The Black Widow (23 page)

Leaving his friend in the coach, Demetrius went up to the door and pounded on it with great vigor. A moment later the butler opened the door and peered up at him.

“Good morning, my lord,” Smucker said politely, then launched into what was obviously a prepared speech. “I regret to inform you that Miss Meribe has given orders—”

Demetrius interrupted him. “I do not like to contradict you, Smucker, but I am coming into this house and I am going to speak with Miss Meribe Prestwich.”

The butler looked up at him, then down to where Demetrius’s rather large foot was firmly planted in the doorway, preventing the door from closing.

“I have no desire to hurt you, Smucker,” Demetrius continued, “and you know as well as I do that there is no one in this house who is large enough and strong enough to prevent me from entering.” He lifted one eyebrow in silent question, and the butler nodded in confirmation.

“That being the case, let us assume that I have now lifted you up bodily and moved you out of the way. Can we assume that, do you think?” Demetrius purred, his voice like velvet.

Obviously recognizing the steely determination behind Demetrius’s polite words, the butler hurriedly opened the door wider. “I think we can assume that,” he croaked out. After clearing his throat nervously, he added, “And likewise we can assume that you have forced me to tell you that Miss Meribe is presently in the garden.”

“Thank you, Smucker,” Demetrius said with a genuine smile.

The butler’s smile was more tentative. “And do you wish me to assume also that you have threatened me with severe bodily harm if I mentioned your presence here to Miss Phillipa Prestwich?”

“Oh, the most severe,” Demetrius replied, taking a golden guinea from his pocket and flipping it to the butler, who caught it adroitly. “And you may congratulate me, Smucker. I am going to marry Miss Meribe.”

“Has she ... but if... then why?” The butler looked more than a little confused.

“No, I have not even asked her properly,” Demetrius admitted, “but I intend to remedy that omission as soon as may be. And I am determined that before I leave this house, she will agree to be my wife. I am not sure how long it will take me to persuade her, but if I am still here at noon, I trust you can provide a suitable repast. I should hate to grow weak from hunger.’’

“No, indeed, my lord, that would not be wise,” Smucker replied. “And I shall have Cook prepare something, just in case.”

“Which reminds me, not a word of this to anyone,” Demetrius said quickly. “No one must know about the betrothal, not the servants or even the sister and the aunt.’’

“You are planning an elopement?” Smucker looked shocked.

“No, no, nothing of the sort. Only the betrothal needs to be kept secret. The wedding, which will take place quite soon, will be completely open and aboveboard.”

“Then you may depend on me,” Smucker replied. “If any word of this leaks out, it will not be by any of the servants under my supervision.” Bowing formally, the butler vanished into the shadowy nether regions below-stairs, leaving Demetrius to find his own way to the small door leading out into the garden.

At first glance Demetrius could not spot Miss Prestwich, but then he saw a figure in a rose-colored gown kneeling on the ground, halfway concealed behind an overgrown shrub. He approached her quietly, and when he was but a few feet away, she spoke without looking up.

“If my aunt has sent you out here to pester me, Smucker, then you may go right back in and inform her that I am not going to go shopping today or be fitted for a new dress or entertain any ladies for tea. I am going to stay in the garden all day, is that clear?’’ Her voice wobbled a bit at the end, and she raised a rather grubby hand and wiped her cheek.

“Quite clear,” Demetrius replied.

“Oh,” she gasped, dropping her trowel. She looked up at him, then looked away, then picked up the trowel, then laid it down again. Finally she peeked up at him from under the brim of her bonnet.

Her confusion was delightful, and the tear streaks on her face led him to believe that he would not be needing the repast he had asked Smucker to prepare.

“What are you doing here?” she said. Standing up, she shook out her skirts and tried to look stern. “I gave Smucker specific orders that you were not to be admitted.”

Taking out his handkerchief, Demetrius carefully wiped the tears and other smudges off her face. “In case you have not noticed, I am considerably larger and stronger than your butler. He was quite unable to prevent me from entering.”

