* * *
Vivian moved with him into the sunlight, stopping before him as his hands moved lightly over her arms.
She dared not trust him further than this room, than this moment. What he was offering her was madness, and yet, she was tempted. She could be Lady Kenswick, as if she’d inherited her father’s titles in place of her brothers. His solution eased the pain of their loss in a small way. Her father and brothers were still dead, but being the Burke in ownership of Kenswick Abbey, it set that all back to the way it should have been.
A whispering voice in the back of her mind reminded her she wouldn’t be a Burke, not legally. She would be a Macalister.
The warmth from the window engulfed her, basking her in the afternoon glow. Shivers of heat raced down through her ice-cold limbs. She wasn’t cold from the air or the dreariness of the Abbey, but the last three years of her life. The deaths of her brothers, one after another. Her father’s tragic death in this house. The tragedy of her Season in London.
“Close your eyes,” the earl instructed, and she did, hoping to stave away some of the mortification from her prior reaction to him. She didn’t like him in the slightest, and the idea of marrying a man she not only didn’t know but didn’t like was two steps away from lunacy.
But his smile did something to her. He said they needn’t live as husband and wife, but that wasn’t to say they would not. If his smile caused such a reaction in her, there was no uncertainty what six months of marriage to him would be like. Her request for a kiss was merely to prove her theory.
“Take a deep breath. Let the warmth of the sun relax you.”
She did, letting her limbs relax in the glow of the sun. A tingling heat spread through her tense muscles.
Could she do this? Could she marry a stranger for a house, the promise of stability and the means to care for her mother?
For her mother, she could. Her own needs were of no consequence. She would do whatever she needed to keep her mother comfortable, happy, not fending off starvation with measly rationed vegetables. There was only so much cabbage and potatoes one could eat.
A long moment passed before she felt him move. He cupped the back of her head with his hand and tilted her face up towards his.
His lips lingered above hers for an agonizingly teasing moment; she felt his warm breath dance across her lips, before pressing down to her.
For a few heartbeats she froze again, but the sun and warmth had done its job. She was instantly aware of him, of his earthy, cinnamon scent flooding her senses, of his hand as it tightened behind her neck. His lips were soft as his kiss lingered lightly over hers and, for a moment, she let him have the lead, to see how the act made her feel.
She rose onto her toes and pressed into him further, needing more from the kiss. She needed to see if there was anything other than comfortable feelings of being cherished, or warmth from a familiar act.
What she felt in return was an urgency, a tickling run down her spine that begged to be stroked. Her hands came up to his hair, threading through his curls, nearly dry from their walk in the sun. His arms snaked around her back, supporting her as he pulled her closer against the firmness of his chest. Her lips parted for him, allowing him a taste of her, wanting a taste of him in return. She savored the feeling of her tongue mingling with his as heat rose from her core. She clung to him as if he was the only thing that kept her balanced and centered; her head swam with a wanting of more from this man.
It wasn’t urgent or rushed, but it felt like it could go on forever. Did this ever need to stop? Did she ever want it to?
He pulled away from her, breaking their kiss, and her rationale flooded back into her senses. For as much as he was ridiculous and irritating, she couldn’t help her attraction to him. At least that part of their marriage could be enjoyable, even if the rest of it felt like employment.
Her eyes fluttered open, and he was still inches away, his lavender blue stare boring into her, daring her not to feel anything after a kiss like that.
“Did that satisfy your inquiry?” His voice fluttered around her, teasing and toying with her frayed nerves, dancing across her skin with the beams of sunlight.
“Yes,” she replied, more breathless than she'd like. She took a step out of his embrace, and out of the warmth of the light. “And to answer you next question, yes I will marry you.”
“Good,” he replied with a smirking grin. “I'd hate to never have a chance to kiss you again.”
Vivian wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Luckily, she was saved from having to come up with an answer as he plowed right along. “Come, allow me to return you to your mother. She will be calling for our engagement should I have you out too long. Now we get to go inform her we beat her to it.”
Vivian was certain she’d just made a deal with the devil.
Silently, not trusting her own voice for fear of tears or censure that might come pouring out of her, Vivian followed the earl out of the house and down the path. The morning had burned into afternoon and the sun hung high overhead, leaning towards the horizon on its shift across the sky.
They walked in silence, companionable if not the slightest bit awkward. But what was there to say to someone she’d just kissed like a wanton barmaid and then subsequently agreed to marry? He must think her addled.
“We should leave for London as soon as possible.” His voice broke through the tense silence they found themselves wrapped up in. “It’s a two-day trip to London, and we won’t have time to stop for much. Can you leave in the morning?”
Vivian’s head hadn’t stopped spinning, though now it was for a completely different reason.
“London?” she asked, her voice coming out in an embarrassing squeak. “Why must we go to London?”
“’Tis the only place to obtain a special license.”
“We could get married here.” She glanced around the countryside, but she didn’t mean Kenswick Abbey.
The earl shook his head. “It takes three weeks to have the banns called. The quickest way to do this is to go to London and apply for a special license.”
