Seven Wicked Nights (28 page)

Blair blinked a few times, then began to grin. “Wessex, I shall be in your debt forever,” he said, before grasping Helen’s hand and pulling her out of the room. Gareth watched them go and even raised a hand in farewell.

“That was extremely generous,” said Cleo in the quiet that followed.

He nodded.

“You want them to be happy together,” she said, amazed.

He nodded again.

She bit her lip. “What will you tell the wedding guests?”

He lifted one shoulder. “That I won’t be marrying your sister. It’s fairly simple.”

She studied him. “What will your family say?”

He cocked his head to one side, a slight grin tugging at his mouth. “My mother, I expect, will be delighted. She wants me to be happy, and I would never have been happy married to your sister, as charming and lovely as she is.” He started pacing toward her deliberately. “My sisters will be thrilled at the excitement of it all, particularly as they will still have Helen as a cousin. Sophronia may be put out, I grant you, at the absence of scandal and uproar, but she knew the first night that Helen and I were never meant to be.”

“What did Mr. Blair’s note say?” she asked, even as a soft blush stained her cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell my parents when you found it?”

“Good Lord, why would I do that?” He grimaced. “Your father might have tried to do something foolish, like stop them.”

“Stop them! But they were already gone—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening. “When did you find it?”

“Last night,” he said. “About two hours after dinner. I couldn’t sleep and went to my study, where James had left it. I daresay they couldn’t have got much past Dorchester by then.”

“Last night!” she gasped.

Gareth nodded. “I knew they would need as much time as possible to get well away. I had gone to my study to plot how I could persuade your sister to jilt me. You might imagine my relief upon discovering that she had already worked out how to do it. All I needed to do was stay quietly in my study.”

She appeared unable to speak. Gently he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, loving the way her body softened against his until they fit together like two halves of a whole.

“If they hadn’t run off, I don’t know what I would have done,” he whispered. “Do you know, I saw my place in hell waiting for me as the wedding day approached. That’s what I would have earned, marrying your sister when all I could think of was you. Especially like this,” he added, casting a suggestive glance down at her ripped gown.

“When?” she asked softly. “When did you start thinking that?”

Gareth shook his head. “The moment you stepped out of the carriage a fortnight ago.” She looked at him suspiciously. He nodded. “Oh, yes, lightning struck as you stepped out of the carriage. Toppled one of my oldest oaks to the ground, don’t you remember? Split it right down the middle, and the whole thing fell. Much like my heart did when you looked at me.”

“You don’t believe in love at first sight!” she protested. “You said so the other day!”

“No, I don’t, which is why I looked again, and again, and again, until I was quite sure I would go mad from it. I just knew.” He nuzzled her neck, his mouth skimming over her collarbone and up the side of her neck. “When did you start?”

The blush that colored her face, all the way down to her neckline, was brilliant. “Almost as soon. But of course I knew it was wrong—you were betrothed to my sister….”

“But not any longer.” He paused. “Are you not pleased she’s marrying Blair?”

“Of course I am!”

“Why?”

“Why?” she exclaimed. “Why, because they’re in love!” He raised an eyebrow. “And,” she hesitated only a moment, “and because if you didn’t marry Helen….” She paused again. “Then you would be free.”

“Yes.”

“And—” She wet her lips. “—and then it wouldn’t be wrong of me to want you.”

“Oh, no,” he answered at once. “That would never be wrong of you. In fact, I was hoping you might keep on wanting me for the rest of your life.”

Later, Cleo told herself she would remember that moment for the rest of her life. The scent of oiled leather and horses, the faint buzz of bees in the shrubbery outside the window, the morning sun slanting across the dusty floor. And Gareth, looking at her as if he had never seen anyone half so wonderful. She couldn’t stop a small smile. “Is that a proposition?”

He laughed. “Proposition? My darling, I’m at an end to propositions. I made my last offer of marriage in a letter addressed to your father. May I make this one myself?” And he sank to one knee as he spoke. Cleo thought she must be goggling at him like a fool. “My darling Cleopatra,” he began, then paused. “Are you truly named for Cleopatra?”

