Bane took a step closer. His gaze drifted to the hand she had not offered him, the hand that was still concealing her heart.
Emma noticed too. “Merribeth,” she said in a quiet voice, “are you unwell?”
She lowered her hand and swallowed down the rise of misguided longing before she answered. “We’ve met.”
“Yes, though I would like to pretend for a moment that you are meeting me for the first time as a changed man.”
She felt the twitch of her Wakefield brow. “I hardly think a man who spent his life in a singular pursuit could change so quickly.”
Bane winced, and only then did she hear the bitterness in her own voice and was ashamed. Yet she did not apologize.
“If that man had good reason, he would,” Bane said quietly, taking a step closer. “However, I am not without flaws in my character still. Perhaps I merely abandoned one obsession in favor of another.”
Seeing him here, standing within arm’s reach, made her ache all over. She felt lightheaded as well, but her heart was taking up far too much space, leaving her lungs no room to fill with air. “I’m certain obsessions of any kind are unhealthy.”
He grinned. “And I’m glad your certainty has returned.” Before she was aware of his intent, he reached out and took her hand. “May I have this dance?”
She started and tried to pull free, but it was no use. “The musicians are merely tuning their instruments.”
Steely determination flashed in his gaze. He took her hand and placed it firmly in the crook of his arm as he strode to the middle of the ballroom. Once there, he lifted her free hand to his shoulder and settled his at her waist. “While I would love nothing more than to lock you in a room where we can speak privately, this is my only option at present. I cannot wait another moment.”
Pulling her in close, he drew her into a slow, meandering waltz with the discordant threads of violin and cello merging into a dreamlike sound. Of course, she could walk away at any moment, leaving him there alone on the vacant floor, but the truth was, she wanted to be in his arms. Just once more.
“I tried to stay away from you,” he began and then clarified. “After I learned Clairmore’s name, I felt as if my world were split into two pieces. One part wanted revenge against his father, while the other wanted you.”
Her eyes suddenly filled, remembering exactly what he’d decided. “In the end, you appeased both halves.”
“I know it seems that way, but I came here so that you would know the truth.” Still holding her waist and moving in slow turns, he reached into his superfine coat and withdrew a handkerchief. He quickly dabbed it at the corners of her eyes before he pressed it between their hands.
“It happened when Gypsy and her foal were struggling to live,” he continued. “In those tenuous moments, I realized that I was fighting for something I’d never appreciated. A life. For years, my sole purpose was revenge and making sure that I died as the last Fennecourt. I lived only thinking about my death.”
“Which is no life at all,” she whispered, unable to tear herself away from him. He held her captive with no more than a beseeching look, and she granted him pardon until he said what he came to say.
“As I learned,” he agreed, his voice tender. “You came along and challenged my beliefs, turning them around until I saw past my own stubborn resolve. What you said about my mother, and how I was punishing her as well as my grandfather, struck me to the core. But I only felt the enormity of it when the foal drew her first breath.” He breathed in too and then smiled at her, effectively stopping her heart. “I’d wanted to tell you right away.
“Even though it was the middle of the night, I went to your room. I raised my hand to knock before I had the presence of mind to realize I was behaving like a madman.” He chuckled. “So I went to my room, prepared to wait until morning to speak with you. Yet when I left my dressing room, I found you, standing in the moonlight, your hair spilling down your shoulders, your gown white as an angel’s wing. I thought you were a dream at first or that I truly had gone mad.”
Now it was her turn to take a breath. Somewhere in the last few turns, her tears had dried, and her heart had started again. Merribeth was reliving it all over again, feeling nervous and shy, as if they were standing alone in his chamber instead of the middle of the ballroom.
“I should have confessed the whole truth—not only of Clairmore’s unexpected involvement but also the war that had plagued me for days. However, I feared that telling you all the dark paths my mind had taken would make you hate me, and I couldn’t bear it.” He held her gaze. Something raw and tender flared like a silver flame in their depths. “And when you boldly declared your refusal to leave, I knew in that moment that I had a choice to make. I could either begin the rest of my life, or I could turn you away and die with the knowledge that I’d let the only woman I’d ever love slip away.”
“You . . .” Her voice trembled with suppressed emotion. She shook her head, unable to speak the words, unable to hope, for fear of dying if her every wish never came true. “My head is spinning.”
He stopped dancing, his expression grave as he took both her hands in his. “Instead, I tried to show you without words how much you mean to me.”
He only wants a mistress, the voice of practicality said. He’ll set you up in a house and visit you for a time. Is that truly enough?
She pulled back a step and looked toward the door. Emma and Rathburn were watching. Beside them stood Penelope and Ethan, and all of them were looking on with worry and speculation. A dozen or more other guests had arrived as well, and each one watched the spectacle. Her friends didn’t know what to make of this. Penelope clutched Emma’s hand, and it was clear that they would come to Merribeth’s aid if she gave the slightest signal.
“You have something of mine, Miss Wakefield.”
