Three Weeks to Wed (2 page)

Mr. Brown bowed. “That's perfect, my—”

She gave the man a sharp look.

“Ma'am.”

Enough was enough. Just being around Worthington was turning her mind into a bowl of jelly. The landlord and his daughter left, leaving the door slightly open. She met Worthington's steady gaze. She would probably never see him again and might as well talk about what she wanted to. “I do not mind discussing politics, though you should know that I'm a Whig.”

That was certainly throwing down the gauntlet. Matt had a feeling this was going to become an interesting conversation. If only he could either remember or discover who she was. It would be even better. “My party as well. On the left side.”

The lady's eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Then we should have much to discuss . . .”

During the meal and afterward, their conversation ranged over politics, philosophy, and estate management. In fact, any topic that came into their heads, except the weather. Hours later they had not even had to search for subject matter to discuss. He had not had such an interesting conversation in months, maybe years, and never with a woman. She was as well or better informed than any man he had ever met. He'd never been so taken by a lady. Suddenly Matt wanted to know everything about her.

“Are you an adherent of Wollstonecraft?” she asked.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Completely. I find her views on the rights of women interesting in the extreme, and I am pleased to see that the numbers of Wollstonecraft and Bentham followers have grown in political circles.”

A far-off expression crossed the lady's face. “I've not been in London much of late, though I do keep up a lively correspondence with my friends.”

Perhaps this was his opportunity. “Do your friends hold the same ideas as you do?”

“Most of them.” A note of caution entered her tone.

“We might know some of the same people.”

“Have you joined the group attempting to help the war veterans?”

Drat it all. That hadn't worked. “I have.”

They discussed some of the proposals being batted around. She was certainly knowledgeable. He peered at the large armchair near the fireplace. A book with a marbled cloth cover lay on the seat. “Is that one of the Minerva romances you have there?”

“Yes, it is.” She lifted her chin a little. “I find them excessively diverting.”

Based on their conversation, no one could accuse her of muddling her mind with romances. She was as well informed as any bluestocking, but she didn't have the acerbic tone of one. “My stepmother reads them. Although, she tries to hide them from my sisters.” Matt grinned. “I'm not sure she always succeeds.”

A smile played around her lips, and she tilted her head a little to the side. Much like an inquisitive bird. “And you, my lord?”

He wondered, not for the first time this evening, what it would be like to kiss those lips. To tug lightly with his teeth on her full lower lip. She was beautiful, intelligent, and he had to answer her question. Damn, now he wished he had read the books. “Not yet.”

“You might enjoy them, some gentlemen do.”

“On your recommendation, I shall most definitely read at least one.”

She colored prettily, as if pleased that she had made a potential convert.

Before he knew it, the clock struck half-six.

He came to his feet as she rose. “I must tidy up for dinner.”

“Of course. I'll meet you here shortly.”

She left the room, and he poured a brandy from the decanter on the sideboard. Never in all his years had he been as drawn to a woman like he was to his mystery lady. They agreed on almost everything, and when they disagreed, she stated her opinions clearly and intelligently.

Yet, how the devil was he to discover her name and direction? The only idea he could come up with was to offer to escort her to her home to-morrow, provided the weather cleared. But what if she refused? He could follow her. He tossed off the brandy. Somehow, some way, Matt was determined to court her.

Grace shut the door of her chamber behind her and leaned against it. For years Matt Worthington had been nothing more than an infatuation, but now, he was rapidly becoming so much more. It had been years since she had allowed herself to feel angry at the hand fate had dealt her. Yet, now, now she could do something just for herself. She would not leave here, leave him without knowing what it would be like to know joy with a man.

“What if someone finds out? Everything you've worked for will be for naught?”
Her conscience popped up, just when Grace had thought it had given up.

Even with her family around, there were still times when she was so lonely she thought she'd die of it. Not being able to marry was the one thing she had never got over. “Am I to have no joy of my own? I just want one night. One night to last me the rest of my life, that's all I'm asking.”

“So be it.” Her hands trembled and her stomach lurched. If only she wasn't so ignorant.

“So much for your grand plans,”
her conscience sneered
.
“
You don't have any idea how to go about this
.”

“I am sure he'll help. How hard can it be, after all?”

“He won't. Other than that one dance, when Lady Bellamny made him ask me, I am sure he never took a second look at me. I was just one of many girls who came out that year.” He certainly did not remember her now.

“Would you cease! It must be fate. After all, what were the odds that we would both be here at the very same time with no one else in the inn?”

Wishing she had something nicer to wear, Grace gave up arguing with herself and washed her hands. When she had returned to the parlor, she called for wine. By the time Worthington arrived, she'd calmed her jangled nerves, and her conscience had decided to leave her to go to perdition in her own way.

He had changed his linen, but not his suit. “I apologize for dining in boots.”

“I do not mind at all.” She handed him a glass of claret. “As you see, I have no other clothes with me. This was only supposed to be a day trip.”

“I expected to be home as well and sent my valet ahead with the rest of my kit.” He gave a rueful grin. “A lesson to me to keep a bag with me.” He took a sip. “This claret is excellent.”

“Yes, Mr. Brown keeps a well-stocked cellar.”

She had wanted to confide in Worthington. Tell him that her father used to bring them all here because of the quality of the wine. Confide the difficulties she was experiencing now. Fortunately, before she revealed too much, the door opened and Mr. Brown entered followed by one of his sons, both carrying covered trays.

The savory aroma made Matt's stomach rumble.

“My misses thought you might like a nice cream of mushroom soup to begin. Then we have a haunch of venison, with Frenched beans . . .” By the time the man finished the dishes covered the table and sideboard. “And here is a trifle for desert.”

