Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series (12 page)

“My wedding gown. I spent the past five years embroidering every inch of the muslin. At first, I only meant to add a curling ivy border to the hem, but as time went on, the gown became more elaborate.” She sniffed and tried to hide the swipe of her hand against her cheek. “It’s really quite lovely.”

This time, Bane grabbed hold of the post to keep from crossing the room to her. Bringing her here was a mistake, he could see that now. Too much was at stake—the wager, his revenge, Gypsy.

He thought he’d have more control over his response to her than this. The most ludicrous part of it was that this conversation wasn’t the least bit arousing. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was talking about wedding gowns and confessing a need to plan out every detail of her future, which was another reason why he avoided debutantes and balls.

However, he found himself wanting her in a way that he’d never experienced. This wasn’t about idle curiosity or an escape from the mundane. This wasn’t about desire either, although that was always present when she was in the room. This was about
her
.

Likely, this strange feeling had everything to do with the bargain he’d made with Eve. The simple fact that he
couldn’t
make love to Merribeth, or kiss the tears from her cheeks, or comfort her with endless hours of pleasure must be the sole reason he felt desperate to do so.

The overwhelming impulse startled him. He had to get her out of his room. Out of his thoughts. Out of his reach. While there were countless ways of bringing her pleasure that did not require him to don a preventative or steal her virginity, for the first time he didn’t trust himself with the strength to hold back.

He’d never been this tempted before. Widows and courtesans tempted him,
not
virgins. Not married women either, for that matter.
Then help her marry
, a voice whispered. It was the only solution.

“I’ll help you.” The words came out in a frantic rush.

She turned her back on the window and stared at him. “Help me with what?”

“This task Eve has put upon you.” He made a stirring motion with his hands, impatient. “I’ll teach you to flirt. I’ll help you win back your Mr. Clairmore.”

M
erribeth didn’t know whether to be offended by Bane’s offer or grateful. Her first instinct was to take offense. After all, she’d endured Mrs. Pearce’s pitying words and uncalled-for-boldness on a private matter.

It had been humiliating to have her problems announced to Bane. Once again, she was the museum spectacle, the curious specimen of the
Desperate Wallflower in Dire Straits
.

She drew in a breath, forcing herself to look on the bright side. For reasons unknown to her, Bane seemed eager to help her, not humiliate her. That alone helped chase off embarrassment. He had a way of making her feel comfortable about saying what she wanted to say, without risk of censure. So in the end, it was easy to feel grateful.

Of course, there was a different feeling that
didn’t
sit well with her and that caused the twinge of pain.

It was silly, she knew, to be hurt that he was eager to help her get Mr. Clairmore back. As if the offer clearly stated that he didn’t want her for himself—which of course she already knew. So why should hearing him say it directly wound her?

“Very well,” she said, her tone formal and stiff, even to her own ears.

“
Very well
?” He made a sound in his throat. His gray eyes caught a shred of moonlight, seeming to absorb it until those two intense points were all she could see. “With my help, you are assured success in your scheme. Besides, I never embark on a task or wager unless I’m certain of victory. Perhaps a little gratitude is in order.”

It wasn’t her scheme, but she didn’t bother to correct him. She actually found his bristly behavior amusing. “I am a quick study, Lord Knightswold. And the first thing I learned from you was not to assume that the rumors about you were true. So far, in our short acquaintance, I’ve seen no evidence that you can assure my success. You’ve displayed no particular prowess for flirting. However, if it will please you to hear it, before you’ve even put forth the smallest effort to assist me, then here it is: thank you. I am
ever
grateful for your assistance.”

He stared at her for a long moment. His gaze speared through her like a silver needle through silk. Even though he stood perfectly still, waves of energy flowed from him, stinging her flesh with tiny pinpricks of awareness.

He released the post and regarded her for a moment longer. Only now did she realize he’d been gripping it the entire time. She wondered at the reason for that but even more at his reason for letting go. Now that she’d challenged him, would he cross the room to her to prove himself worthy of rumor?

