Once Upon an Irritatingly Magical Kiss: #3 The Whickertons in Love

by Wolf, Bree

  Displeasure came to her features as she glared at him. “Are you accusing me of—?”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything,” Thorne replied, very much aware of the fact that she was not trying to free herself from his grasp. “I like it.” He lowered his head even further until his forehead almost touched hers. “I like you, the real you.” He searched her eyes. “I don’t know who you’ve been these past few days. Tell me what happened. What has changed?”

  Christina swallowed, that torn look once more in her eyes before they darted lower and touched upon his lips. He could see the memory of their kiss resurfacing in her mind. He could also see that she was upset with herself for remembering. “Nothing happened.” Her hands pushed against his chest. “Would you please release me? This is most inappropriate.”

  Thorne chuckled and instead held her closer. “Do you still wish to marry me?” He demanded, uncertain whether or not it was wise to ask this question. What if she said no?

  Her eyes widened, and she stopped struggling as she stared up at him. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “I simply am.”

  Her gaze hardened. “Have you found a more advantageous match? Someone else who suits your purpose more fully?” Bitterness lingered in her voice.

  Thorne could not help but enjoy himself for her reaction was quite telling. If he was not at all mistaken, then she was jealous, was she not? At least, a little. “Do you still wish to marry me?” he asked yet again, holding her tightly in his embrace.

  “Tell me!” she snapped instead of replying to his question. “Is there another you would prefer to marry? Another family whose connections are superior to ours? Are you hoping I will cry off?” Thorne could see that she tried to appear rational as though they were truly discussing no more than a business contract. However, emotions flared in her eyes, and he could see that it was not her mind asking these questions, but her heart.

  The knowledge brought him joy. “Do you still wish to marry me?” he repeated, his right arm tightening upon her back.

  Christina gasped and drew in a sharp breath. “Why won’t you answer me?”

  Thorne chuckled. “Why won’t you answer me?” His left hand slipped into her hair, moving to the back of her head. “Do you still wish to marry me?”

  “Release me!”

  “Answer me!”

  Her eyes burned with anger…as well as something else. “I told you to release me!”

  Slowly, Thorne shook his head. “Answer me first.”

  Christina rolled her eyes at him. “You are a most insufferable man!”

  “Do you still wish to marry m—?”

  “Yes!”

  Her swift reply stunned them both for it was not merely a rational statement, but instead a deeply emotional answer.

  Thorne did not hesitate in his own response. Drawing her ever tighter against him, he lowered his head and kissed her.

  He kissed her the way he had kissed her that day out in the gardens. He kissed her the way he wanted to, the way she wanted him to because after an initial moment of stunned surprise, Christina sank into his arms as she had that day. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, there was something between them. She felt something for him, and although she might not like it, it was true, nonetheless.

  Her hands snaked upward and came around his neck as she pushed herself closer, returning his kiss with a boldness that stole his breath. Yet he reveled in it and allowed his own hands to travel over her in a way that would be considered most inappropriate by anyone’s standards.

  Still, Christina did not object.

  Only when the dim cacophony of voices from the dining room seemed to be drawing closer did Thorne remember that they were indeed not alone. A disapproving growl rose in his throat as he forced himself to break their kiss, urging her back down onto her feet before he took a step back.

  Her cheeks were flushed as she stared up at him, confusion swirling in her blue eyes. Still, he knew that she had enjoyed their embrace as much as he had.

  Thorne grinned at her. “Good,” was all he said before he quickly inclined his head to her and then took his leave lest he succumb to the need to pull her into his arms all over again.

  Stopping in the doorway, he turned back to look at her. “Until tomorrow, Wife.”

  A slight tremor seemed to dance down her spine as she inhaled a deep breath and forced her chin back up. “You should not have kissed me.”

  Thorne shrugged. “Perhaps not. Yet I cannot bring myself to regret it. It was magical, was it not?” He lifted one brow in a teasing manner.