Matt offered the lady selections from the offerings before filling his plate. They were silent for a few minutes as they ate. He, because he was ravenous. She simply appeared a bit shy. That was no wonder. She most likely never dined alone with a man before.

“I must tell you that at first I was not impressed by this inn, but the food and wine make up for it being a bit shabby.”

“I have always found the place to be cozy.”

He gazed at her, mesmerized by the dainty way she licked the cream from the trifle from her spoon. “I think I agree.”

He asked her what she thought of the experimental farm in Norfolk and was surprised to find she knew as much as he did. The hours flew by as they had earlier. Soon the clock chimed ten, and she rose.

Matt stood as well, expecting her to make a hasty retreat. Yet rather than curtseying and heading for the door, she stood before him searching his face, waiting. That was all the invitation he needed.

Tentatively, he reached out and with the back of his hand slowly caressed her cheek. He had never wanted a lady as much as he did her.
What would she do if he kissed her?
Suddenly, where she was from or who she was didn't matter any longer. She was his. He knew it in his bones. Fate had created a storm and placed her here for him to find and claim.

She took a small step toward him as with one finger he traced her jaw. She closed the distance between them again.

Worthington had proven to be everything Grace thought he would be, and now . . . now even if she wished to resist him, she could not. She shoved down her rising anxiety. Her plan was coming to fruition, and now was not the time to be frightened. After all, what good would her virginity do her in her spinsterhood?

His eyes mesmerized her, and she wanted him. To feel his mouth on hers, his arms around her. How much else there was, she wasn't sure, but she wanted him to show her. Then he wrapped one arm around her waist, drawing her the few inches to him. He placed his hand on her cheek and brushed his slightly callused thumb over her lips. This was going just as she'd wanted it to. It would be the most perfect night of her life.

“You are exquisite.” His voice was low and sultry.

A pleasurable shiver ran down her spine. She'd never thought to hear a man say that to her. She or fate had chosen well.

He bent his head and moved his lips softly against hers.

She rested one hand lightly on his shoulders. He took the other, encouraging her to wrap her arms around his neck. When he trailed his tongue over the seam of her mouth, she did not know what to do so she puckered them a little. He smiled against her lips. Had she done something wrong? She could not allow him to stop.

As bold as the lady had been when she had invited Matt to join her in the parlor and in their conversation, he had expected her to be experienced. She was not, and, for no reason he could understand, he wanted to crow. It was as if she had been waiting just for him.

Matt lifted his head and gazed down at her. “You've never been kissed before?”

A blush infused her cheeks. “Is it—is it that obvious?”

“No.” Yes, but he wouldn't tell her that.

She lowered her long, thick lashes, and her unexpected shyness captivated him. “You are perfect.”

Once again she raised her face to him. He leaned forward, breathing in her light, spicy scent. So different from the flowery perfumes other women used. Cupping both her cheeks with his hands, he kissed her again, nibbling her lush bottom lip, teaching her, urging her to open her mouth to him.

Her tentativeness gave way, and she held on to him tightly, returning his kisses with more vigor. As he stroked her back, he itched to untie the laces his fingers traveled over, and he paused for a moment. Too much too soon. This lady was the most remarkable woman he had ever known, and he needed to ensure he did not scare her away.

She sighed, sinking boneless against him.

Two of his good friends had recently married, and it was time he did so as well. He hadn't believed his friend Marcus all those years ago when he'd claimed to have fallen in love with Phoebe at first sight. Matt did now.

He had no brothers, and it was past time he wed. The idea to look seriously for a wife had been pestering him more and more over the past few months. Matt wanted to laugh. It never occurred to him that he would meet his future wife when they were stranded together in a small inn. He held her closer. Whoever she was, she was his. If only she would tell him her name. He considered ignoring all the manners he had learned and asking her for it. But he was afraid she'd flee. What did it matter, though, when he would spend the rest of his life getting to know her.

He supposed he'd have to wait until to-morrow to propose or to ask whom he should go to for permission to address her. Yet her countenance, conversation, and the mature curves of her body told him she was not a young lady. So much the better if she could answer for herself.

A knock sounded on the door. He broke the kiss and set her away from him. “Yes?”

Brown opened the door and poked his head in. “My lord, my—um, I mean ma'am. Your chambers are ready. I had one of my girls run a heating pan between the sheets and put hot bricks in them.”

When Matt had released her, his lady had turned from the door to face the fireplace, leaving him to deal with the innkeeper. “Thank you, Brown.”

“Ring if you need anything, and someone will answer straightaway.”

“Thank you, again.” Matt closed the door.

In two steps he was with her again. He placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head up. “I'll escort you to your room.”

She nodded. Even in the candlelight, he could see the desire lurking in her eyes. He wished he could take her to his chamber, but there was time enough for that after they were betrothed.

Leaving her at her bedroom door, he went to the chamber he'd been given at the opposite end of the hall.

Matt was pleased to find a decanter of brandy on the bedside table. He stripped off his clothes and donned a serviceable dark green wool dressing gown the landlord had left for him. He stood staring into the fire, twirling the glass and trying to decide what he would say when he proposed. Finding out her name might be a good idea as well.

* * *

Grace could not believe he had kissed her like that and then left her at her chamber door. Good Lord, she had practically thrown herself at him.

“You see, he didn't want you,”
her conscience mocked.

“He did, I—I could tell by his—by his kiss.”

Why did Worthington have to be such a
gentleman?
It was not the most helpful thing he could have done at the moment. He could have made it easier for her. After what he had said and the way he had kissed her, how could he have just left her here? Obviously if she was going to have her night, she would have to do something. There was nothing for it. She would have to go to him.