A Ravishing Redhead (9 page)

“Of course not,” Margaret soothed. “She is merely upset. You know how she gets. By tomorrow she will have forgotten this even happened.”

“Really?” Grace sniffed.

“Really,” said Margaret. “Now I hate to rush you along, but I am expecting Henry to return any moment and…” she trailed off, not quite sure how to finish
that
particular sentence.

“And you want to be alone,” said Grace. “I quite understand. I wish I could be alone with Stephen, but Mother is
always
there.”

“Yes, well, soon enough I suppose.”

“Soon enough,” Grace agreed before she said, after a hesitant pause, “I do love him, you know, even if he isn’t perfect.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Margaret’s mouth as she rose to see her friend out. “None of them are, dear.”

“But you are happy with Henry now?”

“Over the moon,” she confirmed.

The two women embraced, kissed each other’s cheeks, and parted ways after promising to meet tomorrow afternoon for lunch.       

Later that day…

Margaret rolled over onto her stomach. Trailing her fingertips across Henry’s chest, she began to circle one nipple, watching in fascination as the rosy skin puckered and hardened. She could tell by the unnatural flatness of his stomach that he was holding his breath, and with a low chuckle she flung herself backwards to stare up at the ceiling. Her unbound hair cascaded down her bare shoulders in waves and she felt a gentle tug as Henry wound a lock around his hand. He had come home two hours ago and they had not been out of bed since.

“Henry?” she said hesitantly.

“Hmmm?”

“Why did you marry me?” Margaret could feel every muscle in her body tense as she waited for his reply. How long, she wondered, had she been desperately yearning to ask that question? For months it had hovered on the tip of her tongue, there but not there, the last wall between them.

Henry did not hesitate before he said, “For your money, of course.” Rolling over onto his side he gazed down at her, his eyes lingering on the sheet that barely covered the tips of her breasts before sliding back up to her face. “Why did you marry me?”

“Because my mother wanted me to marry a Duke,” she admitted candidly.

The hint of a smile tugged at Henry’s mouth. “And do you always do what your mother tells you?” he whispered huskily as he leaned forward to kiss her exposed shoulder.

“No, not always but in this case – Henry, stop that! This is a serious discussion.”

With a sigh he lifted his head and slipped his hand out from under the sheet. “
What
is a serious discussion? What the devil are you going on about?” he asked.

“The reason why we married each other,” Margaret said.

“I thought I explained that quite thoroughly, love. I married you for your dowry.”

“Yes I know that,” she replied. “But why me?”

Henry frowned. “Is this a trick question?”

She shook her head.

“Very well. I married you because you seemed sweet and gentle and kind. The perfect wife to manage a household and take care of my children” he said, watching her closely.

“But I am none of those things!” Margaret cried, suddenly feeling perilously close to tears.

“Exactly. I married you for the woman I thought you were, but I love you for the woman you are.”

“You… you love me?” she sniffed.

“Well of course I bloody love you, I – Margaret, are you
crying
?”

She covered her face with her hands and turned away from him. “No,” she said, her voice muffled.
Henry loved her
. Through her tears she smiled, and she smiled all the more brightly when she felt his arm snake around her ribs to pull her snugly against him.

“You silly goose,” he said fondly, nuzzling her hair. “I have loved you since the day you threw a plate at my head.”

A watery laugh escaped her lips. “You liar,” she accused, poking him with her elbow for good measure.

“Well, perhaps I did not
know
I loved you at that precise moment... But I did. We married each other for all the wrong reasons, Maggie mine. Yet how can that matter when we love each other for all the right ones? Come here,” he said gruffly and she squealed as he rolled her over the top of his body before pinning her beneath him. “There,” he said, grinning wolfishly down at her. “I have you exactly where I want you. There shall be no escaping me now, Lady Winter.”

Looking up at her husband, seeing the love in his eyes that matched the love she felt in her heart, Margaret could think of only one thing to say. “Why would I want to?”   

EPILOGUE

For her second wedding, the bride wore blue. The dress floated down her body in a cascade of soft silk and chiffon as she walked across rose petals towards her husband. He took her hands when she reached him and raised them to his lips, giving one kiss for each finger while the bride blushed and tried not to roll her eyes at the silliness of it all.

“They look perfect together, don’t they?” Catherine said fondly. Standing only a few yards away from where Margaret and Henry were repeating their vows for the second time, she leaned against her husband and he automatically curved one arm around her waist to draw her snug against his side.

“Perfect,” Marcus agreed before he asked, “And whose idea was it to renew their vows?” 

“It was Henry’s idea to have another ceremony where he wasn’t foxed to the gills, although Margaret was the one who wanted to have it outside. Something about talking to a sheep,” said Josephine from behind him. Edging closer, the blond cast one pointed glare behind her to where her own husband was standing. The unspoken message was clear:
stay there
. Inclining his chin and offering a small, tight smile, Traverson melted back into the small crowd of wedding guests and Josephine breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Despite having been married for nearly two years, she rarely appeared at social functions with Traverson. Today it had been unavoidable as both of them had been invited to Heathridge and the last thing in the world Josephine wanted to do was disappoint Margaret. Still, it was just so terribly
awkward
to be in the same room (or, as the case was today, in the same field) as her husband. For once she didn’t know exactly what to do or what to say. She could feel Traverson’s eyes on her, but every time she glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder he was looking somewhere else. The sky. The treeline. The roof of the estate just barely visible on the other side of the hill. The man had the attention span of a flea. His head was always in the clouds, thinking of new ideas and new inventions. It was but one of the many reasons their marriage had been doomed from the start.