She held her breath, waiting. Hoping. A breeze blew in behind her, stirring the fine hairs at her nape, making her shiver.

Then he shook his head and chuckled. “Keep your thanks for a fortnight, Miss Wakefield.” He moved to the door, his steps not as unhurried and languid as usual. Obviously, he was ready to see her go. “I imagine the task will not be a simple one. For either of us.”

“I imagine not,” she said, already hearing regret in his tone and trying not to take offense. Head high, she crossed the room, prepared to walk out the door.

Bane held up a hand as if to ward her off. Now, she did take offense. He acted as if she carried an infectious disease.
Wallfloweritus
or something equally ghastly.

“Let me make certain the path is clear before I escort you.”

She glared at his retreating form, waited a breath, and then stepped over the threshold.

He returned at once, blocking her way. “Neither of us can risk having you seen leaving my room. Or walking this hall, for that matter.”

“It is highly unlikely that I would endure censure for the sake of being on this path.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Apparently, you still have much to learn about holding on to the shreds of your reputation.”

“Perhaps,” she hissed through her teeth, wishing she could raise her voice above a whisper. “Though I would warrant that no one could find fault with me for walking to my own room, which happens to be there.” She pointed to the end of the hall.

She’d recognized her window when she’d looked out of Bane’s. Why Eve had put them in such close proximity puzzled her. She reasoned it was likely due to the fact that only a certain number of rooms had been prepared for guests. Compared to the other guests with whom she might have been neighbors, she decided to be grateful.

“Your room”—He swallowed, causing his jaw muscle to twitch—“is next to mine?”

When he said it like that, she couldn’t help but swallow as well. It
was
rather scandalous. “Apparently so.”

“I’ll have it changed at once.”

Irritation at his eagerness swept over her. Now it was her turn to cross her arms. “Yes, and when you tell your aunt that you’d like a different room, be sure to tell her the reason. I’m certain she would love to hear how you found out.”

Right at the moment when she was certain that steam was rising from her head, he chuckled.

“Miss Wakefield, this might be the longest fortnight of our lives.”

Of that, she had no doubt.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

“. . .
the perfect morning for a walk,” Aunt Sophie concluded.

The first part of her statement had gone unheard beneath Merribeth’s yawn. However, the last part left Merribeth enough of a clue for the appropriate response. Not only that, but she could identify uncalled-for-cheerfulness when she heard it.

She squinted against the sunlight cresting over the rolling hills to the east. “If it were the perfect morning, I’d still be asleep.” Instead, she’d lain awake most of the night, thinking about Bane and his sudden desire to help her win back Mr. Clairmore. What had prompted him to aid her in something that he must view as trivial? He gave every indication of loathing the institution of marriage. Why had he seemed so adamant—nearly desperate—to ensure hers?

Her aunt cast an entirely too smug grin. “We turned in early last evening.”

Merribeth grumbled.

“I warned you about having more than one cup of coffee last night.”

Coffee.
Her entire body whimpered with longing at the mere mention of the word. “A better warning would have been, ‘My dear niece, I plan to barge into your room before sunrise and pester you until you agree to walk the grounds with me.’”

“And aren’t you glad you indulged your poor, aging aunt? We have seen so much of the lands this morning. Did you know that the ruins of a ninth-century leper hospital are nearby as well? I even heard talk of relics from pagan Danes who once sought refuge here. Can you imagine? I think tomorrow—”

“Absolutely not. Tomorrow, I already have firm plans to avoid the sunrise.”

Sophie frowned and reached up to remove her glasses. Once they walked into the shadows of the tree-lined path, the temperature cooled and fogged her lenses. However, not having perfect vision didn’t prevent her aunt from casting a look of disapproval. “The whole purpose of our attending this party is to enjoy ourselves. I’ve seen what the past few weeks have done to you. The merriment has left your eyes. I want you to have fun and to—”

“Be brave
.
”
If nothing else came of this house party, at least these lessons would cease in less than two weeks.

“Precisely,” Sophie said with a nod. She rubbed her lenses with the corner of her shawl.