“You forced your way in?” Her eyes grew even bigger and rounder.

“Let us say that since we both agreed that I could force my way in if it became necessary, neither of us saw any point in going through the motions.” He lifted her chin and tilted her face to the right and then to the left. Satisfied that he had done a thorough job of removing the evidence of her gardening efforts and her tears, he pocketed his handkerchief.

“Well,” she said, showing all the determination of a six-week-old kitten, “you might as well show yourself out, because I am not going to talk to you.” She crossed her arms and glared up at him, her lower lip pushed out pugnaciously.

Demetrius was sorely tempted to wrap his arms around her and kiss away her pout. Instead he contented himself with running his fingers lightly along the line of her jaw. “My brother sends you his apologies. He regrets very much having caused you concern on his behalf.’’

“He is safe, then?”

The look of profound relief on her face made Demetrius regret his leniency where his brother’s escapade was concerned. The boy should have been horsewhipped for causing Miss Prestwich so many hours of grief and worry.

“Yes, he came home safe and sound. He was never in any danger, other than in my mother’s imagination.”

“Oh, I am so glad,” Miss Prestwich whispered, and then she was in his arms without his quite knowing who had made the first move toward the other.

Not one to pass up a golden opportunity, Demetrius asked, “Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Making regretful noises, she tried to free herself from his embrace, but he relaxed his hold only enough to allow her to look up into his face.

“Knowing what danger you would be in as my betrothed, I cannot agree to marry you,” she said, regret in her voice and pain in her eyes.

“Last night you would not even speak to me,” he pointed out, his voice completely reasonable.

“I only refused for your own protection,” she said earnestly. “It was not because I do not still consider you my friend. I explained it all to your uncle, who promised to explain it to you.”

“He did that,” Demetrius confirmed.

“So you see, you really should not have come here. It is not safe for you to be seen with me or even to be seen entering my house.’’

He wished he did not have to destroy her illusions of safety. “I understand completely why you acted the way you did,” he reassured her. Then he forced himself to say the fateful words. “But I am afraid your efforts were in vain. When I was on my way home last night, someone fired two shots at me.”

The blood drained out of her face, but he continued relentlessly. She had to understand that she was living in a fantasy world. “The first shot went through my hat, and the second would more than likely have struck me in the chest, had not Hennessey and my uncle thrown me to the ground.”

At his words she fainted dead away in his arms.

Sitting on the bench, holding the unconscious Miss Prestwich on his lap, Demetrius had doubts as to his own analysis of the situation. Had shocking her really been the only way to persuade her that she was not going to save his life by refusing to see him? Could he not have glossed over the events of the night before? Made them seem less serious?

A few minutes ago it had seemed necessary to tell her the whole truth in order that she might fully comprehend the ruthlessness of their adversary, but the longer she was unconscious, the more he feared he had acted a little too ruthlessly himself.

Before he could finish berating himself, she began to stir. He had no trouble identifying the moment she became fully conscious, because she stiffened, gasped, and then scrambled off his lap. Backing a few steps away, she looked delightfully confused, and a blush rose up her neck and colored her cheeks a charming shade of pink.

“Will you not be seated?” he said politely, and after a short hesitation she sat down on the opposite end of the bench, quite as far from him as possible. Which was not actually very distant since it was a smallish bench, obviously intended for two and not for three.

She eyed him nervously, like a skittish foal still unused to the ways of men.

“Your anxieties to the contrary, I am quite able to protect myself,” he said mildly, “and I can protect you and my friends and my family.”

She said nothing, so he asked, “Do you have confidence in me?”

After a long time—or so it seemed to him—she finally nodded.

“In that case, please set aside all considerations of fatal curses and wicked assassins and immense fortunes and poorly thought-out trusts, at least for the moment, and answer me from your heart. I am asking you to marry me for the simple reason that I wish to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He was rewarded with a tentative smile, which was encouraging enough that he inched his way closer to her. When she did not immediately spring to her feet, he closed the remaining gap between them completely and took her hands in his. Smiling down at her, he asked, “Miss Prestwich, will you do me the honor of marrying me? Will you come live with me in Devon and take care of me and my sorely neglected garden?”

