Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series (11 page)

“Back then, Eve was fond of her schemes,” Sophie said with sigh of resignation. “Of course, I don’t blame her now. She couldn’t help the way she was. Countless women have learned to use beauty to their advantage. Every woman possesses certain wiles or innate skills.”

True
. Although Merribeth would like to have thought that if she’d been born a beauty, manipulation wouldn’t have been
her
skill. “And her scheme removed you from your gentleman?”

“Yes. Though I won’t go into maudlin detail, I will say that by the end of my Season, I was through with the ways of the
beau monde
and fully prepared for a life as a governess.”

Up until now, Sophie had told her that the reason she’d spent six years as a governess was because her Seasons had been unsuccessful. Merribeth now realized the truth, and her heart broke for the young woman her aunt once was.

“Were you terribly fond of Sir Herman?” she asked quietly.

“I didn’t think I could ever love again. I told Captain Leander as much when he proposed a marriage of convenience.” Sophie puffed out a breath and shook her head, as if the notion were preposterous. “But I’m very glad to have been wrong.”

“You were happy, then?”

“Immeasurably. Just as you will be.” She stepped forward and placed her hands on Merribeth’s shoulders. Her expression abruptly turned serious. “Which is the
only
reason, mind you, I ever agreed to this scheme.”

“Don’t worry.” Merribeth leaned in for a quick embrace. “This will work. I’ll make certain of it.”

Shortly thereafter, she left Sophie’s room and headed toward her own.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit hall. The only sconces lit were in the corners, with nothing in between. The light faded into complete shadow midway down the first hall. Her gaze fixed to the pale flicker further down. Even though her mind was somewhat preoccupied with the conversation she’d had with her aunt, she still felt uneasy about passing all these darkened doorways, and so kept to the middle.

When she rounded the first corner, she heard the echo of heavy footsteps behind her. Instantly, her heart sped up, as did her own steps. This corridor was even longer and darker than the one before. She was certain the hall that led to her room was somewhere in between, but she could see no evidence of it.

“I thought I’d retire as well,” the now familiar voice of Archer called out, although his voice no longer possessed a slur, as it had all throughout dinner. “The parlor seemed dull and lifeless without your presence.”

She swallowed down a lump of fear at the thought of his following her.

“Archer?” another voice said. The husky tone belonged to none other than Daniela. “Oh, I must be turned around if your rooms are along this path. But my, you are the flatterer. I’d no idea you knew I was behind you.”

Merribeth held her breath, wondering if Archer would admit to being in pursuit of someone else.

His footsteps abruptly stopped. “But of course,” he stammered for a response. Thankfully, he didn’t reveal his true target, which gave Merribeth the chance to escape. “I’d know the swish of your skirts anywhere.”

Daniela offered an affected laugh. “What a teasing thing to say from a married man.”

“Many rules are written solely for the sake of being bent . . . just a little,” Archer said, affecting the slur once again.

Not wanting to risk another encounter with that horrible woman or the baron, Merribeth tiptoed down the hall and headed toward the pale flicker of a sconce not far off. She hoped it would provide enough light for her to find the path that led to her room.

Stepping quickly around the corner, she glanced over her shoulder, the worn soles of her slippers padding quietly over the runner. The sound of their conversation seemed to be closing in, along with Archer’s heavy footsteps.

She hurried. Believing the hall to her room was nearby, she looked ahead—then stopped with a jolt as Bane emerged from the shadows.

With his gaze locked on hers, he motioned with an index finger against his lips. In the same instant, he glanced over her shoulder as if to indicate Archer and Daniela. She nodded, both in understanding and in a request for his aid. Reaching up, he extinguished the sconce. Suddenly, she was immersed in darkness. The sconces behind her were too far away to offer anything but meager light, and it appeared as if the sconces behind Bane had all been extinguished.
By him
.

She barely heard him move toward her. Yet she could sense his nearness all the same. His hand snaked around hers, holding her captive. At the same time, he pressed his finger against her lips. “Don’t make a sound, or you’ll give us both away.”

