Once Upon a Wedding Night Page 17

“Not every woman here has your charms.” He released the curl, the back of his fingers brushing the swell of one breast as he withdrew.

  Heat flooded Meredith’s cheeks at the innocuous contact, certainly unintentional on his part. Surely only she found it hard to keep her hands to herself. He had made his distaste for her clear. Her gaze darted around, needing to look elsewhere. Anywhere save his face. Unfortunately, her scan of the empty garden only made her more conscious of her surroundings and how very alone they were. The last time alone with him—Her breath caught, and she veered her mind from that titillating memory.

  She bit the corner of her bottom lip. “And my conduct? Have you no complaints on that score?”

  “Do you need my approval, Meredith?” he asked in all mildness, but the question seemed loaded with danger. “You never seemed to want it before.”

  “Of course not. I was merely curious.” She shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself. Because she was cold. Not because he made her tremble.

  “Then to satisfy your curiosity I’ll tell you that your conduct does not meet with my approval.” His voice rang with unmistakable censure.

  Her gaze cut to his face and she dropped her hands to her hips. “I have behaved appropriately,” she insisted.

  “For a common flirt. Not a respectable widow only just out of mourning.”

  Meredith sucked a deep breath into her lungs, shaking her head vehemently. “That is untrue. I shouldn’t have bothered asking. Your opinion means nothing to me.”

  She spun around to flee, only he grabbed her arm and forced her to face him.

  “You asked, so you will listen. You’re moving fast with young Havernautt. Have you already settled on him?”

  The sneer in his voice baffled her. She glared from his face to his hand on her arm and back again. Why should he care whose company she kept as long as she found someone to wed?

  “We’ve only just met. It’s much too soon to decide anything.”

  “Then I advise against cozying up to him. The man you eventually marry won’t like that you conducted yourself like a hussy with other gentlemen.”

  “I’m not a hussy,” Meredith hissed. “And what business is it of yours how I act as long as I simply catch a husband? That was your edict, correct? You said nothing about how I was to behave. Or are you throwing down new rules? If the gentlemen I consider for matrimony need your approval, this is the first I heard of it.”

  Nick’s voice dropped to a gravelly pitch that raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. “You held his hand in clear sight of everyone and danced three times with him. I was not the only one who noted such forwardness, rest assured. The ton feeds on gossip. Do you want your reputation in shreds before the Season officially opens? You’ll not gain a proposal that way…at least not the type of proposal you’re angling for.”

  Fury flamed her cheeks, scorching her face all the way to her hairline. She found it incredible that he—a veritable social pariah—lectured her on proper behavior when he thrived on offending the sensibilities of others. Then she squashed aside the niggle of doubt his attack on her conduct roused. His opinion lacked all credibility. Why, this very night he had flirted outrageously with a married woman, with no thought to propriety.

  “I doubt I earned a great deal of attention. Not while you and the baroness monopolized everyone’s attention. Tomorrow everyone will be talking about Lord Brookshire, the rake with a penchant for married ladies.”

  “We’re discussing your conduct,” he replied flatly. “My concern lies with you.”

  “I don’t know why. You’re not my father,” Meredith snapped, fiercely resenting that he presumed to wield power over her as if he were.

  “I bloody well know that,” he bit out, his fingers digging into her arm. “But if you would quit being so stubborn, you might hear what I’m saying. Or don’t you care what kind of reputation you establish in Town? Perhaps you weren’t serious about remarrying. Perhaps you’re lying to me. Again.”

  With a choked breath she reared back, but his hold on her arm kept her close. “Of course I’m not lying. Do you think I wish to be under your thumb all the rest of my days to endure this constant meddling in my life?”

  He pulled her closer, and she was instantly, achingly aware of his hard chest pressed against her breasts.

  “A gentleman wants a wife above reproach. Whom he toys with is not the one he weds. Even if he wants to, his family would discourage him.” Nick pointed toward the house. “And something tells me that boy’s family would influence his selection of a bride.”