Turning back to him, her mind worked slowly. She blinked and looked down at her hands. His handkerchief was clutched in her grasp.
When she offered it to him, however, he shook his head. “No, that is yours. I found it on the divan in your room after you’d left,” he said simply, yet there was a searing intensity in his gaze now.
She remembered leaving it there, untended, unable to put forth a single stitch.
“You have something else of mine, Miss Wakefield,” he amended. “I believe you meant to borrow it and return it directly, but you never did return . . . my heart. It’s been in your possession since our first meeting.”
She drew in a staggered breath, daring to hope.
“Though without a heart, one might wonder how I came to be here, standing before you right now,” he went on, making her heard spin again. “Do you wonder, Miss Wakefield?”
When she nodded, he grinned and placed her hand over his chest.
“There is a heart in here, but it is not mine. You see, I believe you made a dire mistake our first meeting. When you meant to return mine, instead you gave me yours. Doesn’t it beat strangely beneath my breast?”
She searched his gaze, trying desperately not to hope until she was certain. “I should like to have it back.”
“Hmm . . . I thought you might say that,” he mused. “Perhaps we could strike a bargain instead. I would suggest an even exchange, but your heart is worth far more than mine. If I gave it up, I would need something of greater value than my own poor excuse for a heart in return.”
At that, her brow arched in disapproval. “I do not play at bargaining.”
“Then allow me to make another proposal.” He lifted her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles. “I’ll keep your heart with me—and you will keep mine—but I’ll offer you that handkerchief in exchange.”
She felt her brows knit. “You said the handkerchief was mine already.”
“Perhaps you should examine it to make certain,” he said, his chest rising and falling now with each breath.
Perplexed, she opened her hand and spread the handkerchief over her palm.
The sight of the silver
thread stole her breath.
What he’d said was true. This was her handkerchief, the same one her friends had given her. Only now, instead of seeing the length of thread and silver needle tucked safely inside as she’d left it, Bane had used it for his purpose.
Two words were embroidered in the center, the letters malformed and bedraggled. Still, she couldn’t recall ever seeing a finer piece of needlework.
Marry me.
When she lifted her gaze, he dropped to one knee. There was a collective gasp around them. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew Emma was pleased. No one would ever think of leaving town before the Hawthorne Manor Ball next Season.
“If there were an ounce of poetry in my blood, I could tell you how irrevocably you’ve changed my life and brought new purpose,” he said as he withdrew a ring from his waistcoat pocket.
From the corner of her eye, a cluster of diamonds winked in the candlelight, but she could only look at him and their future in the iridescent shimmer of his gaze.
“Marry me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Share your life with me. Teach our children to ride ponies at twilight in search of fairies.”
This time, Merribeth didn’t have to tell herself to be brave. She knew the answer with complete certainty.
“Yes.”
EPILOGUE
Bane read the note from the messenger before setting off for the stables at Ravencourt. In the distance, his new white mare, Lucina, dipped her head over the fence rail. According to the stories his mother had told him when he was a boy, that was a good omen. The full moon that would be in the sky tonight was also good, but he didn’t need any superstition to tell him that. He felt it deep down in the fibers of his soul.
The past year had been a wonder, transforming his life in unimaginable ways. He never thought he could be so happy. He knew he didn’t deserve to be, but if he said those words aloud, his beautiful Venus would arch her magnificent, fearsome brow.
Smiling again, as he found himself doing nearly every hour of every day, his gaze settled on his wife. His heart swelled. In these moments, he wondered if one could die from overwhelming bliss. However, he didn’t spend much time thinking about it. He spent most of the time thinking about life. His life. Hers. And the arrival due any day now.
Merribeth petted their new pony behind the ears, earning a snuff of approval. At the same time, she rubbed a hand in circles over her well-rounded form, concentrating on one area in particular.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be so far from the house,” he said, already used to this strange surge of protectiveness that had arisen in him the moment she became his. Stepping up behind her, he placed his hand over hers and pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck.
She leaned back against him with a sigh of contentment. “I was restless. Our son is already like his father, never leaving me a moment’s peace.”
Her teasing laugh always turned the steady plodding of his heart into a fast gallop. He was certain he’d never loved her more. Then again, he’d said the same thing yesterday, and the day before that.
“Or perhaps our daughter is merely anxious to see her pony.”
“I still cannot believe you bought our child a pony before he’s even been born.” She turned in his arms and gave him a playful peck on his chin. They had a wager between them.
When he felt her swollen belly tighten beneath his hand and heard her sharp intake of breath, he had the suspicion that it wouldn’t be long until they were certain. “How long have you been feeling . . . restless?”
“Since last night.” She blushed, even as her brow lifted. “Shortly after your declaration for knowing the perfect way to help me sleep.”
He chuckled and lowered his mouth to hers. “It certainly helped me sleep.”
The kiss lingered as she pressed close to him, her fingers threading through his hair. He nearly moaned from the rapture of so many pleasures at once. Then, before he could tilt her head and give her another taste of what they’d shared hours ago, he felt her body tense again. Her fingers gripped his hair, and she let out a slow breath against his lips.
