by Jo Beverley
“And what?”
“You must not toy with me,” she whispered. “I couldn’t bear it.”
Silverton felt his mouth gape open in shock. How in God’s name had she come to such a wrongheaded conclusion?
Snapping his mouth shut, he released her chin and grasped her by the shoulders. “Meredith, I’m not toying with you. What kind of man do you take me for?”
Her eyes flew up to his face, her gaze wide and startled.
“I want to marry you, foolish child.” He could hear the growl in his voice. “I never would have touched you if that were not my firm intention.”
She stared at him for a moment. Her lips, still swollen from his lovemaking, parted in what looked like dismay. Before he could stop her, she wrenched herself from his arms and backed quickly to the door.
“No, no, Lord Silverton, you must not—it’s impossible. Think of what you are saying! Please, I must go.”
He stood frozen to the spot as he listened to her flustered rejection of his admittedly clumsy offer. She fumbled briefly with the key before wrenching the door open in her hurry to escape.
Meredith spun back to face him. As he watched in disbelief, she dropped him a lopsided curtsy.
“Please excuse me, my lord,” she exclaimed in a breathless voice. “I will bid you good-night.”
She turned and fled the room, leaving him in a state of near befuddlement. In spite of what had just happened between them, in spite of Meredith’s obvious mortification and panic, she had still felt obliged to observe the forms of propriety. Although he was beyond frustration, his groin throbbing with an unremitting ache, Silverton couldn’t help but laugh. He would cherish her ridiculous curtsy for the rest of his life.
Now he simply had to ascertain what troubled her about their proposed marriage. After tonight he was convinced she loved him, so he suspected her refusal stemmed from the unfamiliar emotions and sensations she had just experienced. The whole situation had obviously overwhelmed her.
Not to mention the fact, he thought ruefully, that his proposal had been as inelegant as it could possibly be. He would have to make amends for that bit of stupidity.
Fetching his coat, Silverton slipped it on and strolled from the library. He let himself out through the massive front doors of Stanton House, knowing that Tolliver would lock up behind him. As he strode down the deserted streets of Mayfair, he began to formulate a plan to pursue Meredith and to assuage any doubts she might have about their union. He looked up at the dusky night sky and laughed softly. First he would get her to Belfield Abbey, and then he would woo her, wed her, and bed her.
But not, Silverton promised himself, necessarily in that order.
Chapter Twenty-One
Feminine laughter mingled with the dainty clink of Sèvres teacups on saucers, drifting across the cavernous space of the drawing room to the large French doors that opened to the terrace. Silverton stood in the doorway, gazing out over the deer park cloaked in the lengthening shadows of the early summer evening.
He caught the occasional snatch of conversation but couldn’t make out the thread of any particular discussion at this distance from the main group. The Elizabethan salon was large enough to billet an entire regiment, and he had never been fond of the gilded and intensely overwrought style of its grandiose décor. Why his mother chose the enormous room for such a small party was beyond him.
He supposed that she wished to impress the guests—a few of the local gentry, Sophia and Robert, Trask, and the Earl and Countess of Wrackley and their two children. The latter family was a surprising addition to the group, since his mother rarely went to the trouble of socializing with their closest neighbors.
The Wrackleys’ estate ran parallel to Belfield Abbey along the North Downs. The earl held an ancient and distinguished title but was a spendthrift and a poor manager, and his lands had suffered from years of neglect. Everyone knew the family was in the hunt for a lucrative alliance for their daughter, Isabel, still considered a diamond of the first water even after three years on the marriage mart.
As Silverton observed the company from his post by the door, he acknowledged a sneaking suspicion that he was the Wrackleys’ chosen prey. His mother’s newfound liking for the countess, a woman she normally despised, confirmed this assumption. He also suspected that the source of his mother’s odd behavior lay in her disapproval of his discreet attempts to court Meredith. She clearly hoped to distract him from that objective by dangling the beauteous Isabel right under his nose.
