The Perfect Kiss (35 page)

And if they didn’t, she was going to. Her speech would have worked perfectly well if Dominic hadn’t kept interrupting with his “helpful” explanations, reassuring them that Sheba was an excellent chaperone, and that a harem wasn’t nearly the den of vice people would imagine.

“Aunt Gussie,” Grace’s brother-in-law Gideon interrupted smoothly. “Why don’t you and the girls take Grace off somewhere more comfortable and have a little chat with her. We gentlemen will have a quiet word with D’Acre.”

“Excellent idea, my dear boy,” Lady Augusta declared, and in a trice had swept all the ladies from the room, leaving Dominic to face a gaggle of angry aristocrats.

Three of the brothers-in-law faced him with tight, cold faces and clenched fists. He knew what to expect. It was not the first time he’d faced a gang of England’s finest bullyboys. The only difference was that he was no longer a schoolboy.

Gideon, Lord Carradice, spoke first. “So, D’Acre. I think you have some explaining to do.”

Dominic inspected his nails.

“Out with it man! Speak up!” snapped Blacklock, another brother-in-law.

Military background there, thought Dominic. He picked a piece of fluff off his sleeve.

“Fellow needs a good thrashing,” growled the one called Reyne.

Dominic shrugged. He shrugged out of his coat and started to roll up his sleeves.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Carradice demanded irritably.

“Preparing to defend myself.”

“What?”

“In my experience the sons of
gentlemen
don’t usually like to listen. But I quite enjoy a fight, so we might as well get it over with.”

“Well,
we
intend to talk. Or rather, listen. We’re not at all clear on what’s going on here, so before we give you the thrashing you probably do deserve, we want some answers.”

Dominic frowned. Carradice almost sounded ironic.

The duke asked in a quiet, dignified voice, “What are your intentions toward our sister-in-law?”

Dominic shrugged. “I’d have thought even a blind man could see that.”

Gideon rolled his eyes. “Dammit, man, stop fencing or I will be forced to thump you!”

Dominic shrugged again. “I’ve done my level best to get her to agree to be my mistress.”

Four men clenched their fists.

Carradice eyed him narrowly and held up his hand to ward the others from precipitous action. “You either have a wish to die young, or . . .”

Dominic said, “I’m going to marry her, of course.” Why else did they think he’d brought her to London?

Carradice raised his brows. “Just like that? And if she refuses you? Or her family opposes you?”

Dominic examined his nails again.

“I expect you’ve heard rumors that she’s an heiress,” Reyne commented.

Dominic said, “Her fortune is of no interest to me. I doubt it matches mine.”

“I suppose you know she’s stubborn and argumentative. All the Merridew girls wear their husbands to shreds,” said Carradice.

Dominic looked them over, each one relaxed, healthy, and almost smug with happiness. “Yes, you all have the look of henpecked men. Ah well, we must all bear our crosses in life.”

“Do you love her?”

Dominic gave him a flat, unblinking stare. He had no intention of responding. That was for him and Grace alone.

Carradice gave him a shrewd look. “When you first met Grace,” he said slowly, “what was it about her that struck you?”

Dominic thought for a moment. “Her foot.”

“Her foot?” they chorused.

“Yes.” He gave an insolent smile. “She kicked me. Twice!” If that didn’t make the fists start flying, nothing would.

“Kicked you?” Gideon glanced at the others in triumph and said, “The Limb
kicked
him! I knew it! We have a love match on our hands!”

Dominic couldn’t believe his ears. “I think you misunderstood,” he said. “I told you she
kicked
me!”

Carradice smiled at his confusion. “Yes, she did the same to me the first day we met. It’s why I call her the Limb. It’s an excellent sign. You see, dear boy, we thought she’d been broken of the habit long since. She must have been keeping it in reserve for a special occasion.”

Carradice and the duke both shook his hand and left.

Dominic stared after them. “But I deserved the kick. I kissed her. Twice.”

Blacklock and Reyne laughed. “Let me give you a tip,” said Blacklock as he passed. “Once you’ve kissed a Merridew girl . . . there’s no point fighting.”

Sir Oswald Merridew glared at him from under beetling white brows. “Well, come on, D’Acre, don’t stand there like a stump! If you’re goin’ to marry m’great-niece, we have settlements to discuss! And I’ll tell you straight, they’d better be good!”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Dominic stiffly. “I have no wish to touch a penny of her money. It shall be in the settlements that she retains everything.”