“Oh look, they are about to kiss,” Catherine sighed, drawing Josephine’s attention back to the top of the hill.

She watched, a smile blossoming across her face, as Margaret stood on her tip toes, threw her arms around Henry’s neck, and kissed her husband with wild abandon. The guests clapped politely, while Josephine and Catherine hooted their delight.

“Where is Grace?” Catherine hissed when the well wishing quieted to a pleasant hum of voices and the wedding party prepared to move down to the estate where large tents had been set up for dining and dancing.

Only now realizing their friend was conspicuously absent, Josephine did a quick search of the crowd. Many of the faces were familiar – only close friends and family had been invited to the intimate affair – but Grace’s was not among them.

“She was here earlier,” Catherine said, puzzled. “I saw her with Lord Melbourne.” 

At the mere mention of Grace’s fiancée Josephine’s mouth pinched together and her eyes narrowed. “No doubt he made her miss the ceremony,” she predicted darkly.

Catherine clucked her tongue and hid a smile behind her hand. It was no secret that Josephine despised Grace’s intended. She had warmed up to the man herself and secretly thought he was a perfect match for Grace, although she would never dare say so aloud in Josephine’s presence.

Josephine had quite made up her mind that the two did not suit and was determined to break them apart before their wedding. So far she had had little success, partly because Grace was so head over heels in love with her fiancé that she was oblivious to everything else and partly because Lord Melbourne was surprisingly protective of his young bride-to-be. Twice he had thwarted Josephine’s ill-disguised attempts to draw them apart. Catherine could only hope there would not be a third.

“Perhaps she was merely hungry and went down for the estate for a bite to eat,” she suggested.

“Perhaps,” said Josephine grudgingly.

“Shall we, ladies?” Marcus interrupted. Extending one arm to his wife and the other to Josephine, he escorted them down the hill to the first tent where ten round tables of varying size had been set up. Candles flickering merrily atop the white linen table cloths and vases filled with wildflowers gave everything a soft, rosy glow. Marcus plucked a daisy from one of the bouquets and slipped it behind his wife’s ear. Catherine laid her palm upon his chest and smiled up at him, lost in his gray eyes. From beside them came a quiet murmur as Josephine cleared her throat before she mumbled something about finding Grace and scurried off. 

Her smile fading, Catherine watched her friend walk briskly away. “Do you think she will ever be happy?” she asked her husband sadly.

“She seems happy enough,” said Marcus, a bit surprised by the question.

“No,” said Catherine, shaking her head. “She cannot be happy until she finds true love.”

“Isn’t she married?” he asked.

“Yes, to Lord Gates. It was an arranged marriage, though. I do not believe either of them wanted it.”

Marcus’ eyebrows drew together. “Lord Gates… The Earl of Farley? I have been on a few hunts with him. He is hopeless on a horse, but seems like a pleasant enough chap. I had no idea they were married. If that is the case then why is Josephine always with other –”

Catherine pressed her finger to his lips, effectively cutting him off. “Not another word,” she ordered sternly. Even though it was well known by everyone in the
Ton
that Josephine had slept outside her marriage bed on more then one occasion, Catherine would not allow her husband to spread such gossip. She did not approve of her friend’s well publicized affairs, although she certainly understood the reason behind them, having once been accused of such lascivious behavior herself. Years of loneliness would drive a person to almost anything, she imagined. It was simply bad luck that the person happened to be Josephine.

“I believe they are doing the toast,” said Marcus, eager to change the subject.

“Oh dear, have you seen Grace? Josephine and I were looking for her earlier. I know she wouldn’t want to miss this,” said Catherine worriedly.

“Lord Melbourne took her to the stables half an hour ago to show her a horse Margaret said she could ride without falling off. Pretty or Poppy or something of that nature.” Marcus’ lips curved wickedly as he winked at his wife. “I simply cannot imagine what they might be doing.”

“Oh!” Catherine exclaimed, her cheeks turning pink. “Is that all you think about?”

“Most of the time,” he admitted. “Go on, go find her. I will stall the toast until you get back.”

“Did you see what direction Josephine went?” she asked over her shoulder.

“That way,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards the left. 

Following her husband’s direction, Catherine found Josephine at the desserts table, sampling an array of bright red strawberries. “Marcus said he saw Grace go to the stables. Will you come with me to get her?”

“Of course,” said Josephine. Popping an entire strawberry in her mouth she followed Catherine out of the tent and down the stone drive that led to the barn. Slipping inside the double doors, the two women came up short at the sight that greeted them.

There, in the middle of the aisle, with her skirts hiked up to her knees and her white drawers on full display, sat Grace atop the largest horse Catherine had ever seen.