He sighed, convinced that his mother’s all-too-obvious dislike of Meredith was one of the reasons his sweet girl had proven so elusive. Although they had been living in the same house for almost a fortnight, Meredith had managed to evade any attempt on his part to be alone with her. She had spent most of her time with Lady Stanton, attending to his aunt’s needs as she recovered from her illness.
Against every single one of his natural inclinations, Silverton had not pressed her. But he hated that she shied away whenever he approached, likely mortified by her loss of control in his arms that night at Stanton House.
He glanced covertly across the room at her, where she sat on an ebony and purple silk settee conversing with the Earl of Wrackley’s young son, Viscount Tuddler.
The memory of Meredith’s erotic surrender still had the power to arouse him. It had taken enormous discipline on his part these last few weeks not to pounce on her and drag her off to the nearest bed. Instead, he had waited patiently. Now the excuse Meredith had used so effectively to avoid him was gone—literally. General and Lady Stanton had departed for Brighton this morning. His aunt loved the sea, and the general had determined that a trip to the seaside resort would help restore his wife to health.
Meredith had wanted to go with them, but, much to Silverton’s delight, Lady Stanton had insisted she and Annabel remain at the Abbey.
“No, my dear,” his aunt had replied firmly when Meredith tried to protest the decision. “You’ve been waiting on me hand and foot for three weeks. It’s time for you to enjoy yourself a little, and the Abbey is delightful at this time of year. There are many lovely prospects and opportunities for both you and Annabel to paint and sketch. I absolutely insist that you remain.”
Meredith had seemed to submit with good grace, but she had not been able to stop herself from sliding a nervous glance at Silverton. That shy look had strengthened his resolve to get her alone as soon as possible.
He snapped out of his pleasant musings when he saw Tuddler lean close to Meredith and murmur something in her ear. The youthful viscount had been flirting with her all evening, just skimming the boundaries of acceptable behavior. Silverton wanted nothing more than to grab the pimply faced boy by his absurdly high collar, drag him out to the terrace, and pitch him over the balustrade into the prickly rosebushes below.
Fortunately, Meredith’s cool response to the young man’s advances managed to allay Silverton’s primitive impulses. Right now, she inspected Tuddler as if he were a species of exotic toad that had somehow hopped its way into the drawing room.
“Silverton, do stop making an ass of yourself,” Trask brusquely interrupted his murderous fantasy. “The girl is clearly impervious to anyone else’s advances but yours.”
Silverton grinned ruefully at the earl. “That obvious, am I?”
His friend snorted in derision. They both watched Meredith, who, at that moment, pointedly turned her back on Tuddler to speak to Annabel. The two men looked at each other and broke into laughter.
“For God’s sake, man,” exclaimed Trask after his amusement had subsided, “when are you going to put us out of our misery and ask Miss Burnley to marry you?”
“I’ve been trying,” grumbled Silverton, “but she won’t let me get near her.” He frowned as he studied the object of his thwarted affections. “She has gotten the notion into her head that I’m toying with her.”
“And what have you done to dispel that notion?”
“Well…” Silverton he
sitated, fearing he would sound ridiculous. “I’m wooing her.”
“Wooing her! What in blazes are you talking about? Any idiot can see you are both well beyond that point. Just tell Miss Burnley how you feel and be done with it.”
Silverton shook his head. “I don’t think that would suffice. The scandal at Lady Framingham’s ball, and its aftermath, deeply affected her. She hates the life of the ton, and I suspect she is having some difficulty imagining herself as the Marchioness of Silverton.” He hated to even acknowledge that thought, but his instincts—and Meredith’s behavior—told him that he was probably right.
“Well, Tuddler’s mother doesn’t seem to have any difficulty imagining it,” retorted Trask.
Silverton narrowed his eyes as he studied his mother and Lady Wrackley seated together on the other side of the room. They were engaged in a quiet but intense conversation, the countess occasionally glancing with smug satisfaction at her son’s efforts to engage Meredith’s attention.
