Miss Featherton's Christmas Prince (The Marriage Game Book 9) (21 page)

“I think my grandmother might know someone. She has begun searching for a house for one of her charities.” Meg had never seen Damon so excited, and she became as eager for him to begin his plans as he seemed to be.

“I suppose anywhere in Mayfair would do for a town house.”

She stared at him, unable to believe what he had just said. On the other hand, he had been away from England for a long time, and had never spent much time on the Town until recently. She brought up a mental image of Mayfair, which she knew as well as she knew her family’s estate. They discussed streets that were suitable for the house of a future duke and those that were not.

He mentioned a street where one of his army friends leased a house, and Meg shook her head. “While that street may do very well for someone who is just up for the Season, it will not do for the heir to a dukedom.”

In the end, he agreed that focusing his search in the areas of the squares was the best idea.

It turned out that he had a great many interests, most of them, unsurprisingly, having to do with the plight of the returned soldiers and their families. She was pleased that he agreed with her when it came to political, social, and estate issues. Never once did he make a comment that led her to believe he thought women were not intelligent or that he wanted anything less than a partnership with his wife.

Meg was involved in some charities that aided widows and orphans. “We always require more funds. The officers’ widows are gently born, and the children must attend school.”

“Is anything being done for the families of severely wounded officers and regular soldiers?” he asked, an idea clearly coming to him.

“Not that I know of. However, we could ask Lady Worthington. She began one of the charities I am a member of.”

Damon turned his hands so that he was now holding Meg’s. “Thank you.”

A new, stronger rush of affection for him almost took her breath away. This was the type of feeling she should be having with a gentleman she might wed. She had learned more about him in the short time they had been traveling, than she ever would have attending balls and riding in the Park. More importantly, she liked what she was discovering, and the way he considered her opinions and accepted them or engaged in a reasonable debate when he disagreed.

They had closed the curtains against the cold, and she was surprised when the coach started to slow.

He glanced outside. “Just as I thought. The weather has caught us.”

Snow was coming down in fat flakes so large she could almost see their patterns. And that was the only thing she could see from her side of the carriage. She turned, trying to look over his shoulder, but he was just too large. “Where are we?”

“Coming into an inn yard. It appears that the duchess has already sent someone inside.”

She picked up her muff from where it had fallen. They would not be the only travelers stranded in the storm. “I hope they have room for us.”

He gave one of his wry smiles. “I would not wager against her grace. She is more than a match for anyone of my acquaintance.”

Meg had to agree. The only one she knew who had ever been able to change the duchess’s mind was the former duke and Grandmamma. “She is a formidable woman.”

“I would have said Tartar, but never to her face.” He went back to his view out the window. A few moments later, he said, “She has prevailed.”

He opened the door, and freezing air filled the space. He lifted her down, and soon they were in the entry-way of the well-kept and unexpectedly spacious inn.

She had missed the first part of the landlord’s conversation, but heard him say, “Yes, Your Grace. With the exception of the common room, the entire inn is yours. But that shouldn’t bother you, as it has a different entrance.”

“What an interesting idea,” Grandmamma said approvingly.

The landlord preened under Grandmamma’s praise. “It was my wife’s idea. It gives the ladies in our town a place for tea and luncheon.” After giving directions to two young men who resembled the landlord greatly, he continued. “Dinner will be served at five o’clock, unless you’d like it at a different time.”

“Five is perfect.” Grandmamma graced the man with one of her charming smiles.

The duchess nodded, and they were shown to their chambers.

Behind her, Damon’s warm breath touched her ear. “Don’t you find it a bit odd that the entire inn was empty?”

“Are you this suspicious of everyone?”

“Not you.”

He might be better off if he did not trust her so much. She couldn’t even depend on herself to know her own heart. A chamber door opened, and Hendricks beckoned. “I shall see you at dinner,” Meg said, as she entered her room.

Her maid had already unpacked most of the items Meg would require for the night. “I have your gown out, and wash water.”