“Yes,” she said dazedly. “And Helen for Helen of Troy. Father has classical fancies.”

“Ah.” He cocked his head to one side. “I wish I’d remembered that sooner.”

“Why?” Cleo still couldn’t quite take in that he was on his knees before her. Even Matthew hadn’t proposed on bended knee; he’d asked her over his shop counter, which had been romantic enough, but nothing like this.

“It would have made things clearer,” he said. “My parents named me Anthony, after all. Anthony never married Helen of Troy.”

She cleared her throat. “He never married Cleopatra, either.”

“This Anthony will,” Gareth declared. “If she’ll have him.”

Cleo gazed down at him, his brooding dark eyes fixed on her, his thick hair still ruffled from their activities in his study. “Shall I roll myself in a rug and have myself delivered to your rooms?”

“Make certain it’s a soft rug,” he retorted, “for I would unroll it before the fire and not let you off it for an hour.”

Cleo pretended to think. “I may have such a rug, in the shop….”

His eyes ignited. “That sounds like yes.”

This time her smile was wide and unrestrained. “Because it is. A hundred times yes.”

Epilogue

“A
RE YOU CERTAIN
?” Cleo took her sister’s hand.

Helen nodded. Her face was pale but determined. “I should have done it days—weeks—ago.”

“I doubt it would have upset them more.” Cleo shrugged philosophically, drawing a quickly repressed smile from her sister. Helen took a deep breath and opened the door in front of them.

There was a moment of stunned silence before their mother let out a piercing wail. “Helen! Oh, Helen, there you are! We were so worried—where did you go?” Her gaze flickered over Helen’s dark blue traveling dress, her dusty boots, her braided hair. “Never mind that,” she quickly added, as though deciding she didn’t actually want to know where Helen had been. “There’s still time—we must hurry!”

“Mama, there’s something I need to tell you and Papa.” Helen resisted her mother’s attempts to drag her toward the dressing table.

“Surely it can wait!” Millicent’s laughter trilled nervously. “We must get you ready for your wedding. Oh, we’ve barely half an hour—Rivers! Rivers, come at once!” she called for her maid.

“No, Mama.” Helen glanced at her. Cleo nodded in encouragement. Her heart was racing almost as much as her sister’s must be doing, but Helen had insisted that she would tell their parents. It was her wedding—at least, it was supposed to be her wedding—and she would be the one to call it off. Since Cleo had a feeling her parents wouldn’t listen to a word she said anyway, she hadn’t argued. “Mama, I won’t marry the duke,” said Helen in a clear, firm voice.

Millicent’s eyes darted warily to Cleo, then veered away. “Don’t be silly, dear. Your father signed the contract. You must marry the duke.”

“I’ve already told Wessex I’m breaking our engagement,” Helen went on, two bright spots of pink in her cheeks. “He took it very well.”

Her mother moaned, covering her face with both hands. “Don’t say that—oh,
please
don’t! What will your father say?”

“Helen!” On cue, Sir William appeared in the doorway. From the set of his features, he was still toweringly angry at both daughters. “Where the devil were you?”

This time when Helen pulled against her mother’s grip, Millicent let her go. “Sit down, Mama. And you, Papa.”

Their father scowled, but their mother, as if sensing she would be glad to be seated when she heard Helen’s news, went directly to the sofa. When Sir William didn’t move in the same direction, Helen just waited, her chin up and her expression composed. Cleo went to her side without a word. Neither parent looked at her, only at Helen.

Perhaps that was to be expected. They’d said she was dead to them now, and she’d replied in kind. Still, they were her parents; it hurt that they could shut her out so easily and swiftly. And because it bothered her, she was content to let Helen break her news in any way she liked.

“You’d better have a good explanation for causing such trouble,” growled Sir William, but he finally sat.

