Let It Be Love

by Victoria Alexander

“Just like that?”

  Oh, this was good. The slight glimmer of panic in her eyes, the faint tremor in her voice. Very effective and almost believable.

  “You are obviously the type of woman I have always wanted.” He shrugged. “Therefore I see no reason to postpone the inevitable.”

  “The inevitable?” she said slowly.

  “Now who is answering with a question?”

  “I simply didn’t expect this to be so…so easy.”

  “What did you expect?” He moved closer and again she stepped back. This was fun, although he would have thought she would be a bit bolder. Still, a charming virginal hesitance was called for if her story was to be believed. Oliver had taught her well.

  “I’m not sure, really.” She wrung her hands together and feigned dismay creased her lovely forehead.

  “You’re not changing your mind are you?”

  “Oh, no, of course not.” She sighed. “In truth, if you are indeed willing to marry me, I have no choice.”

  “But you find me entirely too easy?”

  “Yes, I do. I never imagined you would agree to marry so quickly. I thought you would need much more convincing and some time to consider my proposal. Certainly I have little time to spare, but I have grown accustomed to the idea of marrying someone I don’t know, whereas this is new to you.”

  “I don’t believe in wasting time when an opportunity presents itself.” He flashed her a wicked grin. “You, my dear Fiona, are definitely an opportunity.”

  Her eyes widened. “Be that as it may, I thought as well you would wish to speak to Oliver about my, um, about me.”

  “And I fully intend to speak to him as soon as possible.” His voice was firm. “All about you.”

  “You only have my word as to my background and family and everything else I have told you.” Unease edged her voice. “I also assumed you would want to determine for yourself whether or not we will truly suit one another before a commitment of this nature.”

  “But our meeting was arranged by Norcroft and he is one of my dearest friends. Who better to know if you are indeed perfect for me than a man who has known me for years and, as my friend, has only my best interests at heart?”

  She didn’t so much as flinch at his declaration.

  “My dear Fiona, I have long said that when I find the woman who is precisely what I want, I should not hesitate to make her my own.”

  “Still…don’t you wish to—”

  “What I wish is to take you in my arms.” He suited his actions to his words and pulled her into his embrace, noting a slight reluctance on her part. Obviously part of the act. “And kiss you thoroughly to seal our bargain.”

  “Do you?” She stared up at him, her green eyes wide with a skillful mix of trepidation and anticipation.

  “I can think of nothing I would rather do more.”

  “Then, I suppose…” Her voice had a charmingly breathless quality no doubt honed to perfection on the stage. She raised her chin and her gaze met his in a determined manner. “You should do precisely that.”

  “Indeed I should.” Regardless of who she really was or the jest she was a part of, he fully intended to enjoy this. “And I shall.”

  He pressed his lips to hers and for a moment she stilled, as if uncertain, then her lips opened beneath his. She tasted delightfully of champagne and Christmas spices, secrets and desire. His and possibly hers as well. Excellent. He slanted his mouth harder over hers and his kiss deepened in a greedy manner that was less polished than usual, but he wanted her more than he had expected. In his arms and eventually in his bed.

  She had obviously been kissed and kissed well before now. Still, there was something in the way her hands rested lightly on his shoulders or the slight restraint in the feel of her body pressed against his or a reluctant eagerness in her response that struck him as odd. Perhaps she wasn’t as experienced as most actresses of his acquaintance. Or perhaps she was very skilled at her profession.

  He scarcely cared at the moment. His mouth plundered hers and desire rose within him. He pulled her tighter against him. The feel of her body next to his, the intimacy of his mouth on hers, caught at something deep inside him, perilously close to his heart, although that was absurd. She was an expert at this and well used to eliciting such reactions from a man. Even so, Jonathon was not at all used to being affected in any manner that was not entirely physical. No doubt it was all that talk of perfection and fate.

  He gently ended the kiss and raised his head. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly open and she seemed unable to move.