  No argument there. Lord Havernautt was clearly tied to his mama’s skirts, yet she would perish before admitting such a thing. “Lord Havernautt was not toying with me. He is a gentleman.”

  “Yes. He did appear quite the doting puppy.” Nick’s fingers flexed on her arm, the calluses rasping her skin. Sparks of sensation shot up her arm as he pulled her closer yet. “Is that the kind of man you want? A boy that you can lead by the nose?”

  “You speak as though I have decided upon him. I have only met him. What exactly is your complaint, my lord? My behavior? Or Lord Havernautt’s interest in me?”

  Meredith lifted her chin defiantly and pulled back her shoulders as far as his hold on her would allow. The more she thought about it, the more possible it seemed. Her heart lifted, expanded in her chest, inexplicably pleased. A slow grin spread across her face. Nick was jealous. She lifted an eyebrow questioningly, awaiting his response.

  Nick stared down at her in lengthening silence. His hands still gripped her shoulders. She tapped lightly on his chest and shocked herself by taunting, “This whole marriage matter was your plan, remember? So you best get accustomed to seeing me with other men.”

  “If you’re implying that seeing you with other men troubles me, you’re sadly mistaken,” he said in an exasperatingly level voice. She wanted to hear the emotion vibrate in his voice. She needed to confirm that he felt something, anything, for her. That she was not totally, pathetically astray in accusing him of jealousy. She could not be that big a fool.

  Desperation burned to life inside her. Very deliberately she grazed her breasts against his chest in what she hoped to be an innocent gesture—but it was a thin hope given her complete lack of expertise with matters of enticement.

  Releasing her shoulders, he grabbed her face in both hands and covered her mouth with his. Satisfaction bubbled up inside her. His kiss was deep and drugging, leaving her so weak in the knees she leaned her entire length against him for support. If not for his hands on her face, she would have collapsed to the ground.

  He tore his lips away. She moaned in protest as her eyes fluttered open. His eyes gleamed down at her with dark emotion. She tingled beneath his intense regard. The feel of his callused palms on her cheeks left her giddy.

  “Hussy,” he hissed before smothering her lips in yet another kiss.

  Exhilaration swelled inside her. A hussy? Yes. With him she lacked all virtue and became another woman entirely.

  He broke away again to mutter, “Remember I already explained that two people don’t have to like each other to experience lust.” His eyes scanned her face. Even in the darkness she could see the bright flame dancing in their depths, seeming to invalidate his words. The intensity of his expression confirmed that he still wanted her to believe he did not like her.

  She forced a serious tone. “A fascinating lesson, to be sure. Perhaps you could instruct me more on these fine points of lust? I’m sure any further instruction would be vastly helpful in hunting for a husband.”

  She heard his breath catch and watched, riveted, at the sudden ticking in his jaw.

  “If you do this with anyone before the actual wedding, I’ll throttle you…after I shoot him.”

  He dragged her back and reclaimed her lips. Her hands knotted the fabric of his jacket, wrinkling it beyond repair. And all the while she prayed that this time he wouldn’t stop. She kissed him back, matching his fervor, mimicking the thrusts o
f his tongue. His hands lowered from her face, skimming her back, digging through the soft fabric of her skirts to seize her hips and haul her against him. Her eyes flew wide at the insistent bulge prodding her abdomen. She gasped against his mouth, knowing it signified his desire for her. His need. A need that matched her own.

  Ripples of heat washed over her and she wound her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoes and lifting herself higher to fit him more intimately against her. A rush of moisture gathered between her thighs and a moan escaped from deep in her throat as she ground herself against his erection, seeking to alleviate the unbearable ache.

  He groaned in response, deepening their kiss.

  A woman’s shrill laughter floated on the air, a sudden reminder that others roamed nearby. Apparently all the reminder Nick needed. He set her from him with a sudden jerk. She stumbled, her arms flailing about as she caught her balance. She ached, frustrated, only pride stopping her from begging for more.

  He glanced about, his chest lifting with labored breaths. His eyes settled on her, bright and gleaming in the shadowed garden. “Lesson two: never allow a man to get you alone. His only purpose is to take advantage of you.”

