How to Wed a Baron (22 page)

She sat back on her heels, trying to make out his features in the darkness. “No, you didn't. What did you write in that letter?”

“That, at a time and place of his choice, and for the mere pittance of ten thousand pounds, I'd hand you over to him.”

Alina tried to speak. She opened and closed her mouth several times, but no words would come.

“He replied via a friend of mine in Sandhurst, agreeing to the terms, if I produced Luka, as well. Do you happen to know why he's interested in your
secretary?
”

“You…you weren't really going to hand me over to the man. I know you wouldn't do that, that it's all a trick. But it would be encouraging to me if you were to say the words.”

“Come here,” he told her, reaching for her.

She allowed him to pull her against his chest, but then she carefully took a pinch of his chest hair and gave it a sharp tug, so that he cried out in mock pain. “You have a most terrible, devious mind, Justin Wilde. The
Inhaber
believes he will have all three of us served up to him on a platter, doesn't he? While you have, in turn, learned where he will be, and even when. But now you won't kill him, because then there is no hope of you marrying me now that I am so thoroughly and happily compromised, and then not being hanged the next day. And I very much wish to marry you, so that you can compromise me every night for the rest of our very long and uneventful lives.”

“That is what tonight is about, isn't it? I've surrendered. Completely, utterly and quite happily.” He kissed her hair, her brow. “You're forgetting only one thing, kitten. The bastard still needs you dead in
order for him to have the only claim to that damned land.”

“But we settled that, didn't we? The Romany don't want the land, so I don't have to worry about depriving them of it, and if I write a letter to the king, giving up all claim to the land, then it is over. Oh.”

“Yes, kitten,
oh.
You can't give up land that isn't indisputably yours to give. I believe you're the one who pointed that out to me.”

“Yes, somebody pointed that out to me, I think. Perhaps the
Inhaber
has some idea how we could arrange matters?”

“Other than eliminating you and tossing the disputed claim into the lap of your aunt?”

“Who would renounce any claim immediately, for a price. Why can she do what I can't? I'm certain Luka told us that's what she'd do. He also told me that I couldn't give up the land, remember? He said that, didn't he? We really do need to speak with Luka, now that the horrible
Inhaber
is going to be allowed to grow fat and old.”

“Yes, I think we do, kitten. I've never quite understood this business about the land. I'll admit that.”

“You were too busy killing people and ruining me,” Alina told him, trying not to smile. “It's understandable. Yes, tomorrow we need to speak with Luka.” She slid her hand lower on his belly. “Tomorrow.”

“The land. I should have concentrated more on the
land, Alina. All I really heard was that your life was in danger. Your king needs the
Inhaber
dead. I was chosen to marry you because the
Inhaber
wants you dead, and I was the most likely man to successfully assassinate him while protecting my betrothed wife, keeping your king's hands clean. Then I realized that Robbie Farber had been dug up and thrown into the mix, and went charging hotfoot after that idiot Prinny, burning bridges everywhere I went. I should have thought more about the land….”

He remained distracted, but she was determined.

She slid her hand lower, finding and capturing him. He was silk against her skin, his own skin so smooth and pliant as she closed her hand and began gently pulling on him, then pressing down, the silk now sheathing a growing hardness.

She tugged lightly again, moving his soft skin up, down. Again. He seemed to grow beneath her fingers.

Did that feel good to him? He wasn't talking to himself anymore, so she thought she was safe in assuming that it did.

He reached for her, but she evaded him, going to her knees and pushing the coverlet down so that she could better concentrate on her discovery of this new power she apparently possessed.

She dared to touch the very tip of him with one inquisitive finger, and found him to be moist with
a droplet she then spread over the entire tip. Silk on silk.

She had done this to him? Her touch had done this? What he had done to her, she could do to him?

Fascinating.

Amazing what could be dared in the nighttime, when there was no room for thoughts other than the next pleasure.

She moved her hand faster, thoughts of how he'd moved inside her causing her to feel a clenching between her thighs each time she stroked the length of him. She lowered herself onto her haunches, her knees spread, and continued to stroke him, moving her hips as she closed her eyes and lowered her head, imagining him inside her. Big. Strong. Silk and hard, throbbing heat.