  Whether that was part of her charade or not, he quite liked it. And liked as well the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He chuckled and her eyes fluttered open.

  “Oh, my.” Her words came in the manner of a woman who has just been well and truly kissed and enjoyed it. Jonathon was confident this particular moment was no act. “That was quite…” Her eyes were wide and a bit glazed. “Quite wonderful.”

  He smiled down at her. “I thought so. But then it would be, wouldn’t it?”

  “Why would it?” She fairly sighed the words.

  “Because we are perfect for one another.” He grinned with satisfaction. “Fated for each other and all that.”

  “All that.” She smiled up at him with that brilliant smile that reached inside him and twisted him in knots.

  He swallowed hard. No matter what else happened, he would never forget that smile.

  She stepped out of his arms with a reluctant sigh, moved back as if to put distance between them and absently smoothed the skirt of her gown.

  “In spite of the challenge I apparently present, I do plan on making you a good wife.” Fiona glanced at him with a determined look in her eye. “You will not be sorry, Jonathon.”

  He shook his head to clear it. Regardless of her act, she was still a remarkable woman, and when this was all said and done he had every intention of pursuing a closer acquaintance. “I cannot imagine I will be the least bit sorry.”

  “I should take my leave now.” She glanced around the library. “This would be most improper if we were found here alone. I should hate to begin our marriage with any kind of scandal or gossip of an untoward nature.”

  “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

  “Now that this is decided, we should probably proceed quickly.” She leaned toward him in a confidential manner. “I am fairly certain the man my father wished me to marry will no doubt make an appearance at some point soon and it would be best if I was wed before then.”

  “By all means. Speed is definitely called for.” Not that there was any spurned suitor or dead father or anything beyond an elaborate hoax. He could hardly wait to see the faces of his friends when he informed them that he knew of their joke all along.

  She pulled a calling card from her glove and handed it to him. “I have written the address where I am staying on the back of my card. Since our return from Italy, my sisters and I have been residing with my cousin and aunt and shall do so indefinitely. Or at least”—she glanced at him in a manner that was almost shy; excellent acting—“until we wed.”

  “I shall call on you within the next few days so that we might begin making arrangements.”

  “Dear Lord, I hadn’t thought about an actual wedding ceremony.” She paused as if she were really considering the details of such an event. “Something small, I should think, and as soon as arrangements can be made.”

  “Absolutely. I wish to spend as much time with you as possible as well. Now that I have found the perfect woman, I cannot wait to get better acquainted with her.” He flashed her a knowing grin. “Far better acquainted.”

  Her eyes widened in apparent surprise. Oh, she was very good indeed. Then a slight smile curved her lips. “I shall look forward to it, Jonathon.” She stepped closer and, before he could say a word, framed his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. Her body molded against his and he could feel the shape of her through petticoats and corset
and all those annoying layers women were compelled to wear. Before he could respond, she pulled away. “Very much so.”

  She cast him a wicked smile of her own, not at all the kind of smile an innocent lady of good breeding sacrificing herself in marriage to save her sisters would wear. Nor did she kiss like an innocent. It was at once shocking and most exciting. It was almost a pity this Fiona Fairchild was a fraud.

  She turned and swept from the room.

  “Excellent performance, my dear,” he said softly, then chuckled.

  He couldn’t wait to find Oliver and the others, including Judith. She was obviously in on the joke. Well, he had seen through their little charade and had nicely turned the tables on them. Any minute now they would hear Fiona’s report about what had transpired in the library. He hated to miss the expressions on their faces when she told them he had agreed to marry her. Perhaps he would wait for them to come to him to confess their failed plot and beg his forgiveness. Just the thought of them simmering in their own ill-conceived juices brought a grin to his face. No, Jonathon could not resist a good joke any more than they could. He propped a hip on the desk and picked up his glass. He would give them a few minutes to consider what their hoax had wrought and how to now correct it. He chuckled with anticipation. He could hardly wait.