Cool dread rushed through her at the mention of that horrid town. She had no good memories there.
“Do you have an aversion to London?”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head, lying through her teeth. “I am just surprised, is all. I hadn’t realized there was a need for expediency.”
“Of course, there is. The sooner we get this started, the sooner we both get what we want.”
“You mean, the sooner it can end.”
He shrugged. “That’s a pessimistic view of our new arrangement, but just as accurate I suppose. I say, do you always look at the least favorable angle of a situation?”
Her gaze met his, his cheery mood almost irritating. Vivian had never thought herself pessimistic or having a dreary outlook. But the past few years had been difficult.
“I’ve become accustomed to life not offering much kindness. Forgive me if I seem to not have as sunny an outlook on situations as some might. Experience has taught me the sun does not shine for long.”
“Experience has taught me you’ve got to create your own sunlight.”
Vivian looked away, not wanting to know more about his experiences. She preferred he remain a spoiled peer with little substance. Easier to keep herself safe from him if she found nothing redeeming.
* * *
Luke returned Vivian to the groundskeeper’s cottage and promised to return at dawn, mentally wincing at the deplorable conditions of the cottage. It wasn’t that is was in disarray or unsanitary, quite the opposite. It was simply in need of care and repair. Much like the Abbey. The cottage needed new flooring, and likely a new roof if he’d judged the exterior correctly. And an ice box and some modernization to the kitchen. And something to stop the draught from the windows that swept through the rooms every time the wind decided to blow above a gentle breeze.
Luke acknowledged there was more to do with Kenswick Abbey, his namesake,
and its surrounding lands and structures than he’d originally wanted to undertake. What was required at the other estates? He truly didn’t have time in the next three months to visit them all. Perhaps he shouldn’t have spent the past nine months ignoring that requirement the Prince Regent had set for him.
Luke set off on his horse, careful to avoid the bog he’d unceremoniously toppled into earlier in the day. What a mess he had been, though truthfully, he’d been a mess for a lot longer than an afternoon covered in mud. If Templar could see him now!
Luke chuckled to himself, thinking of his old mentor, and the lines of inspiration the man used to spout. He’d had a line for everything.
A life lived is a messy affair. Anything less isn’t worth the effort.
Well, he’d certainly made a mess of things.
A life he did not want.
A title he didn’t deserve.
A task he couldn’t complete.
A wife he barely knew.
At least he was attracted to her, if the intensity of their kiss was any indication. She might not like him, but in that way they would get along just fine.
Luke urged his horse, Ulysses, on, leaping into a canter, the speed pushing some of the need from his blood. The sooner he reached the coaching inn, the sooner he could properly bathe and sleep, and the sooner he could get Vivian to London. The sooner they could be married and the sooner this entire nightmare of dutiful, stationary earl could be put behind him.
* * *
Vivian busied herself with preparing a simple dinner for herself and her mother, her mind working through the events of the afternoon. It wasn’t until after their meal and into the evening that her mother returned the conversation to the Earl of Kenswick.
“What did the earl say about the Abbey?”
Vivian glanced up from her knitting. She hadn’t told her mother about her agreement with the earl, and she’d asked Luke to not say anything to her either. It was something Vivian needed to tell her mother herself.
If she said the words aloud it would make it real. If she admitted she had agreed to marry the earl, the words gave him power over her, raised expectations of them both. If she could pretend, for just a moment longer…
When Vivian did not answer her mother looked up at her. “Vivian? What is wrong?”
“He has asked me to marry him.”
Her mother didn’t reply, watching her daughter as the news settled over them both, spoken aloud for the first time.
“Then I suggest you accept.” She set the wash bucket onto the counter and poured in water warmed from the kettle.
Vivian shook her head. “He doesn’t want to whisk me away and be our savior. He doesn’t love me or anything silly.”
“It’s not silly to think someone would love you. But I would hope he wouldn’t claim such a thing after a few hours in your company. What has he suggested?”
“A marriage of convenience. Six months as his wife and he will give me the Abbey.”
Her mother’s brows rose above her widening eyes. “That’s a hefty bargain.”
Vivian nodded. “And he’s agreed to the external repairs.”
Her mother looked back at her hands as she scrubbed them in the wash bucket, the same one the earl had used to wash the mud from his person earlier that day. Dirt was embedded beneath her mother’s nails, and tears pricked at the edges of Vivian’s eyes.
Setting her knitting aside, Vivian moved to stand beside her mother. “I don’t want to marry him, but I do not want you digging in the dirt for your own food.”
“Oh, Vivian, you know I do not care about such things.”
“But I do,” Vivian insisted. “You are a baroness, mother. You deserve more than—” Vivian paused glancing around the room with disdain. “Life has been unfair to you in the worst ways. In marrying the earl, I can take care of you, as you have taken care of me.”
Her mother smiled gently at her, shaking the water from her hands, accepting the offered towel, drying the water from her scarred skin. Silver webs of scars trailed from her delicate hands, up the length of her arms and shoulder, stretching up along the right side of her neck and onto her face. The scarring did not make her any less beautiful to Vivian, though Vivian knew they caused her pain. Her mother tried to hide it, but Vivian knew the scars bothered her.