  “I see,” she said tightly, trying to still the wild thudding of her heart. “Thank you for the advice. Next time I will better choose who accompanies me into a garden.” Gathering her skirts, she attempted to walk past him, but he blocked her path. She lifted her chin to glare at him. “Let me pass.”

  “So you can find Havernautt to finish what I wouldn’t?”

  Meredith shook her head and threw up her hands in exasperation. “What is it you want from me? To personally select every gentleman I keep company with?”

  “I’ve made my desires clear. I simply want you to behave yourself.”

  She jabbed him in the chest. “Like I just did with you?”

  “A mistake,” he admitted, nodding grimly. “You have the knack for pricking my temper.”

  “What does rousing one’s temper have to do with kissing?”

  He crossed his arms over his impressive chest. “Lesson three: provoking a man’s temper often provokes his physical passions.”

  “Interesting,” Meredith murmured, only too well understanding his meaning. Attraction had nothing to do with kissing her. Her pride suffered a blow for that. She suddenly doubted her earlier assumption that he desired her. After all, what did she know of matters between men and women? She had been unable to tempt her husband into consummating their marriage. Why should she think herself able to tempt Nick?

  “There seem to be countless ways to attract someone who might normally find you repellent,” Meredith said hollowly.

  “True,” he agreed, his easy agreement further wounding her. “Now, back to the issue at hand. Do I have your promise to behave? Contrary to your implications, I have no qualms in watching other men court you. In fact, I greatly anticipate seeing you wed. I will heave a great sigh of relief on that day. But in the meantime, I would hope you conduct yourself with proper modesty.”

  “I can’t promise that I’ll conduct myself to meet your approval, and I won’t explain my actions to you on every occasion. If you disapprove of my behavior and have qualms about the gentlemen I entertain, then perhaps you should keep your distance.”

  Nick sighed and looked out at the shadowed garden. After a long moment he nodded and startled her by saying, “Very well. Perhaps that is best. I’ll let you go about your husband hunt your own way.”

  Disappointment rushed over her. She had not expected such willing agreement. Did that mean she would not see him anymore? The possibility gave her a pang of regret.

  “I’ll stay away. Just see that you’ve found yourself a groom by the end of the Season.” He nodded, as though quite decided. “Yes, that way you’ll be sure not to prick my temper, and we will not have any more of these unfortunate lessons.”

  Unfortunate. Is that really how he viewed kissing her? Meredith swallowed past the knot in her throat. “Have no worry. I’ll find a husband.” An unexciting, peaceful man. Someone safe. Someone totally unlike Nick.

  An awkward silence hung between them before he suggested, “You best get back before you’re missed.”

  “What of you?”

  He waved a hand aimlessly. “Oh, I’ll find my way out through the gardens.” He craned his head as though searching for a hidden gate.

  “Shouldn’t you make your farewells? It is bad form to just sneak off.”

  His expression turned indulgent. “Ah, Meredith, always expecting me to conform. Do you really think I care? Before tonight most of these people never knew I existed. My absence will hardly be noted.”

  But they all knew now. Every woman inside would mourn his disappearance. By tomorrow his name would be on the tongue of every matchmaking mama and papa. Handsome, titled, rich: an irresistible catch. At least with his departure she could stop making a fool of herself over a man who viewed her as an irksome rash—something he would rather ignore but felt compelled to carefully mind.

  His tall figure merged into the darkness until she could no longer make out his shape. The clang of a gate soon sounded, echoing in her heart. She lingered a few moments, trying to rid her mind of him before heading back inside, to the string of dance partners Lady Derring doubtlessly had waiting for her.

  A visit to a lending library had seemed a splendid idea. Certainly it would be an excellent reprieve from the endless shopping trips Lady Derring dragged her on throughout Town. How many reticules and gloves could one woman need? Meredith refused to accept that a lady must possess one for every gown.