  He took a long sip of champagne and idly glanced at the engraved card in his hand: Miss Fiona Fairchild. Perhaps that was indeed her real name. No matter. He turned the card over and read the address written in a fine, firm hand. It was a house on Bedford Square. She certainly had picked a prestigious address. Didn’t Oliver live on Bedford Square? Indeed, this was his address. Of course, as he had arranged this scheme it only made sense….

  The faintest sense of unease washed through him.

  My sisters and I have been residing with my cousin and aunt.

  Surely that was part of the act? Although presenting a card with Oliver’s address written on it was going a bit far. After all, Jonathon would recognize the location immediately and the joke would be at an end.

  If it was a joke.

  Of course it was a joke. It was just the kind of thing Norcroft and Warton and Cavendish would delight in. Why, Oliver didn’t even have a cousin. Did he? Jonathon racked his brain. Fiona had said her mother was the sister of an earl. If he remembered correctly, Oliver’s aunt was long dead and had been married to a diplomat of some sort. What was his name? Fargate? Fairfax? His breath caught. Fairchild?

  Surely he was mistaken. It couldn’t possibly be…. Oliver would go to great lengths for a good joke, but he would never involve a member of his own family in something of this nature. Jonathon groaned aloud.

  Fiona Fairchild was the Earl of Norcroft’s cousin.

  And Jonathon had just agreed to marry her.

  Panic, pure and simple and overwhelming, gripped him. It was a mistake. A dreadful, dreadful mistake. Surely Fiona—Miss Fairchild—would understand that?And certainly Oliver would understand it as well?

  Of course, if that ridiculous story she had spun was true, and right now he very much feared it was, the woman would not be inclined toward releasing him from his agreement. She was desperate to avoid an unwanted marriage. And while she had said he was not her perfect choice, she did seem to like him. At least if her kiss was any indication.

  In spite of his declarations to his friends, he had no desire to wed anyone—perfect for him or not—at the moment. Why, he was still a young man. There were any number of things he wished to do before tying himself down with a wife and the accompanying responsibilities a wife and—God help him—children would entail. Oliver and the others were right. The very idea of imminent marriage—no matter how perfect the woman might be—was terrifying and chilled him to his very bones. Marriage was something one should approach slowly and with a fair amount of caution and reserve.

  Not something one should agree to when alone with a beautiful stranger and a bottle of champagne and a fervent belief that he was the victim of an elaborate hoax!

  He started toward the door. He would certainly be the butt of the joke now and for the rest of his days if he did not find Fiona at once and stop her before she told anyone of their betrothal. Especially before she told Oliver or Oliver’s mother or—he groaned aloud—his own mother. Worse, he might be forced to actually marry her.

  A heartbeat before he reached the door, it jerked open and he came face to face with his sister Lizzie, Lady Langley.

  “Did you, by any chance, see anyone…someone…” He craned his neck to see around her.

  “Someone?” Lizzie stepped past him into the library. “You mean a woman? Very pretty? Rather upset?”

  “Yes,” he said eagerly. Although he wasn’t at all sure why Fiona would be described as upset. Indeed, she had had a charming smile on her face when she had left the library.

  Unless she had had second thoughts? His spirits lifted. Perhaps she had come to her senses about wedding any man she didn’t know, especially him. Or perhaps, as she had apparently avoided wedded bliss nearly as long as he had, the thought of marriage itself was as daunting to her as it was to him even if she had no other choice. But if Lizzie had seen Fiona in the corridor, he had an excellent chance of catching up with her.

  “No.” Lizzie’s voice was cool, although there was the distinct possibility she would not tell him even if she’d seen Fiona. His sister was not at all tolerant of his Christmas Eve trysts.

  “I see.” If Lizzie hadn’t seen her, Fiona had probably already returned to the ballroom.

  “Have you seen Nicholas?” Lizzie said.

  “Nicholas?” Jonathon murmured, still staring down the passageway as if to will Fiona’s return to the library by sheer desire alone. He might yet be able to find her among the crowd at the ball, although as he knew from past experience finding one lone female amid the revelers in the ballroom at the height of the evening was nearly impossible. Still, he could try.