“Indeed,” murmured Silverton. “That is odd.”
“I believe your mother is responsible for that. Lady Silverton has obviously encouraged the countess to see her son’s pathetic attempts to flirt with Miss Burnley as a diversionary tactic. If Tuddler can woo her away from you, then the beautiful Isabel will have a clear field to reach her objective. And”—Trask grinned wickedly—“in case you haven’t noticed, that objective is you.”
“I noticed,” Silverton responded dryly.
“I take it that Lady Silverton would object to Miss Burnley as a daughter-in-law?”
“What do you think?”
Trask’s lips curled with a subtly expressed contempt. “Permit me to say with all due respect, Silverton, that your mother is a fool.”
“Trask, you are stating the obvious. You are aware, however, that as devoted as I am to her, I rarely listen to my mother.”
“I’m glad to hear it, particularly in this case. Miss Burnley is a rare prize.” Trask’s eyes returned to his appreciative study of Meredith. “In fact, if you are not successful in your attempts to pursue her, then perhaps I might be inclined to take up the chase.”
“Don’t even think about it,” growled Silverton, not bothering to hide his reaction to his friend’s jest.
Trask rolled his eyes, but Silverton no longer cared that he acted the part of a wild animal protecting his mate. When it came to Meredith, he was long past the point of hiding his possessive instincts.
“Well, in that case,” the earl mused, “you clearly need another plan.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Why don’t you just bed her, and then she’ll have to marry you.”
“You don’t know Meredith,” Silverton replied, refusing to meet his friend’s eyes.
Trask stared at him for a moment, and then gave a low hoot of laughter. “Come now, Silverton, don’t tell me that your vaunted skills have failed to have the desired effect?”
“Can we please change the subject?” Silverton ground out between clenched teeth. “Although you may not believe it, I invited you down here not for the dubious pleasure of your company, but because I need your advice on a matter of some import.”
Trask grinned but refrained from any more lewd comments. “I am yours to command.”
Casting a quick glance around to ensure their privacy, Silverton launched into a brief recitation of the events that had occurred the night Jacob Burnley forced himself on Meredith. The smile faded from Trask’s face as Silverton also related Isaac Burnley’s attempt to control the sisters, and his threat to incarcerate Annabel in an asylum.
“What possible reason could he have for wanting to do that?”
“That’s what I need to find out,” answered Silverton. “The Burnleys are prosperous wool merchants and tradesmen. I believe the uncle is sole owner of a large factory in Bristol. Given that you have investments in the trade, I hoped you could use your contacts to determine the state of the family fortune. The uncle and son, apparently, had no interest in either Meredith or Annabel until a few months ago. Something must have changed to precipitate their rash behavior.”
Understanding dawned on Trask’s face. “Annabel is a considerable heiress from her mother’s side, is she not?”
Silverton nodded. “Ten thousand a year. And although Meredith’s income is much less, it would still provide a tidy sum for a business that may be encountering difficulties.”
“Leave it with me. I’ll be going back to London in a few days; there are one or two people in the city that might be able to provide some answers. In the meantime, I’ll write to my contacts in Bath and Bristol. If there is anything to know, I will find it.”
Silverton was about to reply when his mother drifted over in a cloud of peach and gold silk. The two men turned politely to greet her.
“You are both very naughty boys,” she purred as she wrapped her hand around Silverton’s forearm. “My son, you are sadly neglecting your guests. Lady Isabel has most graciously consented to play the pianoforte for us. You must know how accomplished she is, and her singing voice—simply divine!”
Trask pointedly raised his eyebrows. Silverton gave him a sardonic smile in return.
“In that case, my lady, I’ll rejoin the others.” The earl escaped across the room to take a seat next to Sophia.
