Danger Wears White (19 page)

“Perhaps I should go with you,” she said.

“No indeed!” Her mother replied. She bridled, her hand tightening on her fan. “I will ask a servant to show me the way. A female servant.”

The necessary was some distance away from this room. Her mother would be fortunate to get there and back in ten minutes. Fifteen and Imogen would leave the room and wait for her. She didn’t want to be alone with Lord William.

The moment the door closed behind her mother, he strode across the room to her and took her hands. “Miss Thane.”

When she would have curtseyed politely, he held her steady. “No, do not bow to me. I don’t deserve it.”

Instead, shockingly, he dropped to his knees and gazed up at her. “Miss Thane, you cannot be unaware of the esteem in which I hold you. I have admired you since you first crossed my path in Lancashire, and my devotion has not wavered.”

Oh, no. Not that. But it was. This man wanted to ask her to marry him. This wasn’t the first marriage proposal Imogen had received, but when Paul had asked, it was with much less pomp and a lot more friendliness.

Lord William had dressed in brocade and gold, the myriad buttons on his coat and waistcoat all gleaming with it. His red coat was exceedingly fine, if not to Imogen’s taste. She preferred something simpler than figured velvet. He’d removed his hat, and his white wig gleamed with order and softness.

He gazed into her eyes and drew first one and then the other of her hands to his lips. Imogen stood frozen with shock.

“Miss Thane, I can stand by no longer and vie for the heart that rightfully should be mine. I will cherish you above all others for the rest of my days. Please accept my hand in marriage. Let me call you mine.”

Imogen’s first response was to snatch her hands away from his grasp. She barely refrained from rubbing her palms together. Lord William was such a handsome man she didn’t know why she should dislike his touch so much, but she did. The thought of him stroking her, having the right to take what he wanted, to touch every part of her body, repulsed her so violently that she felt slightly sick.

She recalled the words she should use now, made sure of them. “Lord William, I’m very sensible of the honor you do me. I deeply appreciate your words.” Irritation rippled through her. “Please get up.”

Gracefully, he did as she asked.

“Sir, I fear I cannot accede to your most flattering offer.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice low. “Are you promised to another?”

If only she were! She would have given anything to be Tony’s intended at one point. Considering the haste with which she’d come here, she probably still wanted that in her heart of hearts.

But he was not here. This man was. “No,” she confessed. “But I am of a mind to end my days a spinster.”

The tight muscle at the corner of his mouth relaxed. “This is not a hopeless cause. I will consider this the first stage in my siege to your heart, for I am determined to have you, and soon. I burn for you, Imogen. May I call you that?”

She was about to tell him no, when with a great rattling of the doorknob, her mother returned. She was pink in the face. Either she’d been listening at the door or she’d run back from the necessary. She looked from one to the other of them. “May I take it…?”

Of course she’d fall in with Lord William’s plans. She wanted Imogen for him, had shown him great favor at Thane Hall.

“No, Mother, you may not.”

Lord William watched Mrs. Thane whiten, her lips compress. “I will court her,” he said, with a teasing glance at her. “The lady is shy, which is her privilege, and like a knight of old, I must court and woo her.”

“Would you give us a moment?” her mother asked in a frozen voice.

Lord William acquiesced and quit the room in indecent haste.

“Take him,” her mother said. It wasn’t a request. “You won’t get a better offer.”

It depended what she meant by ‘better.’ But Imogen had no intention of entering into a marriage with him. “Lord William is of a good family, but not with our background. His wife must be beyond reproach, and from a loyal family. Why would he want me?”

Her mother made a sound of disgust, clicking her tongue. “He wants you precisely because of who you are. And because he can keep you safe. He assures me that he loves you with a devotion you will not find anywhere else. I would say that’s enough. A title, a fortune, and a handsome man is more than most women find. I’ll tell him you have changed your mind and overcome your coyness.” She turned to leave.

“No,” Imogen said. How could her mother do this to her? “I will merely reject him again.”

“No, you will not.” She turned back and paused to rearrange her skirts, which were in disarray from all the turning around. “I demand it. I don’t wish to live in that old ruin any longer, or to remain separated from society.”

“Don’t,” Imogen said. “I don’t need you at Thane Hall. You’ve never liked it. Find a comfortable house in Lancaster and move there.”

Her mother’s pale eyes opened wide. “When I could have a house in town? I think not, Imogen. You have enough fortune and looks to snare a prize, and Lord William is that prize. Seize him up before he is gone.”

Imogen clasped her hands tightly together. “No, Mama. I will not marry him. I can’t stop him courting me, but I can stop him visiting here. The princess will be displeased when she discovers who has called. I said no.”

Mrs. Thane’s face became a perfect smooth mask, and Imogen sighed in relief. The cold treatment was infinitely better than a tantrum. “You will not reject him again. It is true that he is less than welcome here, but he is more than welcome in other places. Other courts.”