Meg walked over to the fireplace and removed her cloak, intending to warm herself, but the chamber was already comfortable. That
was
strange. Not that she had been in many hotels or inn rooms, but they generally took longer to heat than a few minutes. “Hendricks, how long have you been here?”

She looked at the watch pinned to her bodice. “About a half hour or so.”

Which meant at some point the coach carrying the servants had passed them, but Meg did not remember that at all. She might have been so engrossed in the conversation with Damon that she hadn’t noticed, but she doubted he would have missed it.

“We took a short cut the driver knew.” Her maid seemed completely unaware that the original plan was to arrive at home this evening.

To be fair, servants were not expected to question travel arrangements, and by the time they had departed Lady Bellamny’s house, they would not have arrived until very late in the day. Yet why had Grandmamma not said anything to Meg about stopping?

She gave herself a shake. Even if Damon was correct, and her grandmother and the duchess were scheming, what harm could they possibly be up to? Her grandmother would never wish to see her injured.

D
amon waited until the door to Meg’s bed chamber had closed before turning to make his way farther down the corridor. He had expected the dowagers’ rooms to separate her from him, but it appeared the road noise disturbed the older ladies’ sleep.

The door across from Meg’s opened, and his valet stood waiting. Devil a bit. First the unchaperoned coach, now his room across the corridor from hers. It was almost as if the dowagers were encouraging him to compromise her. Unless, of course, they had decided he could be trusted to protect her from himself.

Hartwell bowed. “My lord?”

Damon entered the spacious chamber, trying to think of a way to have his room moved to a different floor. Perhaps he should sleep in the stables. He would just have to keep his hands off her. He’d done a good job today of not giving in to his need to kiss her. How much more temptation was he expected to resist?

Glancing around the room, he noticed one trunk was tucked against the wall next to a wardrobe. “Where is the rest of my baggage?”

His valet cleared his throat. “Gone to Granby Abbey with the duchess’s and Lady Featherton’s baggage, my lord. I was told it would be a night or two before we arrived.”

In that case, you should spend more time together.
Lady Featherton’s words came rushing back to him.

Had it been only this morning the ladies had arrived? So much had happened, it seemed longer. It would have taken more than half a day to arrange the inn. Anger rose up and threatened to spill out. Walking to the bank of windows overlooking the street, he placed his clenched fists on the sill. He detested manipulation. Even, it appeared, if it was to his benefit. Still, he could not very well confront the old ladies. They would pretend not to know what he was talking about. He blew out a breath, watching as it fogged the windowpane. It was up to him to ensure that Meg left here with the same freedom of choice with which she had arrived. And with the way the flames ignited whenever they touched one another . . . Holy hell. He could not even trust himself to kiss her.

Every other time he’d had one ear out for a guest approaching. Here there was no fear of being caught. He would be able to focus solely on Meg, her soft curves, the way she gave herself over to him and to pleasure. He might very well take a trip to the water pump he’d seen in the yard this evening. A good dousing with frigid water would do wonders.

“My lord, if I had known . . .”

It would not have changed anything. Given the opportunity, Damon might have argued with the dowagers, but it was unlikely he’d have prevailed. They had obviously already set their plans in motion. “It’s no matter, Hartwell. How much time do I have before dinner?”

“An hour, my lord, but you will need to wash and dress.”

“Bring me my travel desk.” Damon had sufficient time to read the letter from his step-mother and send her a response telling her where he was going. Though God only knew when they would arrive. He wouldn’t put it past the old ladies to keep Meg and him together until she had either fallen in love or decided she never would.

He pulled the letter from his pocket and tore off the seal.

A weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. If he remembered correctly, his bout with measles had lasted a good two weeks. It would be at least another month before his father could assemble another group of guests.

He pulled a piece of paper from his desk, then wrote Catherine telling her that he was
en route
to Lord Featherton’s principal estate for the remainder of the Christmas holiday and to thank the twins for him. He was now in their debt.

