Part 77 (1/2)
He heard her soft footsteps. He slid his gaze towards her, almost becoming lost in her eyes. He'd not been able to tell their shade until they'd sat for dinner and the flames on the table had illuminated them. They were unusual, so pale that her eyes seemed to be little beyond brightness. He couldn't explain it, but they reminded him of something.
”Must he remain while we discuss this?” he asked, indicating the stoic butler.
She glanced over her shoulder. ”Jones, please leave us.”
”Miss-”
”I shall be fine.”
The butler grunted in obvious disapproval, before leaving the room, the door closing quietly in his wake. Harteley turned, pressed his shoulder to the window, and folded his arms across his chest. ”You could have anyone. Why me?”
”I can't have anyone. The circ.u.mstance of my birth ensures it.”
”Still, I am left with the impression that you're not being totally honest with me regarding this arrangement.”
She nodded, glanced down, then lifted her gaze in what he was coming to recognize as her defiance against the world and its unfairness. ”My mother is dying.”
He heard true sorrow and bereavement in her voice, and couldn't prevent his tone from indicating the same. ”My condolences.”
”She's not yet dead. As I said, she's provided all this for me. My entire life, she has strived to give me what she never had. She has very little time left. I want her to know that I am to marry above my station. I believe it will bring her . . . peace.”
”And you believe I can be easily bought?”
Her lips parted slightly, and not for the first time that evening he wondered what it might be like to press his against hers. He couldn't deny that she appealed to him on a primal level. Sharing a marriage bed with her would certainly be no hards.h.i.+p. Lord, who was he striving to convince? Bedding her would be b.l.o.o.d.y marvellous. He'd want to take her here, in this room, with the sunlight streaming in. He'd have no reason to imagine her as anything other than the beauty she was.
”Have I judged you poorly?” she asked.
”Unfortunately for you, no.”
Her green eyes widened at that. ”Why unfortunately?”
”I take after my father. I'm a selfish man who cares about only what benefits and satisfies me.”
”I don't believe that.”
Unfolding his arms, he took a step towards her. ”You should, Miss Vernon. If I am to accept your offer for marriage, I believe it imperative that you understand exactly what you have bargained for.” With one hand, he cradled her face and stroked his thumb at the corner of her mouth. ”I would not be denied.”
”I would never deny you,” she said on a soft breath.
”I would expect complete obedience.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, shook her head. He couldn't prevent a corner of his mouth from curling up. ”That you would deny me.”
”I cannot promise it, no. I fear I've been rather spoiled. I'm accustomed to having my own way.”
”Would you at least try?”
”I would try, but make no promises. What else would you require?”
Her breath was coming in short little gasps; her eyes had grown languid with each stroke of his thumb.
”I believe those are all my requirements,” he murmured. ”What of yours? Surely you expect more from me than to simply parade me about as your husband.”
”In public, I would expect you to at least pretend to love me. And we must be seen in public. As soon as possible. My mother still has visitors. Some are men of influence. She must never know that I've paid for your . . . favours. It would break her heart, and I'll not countenance that. If you cannot put on a good show for her benefit, there is no reason to go any further.”
”My dear Miss Vernon, I believe I have the acting skills necessary to play Romeo.” He held her gaze.
”How many men have you entertained?”
”None. I am still a virgin.” He believed her.
”Pay all my debts, and we shall announce our betrothal.”
”You're accepting my offer then?”
”I would be a fool not to.” Before she could object or say more, he lowered his head and took possession of her mouth. It had teased him from the moment she'd first spoken. He preferred women of experience, but her innocence was an aphrodisiac. He felt within her quivering slender frame a hesitation and an eagerness. One of her arms wound around his neck, while the other formed a slight buffer between them, her hand clasping his waistcoat. She didn't object to his questing tongue, rather she welcomed it with seeming abandon. She explored as much as he did. She tasted of wine, so much so that he wondered if she'd fortified herself before his arrival. But there was nothing in her speech or actions to indicate she'd imbibed too much.
Unexpected heat scored him. He'd feared that owing her for the relief her coins would provide would haunt him, would make him unable to desire her, but his fears had been for naught. He wanted her with a desperation that surprised him. Every woman he'd ever had had been held by other men before him. There was something both sweet and enticing to realize that she would come to him pure.
He pulled back from the kiss before he was tempted to take her there and then. He owed her that much at least, to wait until their wedding night. She came with enough scandalous baggage. He had no intention of adding to it.
”Will you secure a special licence?” she asked.
”If you wish.”
”I shall see that all your debtors are paid tomorrow.”
He furrowed his brow. ”Are you certain this is the path you wish to take, Miss Vernon?”
”I've known since the first moment I set eyes on you.”
The night had gone much better than Arianna had ever dared dream. She'd prepared for bed, but she'd been unable to sleep. After that torrid kiss he'd given her, all she'd been able to do was think about Lord Harteley. She'd feared it was a childish fantasy, but now it would come true. She would marry him.
She arose early and prepared for her journey into town so she could see her solicitor and take care of all that was needed to bring this plan to fruition.
But first she needed to see her mother.
She strolled out of her room and down the hallway to the bedchamber at the end. She took a deep breath, fortifying herself, before opening the door. Morning light and a rose-scented breeze eased in through the windows. The companion who stayed with her mother through the night rose from her chair beside the bed.
”Good morning, Gladys.”
”Miss Vernon.”
”Please fetch us our breakfast.”
”Yes, ma'am.”
While Gladys' heels clicked swiftly over the polished wooden floor, Arianna approached the bed, bent over and pressed a kiss to her mother's warm brow. ”How are you this morning?”
She'd learned not to ask others how her mother was doing. It brought out her mother's temper. ”Talk to me, girl. I'm not dead yet,” she'd lamented on more than one occasion.