“My darling daughter, you do not need to do this for me. I found love, had my babies, was a part of a family. That they are all gone, save you, does not cheapen my time with any of them. I do not need the grandeur of the barony to be happy. Your happiness will make me happy.”
Vivian looked down at her own hands, as scarred as her mother’s. She’d never thought much about her own injury, not anywhere near the deformations her mother had endured. It wasn’t until she’d gone to London last year, when she’d realized others would not be as understanding.
Fury burned in outrage in Vivian’s blood, pain and frustration over everything they’d endured, to have it end in burn scars and public humiliation.
But… if marrying the earl meant her mother did not have to worry about digging for her own potatoes, Vivian would do it. She would marry the earl and earn her keep on her back if it meant her mother would not go another night cold in her bed, without a meal to fill her or the warmth of burning wood in the hearth.
Her mother smiled at her, sadness tugging at the corners of her gentle expression.
“Vivian, marriage is not to be taken lightly. It is a promise to another person, that you will support and partner them for the rest of your days. Even if you do not come to love the earl, or if you never have a child, you will be connected to him for always.”
Vivian studied her mother’s face, scarred from the fire that had claimed more than they should have been called to give. “There are worse things to endure. Six months of my life is nothing, to the uncertainty of surviving another winter.”
Her mother did not smile or offer words of loving loyalty, but simply nodded. “When does he wish the happy union to begin?”
“Soon, it would seem. He’s insistent on leaving in the morning.”
Her mother wasn’t surprised.
“Come with me,” Vivian begged.
Her mother shook her head. “This is your journey. I’ve had my adventure. It’s your turn, Vivian.”
“I don’t want a grand adventure.”
“You are young and beautiful; you should be in London enjoying the entertainments. Not stuck here worrying over me.”
“I’ve tried London once before,” Vivian reminded her. “It is not something I am eager to repeat.”
“This time will be different,” her mother insisted.
Vivian shook her head. “Come with me. It will be better if you are there with me.”
“I don’t belong in London.” Her eyes betrayed the sadness she felt over her statement. “Not any longer. But you do. You deserve to see where this path leads you.”
“And if it leads me back to you?”
“Then I shall welcome you with happy, open arms. Even if he intends for this to be a convenient marriage, his opinion may change.”
Vivian shook her head. “I don’t want it to change. The earl and I have an understanding and anything more will just complicate things. Besides, he is not the type of man I would want for a husband.”
Her mother pursed her lips but didn’t try to tell her any different. “Give him a chance to prove you wrong. He is from a good family. At the very least they will provide for companionship throughout the Season. This time, you won’t be alone.”
Chapter Four
The following morning, Kenswick appeared just after dawn, as he said he would.
“You’re prompt,” Vivian said to him as his head bent in a dutiful bow, the early morning light casting across his handsome face. He’d bathed, properly, and the sophisticated society rake had returned. His attire was likely the norm for the beau monde in London, but here in Herefordshire, he looked a tad silly. Dressed in a dark brown coat, an elaborately embr
oidered gold waistcoat and buff pantaloons, he looked every inch an earl. She’d always felt ‘pantaloons’ was a ridiculous word to accompany an unfortunate garment, but somehow on the earl there was nothing ridiculous or unfortunate about how his muscular form wore the garment.
“One could see it as eager.”
“One could also see it as impertinence.”
Kenswick grinned with a hint of a dimple she hadn’t noticed yesterday. He may be ridiculous, but at least he was nice to look at.
“Have you luggage to attend to?”
“I have a manageable trunk and a valise.”
A man jumped down from the coachman’s perch at the front of the carriage, and dipped into a deep bow.
“Please meet Quan Li Hai.” Luke clapped the man on the back.
“Hello,” Vivian said as she dipped into a curtsey. Luke said something in a language Vivian did not recognize. Mr. Quan skirted past her and into the house before Vivian could say a word.
“Mr. Quan will fetch your luggage,” Kenswick said with an effortless smile, likely one that won him all sorts of favors.
Vivian’s eyes narrowed at his presumption. “I can handle my own luggage, thank you. And furthermore, what—”
“I am certain you can handle yourself quite nicely in all things,” he drawled. “But, as Mr. Quan likes to be useful, it’s best to just let him.”
Vivian did her best to blink away her surprise. “Where is Mr. Quan from?”
“China.” His brow rose. “And?”
“And nothing.” Vivian gave a dismissive shrug. “I am just surprised to see him in Herefordshire.”
Luke stepped closer and dropped the volume of his voice. “Allow me to tell you a little secret, bride-to-be. There are lots of people from China in England, even in Herefordshire. And the rest of the world.”
Vivian’s gaze narrowed on his condescending tone. “Yes, I know that. What I mean to say is, how did he come to work for you?”
The Spy’s Convenient Bride: The Macalisters, Book Five Page 4
