My Fair Princess (33 page)

Mamma gave Gillian a brief, fierce hug, then followed the countess from the room. Suddenly, Gillian was left to face the wrath of Perfect Penley on her own.

“Cowards,” she couldn't help muttering under her breath.

“What was that, my dear?” Charles said in a low voice that sounded rather like a purr. He stalked her like a big cat, all golden and ruffled, crowding her against an inconveniently placed bookshelf. She let her gaze roam about the room, looking for the best avenue of escape.

“Don't even think about it,” Charles said. He braced one hand beside her shoulder, caging her in.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” she replied in a lofty tone. She simply refused to be intimidated—or seduced—by his ducal magnificence.

But when he loomed over her like that, his tempting mouth moving ever closer, her resolve started to waver.

She sniffed the air. “What is that awful smell?”

With an exasperated sigh, he straightened and cautiously sniffed his sleeve. “Me, unfortunately. It certainly isn't you.”

“Yes, I smell like good, clean dirt. You, however . . .”

“The jewels apparently weren't the only things in that fireplace. I believe birds were in residence as well.”

“Ah, that explains it. Well, then,” she said in a brisk tone, “you'll be wanting a bath and a change immediately. I know how particular you are about your clothes.”

“I don't give a damn about my clothes. And you're not going anywhere, smell or no smell. We're going to talk this out, and we're going to do it now.”

She couldn't help chewing on her bottom lip. There was no trace of humor in his expression.

She braced herself for the worst. “Very well. What do you wish to say to me, sir?”

“I wish to say that I'm done with this, Gillian.”

“Could you be a trifle more specific?”

He waved a sweeping arm that seemed to take in the whole library. Gillian felt certain, however, that his irritation did not stem from philological concerns.

“I'm done with this mad dance you've led us on, and the danger and the risk you tumble into,” he said. “I won't have it anymore, do you hear me? It ends now.”

Gillian swore her heart shriveled several sizes in an instant, but she'd be damned if she let him see how much he was killing her. And while it was true that she was more than willing to modify her behavior for his sake, she couldn't change her essence or what she believed in. Not even for him.

“I understand perfectly, sir,” she said, forcing a calm smile. “And of course I release you from your promise to me. That goes without saying.”

He shook his head in disgust. “You clearly don't understand a bloody thing, you goose.”

Gillian's temper flared. “There is no need for name-calling, you brute. And if that's the way you're going to act—”

He hauled her up onto her toes and into a crushing embrace, smothering her protests with a kiss that sent fire through her veins. He devoured her mouth with such passion that Gillian could do little more than feebly clutch his shoulders.

Escape, naturally, was impossible.

Finally, he let her breathe, and Gillian tried to force her brain into some working order. “So I take it you're not breaking our engagement?”

“Why would I do that?” His gaze smoldered with an unspent passion that put ideas into her head—ones that contained large copper baths, two naked bodies, and a great deal of slippery soap.

“Because I'm always getting into trouble?”

He gently grasped her chin, making her look straight into his eyes. “The only trouble you will get into from now on will be with me—in our bedroom.”

“That sounds nice,” she said, patting his shoulders. “But it's not as if I go looking for trouble, not really.”

“Trouble is your middle name. Trouble follows you like a puppy follows its mother. Trouble moves right in and—”

“All right, I take your point,” she said with a scowl. “One would think you didn't realize that I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “How selfish of me to object to allowing the woman I love to deliberately put herself in harm's way.”

“You love me?” Her voice came out in a squeak.

“I'm as astounded by that development as you are.”

She pinched his arm. “I'm serious, Charles.”

“I am, too.” His expression was both tender and amused. “Listen, my darling, because I mean every word. I know that I'm a terribly boring, overly correct person who isn't nearly dashing enough for a magnificent creature like you. Nonetheless, I cannot give you up. I thought my life before you was nearly perfect. I controlled everything and everyone around me, and I had everything I wanted. At least I thought I did, until you blasted into my life and turned the world upside-down.”

“That doesn't sound very pleasant. Are you quite sure you love me?”

“You have disconcerted me on more than one occasion, I will admit. But it's good for me to be knocked off my pedestal. Elizabeth would certainly agree with that, and I suspect my mother and my older sister will as well.”

“And you're sure you love me?” Gillian asked again. It seemed impossible—glorious, but still impossible—and she needed to hear it again.

He cupped her chin. “I love you, Gillian Dryden, and I promise to love you for the rest of my life. I can pull out the old family Bible and swear on it, if you like.”

She found herself actually blinking back tears. “That won't be necessary,” she whispered. “I know you to be a man of your word.”