As he sanded the letter he grinned. One never knew what the children would ask for in repayment. He sent a prayer to the Deity that he would not be subjected to a parade of eligible young ladies. He’d had more than enough of that during the Season. He was also thankful that, once again, he would be allowed to skirt his father’s wishes without causing harm to anyone else.

He was certain that Meg Featherton as a suitable mate for him had not even entered his father’s head. Her family, after all, were known for their liberal politics. The duke would wish to avoid any union that held no material or political benefit. Yet after Damon’s conversation with Meg in the coach, he was more convinced than ever that she was meant for him. She was caring, brilliant, and would never be afraid to challenge him if she believed his decisions were in error. She was also the most beautiful woman he had ever met. That was what he required in a wife. A wife he would choose without his father’s interference.

Damon placed two half-crown pieces on the letter, then dripped a large dab of wax over them. Catherine would know they were for the twins. The poor lads would tease him if they knew they were giving him more time to woo Meg Featherton.

 

The butler Lucinda and Constance traveled with stood to the side as an inn servant, most likely the landlord’s daughter, set up the dining table in a parlor she and Constance would share. Immediately after the girl left, one of Lucinda’s footmen arranged the silver and plate to her liking, then set out her own scented waxed candles, which were far superior to the inn’s. Earlier, Constance’s lady’s maid had supervised the airing of the bed linens—their own, naturally. Even in an establishment such as this, one could never trust the sheets.

The arrangement had developed over the years and had served them well.

“Davies Street,” Constance said as she perused the information on town houses they had received from Jones and Son, Land Agents.

“Too busy,” Lucinda responded.

“Mount Street.” Her friend glanced up. “I believe this address belonged to old Lady Busby.”

Lucinda raised her brows. “
Old
lady?”

“She could give us fifteen years, if not more.” Constance harrumphed.

After her granddaughter Mary’s marriage to Lucinda’s grandson Kit, and the promise of a new addition to the Featherton family, she and Constance had decided to set up house together. Lucinda because Kit and his wife would require the additional room in the Featherton town house, and Constance because her nephew, the Duke of Bridgewater, had finally decided to take his place in society. They had been searching for months for the right location. Unfortunately, Lucinda was unable to enter into the search with more enthusiasm. She was more concerned about the two young people down the corridor than houses.

Nevertheless, a response was expected. “She did not entertain much in her later years, but I remember attending a card party there once. It would probably require a great deal of refurbishing, but it is certainly large enough to accommodate us.”

“Are you concerned about Hawksworth and Meg?” Constance gazed at Lucinda over her reading glasses.

There was no hiding anything from her oldest and dearest friend. “Perhaps a bit. After all, I would not want her to feel as if she was being forced to wed Hawksworth. I have been thinking that leaving them alone this evening might be a little too much time together.”

Constance placed the documents in her lap. “We did discuss this and we both agreed that Hawksworth is honorable and Meg has a great deal of good sense.”

“Yes, we did,” Lucinda said slowly, unable to keep a frown from her face.

“If something were to happen, it would be because she is in love with him, and if that is the case, they will wed in any event.”

She pursed her lips. “True.”

“Then let nature take its course. It has always worked before.”

Inwardly, Lucinda cringed. If her daughter-in-law found out, she hoped she would not take umbrage as she had with Kit and Mary. In the course of arranging that match, Constance and Lucinda had been forced to take more drastic measures than they were doing now. With poor Mary’s cousin harassing her and Featherton, demanding that Kit wed, they were left with very little choice in the matter. Lucinda still winced at her daughter-in-law’s pithy suggestion that she take up charity work instead of meddling in the children’s lives. Still, how were her grandchildren to find suitable matches if she did not help them? And the fact remained that she and Constance were here as chaperones, albeit not very good ones.

“We shall see how this evening goes.”

