by Lavinia Kent
“My dear Miss Ripon, I am so glad to see you are recovered,” he said, his eyes running over her dress. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll take a chill in such a flimsy affair? Is that shawl enough?”
“It is what my mother packed. Do you question her taste?”
“It is more that I know you were not well last night. Perhaps you should have heeded my advice and not gone wandering out after our own stroll. I did warn you not to overdo it.” There was something odd about his tone and his glance, which was far more forward than it had been the day before.
“Perhaps you are right. I would admit that my walk was not as pleasurable as I had expected.” Although that was not strictly true. The walk had been pleasurable enough; it was what came after that still left her shaken and unsure.
“No, and I thought you loved to…to walk.”
Why did Thorton sound so strange? It was as if his every word had an extra meaning, a meaning she could not possibly understand. “Yes, I do enjoy the air on most occasions.”
“But not yesterday afternoon. You seemed in quite good spirits when we walked. I was therefore surprised when I saw you head out later. If you had desired to stroll through the woods, I would have been pleased to be your partner. Dangerous things can happen to a young lady who walks unescorted.”
Had he followed her? Is that why he sounded so strange? Had he seen her with Colton? The thought circled her mind and was then dismissed. Surely she would have noticed if she was followed, and Thorton was not a man who would have held his silence. She was sure that everyone in the house would know by now if he’d seen her.
Was it possible that they did? For a moment, fear took her. What had she missed by hiding in her room for most of the day?
No. She would not think that way. If rumors were rife, her mother would have told her—and so would Lady Perse. “I assure you, Lord Thorton, that I felt no danger.”
“So your walk was not upsetting? You did say you had not found pleasure in it.”
“Is my stroll about the grounds really of such concern?”
He took a step back. “I find all things to be my concern—as they should be to any gentleman. Do you disagree that we are all responsible for our fellow man?”
She forced another smile. “I would say rather that I am too hungry and too thirsty for such a discussion. Perhaps after dinner we will return to it.” Although she would do everything in her power to avoid such a happening.
“Oh, there you are, dear,” her mother said, gliding toward them. “You do look so much better. I am glad to see some color in your cheeks. You looked most dreadful last night. I was quite worried you had truly taken a chill.” She turned to Lord Thorton. “You should not have kept her out so long. Surely you must have noticed all was not right with her.”
“No, Miss Ripon seemed quite fine when she was with me. Her illness must have come upon her later in the day.” Again he gave her a strange look.
“I suppose you may be right—although my daughter did retire immediately after she returned with you. She seemed quite eager to rest.”
This time there was no mistaking Thorton’s expression. He knew very well that she had not retired to her room. Would he say something? It was a chance she could not take. “Actually, Mother, I am afraid I went for another stroll instead. I did mean to rest, but my headache was beginning and the room seemed stifling.”
“Why, no wonder you took ill. You know you must take care when you do not feel well. It would be such a shame if you had become too ill to attend the rest of the events.” And meet a nice young man to marry.
The last piece of her mother’s thought did not need to be put into words.
“You are both right. I will take more care in the future. I do believe that I have learned my lesson.” She lowered her head, trying to project an image of absolute innocence.
“I am not sure that you have,” Thorton stated flatly.
Her mother opened her mouth as if to rebuke him but then closed her lips. There were arguments even her mother did not wish to engage in. “Well, come into the parlor and we will get you a sherry.” She took Angela’s arm and pulled her away from Thorton. “Something nice and fortifying is just what you need.”
Thorton made no move to follow.
—
Colton waved his footman back to the carriage and stared up at the house. He had debated sending his regrets once again, but he was not a coward. This must be faced.
“So have you decided what to do?” Thorton demanded, stepping out the front door. The man must have been waiting for him.
“I am still considering my options.”
“I am afraid that you do not have any. I spoke with Miss Ripon just a few moments ago.”
Now, that was surprising—and concerning. “And what did she have to say? I do hope you did not bore her with your threats as you have me.”
“Not yet. I will say that she did not seem altogether pleased with yesterday’s events. I begin to wonder if my early assessments were correct and you have preyed on an innocent.”
Colton felt a sudden urge to plant his fist squarely in the center of Lord Thorton’s face. He was unsure if the impulse was a desire to protect Angela or his own reputation. And he wasn’t sure that it mattered. He had decided not to tell Angela of Thorton’s threat. There was no reason for her to feel this pressure—assuming she did not plot with Thorton. “I am not concerned with what you think.”
“But you should be. One word from me and the poor thing will be ruined. There will not be a corner dark enough for her to hide in. She’ll wish that she could run off to France and join a convent.”
Colton stared back at Thorton. “I never took you to have papist sympathies.”
“I don’t.” Thorton met his look and held it. “I merely state a truth.”
“Why should I be concerned for the girl?” He would do almost anything to protect Angela, but Thorton certainly did not need to know that.
