Fortune's Lady (28 page)

Gareth racked his brains trying to recall the look in her eyes when she first entered the library, the expression on her face. Damn! If only he had not been as nervous as a schoolboy at the prospect of seeing her again, too nervous to read the signs that the Bachelor Marquess had always been able to read in every other woman’s eyes. But he had been. And now he did not know if the signs had been there or if he had just been hoping desperately that they were.

This time it was the dowager and not her granddaughter who saw the curricle coming back down the drive. Having heard Jenny announce the marquess’s arrival the first time, the dowager had taken up a strategic position in her own bedchamber where she could hear voices in the library and look out over the drive. She had witnessed the curricle slowly departing, heard the door to her granddaughter’s chamber shut more firmly than usual, and her heart had sunk. But now, the curricle was returning. Surely such indecision could not be indicative of anything but love.

Smiling slyly, she hurried down to make sure that she was the one who answered the door. “Good day, my lord,” she greeted the astonished marquess. “You are surprised to see me at the door. Surely you know how little we stand on ceremony here. Do let me call my granddaughter. She will be delighted to know that you are here, so dull and cross as she has been without you here to amuse her.”

There! That should show the man which way the wind blows.
And almost hugging herself with glee, the dowager hurried off in search of her granddaughter.

“But, Grandmama, I am not feeling quite the thing. You entertain the marquess,” Althea protested when informed of the astounding news that, not content with accepting her rejection of him and his plan, the Marquess of Harwood had had the nerve to return.

“What, tell the marquess that the woman who had the temerity to win an estate from him at cards is too missish to admit that she is glad to see him? That she has suffered the megrims since the moment he departed?”

“Grandmother! You would not say such a thing! Besides, it is not true.”

“Is it not? Not only could I say it, I will say it if you do not go down to him yourself. It is as plain as the nose on his face that the Marquess of Harwood as been as blue-deviled as you have been since he left. Now hurry along and tell him that you have missed him before I tell him myself.”

Thus it was that, hastily checking herself in the looking glass for the second time that day, Althea half reluctantly, half hopefully, descended again to the library where Gareth was pacing back and forth as fast as his injured leg would allow.

“Althea.” He limped forward, his expression very different from the one he had worn before. Now it was tense and pale, and, Althea could not quite believe it, but he looked uncertain.

“My lord.”

“I beg your pardon. I went about things all wrong before. But it was because ... because ...”

“It was not a question of
how
you went about them, it was ...”

“It was because I missed you so desperately.”

Althea felt her defenses beginning to crumble. She tried to rally the last remnants of her anger to protect herself— against she knew not what—against the desperate urge to throw her arms around him and welcome him back.

“I said it all wrong. I tried to tell it to you all at once so I could convince you to say yes, so that you would come to visit me at Harwood, so I could count on seeing you again. But I got it all wrong, and I misled you. I misled myself.”

“I had hoped that ...”

“I love you.”

“You what?”

“I love you, Althea. I always have. Since the moment I saw you at Lady St. John’s rout. I thought that I loathed you. I wanted to loathe you as I loathe incomparables like my mother, like your mother, selfish women who know the power of their own charms and use it without conscience. I thought you were one of those women. But I could not hate you. You were so damned beautiful, so aloof, so pure, and so unimpressed by your own beauty that I could not help myself. I was drawn to you and I could not stay away in spite of myself. I have never been able to stay away from you, not then, not when you left London, not now. I cannot live without you. I do not want to live without you. I want you to be my wife.”

Wordlessly, Althea sank down onto the sofa. All she had wished for was to hear him acknowledge that he had missed her. She had not expected
this,
did not know how to react to this.

Carefully, Gareth lowered himself next to her on the sofa and cupped her chin in his hands. Gently he brushed his lips against hers until they parted beneath his. Slowly he slid his hands down her neck, caressing the warm column of her throat before burying his fingers in her hair and pulling her to him until he felt the quiver of her response. All his pent-up desire broke as he devoured the warm, soft flesh he had longed for, for what had seemed like forever. He had wanted her so desperately, for so long, that his hands trembled as he pulled her into his arms and lay back against the pillows of the sofa.