“Stephen,” Lady Silverton asked with an imperious look on her delicate features, “would you be so kind as to open the instrument for Lady Isabel? You have been ignoring her all evening, and I assure you, the poor girl is most conscious of the slight.”
Silverton studied his mother’s haughty expression.
“Well, we certainly can’t have that.” He arranged his features into their habitual social mask and allowed his mother to lead him over to the young lady waiting eagerly by the pianoforte.
Meredith had spent the last two weeks trying to forget the life-altering encounter that had occurred in the library at Stanton House. That, of course, was impossible. Every time she looked at Silverton the memories came flooding back, along with a liquid heat that threatened to melt her from the inside out.
She had done everything she could to avoid him—no mean feat given they were living in the same house—but her bulwark and shield had departed this morning in a traveling coach to Brighton.
Meredith dragged her attention back to the absurdly dressed young man who had spent the evening flirting with her. Viscount Tuddler had been a nuisance ever since the men had joined the ladies in the drawing room after dinner. The murderous glares Silverton directed at the viscount were the only consolation she had for the purgatory of his company.
She cast a surreptitious glance at her host as he stood deep in conversation with the Earl of Trask. Meredith tried mightily to suppress the wistful longing she felt in his company, a longing that had only grown more intense during these last few weeks at his estate.
Imposing and beautiful, Belfield Abbey had appealed immediately to her artistic sensibilities. Meredith would never forget her first glimpse of the manor house. Both she and Annabel had gazed impatiently out the windows of the chaise as it bowled up the long drive through the enormous, lushly wooded deer park. Suddenly, the trees had parted and the Abbey had revealed itself in all the venerable splendor of its Tudor glory.
She spent many secret hours wandering the house and grounds, the majesty and ancient history of the estate exerting a powerful influence on her imagination. Meredith couldn’t help yearning for a life here with Silverton, raising children and weaving herself into the fabric of generations that had come before and would continue unbroken for years to come.
But her wistful fantasies must remain just that—fantasies. Whenever she thought about what life would really be like as the Marchioness of Silverton, she was swamped with anxiety and a bitter sense of her own inadequacy. And even though Silverton might not realize how ill equipped she was for the position, his mother certainly did.
Lady Silverton had been icily polite for the past two weeks. The woma
n’s obvious dislike of her too clearly reminded Meredith of the reception she would receive from the ton if she were foolish enough to marry Silverton. She didn’t even want to imagine how poorly her ladyship would react if she knew that her son had already proposed marriage.
Fortunately, Meredith would never find out, since she had no intention of accepting his offer. She lay awake at night thinking of little else, and there was no doubt in her mind that if she married him it would only be a matter of time before he grew bored with her. Even worse, she would eventually irritate him with her lack of social polish, an essential quality in the circles in which he moved. He needed a true lady accustomed to the ways of the ton, one who wouldn’t embarrass him with repeated social blunders.
He needed someone like Lady Isabel.
Just looking at the elegant young woman made her stomach curdle with resentment. The Wrackleys’ daughter was a stunning beauty, petite and slender, with classical features and a tea-rose complexion. Next to her, Meredith felt like a gawky, aging spinster.
Even worse, when Lady Isabel had chatted with Silverton before dinner, Meredith couldn’t help but notice what a striking pair they made. Apparently, Lady Silverton thought so too because she had done everything she could to throw them together, including seating the earl’s daughter next to him at dinner.
And to make the evening just as horrible as it could possibly be, Meredith also had to suffer the plague of Lady Isabel’s encroaching toad of a brother, who clearly thought his tasteless advances were every woman’s dream.
“Ah, Miss Burnley,” the viscount suddenly murmured in her ear, “the evening air whispers of fragrance and romance! I insist that you join me on the terrace—your dusky beauty will surely outshine even the glorious rays of the setting sun.”
Meredith’s hands itched to box the side of his head.
“Thank you, my lord, but no,” she said firmly, turning her back to him as Annabel came to sit beside her.