  “Yes,” she snapped. “Nicholas Collingsworth? Sir Nicholas? Your dear old friend?”

  “Yes, of course.” Jonathon cast one last, longing look down the corridor, then slipped Fiona’s card into his waistcoat pocket.

  Lizzie had problems of her own, and regardless of the circumstances Jonathon now found himself in, he owed his sister whatever assistance he could provide. While he was confident she would soon be happily wed, the least he could do was help her along that path. It was a debt long past due.

  He heaved a sigh and turned toward his sister.

  “Well?” Lizzie said impatiently. “Have you seen him?”

  “Briefly….”

  By the time he finished with Lizzie and Nicholas, it might well be too late to find Fiona and clear up this misunderstanding tonight. He would have to call on her, and Oliver, as soon as possible. But between family festivities and obligations on Christmas Day tomorrow and Boxing Day after that, it would be at least two days before he could see her again.

  Surely nothing irrevocable would happen in the span of a mere two days?

  Chapter Three

  One, two or three days later, depending on one’s point of view and level of desperation…

  “Do you think he’s changed his mind?” Genevieve Fairchild’s offhand question hung idly in the air of the parlor Aunt Edwina—Lady Norcroft—had assigned to the sisters. Gen reclined on a chaise, her gaze remained fixed on the magazine she held in front of her, although she, and everyone else in the room, was acutely aware of the significance of the question, though no one had dared voice it aloud before now. “It’s been two full days, three if you count today as well.”

  “I don’t count today,” Fiona said, and continued to pace the floor just as she had done yesterday and the day before in those few, yet endless moments when holiday festivities had not compelled her attention. Aunt Edwina had taken advantage of having a full house to arrange all sorts of festive activities. It would have been a great deal of fun if Fiona hadn’t had the pressing matter of her impending marriage on her mind.
/>   Sophia Fairchild looked up from her embroidery and traded knowing glances with her twin sister Arabella who sat writing at a ladies’ desk.

  “I would count today, if I were you,” Belle said under her breath.

  “Three days is a very long time,” Sophie murmured.

  “Two days,” Fiona snapped. “It’s only been two days. And as one was Christmas and the other Boxing Day, they scarcely count at all. Why, a very good argument could be made that Lord Helmsley and I came to our agreement less than a full day ago.”

  “If you want to delude yourself and live in a world peopled with fairies and elves and other creatures that don’t exist,” Gen said as if she were speaking more to herself than the others.

  Fiona stopped and glared at the younger woman. “I am not deluding myself. Lord Helmsley is a man of honor. He agreed to marry me—rather more quickly than I thought he would, but he agreed nonetheless. And I have every confidence that he will live up to his word.”

  “Do you?” Gen tossed the magazine aside and sat up. “Then why haven’t you told Cousin Oliver of his lordship’s agreement?”

  “I haven’t had the chance,” Fiona said staunchly.

  “You’ve avoided him, is what you’ve done,” Belle said. “We’ve all noticed it.”

  “I have not,” Fiona lied. Sophie snorted. “You most certainly have. And in increasingly creative ways.”

  Belle jumped to her feet, hooked her thumbs in imaginary lapels and addressed her twin in a deep voice. “Come, now, Cousin Fiona, do tell me what transpired between you and Lord Helmsley, as he is one of my dearest friends and you are a member of my family.”

  “Oh, dear, Cousin Oliver”—Sophie’s voice was unnaturally high—“I would, but…” She rose, stretched out one hand toward her twin in a pleading manner and rested the back of the other on her forehead. “As much as I should like to tell you everything, I fear I must swoon now.”

  Gen shifted out of her way and Sophie collapsed theatrically beside her onto the chaise.

  “Poor, poor Fiona.” Gen patted her sister’s head and heaved a dramatic sigh. “She is such a fragile thing and bears such awesome responsibilities now that the girls are all alone in the world.”