by Jo Beverley
Sleep, Meredith thought gloomily, was not likely to occur anytime soon.
She jumped in her seat when a firm knock sounded on the door of their townhouse. Silverton, no doubt, finally coming to call. Meredith had been expecting him all day with an exhausting combination of breathless anticipation and crushing dread. Rising from her desk, she scrubbed her suddenly damp palms with her handkerchief. She shook the skirts of her light cambric gown and quickly checked her reflection in the mirror that hung over the fireplace.
A quiet tap sounded on the door of her study. Meredith had to clear her throat twice before she could bid the footman to enter.
“Lord Silverton begs leave to see you, Miss Burnley,” Peter said as he bowed her visitor into the room.
“Thank you, Peter,” she replied, inwardly cursing the slight tremor in her voice.
The door shut. She stood awkwardly by her desk, too nervous to move forward and greet him. Silverton did not move from his position by the door. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and carefully studied her through narrowed eyes. His stance did nothing to assuage her anxiety.
His face was inscrutable, almost grim, she thought. As he allowed the silence between them to lengthen, Meredith fought the urge to shift under his gaze like a disobedient child—and not just because he observed her with such a critical eye.
He was dressed in severe but elegantly cut evening attire, the stark black coat hugging his broad shoulders and emphasizing the athletic strength of his physique. Silverton was so handsome, so powerfully male, that Meredith felt dizzy just looking at him. She wondered, not for the first time, how he had managed to evade the marital machinations of so many determined debutants. It seemed impossible that he had waited so many years before choosing a wife, before choosing her.
Unable to bear the silence any longer, Meredith dropped a proper little curtsy. “Good evening, my lord. I have been expecting your call.”
Silverton smothered a curse, closing the space between them so quickly that she gasped. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into his arms.
“Meredith,” he growled, “don’t be such a goose.”
His mouth covered hers in a kiss so consuming that her legs nearly gave out beneath her. For a long moment she felt herself melting into his rough embrace, her treacherous body now so obviously conditioned to respond to his touch. But then she fought her instincts, dragging her mouth from his to pull away.
“Please, my lord! You mustn’t do that anymore.”
Silverton muttered some more curses under his breath, but he didn’t try to hold on to her.
“Meredith, you try my patience exceedingly.” He took a deep breath, his broad chest expanding as he clearly struggled to control himself. Taking her hand in a gentle clasp, he led her over to a chair by the fireplace.
“All right, my love. You may tell me, once again, why you cannot marry me, and I will tell you, once again, why you can.”
In spite of her aching heart, Meredith almost laughed at the aggrieved tones of aristocratic exasperation in his voice. She knew it still astonished him that anyone dared to defy him, especially the woman he chose to be his bride.
Rather than sitting, Silverton planted himself firmly before her, arms crossed over his chest, legs apart in a dominating stance. Apparently, he intended to be difficult.
“You know I cannot marry you,” Meredith began, deciding a firm and direct approach would be best.
“I know nothing of the sort.”
“My lord, surely you comprehend the many obstacles to our marriage! Your mother’s objections, for instance…” Silverton rolled his eyes to the ceiling. She bit her lip. “Your uncle, General Stanton, will also object to—”
“No, he won’t,” he interrupted. “My uncle has come to greatly admire you. And you know that Aunt Georgina cares for you as much as she does for Annabel.”
“Be that as it may,” Meredith forged on before he could say anything else, “you are more aware than anyone of the many responsibilities of the Marchioness of Silverton. I’m not suited to fulfill that role, and there is little doubt in my mind that most of your friends and family would agree.”
He glowered at her. “You are perfectly capable of being an excellent marchioness. I have seen ample evidence of that.”
“The issue is not whether I am capable of being the marchioness,” she persisted, resisting the urge to clench her teeth, “but whether I can do it. Do you understand the difference?”
“No. And I don’t think you do, either. Besides, you would not just be the marchioness. You would be my wife. Did we not agree we both want that?”
Meredith’s temper began to shred at his refusal to listen to her. “It’s simply impossible! Why can’t you see that?” Jumping up from her seat, she paced to the window and back. She felt light-headed with agitation and fatigue, and furious with him for being so obstinate.
Silverton, on the other hand, now seemed to be in complete control of his emotions, watching her with an impassive expression on his face. That angered her even more. Her heart pounded so hard she feared it would leap from her chest.
“You just don’t want to understand!” she flung at him. “I have tried to explain this already. Marriage for us would be disastrous. We are too different—our lives are too different. This is where you belong. This is what is right for you. London, the ton, and all the rest of it.”
She stopped pacing to fling her arms out wide, as if to encompass the entire city and his life there. “All this is your world, not mine. It is what you want. You are respected and admired by those who belong here. You are one of them.”
Meredith swallowed around the painful constriction in her throat. Her words tasted like ashes. “I don’t belong in London—in your world—and you know it. Unlike you, I don’t want it. You shouldn’t make me have to explain it,” she exclaimed bitterly. “You know perfectly well what a failure my Season has been.”
Silverton frowned and shook his head at her.