“Good.” He slipped his hands down, settling them lightly at her waist. “Now, I have a question for you.”

She found it a tad difficult to speak, so she simply gave him a nod of encouragement.

“Do you love me?” he asked, deadly serious.

“Good God, you mean you can't tell?”

“I'm a rather unimaginative fellow, if you haven't noticed. I would never assume that a glorious creature such as yourself would deign to love me.”

“Idiot. Of course I love you. I never would have let you do all those scandalous things to me if I didn't.”

“Naturally, I am very relieved to hear that.”

Gillian couldn't quite believe it, but he did look relieved, as if he'd been expecting a different answer. She gently rested her palms on his cheeks. “Charles Valentine Penley, I love you with all my heart. I have for some time. I simply found it impossible to believe that you could ever love me.”

“It would appear that we were both laboring under hideous misapprehensions.”

“Well, as for me, it is rather hard to believe that Perfect Penley would fall in love with such a hoyden.”

“Then it's time to disabuse you of that notion once and for all.” With that, he swept her up into his arms and headed for the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked with a startled laugh.

“I'm taking you upstairs, where I'm going to make mad, passionate love to you. When I'm through, there will be no doubt in your mind as to my feelings for you.”

“You'll do no such thing,” she said, scandalized. “My mother is sleeping right down the hall.”

He juggled her a bit when he opened the door to the hall. “I promise I'll be quiet.”

“It's not you I'm worried about. Besides, I'm a wreck, and I'm covered in dirt.”

“Good, clean dirt, as you pointed out. Ah, Hewitt, there you are,” he said as the butler appeared from the back of the hall. “Bring a sufficient quantity of hot water up to Miss Dryden's room. She needs a bath.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Hewitt's poker face was excellent. Gillian couldn't detect even a hint of surprise.

“Charles, it's the middle of the night,” she said. “Surely we can make do with a splash of cold water.”

“As you so trenchantly pointed out, we smell. It's going to take more than a splash to fix that.”

“No, you smell,” she said. “And it's a great deal of fuss and bother for the servants.”

“I'm sure they won't mind, especially since you have them all wrapped around your little finger,” he said as he carried her up the central staircase. “And all they need do is bring up the water. I'll be helping you bathe.”

“Good Lord,” she exclaimed, affecting a shocked demeanor. “Are you sure you are quite yourself? This is hardly proper behavior for a man of your stature and reputation. What would the
ton
think about this?”

“I don't give a damn about the
ton
, because apparently I've turned into a reckless adventurer who chases bandits, smashes heads, and makes love to his fiancée on the beach. Does that sound like a pattern card of decorum to you?”

“Indeed not.”

He stopped at the top of the stairs. His smile faded, replaced by an intensity that made her heart pound. “Gillian, despite that ridiculous nickname of mine, I don't pretend to be perfect. But I do know one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“What's that?”

“That I love you with all my heart. I know how much you're giving up for me by remaining here in England. I hope my love will compensate for that sacrifice. Because, my darling, I cannot bear to live without you.”

Gillian shook her head, knowing she was giving up nothing and gaining everything. “You silly man,” she whispered. “Everything's perfect.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now, Your Grace, I do believe you owe me a bath.” She grabbed at his shoulders, laughing as he set off at a jog toward her room.

Epilogue

 

“Would you like another glass of champagne, Your Grace?”

It took Gillian a moment to register that Griffin was speaking to her. After all, she'd only been the Duchess of Leverton for a few weeks—barely enough time to become used to her new title. “Mock me at your peril, dear brother,” she said in a lofty tone. “The duke will be most displeased if you fail to treat me with the respect due my elevated status.”

Griffin clapped a dramatic hand to his chest. “Do you mean to say he'll read me a stern lecture, or deliver a devastating setdown? The mind reels with horror.”

Justine poked her husband in the arm. “Behave yourself, Griffin Steele. This is Gillian's big night, and you shouldn't be teasing her.”

He flashed his wife a grin. “I can't seem to help it. Who could have foretold my rapscallion little sister's marriage to Perfect Penley, the most proper man in all of England?”

“He's nothing of the sort,” Gillian said, leaping to her husband's defense. “Well, at least not when it matters most.” Like when they were alone, in her bedroom. Charles was anything but proper in that setting, which the last several weeks had made abundantly clear. He'd snuck into her room almost every night before their marriage.

Not that she'd done anything to stop him, aside from a tepid and completely insincere protest on her part. Still, it was much easier now that she and Charles were married. They could make love whenever they wanted—which so far had been quite a lot.