Sir Oswald raised his bushy white brows. “Happen t’know your estate’s in a bad way.”

“It’s not your concern. It shan’t affect her. I have my own private fortune that is unaffected by my father’s will.”

The old man nodded, then creaked to his feet. “That’s what my informant said, too.”

He chuckled at Dominic’s look of surprise. “Y’don’t think I was fooled by Grace’s little strategems do you? Gel I’ve known since she was ten years old? I knew what she and Gussie were up to all along. Had you investigated on the off chance. Some sort o’ guardian I’d be if I didn’t keep an eye on who my gel’s mixin’ with.”

An hour later he ushered Dominic to the front door. “Come back tomorrow mornin’ and you can pop the question to the gel herself.”

“I’M SO SORRY, DOMINIC.”

She came to him, glowing and beautiful and dressed in a shade of blue that exactly matched her eyes. Currently very distressed eyes.

“What has upset you, love?”

“I don’t know what they said or did to you last night, but whatever it was, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Marry me.”

He frowned. “Dammit, woman, that’s my line.”

“What?”

He sank down onto one knee and said, “Grace Merridew, will you marry me?”

She was silent for a moment. “Don’t, Dominic. I can’t bear it.”

His grip on her hands tightened. “Marry me, Greystoke.”

“Stop it! I know you never wanted this. But much as—”

“This is a very cold floor,” he interrupted in a plaintive voice. “Will one of you—Grace or Greystoke—please say you’ll marry me so I can get up.”

She bit her lip. “Are you sure, Dominic?”

He smiled. “Of course I’m sure.” He stood up and pulled her into his arms. “Why else do you think I brought you here? I told you I wasn’t going to lose you.”

“But you don’t believe in marriage.”

He smiled wryly. “I didn’t, but you do, and if anyone can make me believe, it will be you, my love. Now, for the third time, will you marry me?”

“But what about Wolfestone? You’ll lose Wolfestone if you marry me.” Tears flooded her eyes. “Oh, Dominic, we made all those plans . . .”

He squeezed her hands. “We’ll make new plans.”

“I don’t want you to lose Wolfestone.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “I never had it in the first place, love. You can’t miss what you’ve never had.”

“But you need Wolfestone, Dominic. And Wolfestone needs you.”

He swore. “What I need, Greyst—Grace, is
you
, dammit! I don’t need a moldering old castle and a run-down estate—the Wolfestone people will survive as they have for six hundred years. Someone else will own the land. With any luck it will be someone good. But it won’t be me.” His voice softened. “I will be with my love, watching the moon rise over the pyramids, or sailing into Venice at dawn.

“Come now.” He leaned forward and took her hands in his and said in a coaxing voice, “You’ve always wanted to go traveling, haven’t you? And I’m the man to take you. I’ve traveled the world all my life.”

Grace was distraught. He’d offered her what she most wanted in life . . . But it was at the expense of his own dreams, his fragile, newborn dreams. Could she let him do that?

“Of course I’ll marry you. I ought to refuse you. You need—”

“I need my silken-skinned girl in whose eyes a man could happily drown. I need the woman who makes my heart pound and my blood sing. I need my beloved girl to tell my heart to, and to hold in my arms through the deep stillness of the night. The girl to gallop with in the crisp dawn air, the girl to hold in the night while outside the storms rage.”

Her eyes filled with tears. This was more beautiful than any poem.

He pulled her against him and held her tight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you weep. You’re tired.” He kissed her gently.

Outside a small bell rang. “Oh,” she said, “that’s the bell for luncheon.”

“Go, my love. Go and dine with your family.” He smiled ruefully. He wiped her cheeks gently. “I have no business asking you anything while things are still in a mess. I will go hom—back to Wolfestone—”

The correction was smooth, but she heard it and it cut deep. Wolfestone was no longer his home.

“Don’t worry, I’ll straighten things out with Melly and Sir John. I’ll settle a sum on Melly; she won’t have to worry about finances. And I need to make sure the repairs I’ve started get finished, so the tenants will be dry and warm through the winter. And I’ll see the trustee, Podmore, and tell him to put the estate up for sale and to draw up the marriage settlements.”

Grace bit her lip. He looked after everyone, this man of hers. Everyone except himself. He spoke in such a matter-of-fact way, but she knew how deeply it wrenched him. If she hadn’t pushed him into contact with the Wolfestone people, hadn’t shown him how much he belonged there . . .