He looked down at her, her eyes half closed, her cheeks flushed with desire, and he ached with the beauty, the promise, the longing of the moment.

Slowly Althea’s senses stopped reeling. At the first touch of his lips, the quivering that had taken control of her the moment she saw him seemed to explode into a chaos of sensations—touch, taste, scent, heat, and longing. All she wanted was to feel her flesh against his, to satisfy the ache of loneliness that had tormented her since he had gone. But now, looking up at him, at his eyes blazing with an intensity she had never seen, she was afraid, afraid of losing herself to this overwhelming desire to become part of him, never to let go ever again. What would this do to her newfound independence? If she allowed herself to give in to this longing, would she ever have control over her own life again?

But she wanted him. She wanted his love. She wanted the life he offered to share with her. And she wanted her own independence It was all too much. She must be strong. She must not give in now. Her eyes filled with tears.

“What is it, my love? What is wrong? Have I hurt you?” Instantly and intently aware of her change in mood, he searched her face for some clue to the uncertainty he read in her eyes.

“Gareth, please. I cannot.”

“Cannot what, my love? Just tell me. I
will do anything.”

“I am afraid.”

A slow, tender smile spread across his lips. “So am I. We are a rare couple, you and I—the Ice Princess and the Bachelor Marquess. We value nothing so much as our own independence; is that not true?” He raised one quizzical brow.

He did understand. A wave of relief and gratitude washed over her.

“I promise you that I shall try to protect your independence as vigorously as I have protected my own all these years. But what I have discovered recently, to my utmost chagrin, is that without you independence is merely loneliness and not worth protecting. But I swear to you I will not try to influence you in your management of Kennington if you promise not to take over the management of Harwood, which I very much fear you will once its inhabitants come to love you as Kennington’s inhabitants love you. After all, my horses already mind you better than they mind me.”

Althea gave a watery chuckle. “You make it all sound so remarkably simple, but I know such things are not simple.”

The teasing smile vanished as he gathered her hands in his. “Althea, in my heart I know that this is the love I longed for all my life but never found. In spite of what my heart says, my head tells me that it is too good to be true. Which should I believe, my heart or my head? It is an enormous risk for you. It is an enormous risk for me. But we are both gamblers, Althea, ready to take enormous risks to win enormous prizes in the end. Please, Althea, say you will share your life with me.”

She thought for a moment, but her heart already knew the answer. “Yes, Gareth, I will.”

He kissed her for a long, breathless moment. When at last he drew away he looked down at her, his eyes alight with tender laughter. “Unfortunately, my love, in your bid for independence and control over your own life, you have fulfilled your parents’ fondest wishes and contracted an eligible alliance after all. Of course, the de Veres may not be as wealthy or as powerful as the Beauchamps, but my family is certainly as ancient and illustrious as yours. However, I do beg of you not to let a such a small thing as parental approval stop you from becoming my true love and my beloved wife.”

Althea chuckled. “I promise you, Gareth, I will not ...” But she was allowed to say no more as his lips again closed over hers.

Chapter 32

It was not until the deepening dusk brought Jenny in to light the candles that they broke apart.

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but I thought you might wish some light. And shall I send Sam in to lay a fire?”

“Do come in, Jenny.” Althea, still clasped in Gareth’s arms, smiled at her maid. “Jenny, I am to be married.”

“Yes, my lady. I know.”

“You know?”

“Her Grace told me.”

“Grandmama told you that?”

“Yes, my love.” Gareth chuckled at his betrothed’s expression of utter astonishment. “Though I am loath to break it to you, it appears that your grandmother saw the truth of it all long before you did—that you and I are meant for each other. Had you not agreed to become my beloved wife, you would have had her protests to contend with as well as mine.”