When he slid his hand between her legs she moaned in pleasure and anticipation. His thumb grazed her, again and again, spreading her, finding that small, hot center that took pleasure and turned it into need. Deep, teeth-grinding, jaw-clenching greed to feel more, more.

Then he slipped his fingers inside her, deep inside her, and she thought she might come apart, not possibly survive such intense bliss. She matched her deep strokes with his, her eyes still closed, her heart pounding so fast and hard she could hear it in her ears.

What he had done to her, she could do to him?

She wanted him to forget. She longed for him to be healed. There were no miracles that could erase the past, but there could still be a future. What he'd thought dead inside him was only in hiding, waiting to be reawakened, to fill him once again. He was beautiful, so very beautiful. In his mind and in his heart. She would not give up on him, even if he'd given up on himself.

The passion she'd felt, the carnal pleasure that so inflamed her, began to merge with the true love she felt for this man, this good man. They couldn't be separated and, combined, she knew she had the power to show him how much she loved him, trusted him, believed in him.

What he had done for her, she could do for him.

She lowered her head even more…and found out that she was right.

“W
ELL, IT'S YOU,
J
USTIN,”
Nicole said in seeming surprise as he entered the morning room. “I would have thought you'd still be abed, as you hadn't come in from wherever you'd gone off to before Lucas and I finally gave up on playing the good hosts and went upstairs.”

“Nicole,” Lucas said quietly from his seat at the head of the table. “You promised you'd be good.”

Justin laughed, then rounded the table and placed his hand on the back of Nicole's chair. “Lucas, I'm going to kiss your wife.”

The marquess languidly waved a slice of toast above his plate. “I have no opposition. Nicole?”

Her answer was to push back from the table and stand up, wrapping her arms around Justin as he bussed her firmly on the cheek. “I knew all you needed was a nudge. Lydia, come here,” she said as Tanner and her sister entered the morning room. “You probably get one, too.”

“No, she gets two, because I know she allowed
herself to be convinced.” He kissed Lydia on both cheeks as he wrapped her in a hug. “Thank you.”

Lydia blushed prettily and kissed him back. “We were terrible, weren't we? I don't know what we would have done if it had rained,” she said seriously, sending a faintly harassed look toward her twin. “No, that's not true. I do know, and may I say, Justin, you can thank your lucky stars that the night was dry.”

Nicole giggled and bent her head to concentrate on her breakfast.

The three men all shook hands, Justin accepting their congratulations before realizing that he had never formally asked for Alina's hand in marriage. He'd been foisted on her, he'd rejected her, he'd reneged on his rejection, she'd rejected his renege—but he'd never actually proposed to her, and she'd never actually said yes.

“Excuse me,” he said putting down the plate he'd been about to fill at the buffet—he had the most ravenous appetite this morning. “There's something I need to fetch from my chamber.”

He headed for the now-familiar servant stairs, forgoing the main staircase, not wanting to pass Alina on the way, and entered his bedchamber in time to see Wigglesworth standing in front of the cheval glass in the dressing room, caught in the act of replacing his wig.

“Ye-gods, man, you were right—the women
needed to be spared that particular sight. You're bald as a doorknob.”

“My lord!” Wigglesworth exclaimed, clapping the wig to his head, sideways, as it turned out, covering himself as if his modesty had been violated. “You are supposed to be breakfasting. If I cannot count on you to be where you say you are going to be—well, then there's no hope, is there?”

Justin bit back a grin at the reprimand. “A thousand apologies, Wigglesworth. I can only say that I will strive to be more dependable in future.”

“Just so, yes, my lord,” the valet said, nodding his head, causing the wig to turn a bit more, so that the beribboned queue slid forward over his nose. “I have just inspected the Flemish silk, and am delighted to report that it has suffered no more damage than a few broken threads, which I have repaired. But you won't be tossing it out the window again, will you, my lord? I do not know if it could sustain a second insult.”

“I believe I will be able to restrain myself. Wigglesworth, where's my jewelry case?”

“Ah, my lord, so you noticed.” The valet gave a final adjustment to his periwig, pulling it down snugly over his ears, and toddled over to the tall dressing chest, going up on the toes of his heeled shoes and opening the top drawer. “I didn't wish to say, my lord, but I did think the onyx studs would have been more the thing with that waistcoat. The
brushed gold is acceptable, but much better suited to the—”

Justin reached inside the case and extracted what he wanted. “Yes, thank you, Wigglesworth. I'll be returning to the morning room now. Please feel free to dance a jig or whatever else it is you do when I'm not here.”