“Still, I cannot guarantee my attendance tomorrow morning,” Merribeth said in all seriousness. “I distinctly heard my coverlet and pillow conspiring to hold me captive until luncheon. I fear no amount of bravery will save me.”

Apparently, her aunt’s sense of humor had yet to awaken. “We only have this fortnight. After that . . .”

Merribeth drew in a deep breath, prepared to tell Sophie that she would take her task of regaining Mr. Clairmore’s affections more seriously, but in the same moment, she caught the scent of something delicious on the breeze. “Do you smell coffee?”

She turned, sniffing the air for another whiff.
Yes, coffee!
Up ahead, a host of angels directed a beam of heavenly light to a thatched roof and the long fieldstone structure of the stables. The scent grew stronger. Her mouth watered as her feet propelled her across the dewy lawn. The promise of the dark elixir was close now.

In the stable yard stood an Arabian with a glossy black coat and an exceedingly round belly. The mare nuzzled the nose of skewbald pony with cream-colored markings and which stood at least three hands shorter. Long, fringed lashes swept down as the mare’s eyes closed, as if with pure affection. The pony responded in kind, pressing his muzzle to her neck.

The sight stole Merribeth’s attention for a moment. Then the fragrant breeze hit her again, and her focus returned to her main goal. With a slight shift of her gaze, she spotted the object of her obsession—though whether it was the coffee or the man holding it, she couldn’t be entirely sure.

Sitting on the wide top rail of the fence, with his back against a tall corner post, was none other than Lord Knightswold. In his grasp, he held an earthenware tankard, with a hinged pewter lid propped open over the handle. Ribbons of steam curled upward, and by the rich fragrance drifting toward her, she knew it wasn’t ale he drank this early in the morning but something far more pleasing.

Beside her, Sophie kept pace. “My, what a surprise. He appears quite comfortable there, does he not?”

As he drew the tankard to his lips, she couldn’t help but admire his profile. That easy, languid grace he carried with him was patently evident now. Even though he scarcely moved, there was something in the way he watched the horses that spoke of contentment. She felt as if she were seeing a man perfectly at home in his surroundings.

Yet as she drew closer, she noticed something else that puzzled her. He looked different somehow. There was an unguarded quality to him this morning, here with these horses. She had the strange suspicion that this was the only time she’d witness such an expression. At the thought, an unfamiliar yearning to understand more about him unfurled inside her.

She pressed her fist to her breast, where she felt it stir.

“Are you unwell?” Sophie asked, slowing her steps.

Realizing what she’d done, and disliking that she wasn’t allowed an unguarded moment, she dropped her hand to her side. Keeping her gaze straight ahead, Merribeth said, “I could say ‘perfectly well,’ if you were only now waking me.”

Although he made no observable motion that gave his awareness away, she saw the change in Bane instantly. One moment, he was content to be alone with the horses and the next, he was aware and guarded. It was as if the morning light over the paddock suddenly dimmed and the air around him darkened.

Slowly, he turned his gaze, a carefully crafted smile of greeting in place. Yet when he saw who approached, his smiled altered into the smirk she knew better. Unbidden, a blush warmed her cheeks, even before she had the presence of mind to know what embarrassed her.

“Forgive our trespass on your solitude, Lord Knightswold,” her aunt said. “We were drawn in by the quaint image of these two affectionate friends.”

Merribeth turned with a start, only to realize Sophie was referring to the horses.
But of course she was
. Thankfully, her aunt didn’t notice the look of dismay that must have been on her face.

Bane chuckled. Of course,
he
wouldn’t miss a thing. “There is nothing to forgive, Mrs. Leander. They enjoy the attention.”

Merribeth didn’t have to look at him to know his amusement was directed at her, but she lifted her gaze all the same.

She was right. He was looking at her and rather intently too. Though nothing had happened last night in his bedchamber, she felt changed all the same, as if a bond had been forged between them. They were connected now. He’d vowed to help her in her quest. And without knowing very much about him at all, she knew he was not a man who made promises lightly.