Emily Greenwood (26 page)

James took up his position and fitted an arrow to the bow. She thought that on the one hand she would not mind at all giving Hal a kiss in front of James—the familiar urge to needle him was irresistible, even though she kept reminding herself that as soon as they had a moment together she must tell him firmly the engagement was off. On the other hand, there was nothing she wanted more than to be in James’s arms, though then she would only stir up the agony herself. If James won, she decided, she must be certain the kiss he claimed was cursory, a quick peck on the cheek.

He took up his archer’s stance and focused on the target, his expression serious. His eyes were narrowed with intensity, his angular jaw set in determination. At that moment, the traits that made him successful at whatever he set his mind to accomplish were evident.

But his first shot was a yellow, and she thought,
well
good, that’s for the best
. He was not as good a shot as Hal—she doubted many people were. He made no comment on his first shot but proceeded briskly to shoot three bull’s-eyes in a row.

A small cheer went up from the little crowd, and he turned around after his last shot hit, a delighted grin on his face.

“Well done, James,” Hal said affably if with a trace of disappointment, “you’ve done me out of a kiss to which I was looking very much forward.”

“Perhaps you would like a bookmark as a second place prize?” asked Mr. Pringle, finally understanding the alternate prize that was going to be awarded. “I doubt anyone else today could shoot as well as the pair of you.”

Hal graciously, if with a deeply wry look, accepted a needlepointed strip decorated with a flower and a tassel. James, meanwhile, had come to stand before Felicity. “And now for my reward,” he began.

“James!” she yelped as he reached for her arm. She stiffened as he touched her, but he drew her closer. She started to wriggle away, desperate to keep a safe distance from him. Meanwhile the crowd was enjoying the scene, laughing and shouting encouragement to him to claim his prize. Everyone, it seemed, knew of their engagement and wanted a romantic ending to the contest.

He leaned close to her ear and whispered softly, “None of that wiggling away, Lis. You’ve already escaped me once. And I must have my prize.”

“But—” she began, but could say no more because he was tugging her away from the group near the archery table, toward a stand of apple trees a few dozen feet away. In a moment her back was pressed against a mature tree, the crowd was behind her and out of sight, and James was before her, a palm pressed against the trunk on either side of her head.

“James, stop this. I won’t be your prisoner here. You may kiss my cheek, and that will be the end of it. I can see that you must not have gotten my letter. We have to talk.”

“I got the letter,” he said. “Now, my dear Miss Wilcox,” he leaned close and looked intently into her eyes, “I must beg you to be quiet while I unburden my soul.”

He touched her face gently with one palm, rubbing her skin tenderly before returning his palm to the tree trunk. What did he mean, “unburden my soul”? She stared at him, her heart turning over in her chest, his nearness having its predictable intoxicating effect.

He shook his head ruefully. “Do you know, after you deserted me, and I had day upon day with no Felicity to cheer me, I began to wish passionately that Lovely Annabelle would come to me at night? God, how I’ve missed you.”

He leaned over and pressed his cheek against hers, the faint roughness of his shaved whiskers sending prickles through her body, stirring her desire. Just as he had always been able to do.

“No!” she said, putting her hands against his chest, a barrier between herself and his beguiling ways, and pushing him back. He allowed her. “My note released you from our engagement. You needn’t have come here. I’m going to announce the end of our betrothal today.”

“Of course I can’t stop you from doing that, but I hope with all my heart that you will not.” He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled once, deeply, as if steeling himself. Then he opened his eyes and regarded her straight from those dark brown eyes she had come to love.

“I love you, Felicity,” he said, “utterly and madly.”

Her heart tripped at his words. Words she’d so longed to hear. But she forced herself to remain impassive. He was only saying what he thought she wanted to hear. He was so good at arranging things the way he wanted them, and apparently he’d decided he wanted to be betrothed to her. So his words were nothing more than a way to get what he wanted.

When she said nothing, he continued. “I have been pigheaded.”

That she could not resist.

“Yes, you have!” she said, her voice sharp and full of remembered hurt. “You’ve done whatever you wanted, entirely uncaring of who might be hurt in the process. You sold my home because you didn’t want to lose yours. And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me until the deed was done.”

“Yes,” he said soberly, his mouth grim. “To all of it. I was incredibly selfish, and it shames me to think of it.”

She blinked. Was he truly admitting—truly understanding—that he’d done wrong? Could she trust that he was sincere? And yet, he had dealt honestly with her in every other way. At Granton, before she left, he could have lied and said he loved her, but he had not. He was watching her now with a vulnerability that she’d never before seen in his eyes.

“But you’re wrong that I was uncaring, Felicity. I just hadn’t planned on love. I thought I knew what I wanted: to save Granton and restore the Collington name my brother had tarnished. I knew the steps that were required to do it. But then I met you and began to care for you. And I realized too late that what I wanted and needed might be changing.”