At his disapproving gesture, something inside of her snapped. She was so tired of others, even him, telling her how she should feel. Suddenly, it all poured out of her, like a spring torrent breaching a riverbank. Her anger, her resentment. Her amazed disappointment in so many of the people she had met. Her fruitless struggle to understand the opaque world he lived in, until she hardly knew who she was anymore.
She paced back and forth across the study, holding nothing back, telling him everything she had thought and felt these last few months. How she hated the ton, how much the whispers, the cutting glances, the cruel laughs wounded her spirit. How she felt as if she were always being measured to some invisible standard. How her failure to meet that standard created anxieties she hadn’t even known existed until coming to London.
While all the poison flowed out of her, Silverton never moved. Only his eyes followed her restless movements about the room as her emotional torrent poured forth, as she demanded that he understand.
Finally, she ran out of words. Meredith stumbled to a halt by the window, trying to calm her heaving breath, appalled that she had revealed so much. She stole a glance at Silverton, who looked at her so sympathetically she wanted to cringe. What in God’s name had come over her? How could she have been so foolish as to reveal all that ugliness to him?
“Don’t look at me like that!” she blurted out, turning her head away. Meredith hated how bereft she sounded, but her voice no longer seemed her own.
Silverton bowed his head and frowned at the floor, either pondering her words seriously this time or simply giving her the chance to recover herself. It seemed forever before he lifted his head to speak. When he did, his deep voice pierced her to the depths of her soul.
“Meredith, I understand your fears, I truly do. But I do not foresee one obstacle we cannot overcome together. You would be the Marchioness of Silverton, my wife. Who you are, your place in the world, would never be in question. With me by your side, no one would dare challenge you.”
&
nbsp; Meredith fought a desperate impulse to give in. She wanted so much to believe they were capable of transcending the cold banalities of the fashionable world.
Unfortunately, his hesitation in those moments before he replied to her illuminated more than he probably realized. Clearly, Silverton had made a calculated decision to dismiss her concerns. He wanted her for his wife, and he would drive over whatever obstacles stood in his path.
But Meredith couldn’t bring herself to ignore his mother’s censure or the disapproval of his friends. Nor could she promise she would ever move comfortably in the ton. More than anything, she feared he would come to regret their union, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing his love or his respect. Or of losing hers for him.
Meredith finally admitted to herself that sleeping with Silverton was the worst mistake of her life. No, she silently amended, stealing a look at him. The worst mistake would be to marry him.
“No, Meredith, it would not be a mistake to marry me.”
She gasped, stunned by his perception. How could he read her thoughts so easily? She gazed into his eyes, which looked back at her with avid tenderness. She felt a tear slide down her face, born of fatigue and an anguished desire to ignore her doubts and give him what he wanted.
“Come and sit beside me, my sweet.” He reached for her, coaxing her away from the window to sit on the comfortable velvet sofa. Wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders, he brushed the dampness away from her cheek. She was so tired she allowed herself to lean into him, sighing with a kind of brokenhearted relief.
“Meredith, do you love me?”
She lifted her head from his shoulder, stung that he could even ask her the question. “You know I do!”
“Then listen well, my love. All those things that concern you—my life in London, the Season, the endless round of boring and pointless parties—they mean almost nothing to me anymore, especially if you are not in my life.”
She stared mutely back at him, but he must have seen the skepticism on her face. He frowned thoughtfully for a few moments and then appeared to reach a decision.
“Meredith, when I was young—not much more than a boy—I fell in love.”
She blinked in surprise, both at his words and at his clipped tone. His furrowed expression relaxed into a wry smile, but his voice still held a touch of acid.
“Madly in love, in fact,” he continued, “or at least I thought so at the time. She was an enchanting little slip of a thing named Esme Newton. I was convinced she returned my feelings, and had every intention of asking her to marry me.”
Meredith felt a sharp little stab of jealousy toward the petite and, she was certain, blond Esme Newton. But at the somber look on Silverton’s face, she felt her petty anger fade away. Her hand slid across his hard thigh to grasp his fingers in a comforting grip.
“What happened?” she ventured.
“Much to my surprise, she fell in love with someone else, someone I knew very well.”
“A friend?”
He hesitated. “At the time, yes.”
There was no mistaking the brooding resentment in his voice. Part of her wished him to stop, not wanting to hear the story of bitterness and lost love, but Meredith knew he was telling her something important.
“What happened?”
He shrugged his shoulders, looking down at her fingers intertwined with his. “Nothing, really, which makes the whole sorry tale so foolish. Esme and I obviously didn’t marry, nor did she marry…my friend. He went off to join Wellington’s army and came back a war hero several years later. Esme became the wife of a Scottish earl, rarely coming down to London after her marriage. As far as I know, she has always been content with her choice.”
Silverton raised his eyes to hers, and her nerves jumped at the fierceness reflected there. “I, however, allowed myself to become bitter and cold, never wishing to love again. And I believed I never would, until we met. You rescued me, Meredith, from my own stupidity and selfishness.”