Her gaze held his as she lowered her hands to his shoulders. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be so far from the house.”
A frisson of fear and excitement coursed through him at the same time. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to give the appearance of calm confidence, as if the birth of his first child—the start of their family—happened every day. “Would you like me to carry you?”
She gave him a look of bewilderment and then studied him for a moment before she laughed. “Why, Lord Knightswold, I do believe I can see every card you’re holding.” Her mockery quieted when she slipped her arm beneath his. “You needn’t worry so. Aunt Sophie worked with a midwife for a short time. Besides, she’s read every possible scientific journal on the topic, going back to the Druids.”
When he nodded, they began walking toward the house. Even though she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder, he felt as if she were the one holding him upright.
“Not to mention, both Penelope and Emma have been through this. Their carriages should arrive shortly . . . unless the messenger brought news that they’d be delayed.”
“No, the missive was about another matter.” He wondered if he should tell her now or wait.
She lifted her face expectantly. Those cerulean eyes speared through the heart of him every time.
“It was from Lord Amberdeen. Do you still want me to tell you?” He could deny her nothing.
Her pace slowed, and her hand returned to the underside of her womb as she blew out a slow, steady breath. “I should like the distraction. Even if the news is in regard to Eve, you need not be afraid it will upset me.”
He slipped his hand around her waist, securing her against him. “Are you certain?”
“While I’d never consider naming our child after her,” she smirked, “neither do I hold a grudge against her. If it weren’t for her scheme, I might never have met you. And I would have gone on with my life, never knowing about love, never feeling those frantic beats of my heart whenever you’re near, never experiencing what it feels like to be cherished and full of such joy that there are moments when I cannot breathe for how happy I am.”
He tilted her chin up, his gaze locking with hers. “Remember this feeling during the next few hours—when you’ll likely curse me to the heavens—and know that I will give it back to you.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” she said, her smile radiant.
Her complete trust never ceased to amaze him and humble him. For that reason, and scores of others, he kissed her again before they resumed their path to the house. “According to the note, Lady Eve Sterling will soon be Lady Amberdeen. Strangely enough, even knowing the worst of her character, he still wanted her.”
“Then I am pleased for Lord Amberdeen. Though I daresay, she will have a hard time manipulating him,” Merribeth said after a moment. “However, she did end up reuniting Mr. Clairmore with Miss Codington, so her heart can’t be completely black. Right?”
“Ever the romantic,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “There was one other letter attached, which puzzles me. It bore a name and address of a gentleman I’ve never heard of. Perhaps you’re familiar with a Sir Herman Wrigglesworth.”
Merribeth pursed her lips in contemplation, and then a slow smile spread. “Was this letter addressed to Sophie?”
“As a matter of fact, it was.”
“Then I believe it is Eve’s way of righting the wrongs in her life.”
He highly doubted it, but he refused to let on, especially when his wife stopped once again and gripped his arm tightly. This time, she did not release a breath, and he knew her pain was more intense.
After a moment, she eased her grip and resumed walking. Wanting to distract her, he brought up the subject of the guests that were due to arrive. “We have rooms prepared for Lord and Lady Rathburn and the Weatherstones. Their sons will share the nursery. I thought that wh
en you said all your friends had made a pact to be present for the births of each one of your children, that all your friends would be arriving. But you said nothing of—”
“Delaney?” His Venus laughed. “Well, that’s a completely different story.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book, this series, and these characters never would have seen the light of day if not for Chelsey and the incredible Avon Romance/HarperCollins family. Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity.
Thank you to my family and friends for your support and for sharing my excitement.
And most of all, I thank God for everything. Always.
Can’t wait for the next Wallflower Wedding?
Keep reading for an excerpt from Vivienne Lorret’s
DARING MISS DANVERS
Available now from Avon Impulse.
Then continue on for a sneak peek from
FINDING MISS MCFARLAND
Coming August 2014 from Avon Impulse.
An Excerpt from
DARING MISS DANVERS
Oliver Goswick, Viscount Rathburn, needs money, but only marriage to a proper miss will release his inheritance. There’s just one solution: a mock courtship with a trusted friend. Miss Emma Danvers knows nothing good can come of Rathburn’s scheme. Still, entranced by the inexplicable hammering he causes in her heart, she agrees to play his betrothed despite her heart’s warning: it’s all fun and games . . . until someone falls in love!
“Shall we shake hands to seal our bargain?”
Not wanting to appear as if she lacked confidence, Emma thrust out her hand and straightened her shoulders.
Rathburn chuckled, the sound low enough and near enough that she could feel it vibrating in her ears more than she could hear it. His amused gaze teased her before it traveled down her neck, over the curve of her shoulder and down the length of her arm. He took her gloveless hand. His flesh was warm and callused in places that made it impossible to ignore the unapologetic maleness of him.
She should have known this couldn’t be a simple handshake, not with him. He wasn’t like anyone else. So, why should this be any different?
Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series Page 21