She crossed her arms and turned her head, looking resolutely away from him. “You betrayed me.”

James knew he’d hurt her deeply. But was it too late to win her back, had he done too much damage? He closed his eyes, his heart beating a million times a minute, and said, “I know, and I’m so, so sorry. Can you forgive me? I want nothing more than to marry you and love you every day of our lives.”

She looked at him now, her arms crossed, her jaw set. His Lis. Oh, how he wanted her to be.

“James, you’re not thinking clearly. I’d make a terrible MP’s wife,” she said. “I didn’t even mind that much dressing in clothes from the last century. My family is practically penniless, and my uncle was a grand and public fool. We’re very poor on appearances, and what may be worse, we don’t really care.”

Urgency pressed him. Everything was at stake. “But I don’t care about appearances either, I’ve discovered. I don’t want to be an MP, and now I can admit that I never really did. I don’t care anymore whether people think the Collingtons are corrupt or worthless or idiots.”

“How can that be true? You had such plans.”

“Never mind about plans! They won’t mean anything, I’ve come to see, unless I have your respect.”

He reached forward and took her hand, not wanting to think how fully she might crush all his hopes—and his heart. “And what I want more than anything, dearest Felicity, is your love.”

She looked at him for what seemed like the longest time, her hand unmoving in his, and he thought that he’d failed, that he was not going to be able to make her believe in a future for them. It was no more than he deserved.

But then the corners of her mouth started to wobble. “James,” she said in a voice husky with emotion. Her small hand squeezed his and his heart turned over. “All right. I do love you.”

Dear God, the release. The instant bliss.

“Then I am the luckiest man in the world!” He pulled her into his arms, both of them smiling like fools. He kissed her deeply, passionately. Her slim arms hugged him to her as she kissed him back, and their love met in the touch of their skin and in the joining of their souls.

They had been kissing and embracing for some time when they became aware again of the world around them through the sound of a voice calling for Felicity. Coming apart and laughing, they ventured out from behind the trees. Fortunately, the crowd had long since dispersed. Miranda, who had come with James, had apparently caught sight of them emerging from the sanctuary of the trees, and was coming toward them from the archery table, smiling; it was her voice they had heard.

Seeing her approaching, James stopped for a moment, so Felicity did too, her face quizzical as she turned to look at him. He was grinning, and he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded paper, which he handed to her with a bow. She opened it.

It was a special license for them to be married.

She looked up at him, her face tipped at a questioning angle, a surprised smile playing about her beautiful lips.

“Darling Felicity,” James said, “What do you say to getting married today? We already have an orchard full of wedding guests. And I, for one, don’t want to wait another day.”

She laughed, her eyes brimming with happiness. “Oh, yes! Oh, James, what a wonderful idea.”

The surprise news that James and Felicity would celebrate their marriage at the midsummer fete was greeted by their guests with cheers and delight. Aunt Miranda gave a shout of glee that could be heard above everyone else, and Mr. Wilcox didn’t stop grinning from the moment he heard the news.

He pulled his daughter into an enormous hug. “Oh, my child, I am so happy for you. And not merely because he is a man any father would be proud to have for a son-in-law, but above all because it is so obvious that you two love one another.”

“Oh,” said Aunt Miranda, her voice growing thick with emotion, “I’ve cherished such a secret hope that this would come to pass.”

James laughed. “Well, perhaps not so secret. I gathered at Granton that you thought I’d be a fool if I let her get away. And right you were, too,” he said, slipping his arm around Felicity’s waist.

“Where is our vicar then?” Mr. Wilcox said, looking around. “His services are needed.”

Everyone laughed good-naturedly except for Felicity, who suddenly realized the awkwardness of this otherwise festive occasion. But perhaps Crispin wouldn’t feel the awkwardness, because he didn’t seem to be present. She was grateful he would be spared this.

“He must have left,” she said. “But that is no matter. We can make plans for our wedding to be held soon, perhaps at a harvest fete.”

“What?” said James. “I can’t wait until the harvest to marry you.”

She felt stricken by the one blot on her happiness. Speaking low so only he could hear, she said, “It’s just that—”

But Crispin called out then, making for the front of the crowd, to where Felicity and James stood. “I am here. I will gladly perform the ceremony.”

“Oh, Crispin,” she said, embracing him. “That is so kind of you.”

“Yes,” he said low but with a hint of dryness that cheered her, “it is.”

“Oh thank you, my friend,” she replied low near his ear. “What a very, very good man you are.”

He gave her a brotherly squeeze before they stepped apart.