“You admit no fault?”
He marched up the front steps and stared into Thorton’s eyes. “I will admit nothing. And now I do believe we are due in for dinner. I was forced to send my regrets last night; I would not wish Lady Perse to think I was so rude as to be late this evening.” He began to walk past Thorton.
Thorton caught at his arm, his voice a hiss. “I do not make idle threats, Colton. You would be wise to consider the full situation.”
Colton did not turn; he merely pulled his arm free and walked in, hoping the doorman had not heard too much.
Chapter 18
Tonight the headache had become all too real. Angela sat between Lord Peter and Mr. Wilkes—both young enough, both eligible, both of reasonable countenance—and was bored silly. No, that was not fair to either of the gentlemen. They were both perfectly pleasant. She just found every demand on her attention trying. She didn’t want to discuss common friends and which ball they had attended during the past season. She didn’t even want to hear of Mr. Wilkes’s time at Oxford and his studies of the ancient Greeks. She wanted to be alone. No, she wanted to talk to Colton. No, the last thing she wanted was to talk to Colton. If possible, she wanted to never see him again.
Which was of course difficult when he sat just down the table, talking to Mrs. Links. He was too far away for Angela to hear his conversation, but did he have to look so entertained? She was miserable and he looked as if he was having the most wonderful of times. He’d probably get up and swing into a waltz in a moment. And why did Mrs. Links think that gown was appropriate for dinner? It looked like something that belonged at Madame Rouge’s. No, not even one of Madame Rouge’s girls would have worn something so…
God, her head ached. She rubbed her temple and smiled and nodded at Mr. Wilkes.
“So you do agree that my father should let me go on an excursion to seek Troy, Miss Ripon. He has been quite unreasonable on the subject. He seems to think I should come home and concentrate on estate management. I suppose I am lucky he doesn’t want me to join the Church.
He can be so traditional.”
She nodded and then blinked, trying to be sure she was not agreeing to anything that she shouldn’t. It would be dreadful to find she’d agreed to dance every dance with him or that she was meeting him in the gardens at midnight. There was only one man she wanted to meet in the gardens at midnight.
No. No. No.
She did not want to see him, much less meet with him. And definitely not in a dark garden, not someplace where they might press against each other, where she might finally kiss him, feel the stroke of his very talented tongue upon her mouth, might find herself tempted to…
No.
No.
No.
Never.
Although she probably should talk with him. She did need to understand where things stood between them—or to make sure he understood. She might have promised to be willing, but his behavior at the end of their last encounter had…Well, she didn’t have exact words, but she would not be treated in such a fashion.
She glanced down the table just as Colton threw his head back in laughter, his eyes crinkling deliciously.
No.
“I do understand about your father, Mr. Wilkes,” she said. “My mother can be quite the same. She doesn’t understand why I should do anything that is not involved in finding a husband.”
It was Mr. Wilkes’s turn to blink at her. “Well, isn’t that what you want? To find a husband?”
Deep breath in. She would not allow her head to actually explode at the dinner table.
—
Colton leaned against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, and watched her dance. She moved like a feather in the wind, light, drifting. The candlelight shimmered on her curls as they waved with her movement.
He felt the urge to stride out onto the dance floor, to take her in his arms, to send away the boy who was spinning her about. He did not move.
She looked so happy and carefree, but when she stopped he’d seen the look of worry that crossed her features. All was not right in her world. It brought him back to that night months ago, the night that he’d told her bluntly that he was not interested in her.
She’d been devastated. He’d hoped never to put that look on a woman’s face. Ironically, it was the reason he’d been so blunt to begin with, the reason he’d told her as soon as his interest lagged.
Could he risk doing that again? Doing worse?
It was impossible to imagine causing that bright light harm.
What would happen if Thorton talked? Even if Colton denied it, even if Angela denied it, would they be believed? And even if they were, did it matter? Gossip spread faster than wildfire, and what man would want a wife who’d done what Angela had? Well, most of them—they just wouldn’t want one who’d done it with someone else.
So what did he owe her? She’d been clear that she was willing to assume all the risk, but…
No, it was clear what he had to do.
—
“We must talk.”
Angela glanced over her shoulder and met Colton’s dark gaze. “Must we?” She worked to sound nonchalant.
“You know that we must.”
“I was enjoying the dancing.”
“Were you?”
Not really. But she was not about to admit to that. “What woman would not? The music is fast and light, the gentlemen quick on their feet. My toes have not suffered damage once this evening.” She looked away from him and back across the floor. As was the nature of a house party, the floor was not crowded, although it was clear all the local gentry had been invited to fill out the numbers.
“We need to talk,” he repeated.
“You did not feel the need to talk yesterday.” She refused to sound bitter.
“Yesterday I was overcome by what had happened.”
“I do not believe that you became overcome.”
“Does it matter? I was not prepared to talk then, but now I am.”
