man one could imagine riding up on a stalwart steed to rescue a fair maiden.”

  “And you were the fair maiden,” he said slowly.

  “Absolutely.” She smiled at the memory. “I was thirteen and it was my first visit to Millworth. The colonel was just back from Egypt, or perhaps he was just about to leave, I don’t remember now. No.” She thought for a moment. “He had just gotten back. I remember because he gave both Dee and me carved scarabs, for luck. Oh, I was quite smitten with him. He was a hero from a romantic novel come to life.”

  “I see.” Well, this was awkward. She was smitten with his father? His father?

  “When Dee and I returned to school, I wrote him a long letter professing my undying love.”

  “Did you?” How could he ever compete with his father?

  “Fortunately, Dee discovered my missive of everlasting devotion and explained to me, quite firmly as I recall, that the colonel had no interest in a thirteen-year-old girl.” She wrinkled her nose. “Especially a thirteen-year-old girl who was entirely too tall and gangly, had no bosoms to speak of, and hair reminiscent of a burnt orange.”

  “You changed,” he said mildly.

  “Thank goodness.” She took another bite of orange; juice trickled down her long fingers.

  He had the almost irresistible urge to pull her fingers to his mouth and lick the juice away. He ignored it.

  “She also said the colonel had long ago given his heart away and there would never be room in it for someone else.”

  “My mother?”

  “I’m afraid not.” She wrinkled her nose. “Dee confessed to me years later that she had made that up. Although in hindsight, given that he never married, I suppose it’s possible. I didn’t see your father again until Dee’s wedding.” She thought for a moment. “He was still handsome and dashing and heroic. But as fascinating as his life was, in spite of Dee’s confession, he struck me as, well, a bit sad I thought.”

  “Sad?”

  “There was a moment, an expression on his face when he looked at Dee and her sisters. Regret I thought at the time as if, in spite of the exciting life he had chosen, there was something missing.” She shrugged. “As I said, it was only a fleeting instant and I certainly could have been mistaken. It was a very long time ago.”

  “And are you still smitten?” he asked in as casual a manner as he could muster.

  “Why, Jack Channing.” Her eyes widened with delight. “If I didn’t know better, I would think that was the question of a jealous man.”

  “Not at all,” he said smoothly, reached across the table and took an orange segment. “It was simple curiosity. Nothing more than that.”

  “Of course.” Disappointment flashed in her eyes so quickly he might have been mistaken. For a long moment she pulled the segments of orange apart, then looked at him. “How much do you know about your cousins’ history?”

  “I know that Delilah, Camille, and Beryl were widowed.” He shrugged. “Is there more?”

  “Your uncle left when they were very young. According to what Dee has told me, he apparently wanted his brother’s more carefree, adventurous life than the life of responsibility he had. It’s only been since last Christmas that Lady Briston has allowed him back in their lives and even then he was pretending to be his brother. She raised her daughters to marry well and they did. All three married older gentlemen, with healthy fortunes and respectable titles.”

  He nodded.

  “It’s not the least bit uncommon, you know. Older men marrying pretty young women.”

  “It happens all the time.”

  “But, and I wasn’t really aware of this until Dee married Phillip, her first husband, I find it . . .” She thought for a moment. “Distasteful, I suppose.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do.” She nodded. “It seems to me such a marriage is nothing less than a trade, if you will. Beauty and youth for money and position. It makes marriage more of a, I don’t know, a business proposition than it should be.”

  “I see.” He studied her thoughtfully. “But then hasn’t marriage always been a
kind of business proposition? Historically anyway. The alliance of two families for profit or position or politics?”

  For the first time it struck him that that was exactly the kind of marriage he and Lucy had been willing to enter into. Perhaps the reason they had put off their engagement so often was because, deep down inside, they both knew it wasn’t what either of them really wanted. Which made Lucy even smarter than he had realized.

  “That doesn’t make it right, especially now.” She shook her head. “Goodness, Jack, we’re on the verge of a new century. Progress is in the very air we breathe. This isn’t the Middle Ages. Women are not chattel. We should be able, indeed, encouraged to pursue our own desires.”