A shiver raced through her at his low whisper. His finger was warm and slightly rough against her flesh. The scent from his hand filled her nostrils, much the same way that the snifter of warm brandy had. The mélange of his unique fragrance began with the pleasing odor of freshly oiled leather, deep and rich. Underneath, was a combination of coffee and sandalwood. There were other fragrances too, but before she could identify them all, he lowered his finger, dragging it gently down her lips.

Apparently, he trusted her with their fate. Trusted her not to give them away. In all honesty, it went against her upbringing and every maidenly instinct not to step out of his grasp. Yet another instinct compelled her to go with him, allowing him to guide her in the dark.

He pulled her into a recessed doorway, turning so that she nestled into the corner while he remained closer to the outside, as if shielding her. He still held her hand too. And since she’d removed her gloves, her flesh was bare against his.
Bare and warm and secure
.

She shook her head, dislodging the errant thought before it took hold. Likely, the odd sense of safety she felt now happened because she saw him as less of a threat than Archer. Bane’s actions spoke of a man keeping himself from being discovered more than looking out for
her
reputation. She was certain that only his love of solitude and tendency toward hermitage ruled his actions.

In a way, it was amusing. This rake—
the seducer
, the man every mama and well-intentioned aunt warned young women against—was hiding in a darkened hallway, hoping to be left alone.

Merribeth found it oddly endearing. She smiled to herself, wondering at the riddle of Bane.

“Bending rules? What fun is bending something when it could be more fun to shatter it to pieces?” Daniela’s seductive drawl drew closer.

Startled, Merribeth squeezed Bane’s hand. He squeezed back in reassurance.

The baron chuckled as his footfalls stopped. “I’ve a mind to break a few.”

“Why, Archer,” Daniela said with a muffled giggle. “What if your wife discovers us?”

“Are you saying you’re not my dear Petunia? How could I have made such a mistake?”

Merribeth nearly groaned at the lie. At dinner, she’d wondered if his drunkenness was a pretense he used to flirt with other women without being called out for it. Now, she was sure of it. The despicable man.

“If she finds us, I’ll let out a shriek and tell her you were saving me from a spider. I do detest them, you know.”

“And if she doesn’t believe me, I’ll simply tell her you’re all the same in the dark,” Archer continued, panting slightly. “It’s worked before.”

All the same in the dark? Merribeth looked up, expecting to ask Bane. As if sensing it, he turned and placed his hand on her shoulder, though whether to quiet or reassure her, she couldn’t tell.

Surely, it couldn’t be the truth. Men had to have more sense than that. After all, she knew Bane by the sound of his voice. Even if he hadn’t spoken, she would have recognized him by scent. Not to mention by the way he filled every space around him and seemed to take all the air for himself.

He was doing that now, especially with his hand on her shoulder, his thumb absently stroking the seam of her capped sleeve as if imbedding himself into every stitch. She could hardly catch her breath.

“Certainly your roaming hands ought to tell you the difference,” Daniela said to Archer.

Merribeth had heard enough. How could she stand by and listen to this horrid adultery take place. Poor Lady Archer!

Bane shifted quickly and pressed his hand against her lips, as if he sensed she couldn’t hold her tongue a moment longer. At the same time, he drew her out of the doorway and headed down the far hall, away from the loathsome Archer and Daniela. She was careful to keep to the runner, so that her steps were muffled. It surprised her that she could barely hear Bane’s steps as well.

“Aye, and you don’t mind either. In fact . . .” Archer’s voice trailed off for a moment, the silence broken by Daniela’s breathy moan before he continued. “I think you like it. And here I thought you were hoping to play a game of
seek and sigh
with Knightswold.”

“What does it matter?
You’re all the same in the dark
,” she mocked, her voice barely audible now that Bane and Merribeth had reached the end of the hall.

B
ane opened a door and pulled Venus inside before he released her hand. His reluctance to do just that puzzled him. However, he needed both of his to make sure the latch wouldn’t make a sound as it fell into place.

Pale, silvery moonlight filtered in through two narrow windows, casting the room in shades of gray. At least it was enough light to see the outline of furniture in the room. That way, neither of them was likely to stumble.