  Although Christina shook her head ever so slightly, she could not prevent a smile from showing upon her face. “Irritatingly so.”

  Chuckling, Thorne tipped his hat and then left, his feet carrying him down the few steps to the pavement as though he were walking on air. He felt different.

  Better.

  Lighter.

  Was this happiness?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A Wedding Day

  Thorne’s wedding day dawned bright and early. He felt an eagerness in his limbs he could not even remember from his childhood days. Whatever today would bring, it was the first day of the rest of his life.

  A life he had always wanted, but never dared to dream of.

  And then Lord Hartmore appeared on his doorstep the moment Thorne made to leave.

  The other man seemed rushed, his eyes wide and his breathing more rapid than Thorne would have expected. Still, the look upon his face was one of imminent triumph, a smile curling up the corners of his mouth the second he beheld Thorne. “Ah, you haven’t left yet. How marvelous!”

  Of course, Thorne found nothing marvelous about it. “I’m afraid I have no time,” he replied, making to stride past the other man and down to his waiting carriage. “You might not be aware of it, but today is my wedding day.”

  A dark chuckle left Lord Hartmore’s lips. “Believe me, I’m very much aware of it. As it is, I would have sought you out much sooner. Unfortunately, the needed information only reached me this morning.” A self-serving grin came to his face.

  Thorne felt a cold shiver snake down his back. “What information?” he asked frowning, wondering what Lord Hartmore was up to. After all, the man seemed sickeningly confident. It did not bode well.

  “Shall we speak inside?” the other man asked, gesturing across the threshold. “You might not like for others to overhear what I have to say.” His brows rose meaningfully.

  Thorne inhaled a slow breath, steeling his features so as not to let on how deeply the man’s words unsettled him. Had the man dug into his past? His life? “If you insist,” Thorne finally said, a bored expression upon his face that was not easy to maintain. “But make it quick.” They stepped inside, and Thorne gestured for the footmen to leave before turning to Lord Hartmore. “What is it then?”

  The man’s grin widened. “I am here to insists that you marry my daughter as you promised, Sir.” His eyes seemed to sparkle with utter delight, and it gave Thorne pause. “I am aware it will cause quite the scandal; however, a man of your kind should not concern himself with such trivial matters.”

  “Out with it!” Thorne snapped with an annoyed huff, which in turn gave Lord Hartmore pause, his eyes narrowing in mild confusion. “You clearly believe to have some kind of damning information and are here to blackmail me, is that not so?”

  For a moment, Lord Hartmore seemed taken aback, his confidence wavering. Then, however, he seemed to remember that Thorne’s accusation was after all the truth and that he would walk away from this the victor.

  “Well?” Thorne pressed. “I haven’t got all day as you’re well aware.”

  Lord Hartmore straightened. “As you wish,” he conceded, the look upon his face one of deepest enjoyment. “I have recently learned that you, Sir, are the father of an illegitimate daughter. A child that lives in your household and bears your name.” The man’s grin widened for he clearly expected Thorne to break down, perhaps e
ven beg for mercy or at the very least give in.

  Thorne, of course, had no such intention. While he could not deny that the thought of Lord Hartmore revealing Samantha’s existence to the Whickertons—especially today of all days!—was deeply unsettling, he knew better than to allow that emotion to show upon his face. He had been in far too many confrontations to reveal his hand so easily. “Yes, and?” he asked nonchalantly, allowing the hint of boredom upon his face to deepen.

  Lord Hartmore paused, his gaze once more narrowing in confusion. “If you do not call off this marriage and uphold the promise you made to my daughter, I will be forced to reveal her existence to Lord Whickerton. I cannot imagine he will allow his daughter to marry a man of your questionable character.”

  Thorne snorted. “But you would?”

  The man’s lips pressed together. “What will it be?” he gritted out, his expected triumph far less glorious than he had expected.