James looked quizzical, but Crispin merely said, loud enough for all to hear, “If the bride and groom will join me on the dancing platform, we can start the ceremony.”

And so Felicity and James stood on the decorated dancing platform before their guests, and were married by a somewhat sober but still warm Reverend Mr. Markham. Mr. Wilcox and Aunt Miranda stood together nearby on the platform as well, beaming with pleasure. When James and Felicity kissed at the end of the ceremony, a rousing cheer went up.

Nanny Rollins was heard to remark to Lady Pincheon-Smythe that she always knew Miss Felicity would make a fine match, and Lady Pincheon-Smythe graciously said that she could not have wished better for Caroline’s daughter.

The picnic celebration turned into the perfect wedding luncheon, and many of the guests remarked that it couldn’t have been better than if the wedding had been the original plan. And when, after the ceremony, Mr. Wilcox and Aunt Miranda quietly revealed to James and Felicity that they had become engaged, the newly married couple felt that their happiness could not have been more complete.

***

Late that night in Tethering Hall, after all the guests had gone, James pulled his cravat loose as he walked up Tethering’s familiar battered stairs. He shook his head regretfully; he was really going to miss the old place. But tonight was not for regrets but new beginnings. He had sent his bride upstairs ahead of him while he saw to a few details with an exhausted Fulton. And now he wanted nothing more than to claim her.

All day long as they’d celebrated with their guests, the sight of her had brought him joy. He didn’t deserve such a good woman, but he knew he would strive every day to be worthy of her love.

James appeared in the doorway of the candlelit master bedroom, and Felicity’s heart turned over with unspeakable happiness. He was her husband, this tousled, gorgeous gentleman in his white shirtsleeves and slim-fitting pants, this beloved, good man who stood watching her where she stood by the window.

Her heart beat faster as they gazed at each other hungrily for long moments, until he came in and closed the door quietly behind him, going over to stand near the bed.

“Come here, Mrs. Collington, and let me take down your hair.”

She laughed softly in the quiet house, delight spilling over like a fountain inside her, and went to sit next to him on the side of the bed. His deft fingers began to work her hair, gently sliding out the pins that held it, even their motion against her scalp making her shiver with anticipation. When all the hair was loose, he gathered it in his hands and buried his face in it.

“Ah,” he said, lingering there and sighing as with deep satisfaction. Finally he leaned away and adjusted her hair to fall toward her front. He climbed onto the bed and settled himself behind her, pulling her against his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder.

“So, sweet Lis, where do you fancy to live?”

She turned her head, leaning away a bit to look at him. “What do you mean, James? Won’t we live at Granton Hall?”

“Well, that’s just it. I didn’t know whether you would believe in me when I came to you today, whether you would have me after my abysmal behavior toward you. So I planned a grand gesture to convince you. Only, sweet forgiving woman that you are, I didn’t have to say anything.”

“Say anything about what?” She looked suspicious. “Darling, what have you done?”

“I’ve written to Farnsworth to say the funds won’t be available after all, as we had arranged. I acknowledged the forfeiture of Granton and wished him well with it.”

Her eyes widened. “What! You’re going to lose Granton Hall?”

“No, I won’t lose it,” he said, his face relaxed and as content as she’d ever seen him. “I’ve chosen not to take it.”

“But, James, it’s your family home!”

He chuckled, a little sadly. “And you, sweet girl, thanks to me, know all about losing your family home. In part I wanted to make it up to you, what I’d done to Tethering.”

She was crestfallen, and he held up his hand for her to hear him out. “I also realized that it had so much to do with my past, with what my family was. But now there’s no one left except me, and Miranda, who doesn’t give a fig where she lives as long as she can garden. And I realized, when you left me all alone to wallow in my thoughts, that a home is nothing without the woman I love. Wherever we go together, we shall make our own bliss.”

“James.” She blinked. How had things come to this? They had both set out to save their homes and ended up without either of them. “I am astonished. And moved, deeply moved. Are you certain you won’t regret this? Maybe it’s not too late. I wouldn’t want for you to lose your family home.”

He laughed, and again she was struck with how peaceful he looked, as if the spring that wound him had loosened its coils. At least a bit.

“No, no, it is fine. It was a good business decision, anyway. You see, I don’t think anyone has done much about maintaining the house these past years—clearly Charles didn’t when he was in charge—and there’s a significant amount of water that may have been sitting in the cellars for a while, the kind of problem that could drain away a lot of money. And I can’t say I’m not happy it won’t be my money.”

He grinned, all white teeth and boyish charm, and rested his scratchy cheek against her bare shoulder. “And anyway, we do have the Bodega Alborada, and thanks to Tethering,” he said ruefully, “almost ten thousand pounds. Spain is beautiful, and we could have quite a wonderful orchard there…”

She laughed, and tears of joy gathered in the corners of her eyes. “You know, James, I think I would very much like to see Spain.”