He could see the remaining doubt and confusion in her eyes. A gentleman would have waited, would have allowed her time to make up her own mind. But at this moment Demetrius was not feeling at all like a gentleman. Without a qualm, he took advantage of her indecision.

Easily pulling her back into his arms, he set out to kiss her senseless. After the first long and thoroughly satisfying kiss, he managed to murmur, “Marry me,” and when she did not immediately answer, he kissed her again.

Her arms curled themselves around his neck, and a little voice in the back of his mind pointed out that his uncle had been correct—that his marital bed would not be at all lacking in passion.

The second time they came up for air, she asked him in a weak, breathless voice, “Are you planning to keep on kissing me until I agree to marry you, my lord?”

“Precisely that, Miss Prestwich,” he replied quite firmly, delighted with the way his courtship was progressing.

“Then,” she said, her winsome dimples peeking out, “I think it only fair to warn you that I expect to be very slow to make up my mind.”

He gave a bark of laughter, then leaned his forehead down against hers. “And if I refuse to kiss you again until after you have agreed to marry me? What then, Miss Prestwich?”

He could feel her tremble against him, and her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear her reply.

“Why, then, I shall be forced to accept your offer, my lord.”

He almost groaned in relief. “Miss Prestwich,” he said, holding her as tightly as he dared, “will you be my wife?”

“Yes, Demetrius, I will.”

“You will not regret your decision, Miss Prestwich. I swear that I shall be a good husband.”

“You may call me Meribe,” she said softly, “and I fear I am already beginning to regret my consent.”

In astonishment, he pulled away enough that he could see her face, which wore a serious expression. “You have changed your mind so soon? What have I said? What have I done?” His confusion was total.

“Well, so far, being betrothed to you is turning out to be a great disappointment,” she said, and this time he caught the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “You did promise—or at least you implied—that if I accepted your offer, you would kiss me again.”

“Ah,” he said, “you are right. That was definitely part of our bargain.”

A considerable time later he thought to ask, “Just how many kisses do you calculate I owe you?”

“At least a lifetime’s worth,” she murmured.

“Well, never let it be said that I failed to pay my debts promptly,” he replied before kissing her again.

* * * *

Relaxed from a countless number of kisses and secure in Demetrius’s arms, there was nothing Meribe wanted less than to break the bubble of happiness surrounding the two of them. If only there were some way they could spend the rest of their lives alone together in this tiny walled garden.

But the world outside the walls was still waiting, and the danger there would threaten Demetrius until she turned twenty-one ... or until she married him.

With a deep sigh she spoke reluctantly. “You said you could protect yourself from my sister—or rather, from whoever is trying to harm you,” she corrected herself. “Exactly how do you propose to do that?”

“To begin with, no one must know that we are well and truly betrothed,” he said.

Disappointment mingled with relief in Meribe’s heart. On the one hand, she wanted to share her present joy with the entire world; on the other hand, she did not want to risk losing Demetrius, and with him, her happiness.

“Second, we have decided—”

“We?”

“My brother, my uncle, and my friend Thomas Hennessey. Last night we talked over various possibilities, and we have decided that it would be safest for everyone concerned if we all go down to Devon. London offers too many opportunities for an assassin. We shall, of course, invite your sister and your aunt, and Hennessey is bringing his wife, so it will look like nothing more than a normal country party. The advantage is that out on the moor, where my estate is located, it will be very easy to spot any stranger lurking about.”

“So you still expect another attempt will be made on your life? Excuse me, that is a foolish question. Of course we must be on the alert for any such event.’’

“I wish I could truthfully say that I do not think your sister will try again, but that would only be wishful thinking.” They were both quiet for a moment, then Demetrius said, “There is one other thing I should tell you. I have a special license, taken out in both our names, in my pocket, so that we will not have to wait for banns to be called.”