And did it matter whether she was prepared? “I do not find it convenient at this moment.”
He did not seem to hear her words. “Meet me in the garden in a few minutes.”
“In the garden, really?”
“Yes.” His voice was cool and yet commanding.
“And if I don’t?”
“Do not be the child; I know you are not. I will see you there.” He strode off across the floor.
Lord Peter approached and asked her to partner him for the country dance that was just beginning. She nodded her acceptance, but only long habit kept her feet moving in the proper patterns. Her mind was already in the garden, wondering what Colton wanted. A repeat performance? She certainly would not put it past him. And what did she want? Her body tensed at the thought of what he might do, of what he might demand of her.
No. She would tell him they were done, that he was free of her game.
Her feet sped through the motions of the dance. Her smile remained fixed. She probably even answered Lord Peter’s polite questions when the dance brought them close.
When the music ended, she refused Lord Peter’s offer to fetch her refreshment and excused herself to get a cooling breath of air.
And it would be cooling. She drew her shawl tight about her shoulders and headed to the doors to the veranda and then down the steps onto the lawn. She should have made Colton specify which garden. In a London house there was not much choice; here there were many. The rose garden? That was the most obvious. The maze? She did hope not. The thought of wandering lost was not an attractive one, and her mother would not take kindly to too long an absence. The herb garden? That was possible. The pungent smell of rosemary and thyme still lingered. The kitchen garden? That did not seem likely.
She followed a gravel path down to a small fountain where water splashed. A stand of flowers stood between the stone benches, and she sat, waiting—steeling herself for the words she must say.
He could find her. For once she would not be the one to dance to his tune.
A cold wind caused the flowers to dance and sway, and she drew the shawl even tighter. If he were not here soon, she would go in and speak to him on the morrow. She would not risk more for a game that was done. She had been a fool to think she was capable of such play.
But she had been capable. She’d played a good game so far, had surprised both Colton and herself.
In the end, though, it had not mattered.
A rustle behind her. She looked back but could see no one.
What if somebody did come? What if somebody saw them together?
Foolish. Foolish. Foolish.
It had all been so foolish.
She was no longer sure what she had ever hoped to prove. That she was desirable?
She had already proved that. He did want her, want her willingness, her obedience—her body. He just didn’t want her, didn’t want the woman she was at her core, at least not for more than a brief interlude. That was the lesson she had learned yesterday afternoon. He did not want her once desire faded.
“There you are.” His voice spoke from the darkness. “I thought you would come to the rose garden.”
She had been right. It was the most obvious. “You did not say where we should meet. I cannot read your mind.”
“Here I was thinking you could. You are very good at knowing what I want.”
“And what do you want now?” The words were out before she could hold them back. She had not meant to be flirtatious. She rose to standing, not wanting to have him loom above her.
The light from the house fell across his face, and she could see desire and need grow there. His eyes moved over her, and despite her mind’s wishes she felt her body respond, her breasts swelling, her thighs tightening, and that forbidden moisture pooling between her thighs.
He shifted, and his face again fell into darkness. “What do you think I want?”
“I know I do not wish to play this game any longer. Just be honest with me.”
“And what game is that?”
“Colton!” She knew all
the frustration that she felt sounded in his name.
He took a step nearer. He paused. And then paused longer. His mouth opened and then shut. Opened again. Another step forward. “I want you to marry me.”
Time froze. It seemed the wind stopped blowing, the flowers stopped moving, even her heart quit beating—and then it grew, expanding, filling her chest. “I am sorry?” She could not possibly have heard those words.
“You heard me. I will not say them again.”
“You wish to marry me?” Her voice was little more than a strangled quiver. Hope filled her, fragile and yearning.
“Yes.”
Joy should have filled her. Her plan had succeeded. Colton wanted her. All she had to do was take a risk and it could all be hers. Instead, all she could do was repeat the question. “You wish to marry me?”
“Are you going to keep repeating like a parrot?”
If only she could find cool, calm thought. This was not at all what she had imagined, not that she had ever imagined that this was why he wished to talk with her.
Oh, she had imagined his proposal, imagined his bended knee, his look of longing—and she’d imagined both her scornful refusal and her blissful agreement. What she had not imagined was his look of strange detachment.
“Well, are you ever going to answer, or are you going to keep gathering wool until all the sheep are bald?”
She did need to answer, and yet she had no answer. “Why?” She spit out the question that was at the core.
“Why?” Now it was his turn to play the parrot. He moved closer and she could feel the warmth of his body, sheltering her from the wind.
“Yes, why do you wish to marry me?” She had to ask, no matter how little she wished to know. In truth she wanted nothing more than to press forward until they touched, until she satisfied the cravings that filled her.
“I think we would suit after all. It is that simple.” He stepped back and turned from her. The cold air struck her again, causing a slow shiver to run through her.
He did not seem to notice.
“And yet before, you felt that we would not suit,” she said.