 

Meg dressed in her favorite silk rose-colored evening gown, and a warm cashmere paisley shawl. Her maid had used the garnet combs Damon had given her as well as some pearls in her hair. She stared at the combs for a moment. He really was very kind and thoughtful.

Damon had just finished pouring a glass of wine when she entered the private parlor on the ground floor. “Good evening.”

“Merry Christmas.” Straight white teeth flashed as he handed her his glass and poured another.

“Thank you.” Sipping her wine, she studied him.

There was something different about the way he looked. She had seen him in evening dress many times before, but to-night he appeared even more handsome. His broad forehead and the lean planes of his cheeks had not changed. His lips were still sharply defined, his bottom lip slightly fuller than the top one. His jaw was still strong, punctuated by a chin that just missed being square. And he still smelled of his curious blend of lavender and male. But now as she gazed at him, there was something more. A tightly controlled strength and force she had never before noticed exuded from him. This was a man who had the power to influence the world around him, even if he had not been the heir to a dukedom.

What had changed? Or was she simply finally seeing him as he was? And how did that affect how she felt? It bothered Meg that she had only questions and no answers. She took a sip of wine. “They have a good cellar here.”

“I would not expect less from a place to which your grandmother and her grace give their custom.”

His statement refocused her thoughts onto the incongruity of their being here alone. “I think you were correct when you said they were scheming. I do not understand for what cause.” She took another sip of wine. “When they come down, I shall ask.”

“I do not think we’ll see them again to-day.”

She started to disagree when a knock came on the door, and the duchess’s maid entered. “Miss, my lord. I was sent to tell you that her grace and Lady Featherton will sup in their rooms. They wish you a pleasant evening.”

Meg stared at the woman, unable to think of anything to say. Then the door shut, and she and Damon were alone. “I never thought . . .” For several moments she couldn’t find the words to finish her sentence, then she blurted out the first thought that came into her head. “My mother would not approve.”

Damon gave a short laugh. “Which is probably the reason we are here and not at your home.”

“Evidently.” She was still stunned that her grandmother would be so lost to propriety, and the duchess as well.

He escorted her to the table, then tugged the bell-pull. “I want you to know that you have nothing to fear from me.”

At first she did not understand his meaning. Finally a light dawned. “You mean you will do nothing to further compromise me?”

“We are the only ones here. They made sure of that.” He sat at the table across from her. His deep brown eyes were grave. “You are not compromised, nor will you be.”

Her heartbeat increased from a trot to a full gallop. Until he had spoken, the fact that he might take advantage of the situation had not occurred to her. Which made no sense. She had kissed him far more than she had kissed her other suitors, who had received nothing more than a peck. Yet trepidation about what he might have done was not the reason her breath had become shallow. It was the realization that she would have allowed . . . no,
wanted
him to kiss her, and more. She wanted his hands on her body and his mouth on hers. Just the thought made her shiver with expectation.

It was not solely he who must resist temptation, but she as well. At least until she was sure of her feelings.

Damon watched as Meg began to comprehend what he was saying. He had never wished for a chaperone more than he did now. He wanted her more than he could have imagined a man could want a woman, and here they were. His self-control was stretched almost to breaking. Being alone in the coach with her all day had been bad enough, and there had been many more layers of clothing between them. She had been encased in fur up to her neck.

He’d put the width of the table between them. Yet now, in the darkened room, the candlelight played softly over her luminous skin. Her evening gown enhanced the soft swell of her breasts, and his fingers wanted nothing more than to caress every inch of her. If she touched him, he would go up in cinders.

She licked her lips, and his groin twitched with hot desire as he remembered her taste and the feel of his lips on hers. The taste of her. They did not have to remain here long. Dinner would be light. After the feast at his godmother’s house, the meal would be more of a late-night supper.

The pupils of Meg’s eyes dilated, leaving only a rim of blue. “Damon, I—”

“Miss? My lord?”

I what? I love you, Damon? I should flee because you look as though you might eat me?
If only he had waited to summon their dinner.