  “You mean running a business or membership in the Explorers Club?”

  “Indeed I do.”

  “You probably think women should vote as well.”

  “Absolutely.” She raised her chin in a defiant manner. “I daresay we couldn’t do a worse job of running the world than men have done.”

  He laughed. “You have a point there.”

  “Of course I do.” She studied him sharply. “Do you think women should vote?”

  “Oh no you don’t.” He shook his head. “It’s been entirely too pleasant an evening to spoil it now with talk of social upheaval.”

  “It’s a simple enough question.”

  “There’s nothing simple about that question but to be perfectly honest, I haven’t given it much thought.” He paused. “But I will admit that you’re right. Women couldn’t do a worse job of it than men have.”

  “I shall take that as a yes.” She cast him a triumphant grin. “However, that was a most evasive answer, Jack, and you well know it.”

  “An evasive answer is better than none.” He chuckled. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “About being smitten with your father?”

  He nodded and held his breath.

  “Colonel Channing is a fascinating man and I shall always be fond of him but no.” She shook her head. “I put that infatuation behind me years ago. Besides, as I said, I have no desire to marry a man old enough to be my father. Nor will I marry simply to better my position in life.” She wrinkled her nose. “If I wanted that I could marry my cousin and be done with it.”

  “What kind of man do you want to marry?” he said without thinking.

  “As we’re being so honest with one another I have to admit, I really don’t know. I suppose I want what all women want.” She shrugged. “As I have already discarded the notion of marriage for many of the usual reasons—”

  “Social position and financial security?”

  “Don’t misunderstand my words. I quite like the idea of wealth and position, I simply think there should be more if one is going to spend the rest of one’s life with someone.” She thought for a moment. “I suppose I want a man who will, I don’t know, slay dragons for me. Figuratively, of course. Sweep me off my feet. That sort of thing.”

  He raised a brow. “You want a hero?”

  “What woman doesn’t? Unfortunately, heroes are in remarkably short supply these days.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you’re not especially interested in marriage.”

  “Indeed it is. Knights on white horses riding to the rescue of fair maidens may well be the stuff of poetry and romantic novels but real life is a far different matter.” She laughed, then sobered. “He wouldn’t have to be a hero in the strictest definition of the word, as the world sees such men.” She smiled into his eyes and the oddest thing happened to his heart. “He would only need to be a hero to me.”

  For a long moment their gazes locked. He resisted the urge, the need, to reach out, pull her across the table into his arms, press his lips to hers . . . sweep her off her feet.

  “Goodness, Jack,” she said with a self-conscious laugh. “I am being fanciful tonight. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  “Obviously too many romantic novels.” He drew a steadying breath. For a moment . . . What had gotten into him as well?

  “Yes, that’s it,” she murmured.

  “I should probably be going.” Now, before he acted on impulses he’d never known before. He got to his feet. “It’s late and I still need to find a hotel.”

  “I don’t know where the time went.” She shook her head and stood. “I have to confess, I’ve never talked to anyone, well, to a man that is, the way we’ve talked tonight. But then I’ve never had dinner alone with a man before either.” She smiled. “You’re remarkably easy to talk to, Mr. Channing.”

  He grinned. “It’s a gift, Lady Theodosia.”

  “It must come in handy for a banker.”

  “Oh yes, we bankers are a talkative lot,” he said in an overly somber manner.

  “Really?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  She laughed. “I’ll see you out.”

  She took his arm and his muscles clenched beneath her touch. Good Lord, what was this woman doing to him?

  They stepped into the front entry, his bags still beside the door. He took his coat from the rack and pulled it on. An envelope lay on the table beneath the mirror. He hadn’t noticed it earlier. Theodosia picked it up, glanced at the name written on it, then smiled.

  “This is no doubt Sam’s note.” She waved the envelope at him. “It’s addressed to Mr. Beckley. Which is why Mr. Filbeck wouldn’t have opened it.”