His admission melted her heart. She knew how it must have cost him—so proud and in control as he always was—to reveal the pain of his youthful infatuation. Meredith also sensed he held his emotions in check, especially those regarding the betrayal of his friend. But instead of pressing for answers, she simply stroked the back of his hand, trying to convey comfort and love with her touch.
He smiled at her, and the warmth returned to his voice. “The point is, my love, I am no longer that callow youth. I am a man, and know exactly what I want. I want a wife to cherish, and children to protect and care for until they are old enough to have families of their own. That is what I wish for my life. That is what I desire with you.”
She drew in a shuddering breath, searching his face. She saw truth in his expression, heard it in the tone of his voice. Silverton carefully took her face between his hands, gazing at her with eyes as clear, deep, and blue as the sky on a hot summer morning. Meredith had the oddest feeling he comprehended everything about her, and that she didn’t have to say another word.
“Meredith, before I met you I was…adrift. I understood my purpose in life, my duty to my family, and my responsibilities to the title and estate. But I could never really seem to feel it, to know it in my heart, as I should.”
His firm lips brushed her forehead, and another stone in the wall of her resistance tumbled to the ground.
“All that changed when I met you. I have the chance to become the man I should be, thanks to you. You are the kindest, most loving person I have ever known. I need you more than you will ever realize.”
Meredith looked up into his dear face, and what she saw there both terrified and exhilarated her. She felt something new and unexpected stir within her. It took her a moment to recognize it as the dawning of hope.
“Really?” In spite of herself, she couldn’t keep a little doubt from creeping into her voice.
“Meredith!” Now his tone was an impatient growl. “I love you. That will never change, I promise.”
The wall crumbled to dust, but then an alarming thought flashed unbidden into her mind.
“But what about your mother?” she blurted out.
He sighed as his arms tightened around her. “My sweet, I am truly sorry my mother has caused you such distress. I can assure you, however, she will raise no further objection to our marriage.”
From the look on his face, she suspected that Silverton had given the marchioness very little choice in the matter. Meredith knew she should regret coming between mother and son, but where Lady Silverton was concerned she found it difficult to muster up more than a twinge of guilt.
“Would we have to live with her?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to offend him. “At least, all the time?”
“Good God,” he replied, looking more than slightly appalled. “Of course not. We would certainly live separately from her while in London. As for Belfield Abbey, my mother only visits twice a year, and almost never comes to my estates in the north.”
Meredith slowly, very slowly, allowed herself to relax into his arms. Silverton smiled—a trifle smugly, she thought—as a knowing gleam lit his eyes.
“It may also interest you to know,” he added, “that I much prefer the country to the city. You mustn’t assume that you know everything about me, my sweet. I would rather spend all my time at Belfield Abbey or in the north, mucking about in the dirt like the dull farmer I really am.”
“My lord,” Meredith protested, stunned by the absurd vision of Silverton covered in mud, “I find that difficult to accept.”
“Well, you’d better accept it, because you’re about to become a farmer’s wife.” Bending his head, he captured her mouth with a searing possession. She melted into his arms as he pressed hungry, open-mouth kisses against her lips. Silverton’s arms slid around her back, one hand reaching up, fingers threading through her hair. He gently pulled her head back as his tongue traced a fiery trail down her throat.
Passion and relief poured through her veins like an elixir,
sweeping aside fatigue and sorrow. A tiny voice in her head still murmured that trouble lay before her, but Meredith had finally come to the end of her resistance. For now, at least, she would put her trust and confidence into Silverton’s capable hands.
He nuzzled her ear before looking up to study her as she lay in his arms. His eyes glittered with a soul-stealing desire.
“I trust I have finally answered all your doubts.” His husky voice sent shivers down her spine.
She nodded, so dazzled she couldn’t speak. He pressed one more impossibly masterful kiss on her lips and then sat up straight, bringing her with him.
“I have something for you.” He reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a small velvet bag, tipping the contents into his hand.
“It was my grandmother’s,” he said softly.
Meredith opened her eyes wide as a tumble of gold slid from the bag into his palm. It was a very old, very beautiful mesh bracelet. Gold filigree threads in a delicate weave shimmered in the candlelight. Studded at random intervals along the band were small, glittering emeralds and cabochon opals that gleamed a milky white. She raised her eyes to his in awe.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “But much too fine for me!”
Silverton cast his gaze heavenward again, as if imploring the gods for patience. Pushing up the ruffled trim of her long sleeve, he fastened the bracelet securely around her wrist. Meredith held it up to the light, fascinated by the play of colors that seemed to emanate from deep within the stones. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss on his jaw.
“Thank you, my lord. I will cherish it always.”
He smiled and wrapped his arms about her, returning her eager display of gratitude. “Meredith, you really must call me Stephen. At least when we’re alone.”
“Yes, Stephen,” she replied absently as she returned her gaze to the bracelet. She stroked it lovingly with one finger, thinking that she would never own anything so wonderful or precious if she lived to be a hundred.
“Now,” Silverton said in an amused voice, “perhaps we could discuss the date of our wedding.”