“And when you are tired of it, my sweet, perhaps we shall take some of our nice money and buy a home of our own somewhere in England.”

“That sounds like a wonderful plan.”

They were free as larks. Would she ever have dreamed that such a future would appeal to her so much, a future with no Tethering? “And I know all too well that you are very good at planning.”

With a playful growl he pinched her bottom and she squealed.

“Ah, sweet girl,” he said, his voice a deep rumble now coming from behind her as he fiddled with the buttons on her gown, “seeing you happy has a funny effect on me. Something inside me lets go, and I want to do this to you.” He pressed his warm lips to the sensitive spot where her neck met her bare shoulder, the stubble of his whiskers making her shiver deliciously.

“And this,” he continued, kissing downward toward the skin he had just uncovered. His breathing was becoming ragged, and it thrilled her.

“And this,” he murmured. His hands came from behind her, sensuously conformed to her ribs, and slid along them before coming to rest, possessively, one on each breast. She shivered with pleasure, a jolt connecting from where his warm hands touched her breasts down to the deepest part of her. He gasped, leaned his head against her neck, nuzzling her.

She was sliding into a delicious haze of desire. But tugging equally at her consciousness was fatigue. It had been an incredibly long day. She couldn’t help herself then; she yawned uncontrollably.

Her hand flew to cover her mouth. She didn’t want to be tired now, not tonight.

Feeling her movements, he raised his head and sighed, his arms coming all the way across her chest to hug her close to him. The feel of his muscular chest, strong and warm against her back, was heaven.

“Tired are you, sweet bride of mine?” he asked in a gentle voice. “Did you get anything at all to eat at the celebration, I wonder?”

Thinking back over the day, she realized it was true; she had been so busy that she had had no more than a cup of punch and a nibble of cake over the course of the day.

He gently separated from her and stood up. “Right then, sweet. Wait here and I’ll go fetch something for you.”

And before she could utter a word he disappeared out the doorway and down the dark hall.

He appeared a few minutes later, a tray balanced on one hand while he held a candle with the other. He brought the food over and set it on the bed, arranged the pillows against the headboard, and swept her an exaggeratedly servile bow as he indicated she was to sit and eat.

She laughed and climbed up to the head of the bed. He sat next to her and they fell upon the food. He had brought leftovers from the day: some cold chicken, some wine, and apple tarts with thick cream. Until she looked at the food, she had not realized how ravenous she was. All was quiet for several minutes as they ate companionably next to each other.

“Do you eat in bed often?” she asked after finishing her chicken. She could feel the wine they were drinking coursing through her, making her a bit giddy.

He flicked her a glance from the corner of his eye. “Have you never eaten in bed before, then?”

“Just when I was sick. And when I was upset at Granton, and I decided I didn’t care if I left crumbs in the bed.”

An elegant black eyebrow lifted roguishly. “Stick with me, and I will introduce you to the heights of decadence. From eating in bed, it’s just a small step to sharing a bath together.”

Her eyes widened at this idea that sounded wickedly delightful.

He laughed and picked up one of the small plates holding the tarts, which he offered to her before taking one for himself.

Finally the little meal was entirely consumed. “Ah, Cook is very good,” Felicity said, settling back against the pillow behind her when all was gone. He had tidied up the tray himself, shooing away her hands when she would have helped. It was going to be good to have such a useful man around.

“Well, you recommended her, my dear,” he said as he turned toward her, having deposited the tray on the nightstand. He propped himself up on his elbow, all confident maleness.

She laughed ruefully, remembering how she had wanted him to suffer at Cook’s hands. “I did rather torment you, didn’t I?” she said.

He reached out and put his finger under her chin and tipped her face up to look at him. “You haunted me in more ways than one.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb and chuckled softly, a very masculine sound. “And now that I have my very own ghost all alone in my room at night,” he said, moving closer so that she could feel his breath against her lips, “she is definitely too much temptation for a poor, honest gentleman.”

“Mmm, I hear you’re not so poor anymore,” she said, drunk with love for him.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss against her cheek. Glancing down at her exquisite bosom, on which he was about to lavish all his attention, he said, “What’s this?”

She glanced down too, leaning around his head. A wayward flake of pastry was resting on the bare, upward swell of her breast. With a groan he leaned over and pressed his tongue against the pastry, and she moaned a little as his moist flesh came against her skin.

“What if I?” she said, pushing him so that he fell over against the bed. She climbed on top of him then and gazed down at him with a look of eagerness that shot a bolt of desire to his groin.

She tossed her laugh back, looking as triumphant as a queen. His queen, who instructed, “Off with your clothes,” and never was an order more eagerly obeyed.