  “Then I am eternally grateful for the mistake.”

  “Are you?”

  He nodded. “If Sam hadn’t written the wrong name, Mr. Filbeck would have read the note. He wouldn’t have been so outraged and you wouldn’t have blamed me.”

  She winced. “Not my finest hour.”

  “Everything would have been calm and civilized and I would have left hours ago.” He smiled into her emerald eyes. “And I would have missed a lovely evening with a beautiful woman.”

  She stared up at him. “You do say the most charming things.”

  He stepped closer. “Are you charmed?”

  “No.” She scoffed. “Perhaps . . . Yes.”

  “Good.”

  She drew a deep breath. “I don’t think you should go, to a hotel that is.”

  “I can’t stay here,” he said in a tone a shade harsher than expected. “And you won, remember?”

  “I’m not suggesting you stay here.” Her brows drew together. “We agreed that would be most inappropriate.”

  “Then—”

  “I think you should go back to Channing House.” She met his gaze firmly. “Your father now understands your feelings and I would suspect he will be much less . . . overwhelming.”

  “It might be easier to return, at least tonight. It is late after all.”

  She nodded. “Entirely too late to go looking for a hotel. I would feel quite dreadful to think of you wandering the streets, bags in hand, searching for a place to stay. Why, the guilt alone would be unbearable.”

  “We wouldn’t want that.” He grinned.

  “No, we would not,” she said firmly.

  “I should go then.” Although he made no move toward the door.

  “Yes, you should.” Although she made no move to step away. She was close enough that with the barest effort, he could pull her into his arms. And why not? What harm would a simple kiss do? He drew a deep breath.

  “I’m going to kiss you again, you know.”

  Her gaze locked with his, her eyes reflecting his own desire. “Yes, well, I suspected as much.”

  “You should also know, there’s nothing random about it. I have been thinking about it . . .” His gaze dropped to her lips and back to her eyes. “Since we last kissed.”

  “Have you?” She forced a light laugh.

  He nodded and stepped closer. “Have you?”

  “No, of course not . . .” She swallowed hard. “Well, perhaps. . . Yes.”

  “The first time, you kissed me back.”

  “Don’t be absurd, I was . . . I was simply surprised, that’s a
ll.” It was obvious she didn’t believe her words any more than he did. She sighed. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

  “And this time—”

  “For goodness’ sake, Jack.” She huffed. “Do all bankers have to go on and on about a simple kiss before—”

  He pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers with a firm but gentle touch. Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his and his stomach tightened. And all his intentions about a simple kiss vanished the moment her arms slipped around his neck and her mouth opened beneath his.

  She tasted faintly of orange and wine. Of summer and light and everything he’d ever loved, everything he’d ever longed for.

  At last he raised his head and gazed down into her eyes, shadowed with passion and a need that reflected his own. He had kissed women before of course, but never had he felt a kiss that seemed to sear into his very soul.

  “Oh my.” Her voice was breathless. “That was . . . there was . . .”

  “Nothing simple about that?”

  “Dear me, no.” Her chest heaved against him and she struggled to catch her breath. “You should probably, well, I should probably . . .”

  “Yes, we should. Probably.” Reluctantly, he released her, an immediate feeling of loss washing through him along with the oddest sense that she was meant to be in his arms.

  She took an unsteady step back and it was all he could do not to grin with satisfaction. She was as affected by their simple kiss as he was.

  “I fully intend to see you again soon,” he warned. “Very soon.”

  “Good Lord, I hope so,” she murmured, then her eyes widened as if she had just realized what she had said.

  He laughed, grabbed her hands, and raised them to his lips. “You are indeed a gift, Theodosia. Tomorrow then.”

  “Tomorrow?” She gasped in surprise, then nodded. “Yes, indeed.” She cast him a brilliant smile. “Tomorrow.”

  He grinned in return, released her hands, stepped back, and picked up his bags. She moved to the door and her scent drifted around him. Gardenias perhaps?