  Thorne heaved a bit of an impatient sigh. “What makes you think the Whickertons are not aware of her?” he asked with as much confidence as he could muster. “After all, there is a reason the ton refers to them as the Wicked Whickertons. Believe me, I was not concerned for a second to share news of my daughter with them, and I was right to do so. They were delighted to learn of her, and if my darling girl had not caught a cold, she would be here with us today to join in our celebration.” He held the other man’s gaze as he took a step forward. “In fact, my new bride and I will travel to Pinewood Manor tomorrow so that Samantha can meet her new mother.” He allowed a slow grin to spread across his face. “But, please, if you feel the need to embarrass yourself, my lord, then feel free to accompany me to my wedding. In fact, may I offer you a ride in my carriage?”

  With his look of utter indifference in place, Thorne all but held his breath, praying that Lord Hartmore was a greater fool than he had initially thought.

  To his great relief, Fortune smiled on him that day.

  Twice.

  Within moments, Lord Hartmore’s face began to turn a darker shade of red, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Fury burnt in his eyes, and yet Thorne could read deepest shame in the man’s gaze. His mouth opened and closed a few times as though he wished to vent his anger, but then thought better of it.

  A moment later, he spun around and stalked out, his footsteps thundering down the steps to the pavement.

  Thorne heaved a deep breath, praying that he had been successful in fooling Lord Hartmore and that the man was not at this very moment rushing over to the Whickertons. Although Thorne could not believe that the Whickertons would reject Samantha, there was a better place and time for them to find out.

  Indeed, he ought to have said something much sooner! Now, however, it was too late. Now, all he could do was proceed as planned and hope that Christina would forgive him.

  If only he could be certain of that!

  As it had been his bride’s wish to hold the festivities at her family’s townhouse, Thorne soon found himself striding across the Whickertons’ threshold instead of awaiting her arrival at his own rented townhouse. Fortunately, Lord Hartmore seemed blessedly absent.

  The Whickerton home seemed like a beehive that morning. Maids and footmen dashed every which way, carrying items to and fro. Flowers were everywhere, all the curtains pulled back to allow in the early summer sun. It was a beautiful house; more than that, it was a home. Thorne spotted paintings of each of the siblings as well as their parents and grandparents here and there, along the wall leading up the staircase or down the corridor toward Lord Whickerton’s study.

  Yes, it made him wistful. It made him realize what he had lost. What childhood joy had been denied him. The same childhood joy he now wanted for Samantha. Thorne could only hope that all would go according to plan. He had never been one to deceive others; only considering Christina’s flaring temper, he had felt rather uncertain about whether or not it would be safe to reveal his own family situation to her at an earlier moment.

  Perhaps he had judged her wrongly. Still, he had not dared risk it and could now only hope that all would go well and his plans would not come crashing down around him.

  “You look happy, Sir,” the dowager countess remarked from behind him, a slight chuckle in her voice.

  Allowing a smile to steal onto his face, Thorne turned to face her. “I suppose I am. Are you genuinely surprised?”

  Her pale eyes were watchful, but she, too, was smiling. “Not at all. We both know it is the outcome I had hoped for.”

  His brows rose. “You hoped for my happiness?” He chuckled. “I would rather have thought you would hope for hers.”

  Giving him a rather indulgent look, the dowager countess hobbled a step closer, leaning heavily upon her cane. “Perhaps my hopes extended to you both. Is that not what a marriage is? A union of two into one?” Her eyes swept over his face. It was a fluid motion, and yet at some point it seemed as though her gaze jarred to a halt. Her eyes narrowed as though she had detected something she had not expected. “What is it?”

  Thorne swallowed. “Pardon me?”

  Hobbling closer, the dowager’s eyes squinted even farther. “You are concerned,” she remarked as though reading him like a book. “There’s a frown line upon your face. It has deepened.” Her eyes met his. “Is it the child?”

  Thorne almost doubled over as he stared at her. “You…You know of—?” Was Lord Hartmore here after all?

  The dowager chuckled, gently patting his arm in a comforting way. “Do not worry yourself. All will be well. I guarantee it.”