“Not to belabor the pun, but I knew Gillian and Charles were perfect for each other almost from the beginning,” Justine said. “As usual, I was right.”

“You were, my sweet,” Griffin said. “And much to my surprise, I find myself agreeing with you.” He glanced around Lady Minchester's ballroom, which was bursting at the seams even though the Season was all but over. “Thanks to Leverton's influence, my sister is well on her way to becoming the most popular woman in London.”

“Hardly,” Gillian said. “Although I must say it's rather nice not to have everyone in the room waiting with bated breath for me to cause a scene.”

“No, only half of them,” her brother teased.

Gillian rolled her eyes, and Justine gave her husband another poke in the arm. But Griffin wasn't entirely wrong. Despite Charles's success in reforming Gillian in the eyes of the
ton,
she would always have her detractors. And Gillian cared not one whit. She had the love and respect of the best man she'd ever met—a man who accepted her for who she was, and who asked for nothing in return but her love.

“The contessa is looking wonderful, Gillian,” Justine said, once she'd finished reprimanding her husband. “It's so nice to see her out and about, and in such good spirits.”

Gillian cast a glance at her mother, who was sitting against the wall and chatting in an animated fashion with a group of matrons. “Yes, she's happy to be back in town with her friends, and to see Grandmamma again. It was lovely at Fenfield Manor, but a bit isolating for her.”

“She's happy that you're happy,” Justine said. “That's what's truly most important to her.”

“And seeing all your enemies—and hers—get their comeuppance,” Griffin said. “There's nothing more satisfying than a nice bit of social revenge.”

“No one understands that better than I do,” Gillian said, “but don't tell my husband I said so. He would be appalled at my sad lack of character.”

“Leverton would be happy to exact revenge if anyone dared to insult his wife,” Griffin said. “He's quite a changed man, thanks to you.”

“Yes, isn't it lovely?” Gillian said cheerfully.

“What an exceedingly bloodthirsty family I've married into,” Justine said with a dramatic sigh. “Speaking of your husband, where is he? I haven't seen him for at least a half hour. He usually sticks to your side like glue.”

“He was out in the hall talking to Dominic Hunter, last time I saw him,” Griffin said. “Dominic was no doubt congratulating himself on your successful marriage to Leverton.”

Gillian frowned. “What does Sir Dominic have to do with my marriage?”

“He's the one who suggested I look you up when we traveled to the Continent,” Griffin said. He gently tugged one of her curls. “I would have done it anyway, pet. I'd been thinking about doing so for a long time.”

Justine nodded. “That's very true. Griffin had been planning a trip to Sicily for ages.”

“Then why did Sir Dominic wish you to look me up?” Gillian asked.

“Because he's an old busybody,” Griffin said. “I'll tell you about it another time. Besides, I do believe I see your husband forging his way through the mob.”

“He's hard to miss,” Justine said. “He's taller than almost everyone in the room.”

“And handsomer,” Gillian said. As she did every time she saw Charles, she went a little weak in the knees. It was almost embarrassing the effect he had upon her.

“While we're waiting for the Duke of Leverton to grace us with his august presence,” Griffin said, “shall I fetch you ladies another goblet of champagne?”

“None for me,” Gillian said. “Charles wants me to dance the waltz with him. If I drink too much, I'll be sure to make a complete fool of myself. I'm not the most graceful of dancers, sorry to say.”

“As if he would care,” said Griffin. “The man is ridiculously besotted with you.”

“And is there anything wrong with that?” his wife asked with some asperity.

Gillian listened to their playful argument with half an ear as she watched her husband make his way over to join them. When their eyes met, a slow, seductive smile curled up the edges of his mouth.

“Hello, my love,” he said when he finally reached them. He took her hand and twined his fingers through hers. “I hope your rogue of a brother has been taking proper care of you in my absence.”

Gillian scoffed. “As if I need anyone taking care of me, especially in a silly old ballroom.” When Charles raised a brow, she gave him a sheepish smile. “Except for you, of course. That goes without saying.”

“Naturally,” her husband said wryly. “Now, I believe the orchestra is about to strike up a waltz, and I would very much like to claim my bride for this dance.”

Gillian took a deep breath and nodded. “Lead on, Your Grace.” In truth, she
was
a bit nervous. This was her first waltz in public, and she wanted Charles to be proud of her.

Clearly reading her mind, he leaned down to murmur in her ear. “Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll always be there to catch you—whether you need me to or not.”

“I know,” she whispered back. “And I'll always be there for you, too. I promise.”

He swept her into the waltz, spinning her in a joyful whirl. Gillian only stepped on his toes once.