He chose the servant stairs yet again, and this time the kitchen staff didn't even bother to look up from their chores, probably having decided that the gentry were simply queer, and to basically ignore them when they popped up where they had no business being.

When he reentered the morning room it was to see Alina standing at the heavily laden sideboard, a plate in her hand as she seemed to be having some difficulty choosing from the considerable choices before her.

She looked wonderful, most especially when he considered that they had not stolen back into the house until nearly dawn, startling the boy who was building up the fire in the kitchen hearth. He'd dropped a log on his foot and begun to yelp, causing Alina to attempt to go to him to be certain he was all right before Justin held her back and, instead, tossed the boy a gold crown, which immediately put a halt to his injured cries.

They'd whispered and giggled like children themselves as they stole up the servant stairs, him
dragging the Flemish silk with him, and he'd kissed her thoroughly at her door before finally returning to his own bedchamber, where he'd collapsed into a short but dreamless sleep until his rumbling stomach woke him.

Ah, how good it was to be alive again…or perhaps alive, truly alive, for the very first time in his life. There were still problems to be solved, waters to be smoothed and one huge dilemma in the form of the
Inhaber
to be dealt with, but he wasn't going to think about them today. Today was for Alina. Tomorrow he would have to let the world back in.

But not today.

“Alina,” he said when she turned to look at him, her smile unabashedly gleeful, unashamedly lover-like. She positively glowed. For him. He wasn't a humble man, had never been, but he felt humble now. Humbled and grateful. “There's something I forgot to do.”

Her smile faded. “Where are you going this time? I thought we'd have just this one day….”

Before she could get the bit between her teeth—wives did that, didn't they, when they thought their husbands had gone beyond the pale—he went to her, took her free hand in his and dropped to one knee.

“Justin!”

There was a general scraping of chairs as the other four occupants of the room, along with two footmen who had been charged with lifting the lids
on the silver servers, all turned to see why Alina had sounded so shocked. “
Shh,
kitten, I'm about to make a public cake of myself,” he said, reaching into his pocket and extracting the ring he had taken from his jewelry case.

Not the one Sheila had worn, and not the ring he had purchased for his unknown bride, but the betrothal ring that had been in his family for over three hundred years, the one his mother had worn until the day she died and it was sent to him, finally catching up to him somewhere in Spain and giving him a reason he hadn't needed to drink himself into a stupor for three days.

The gold had been refilled where it had been worn thin on so many Wilde bride hands. Its size had been changed and changed again, to fit several dozen fingers. A few lost stones had been replaced around the center diamond. If the ancient portrait in the Long Gallery could be believed, the original center stone hadn't been an emerald-shaped diamond at all, but a round ruby. But for all the changes, all the years, it was still the Wilde betrothal ring; that's what tradition was all about.

And now it would grace the finger of another Wilde bride.

“But, Justin, we're already—”

“Not correctly,” he told her as, behind him somewhere, Lydia could be heard sniffling. “This is not
anyone else's decision. This is you, kitten, you and me.” He paused, smiled, looked around at the other occupants of the room. “Well, almost you and me. But we'll endeavor to ignore them.”

“Oh, Justin…”

“Here, I think we can dispense with this,” he said, taking the empty plate from her hand and replacing it on the sideboard, then taking her hand in both of his. “Lady Magdaléna Evinka Nadeja Valentin…”

“You remember that entire mouthful?”

“Alina, be good. Now, what was I doing?”

“You were being imperious.”

He playfully squeezed her fingers. She'd never feared him, had completely failed to be overly impressed with him, had always seen through him as if he were a pane of glass to her. She'd seen all the way to his soul, the one he'd believed he had lost long ago.

“Alina, I'm still accused of murdering the men sent to attack your coach. I threatened the life of the Prince Regent and could be clapped in chains at any moment. My pardon for killing your uncle in a duel and thus robbing you of any living relatives save your odious aunt Mimi may be revoked. I still don't know what will happen with that damnable
Inhaber.
For all of those reasons, I may have to flee England yet again, this time to never return.”

“For God's sake, Lucas, stop him,” Nicole implored sotto voce. “He'll talk her out of it yet.”