  Not knowing what to say, Thorne stared at her. “Does everyone else know?” His gaze moved down the corridor toward the front hall, his thoughts straying to Christina. Had she already called off the wedding?

  “Not if you have not told anyone,” the dowager countess replied, once more giving his arm a reassuring pat.

  “How do you know?” Thorne asked, coming to believe that the dowager had not learned what she knew from Lord Hartmore. No, it seemed she had known for some time.

  The dowager grinned. “I have my ways.”

  Thorne sighed deeply. “She will be furious, will she not?” Somehow it felt good to say it out loud, to have someone who would listen and not judge.

  Christina’s grandmother grinned at him. “Of course, she will be…at first.” A warm smile came to her face as her thoughts no doubt settled upon her beloved granddaughter. “She is headstrong and determined, but she’s also kind and compassionate. She will be furious, yes, but in the end, she will love her because she simply won’t be able to help herself. You ought to know what that feels like.”

  Thorne nodded, wondering at the same time how much the dowager truly knew about his past and about Samantha. “Thank you.” Indeed, speaking to her had lifted a heavy weight off his heart. As had knowing that Lord Hartmore was nowhere around!

  “That is what family is for, is it not?”

  Thorne nodded, smiling at her. “So, I have heard. I am glad to see that for once gossips were right.”

  The dowager countess chuckled. “I suppose it does happen upon occasion.” She gestured down the corridor. “Now, go and speak to your betrothed. I imagine she is about as nervous as you are.”

  Thorne frowned. “Who said I was nervous?”

  Shaking her head at him, the dowager once more pointed her cane down the corridor and then turned and walked away, still chuckling.

  Indeed, when Christina finally made her way down the stairs and met him in the front hall, Thorne could see that her nerves were about as unsteady as his own. It was a significant day, and they still knew so little about each other, no doubt each of them afraid to have their hopes disappointed.

  “You look beautiful,” Thorne told her in a whispered voice as he offered her his arm the moment she stepped off the last stair. His gaze held hers for another second before it once more dipped down and swept over her light blue gown. It shimmered like the sky on a bright summer day, complementing the deep blue of her e
yes and the golden glow of her curls.

  She returned his smile weakly. “Thank you.” Her hand trembled as it came to rest upon his arm.

  The ceremony was thankfully short-lived. It was held at a nearby church, and Thorne was relieved that he had decided to visit the Whickertons’ home beforehand.

  Indeed, the dowager had been right. He was nervous, and he could see that Christina was as well. They sat seated next to one another in the carriage, the dowager across from them. Not many words were spoken on the way there or on the way back. Still, Thorne could feel Christina beside him. He heard her breathing, took note of the stolen glances she cast in his direction, saw the slight tremble in her hands as she willed herself to maintain her composure as best as possible.

  It was these few moments, shared with one another, that gave him strength before they returned to the Whickertons’ home and were received by a small crowd of people. With her hand upon his arm, they gracefully accepted well-wishes and congratulations. Most of the guests were smiling while he could see apprehension and doubt as well as confusion and open disapproval on the faces of others.

  The ton had come to call his new wife’s family the Wicked Whickertons for it seemed that the whispers of scandal were never far off lately. Both of Christina’s elder sisters, Louisa and Leonora, had caused somewhat of a stir before they had found their own happily-ever-after, and the news of how Thorne and Christina had come to be engaged had, of course, also spread among the ton, causing even more whispers. Yes, some very proper and sour old matrons refused to attend events if the Whickertons were present. Some had retreated, openly showing their disapproval of the family’s rather eventful life. Yet most seemed far too curious to deny themselves the first-hand experience of witnessing the Whickertons mingle.

  Fortunately, Lord Hartmore was the exception.

  Thorne could not help but laugh at the thought of how silly everyone was behaving. These nonsensical rules governed everyone’s life, and yet they held absolutely no meaning. No true meaning. No meaning governed by nature’s laws.