“There is something I should have told you weeks ago,” her sister began. “Perhaps even months ago. I don’t love His Grace.”

Millicent blinked. Sir George scowled again. “Love? Is that why you disappeared? Some female fit of hysterics about
love
when you’ve got a duke waiting for you in the church?”

“You’re being too hasty,” Millicent cried. “Helen, dearest, you must give yourself time to fall in love with him—I don’t see how you couldn’t! Why, just look around at this house, this park, the lovely family—”

“I never loved him and I never could,” said Helen, raising her voice slightly. “I am in love with someone else and I intend to marry him.”

For a moment the silence seemed deafening.

“You can’t,” said her father shortly. “I’ve signed a marriage contract with Wessex. You’re marrying him.”

She shook her head. “No, Papa, I won’t. He doesn’t want to marry me now, either.”

Her father’s face reddened. “Nevertheless, he also signed that contract. It’s binding!”

“Not if both of us refuse!”

Sir George made a visible effort to contain his anger. His tone softened, becoming almost wheedling. “Helen, see reason. Your marriage will be the making of us all. Wessex is a good man; your mother is right, you’ll come to care for him. And you’ll be a duchess. You’ll be mistress of this house, dressed as finely as any of the duke’s sisters, accepted in the finest circles in London. You’ll never have a shop door closed in your face; your every wish can be indulged.”

Helen shook her head. “It’s not worth it. I am in love with James Blair, and I’m going to marry him.”

Her father’s eyes bulged. “The secretary? Now see here, Helen—don’t be ridiculous! What sort of cork-brained idea—?” He broke off suddenly, and slowly turned toward Cleo. “This is
your
doing, putting foolish romantic rubbish into her head!”

She shook her head. “I had no idea until this morning.”

“She didn’t,” Helen agreed. “I told no one, Papa.”

A vein was pulsing in Sir George’s forehead. “Helen,” he said through his teeth, “I pledged my best bit of land in that marriage contract. It’s the only property I’ve got that isn’t mortgaged to the hilt. It was a stroke of luck His Grace wanted it, or else he might not have offered for you. If you jilt the duke, he could sue me for that land, ruining us all beyond redemption.”

“I don’t think he’ll do that,” Helen murmured, her lips beginning to twitch.

Cleo bowed her head to hide her expression. Gareth wouldn’t sue anyone—or so he’d said, provided her father didn’t make a fuss over breaking the betrothal.

“And you’d risk it, for a secretary, a man with few prospects? A man who may very well lose his position for making off with his employer’s bride?” Sir George lurched to his feet. “Helen, I am ordering you: you are going to marry the duke today!”

“How can you be so willful?” wept Millicent. “How can you disdain a duke? Oh, I’d
so
looked forward to visiting Kingstag often and now we shall never be able to show our faces in all of Dorset!”

“His Grace might have you to visit, but if I were you, I’d make up with Cleo before asking.” Helen winked at her. Now that she’d told her secret, she seemed uncaring of anything else. Cleo, who had carried a similar secret like an arrow in her chest, grinned back. Yes, it was very freeing to cut the lines behind her, to decide to face forward without thought for whatever dismay lay in her wake.

“Please, Helen,” their mother begged. “Please reconsider. There’s still time….”

“No, Mama, I don’t think there is.”

A knock sounded at the door. Cleo was already on her way to answer it. Gareth had said he’d give them a few minutes, no more. When she’d asked if he didn’t trust her and Helen, he merely raised his eyebrows in that way he had and said he didn’t intend to let the wrong engagement endure a moment longer than necessary. And now, as she let him into the room, part of her almost looked forward to hearing what he intended to say.

“Your Grace!” Sir George hauled his weeping wife to her feet and bowed, scarlet-faced. “You must pardon us—a family affair—”

“Indeed.” Gareth turned to Helen. “Have you told them?”

She beamed back. “Yes.”

“Excellent. You’ll find Blair in my mother’s suite, no doubt consuming a very large breakfast. Mother thought a spot of privacy would be best.”