He went to the chest at the foot of the bed and reached inside. Pulling out whatever clothing or coat was on top, he quickly bundled the heavy fabric into a cylindrical shape and laid it at the bottom of the door. “So that our voices will not be heard,” he whispered, sensing her unspoken question.

“Where are we?” she asked, her voice more curious than wary. He wished it were the other way around.

“My bedchamber.” The hushed words filled the room, charging the air. He shook his head, warding off errant thoughts. “You needn’t worry. Unmarried maidens with marital designs are not to my taste. So if you have any for me, abandon them quickly.”

To her credit, she didn’t gasp or start. Instead, he caught a glimpse of a smirk before she turned and crossed the room toward the far window. It was open just enough to create a breeze, drawing in the cool sweetness of dewy midnight. Or perhaps that was her scent, drawing out an emerging poet within him.

Again, Bane shook his head as he propped one shoulder against the corner post of the bed and watched her silhouette.

“Yes, I’m already aware you are not one to take advantage when presented with an opportunity in a darkened room. Yet apparently, the same cannot be said of me. Oh, wait. We are pretending we’ve never met before, are we not?” She leaned forward, her face out the window, and breathed in. “Yes, I prefer that.”

Moonlight on her dark hair, weaving
paths of starlight . . .
His thoughts trailed off as he realized she was doing it again—turning him into a horrid poet.

“As do I,” he said, wanting to bait her into an argument, though he knew not why.

Any other woman would have bristled but not her. She laughed instead, the sound teasing the inner canals of his ears, forcing him to swallow down each trill, making them a part of him.

“You think rather highly of yourself. Holing up away from society because you fear every unattached maiden is vying for your hand. You needn’t worry,” she said, tossing his own words back to him over her shoulder. “My marital designs are already engaged.”

Though he’d meant to rile her, somehow she’d turned the tables. For reasons beyond him,
he
felt irked. “What about his? Is he free to accept
your
suit?”

When he saw her shoulders stiffen, instead of feeling triumphant at achieving his goal, he instantly felt like ass.

“Eve assures me that he will renew his affections of his own accord.”

Still, her response chafed him, and his next words were out before he knew what he was saying. “You have put your faith in my aunt? My, what a lambkin you are.” Even though he tried to sound amused, there was a distinct edge of bitterness.

“Believe me, I would have nothing to do with her scheme if I were left with another option.” She breathed out and turned back to the window. “Even if I were to find another man willing to marry a penniless woman with few connections, my sullied reputation would carry on with me. My husband would lose respect. Our children would be outcasts by association. In addition, the alternative option is spending the rest of my days with Sophie and tainting her reputation instead. So, you see, I am at a crossroads.”

“This gentleman, this
man
”—for he was no gentleman—“who jilted you, is he a simpleton or did he know what he was doing to your reputation?”

“Ours was not an official engagement but more of an understanding,” she said with an exhausted sigh, as if she’d spent far too many hours in contemplation over this topic. “We’d known each other since I was ten years old and first moved to Berkshire with my aunt and her new husband. William was our neighbor, his father a wealthy solicitor. We played together, partnered at country dances. As we grew older, many commented on what a fine pair we made. So when he told me how easy it would be to marry me and began speaking of children, I took that as his way of professing his intentions.” Her voice grew quieter. “Instead, I only recently discovered, he merely believed he was speaking with a friend about
his
future. Not
ours
.”

Bane held back the impulse to cross the room and offer . . .
what
, he didn’t know. Comfort, perhaps? Although the only method of comfort he could imagine would be in his arms and in the nearby bed, and
that
he would not do. “He should have made it clear from the beginning.”

“Perhaps. And then, perhaps I should have asked him to clarify instead of spending the past five years planning our life together.” She shrugged and absently ran her fingers down the edge of the curtain. After a moment, she said, “My dress was beautiful.”

“Pardon?” He was distracted by the movement of her fingers over the fabric, remembering how they’d felt in his hair. How they might feel on his flesh.