“Don’t look at me like that,” he growled, kissing her on the mouth with brief, exquisite tenderness. “I won’t be gone long.”

“No, it wasn’t—”

“I’ll be back before you know it. And then, Miss Grace Merridew—” He gave her a smile that was a pale shadow of the wicked smile he’d first given her, when she thought him a raggle-taggle gypsy and fell for him anyway.

He cupped her cheek and his golden wolf eyes glowed. “And then, Miss Grace Merridew, I’m coming after you. Wolves mate for life, you know, and I’ve found my dream, my one true love.” The kiss he gave her now was hard and possessive and she clung to him, kissing him back. She wouldn’t, couldn’t refuse him; she didn’t have the strength to resist him. She wanted him more than anything in life.

But the knowledge of what he was giving up for her tore her up inside.

 
 
GRACE ENTERED THE DINING ROOM SHORTLY AFTER SHE’D WATCHED Dominic leave for Wolfestone. The table was set for a celebration, she saw. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, slipping into her usual place.

Everyone was there: Prue and Gideon, Charity and Edward, Hope and Sebastian, Faith and Nicholas, and Cassie and Dorie. Everyone was smiling at her so joyfully, Grace couldn’t bear it. “Where are the children?” she asked.

“Upstairs in the nursery,” Charity said. “We’ll go up and see them all after luncheon.”

“Now, enough fussin’ over the children,” Great Uncle Oswald declared, beaming at her. “I’m about to fire off the last of the Merridew Diamonds! I’ve got my best elderberry wine here and Gussie insists on offerin’ everyone champagne as well, so take your pick, young Grace—which one shall we toast your happiness in?”

Grace looked at the elderberry wine and the champagne, and then at all the beloved faces smiling at her. She burst into tears and ran out of the room.

“Go after her, Prue,” Aunt Gussie said, but Prudence was already gone.

The rest of them sat looking stunned. Charity voiced what was in all their minds. “Has she refused him?”

“I thought—I was sure she was in love with Lord D’Acre,” Faith said. Her twin nodded.

“And I would have wagered my best team that D’Acre was head over heels in love with her, too,” Gideon added.

By the time Prudence came back, more than an hour later, the luncheon dishes had been cleared away, virtually untouched, and only the men of the family remained in the dining room. They were drinking brandy.

“Gussie and the gels have just popped upstairs to see how the children are behavin’ themselves,” Great Uncle Oswald informed her. “Now, don’t go runnin’ off after them yet, Prudence! What’s up with young Grace?”

“They love each other, all right,” she reported. “And she has accepted him. But there’s a problem.” She explained the situation, which took a long time, as Great Uncle Oswald, her husband, and brothers-in-law kept interrupting her with questions. She told them everything Grace had told her: the will, the way Dominic had been brought up, how his hate for Wolfestone had slowly turned to love, and the plans for it he and Grace had made.

At the end of her explanation, Great Uncle Oswald snorted. “Most edifyin’! Now pop up to the nursery and tell your sisters and Gussie that luncheon will be served in another half hour and fetch Grace down to join us. I’m not havin’ the gel sobbin’ her little heart out while we starve! Her whole family is here and we’ll dine together or not at all—and tell her I said that!”

Thirty minutes later the family reconvened around the luncheon table. Grace joined them, pale and heavy-eyed.

Great Uncle Oswald sent the butler around to fill everyone’s glasses with either elderberry wine or champagne. Great Uncle Oswald raised his glass of elderberry and said, “Well, we have a weddin’ in the family to be celebratin’, so charge your glasses—even in dratted champagne—and drink a toast: to Grace and D’Acre! And Grace—”

Grace looked up.

“We’ve decided on your weddin’ present!”

Grace glanced around the table. Everyone was beaming at her. She couldn’t bear it.

Great Uncle Oswald waved his glass at her. “Stop lookin’ so tragic! Young Sebastian saw the solution even quicker’n I did. You’ll marry the boy and we’ll buy the estate and give it to you for your weddin’ present! We’ve all agreed.”

“You’ll
buy
Wolfestone?” Grace was dumbfounded. “But . . . It will cost an enormous sum.”

“Pshaw! D’ye think we’re the kind of nip-farthin’ family who’d set a price against your happiness, you foolish gel?”