Tanner gave a bark of laughter, quickly stifled, probably thanks to a speaking look from his wife.

“You're to be witnesses, not participants,” Justin said, never taking his gaze away from Alina's somewhat pinched, white face. “Alina, I love you. I'd die for you, but I'd much rather live for you, and for our children, and for the happiness I know we can bring each other, hopefully—please, God—here in England, surrounded by our very good and wonderfully meddlesome friends, building a life together. Please, before this becomes any more farcical…will you do me the not unmixed honor of becoming my wife?”

“Tell him you need a few moments to consider,” Tanner advised. “He could do with a little more time on his knees. I know I'm certainly enjoying the sight of a humble Justin Wilde.”

“Well,
I
am not!” Alina said feelingly. She took the ring from Justin's hand and slipped it onto her finger, then took his hands as if to pull him to his feet. “There. It's done, finally. Will you kiss me now, Justin? Am I destined to always having to ask you to kiss me?”

He slipped his arms about her waist. “You haven't yet said yes, kitten.”

She rolled her eyes. He loved when she did that, how she never held back her feelings, good, bad or indifferent. No, never indifferent, and never indeci
sive. Alina always knew just what she thought, and just what he should be thinking.

Going up on tiptoe, she clasped his face between her hands and brought her mouth to his, kissing him deeply, thoroughly. As their delighted audience applauded approvingly, Lucas instructed one of the footmen to tell the butler to bring up several of his best bottles of wine from the cellars so that they could toast the happy couple. Through it all, she kissed him, and he kissed her back, until one of them—he'd never remember if it had been her or him—began to smile. And then to laugh.

“You're such a wonderful idiot. I've said yes a dozen times,” Alina told him as they broke the kiss and once more stood there, lightly holding on to each other's hands, devouring each other with their eyes.

“I think you have your answer, my friend,” Tanner said, clapping him on the back as the ladies drew Alina aside to hug her and admire the Wilde ancestral betrothal ring. “And for all the trouble you're in, damn me if you're not still the luckiest devil I know.”

 

T
ODAY WOULD BE THEIR
day, one devoted only to each other, with no shadows from the past, no worries about what was still an uncertain future.

Wearing a ruby-red riding habit borrowed from Nicole and matched with a Basingstoke mare only
a little too gentle for her taste, Alina had enjoyed a ride with Justin that had taken them to the village and an establishment called the Crown and Bell.

Over Justin's protests, they sat in the public taproom rather than a private dining room, and Alina entertained herself by smiling at the farmers and laborers who sat at the many scarred wooden tables pretending they hadn't noticed the finely dressed young miss sitting in the corner with that handsome, well dressed, yet evilly scowling gentleman.

Also over his protests, she drank a mug of the inn's own beer, warm and fairly bitter, and, as she told him, not even a patch on the beer brewed near her childhood home. Justin had seemed amazed that she'd been allowed beer, but she'd never told him that she actually had, and simply allowed him to assume she spoke from experience.

The fib, the omission, had been to test him, although he couldn't know that. To test him, and her “fibbing ability,” which Nicole had assured her all females possessed, if they only worked at it. Not that anyone should go about telling lies—fibs—willy-nilly. But sometimes they were for the greater good, and that made them all right. Especially when they were meant to protect men, who were notoriously unable to protect themselves when they thought their honor was involved.

Alina knew someday she really had to hear the history of Nicole and Lucas's courtship. Especially
if the head-shakings and sighs of Lydia when the subject was even casually touched upon meant anything.

“Justin,” Alina said quietly, drawing her finger around the wet circle left by the mug, “would you ever lie to me?”

He hesitated only the merest heartbeat before saying he would never lie to her for her to believe him.

“Good. Then I will never lie to you in the same way that you will never lie to me.”

He put his elbow on the tabletop and propped his chin in his hand. “Other than to hint very broadly that you've been imbibing beer since your childhood, you mean?”

She sat back, alarmed. “You knew I was fibbing?”

“Kitten, you have the most expressive face in creation. You could no more hide an untruth than fly to the moon.”

This was unsettling. “What does my expressive face do that gives me away?”

He reached across the table and gave a small flick to the side of her nose. “Oh no, kitten. If I tell you, you'll be careful not to do what you do, and then where would we be?”