“Oh.” Althea digested this piece of information for a moment. “In fact, then, this choice of mine is no choice at all, but a conspiracy of ...”

“Hush, my love.” The marquess put a finger to her lips. “Your grandmother saw, and very rightly, that we could not live without each other. Nor do I wish to do so for a moment longer than I have to. The truth of it is that I am so eager to begin our life together that I shall continue on to London from here to speak to your father so we can be married here at Kennington as soon as possible.”

“Papa, and Mama?” Althea grimaced in a most unladylike fashion. “They will never . . ,”

“Trust me, sweetheart, I shall make them come around. After all, I have been dealing with my mother for years, and she is far less reasonable than your parents are.”

“Your mother, at least, should be pleased.”

“Oh, she will be pleased, well enough.” Gareth chuckled bitterly. “Until she realizes that our marrying will make her the Dowager Marchioness of Harwood. Being a dowager is not quite in my mother’s style, especially when the daughter-in-law is an incomparable of incomparables, a diamond who won far greater acclaim in the
ton
than she ever did.”

“Oh, dear.” Althea maintained a straight face, but her eyes were dancing with suppressed amusement.

“Exactly.” He grinned in return. “The vanity of an aging beauty is a tricky thing, very tricky indeed.”

“Perhaps Lord Battisford?”

“I quite agree with you, love. As I see it, Lord Battisford’s days as a widower are numbered. Now, that is enough of such unpleasant prospects. Let us begin happily by telling your grandmother of our plans.”

The dowager had no need for an announcement. One look at their happy faces and fond glances at dinner that evening told her all she needed to know. She was reminded of her own dear Harry and of happier days when she too had had someone with whom to share her life. “I can wish nothing more for you two than that you may have the same joy in each other that Harry and I did.” She beamed happily at both of them as she helped herself to a hefty portion of roast veal. The past months at Kennington had made her feel ten years younger, and now, seeing her granddaughter’s face alight with love and happiness, she felt younger than that, as young, if not younger than her own daughter-in-law. The dowager chuckled at the thought. “Lord, I would give a monkey to see your mother’s face, Althea, when she hears the news.”

The dowager was correct; the Duchess of Clarendon’s face was something to behold several days later when her husband called her into the library to inform her that he had just given the Marquess of Harwood permission to marry their daughter.

“You what!” Astonishment gave way to annoyance as the duchess struggled to maintain her customary air of well-bred composure. It was aggravating in the extreme to discover that she had not even been part of such a momentous discussion. After all, she had been the mastermind behind her daughter’s Season—arranging numerous, trips to the milliners, spending hours closeted with dressmakers, seeking introductions to the most illustrious members of the
ton
and avoiding those of inferior reputation. And now the intensive and elaborate campaign was ended, just like that, without anyone even consulting with her. “But the man is never seen in the
ton,
if he can help it, nor is he intimate with the sort ...”

“He frequented the
ton
enough to meet Althea,” her husband pointed out reasonably enough.

But this infallible logic only served to infuriate the duchess even more. “And I positively will
not
endure the encroaching manners of that ... that
mushroom!”

“What mushroom?”

“The Marchioness of Harwood!”

The duke raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Do try to calm yourself, my dear. She is a de Vere after all and while the de Veres, naturally, are not so illustrious as the Beauchamps, they are almost as ancient a family and nearly as respected. At any rate, it is a great deal better than no marriage at all, and infinitely superior to having a daughter whose whereabouts are a mystery. They are to be married at Kennington, which, it appears, Reggie settled on Althea before haring off to India in that ridiculous fashion.”

“Kennington! Married at Kennington! Have you completely lost your senses, my lord?
You
may have given your permission for our daughter to marry some ... some ... Well, at any rate,
you
may have given your permission, but I will not allow a daughter of mine to be married anywhere except St. George’s, and certainly not in some hole-in-the-corner fashion in some village church.” The duchess sniffed loudly and turned on her heel only to be stopped by her husband’s next words.