  The escape from yet another excursion to Bond Street—and Lady Derring’s constant harpings—presented itself in the form of Lord Havernautt. Since Lady Derring’s party, he never strayed far. If on any given day he did not appear, a bouquet of hothouse roses arrived in his stead. Slowly but surely, she had put the unsuspecting gentleman to the test. So far he seemed to satisfy all her criteria. Her feelings for him, though kindly disposed, did not run to love or even remotely close to the blood-singing attraction she felt for one particular man. From all appearances, and with Lady Derring’s assurances, Lord Havernautt was quite well set and would have no problem maintaining her and her family, should he be inclined to make an offer. As to the matter of his willingness to father children, he had made a few casual remarks that led her to conclude he desired offspring. All things considered, it appeared to Meredith that she had found her man.

  “I do believe he is quite taken with you, Meredith,” Lady Derring had announced upon the arrival of the third bouquet, glowing with such satisfaction one would think she had accomplished some great personal feat. Yet her triumph was only momentary.

  Remembering her primary charge, she had soon shifted her attention to Portia and subjected her to a withering glare. “If only getting you wed would prove as easy.” As always, that complaint inevitably led to the next. “Where has Brookshire got off to lately? Incredibly rude of the man not to accept any of my invitations.”

  Had she been so disposed, Meredith could have informed Her Grace that Nick was not likely to appear at any more of this Season’s functions. For all that he vexed her, longing ripped through her. She could not deny that she craved the sight of him, that she missed the taste of his mouth on hers. It had been a fortnight since their last encounter, and she suspected he meant to keep his promise and stay away. Only she could not forget him, spent far too much of her time daydreaming over him. Meredith pressed the backs of her fingers against her heated cheeks, well imagining the twin spots of pink staining her face as she stood amid aisles of books, fantasizing about the very man whose sole goal was to get rid of her.

  “There is a charming café next door.” Lord Havernautt’s voice intruded on her wonderings. “Would you care to stop in for tea? If it’s no longer drizzling we may sit beneath the portico and watch passersby for anyone we know.” She dropped her hands from her face and smiled brightly, perhaps too brightly—anything to distr
act her from her guilty thoughts. With a willing nod, she placed the book she had blindly been thumbing back on the shelf.

  “Yes, let’s find Portia.”

  In their search for the young lady, Meredith came face-to-face with Adam Tremble.

  “Lady Brookshire.” His hand fluttered to his throat, mirroring her surprise. Those knowing eyes of his raked her elegant day dress of dark green muslin, staring overlong at her middle, taking in the absence of a protruding belly. He fingered his yellow and peach cravat, and she blinked, momentarily distracted by the striped pattern.

  “Mr. Tremble,” she greeted, acutely conscious of Lord Havernautt hovering close at her side, waiting for an introduction. She stifled a sigh and forged ahead with the unavoidable. “Lord Havernautt, this is Mr. Tremble, a dear friend of my late husband’s.”

  “A pleasure, sir.” Lord Havernautt inclined his head.

  “Indeed.” Mr. Tremble’s lips flattened into a thin line. “You appear in fine form, my lady, though the last time we met you were in a decidedly delicate way.” He let the statement hang between them, lifting a brow, clearly awaiting an explanation.

  Meredith had hoped her lie would not follow her to London. Foolish perhaps, but other than Lady Derring, no one appeared to know of her alleged pregnancy. Now here stood Adam Tremble, armed with the knowledge of her lie, once again proving a nuisance.

  Biting her bottom lip, she glanced at Lord Havernautt’s face. Only curious surprise there. Well, she supposed it premature for him to make any judgments from what little Tremble had revealed. Satisfied that he did not appear dismayed, she turned to address Tremble and award him the information he clearly sought. He was either ignorant of the fact that such subjects were not discussed among mixed company or chose to disregard etiquette in the hopes of discrediting her before her companion. From the haughty flare of his nostrils, Meredith suspected the latter. “Unfortunately I am no longer enceinte.”

  Tremble’s lips twitched as though tempted to smile. “A truly dreadful loss.” He spoke the proper words. Only her ears detected the gratification in his dulcet tones.