Of everything she could have said, that was the one that would firm Imogen’s mind the most. “I will not spend the rest of my life chasing after a lost cause for an ungrateful man and his son. I will live in my house and be thankful that at least this remains to me.” She swept around and went to the window, pretending to peruse the view outside. “You must be anxious to reach town before nightfall. Don’t let me detain you.” Just as if she’d been taking lessons in haughtiness from the princess.

Imogen was proud of herself. She’d stood for what she wanted, and at least for today, the fight was over.

* * * *

It rained for the next two days, but the one after proved dry, if cold. Perfect weather as far as Imogen was concerned. It meant the fussier maids stayed indoors when the princess took her brisk morning walk, and when she declared her intention of visiting the stables, Imogen could cry off. Having stayed in for the last two days, brooding over Lord William, worried that Tony wouldn’t contact her ever again, she was glad of the potential exercise.

A page dropped a letter on the tray that she had her early morning tea and toast on, and she wanted time to decide what to do.

She read the note twice. It read the same way both times.

“I would appreciate an opportunity to talk to you. Please don’t be afraid I will do anything you do not want, but matters are unresolved between us. For both our sakes, please come to the corner of the park, by the great sycamore tree at ten. I will wait. Forever, if I have to.”

He’d signed it with his initial. Not the formal A, but the T she knew him by.

What could she do? Of course she’d meet him, and with such different spirits to the way she’d met Lord William! That tree afforded a deal of privacy, especially since the princess had refused admission to the park to the general public. That early in the morning few people would be there. And it was less particular than meeting indoors, in a private room. That was considerate of him.

She extolled the beauty of the park to the princess. “It appears to its advantage in all seasons. I love to walk in it and enjoy nature.”

“Enjoy,” the princess said magnanimously. “Do not stay outside too long. Return to your duties by eleven, if you please. I wish for your company at breakfast.” Princess Amelia followed the custom of having something light when she awoke and eating a substantial breakfast later in the morning, after she had completed her initial tasks.

Imogen had been used to doing something similar in the country, but her companions in Lancashire were often local visitors and members of her household. Sometimes she missed that.

Her stomach churned, making her glad she only had bread and butter and tea in it. What if he didn’t come? She’d have a walk, she told herself stoutly. Hunt for daffodils, see if she could spot a rabbit or a deer. And what if he meant a different tree? The rangers had planted new small trees. Did he include them? No, he’d said “great” sycamore. She knew the tree.

Her heart in her mouth, she walked to the edge of the wood, where a hedge obscured the view from the house and the road. Several trees were ranked here, burgeoning green buds, ready for the orgy of summer that would arrive all too soon. And the large sycamore, its gnarled old trunk wide enough to hide a pair of lovers if they stood close together.

The leaves were coming in, fresh green dotting the remnants of the old papery leaves of the previous season. They’d grow, providing a blanket of green cover for summer showers and the wings that would spin down in the autumn.

Where would she be then? Back home, or somewhere new? Would they insist she stayed until the end of the season in June? It seemed so far away. Her estate would be fruitful, hurtling toward harvest time in the autumn. She wanted to be there, to walk between the sheaves of corn, the piles of fruit waiting for the maids to bottle them or turn them into jam. The best blackberries grew on the lea, near the hut where she’d found a wounded Jacobite…

She halted her thoughts right there. Living through that time again made her eyes tear up, and her stomach, already stirring nervously, tighten. At this rate she’d be ill. She’d always shaken off illnesses but this—at the thought of what her nervous stomach could mean, she stopped and lifted her head, staring at the cloud-scattered sky while she took some deep, cooling breaths.

When arms went around her waist she nearly screamed, but her sense of preservation told her she knew that embrace.

Swallowing, she turned around. Into him and his sweet, welcoming kiss. No time to think, or to reject. She sank into him, as she always did when he kissed her.

He opened her mouth with a flick of his tongue, hungrily plunging and caressing. His hands roamed her back, one rising high until he found a gap between her fichu and her neck. He stroked her bare skin with one finger while he kissed her. He might as well have had his hand on her bare breast. Shivers of desire rippled up and down her spine, and she pressed her body close to his.

They kissed like people starved, until she recalled herself. She wasn’t pleased with this man. She was supposed to hold herself aloof. With an effort of will, she spread her hands on his chest and pushed away.

At first he ignored her puny efforts, but when she wrenched her mouth away from his, he opened his eyes. Bewildered blue stared into hers, and then he jerked away, releasing her so abruptly that she nearly tumbled over. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck as he stepped away. “I’m so sorry. That is, I am and I’m not. I truly didn’t mean to do that, but you—you overwhelm me. Your exquisite perfume enters my nostrils and I’m lost. Oh hell, I don’t know. I’m no poet.”

She laughed, more shocked than amused. “I’m not wearing any perfume.”

“You don’t need any. Your sweet self is intoxicating enough.” Now he laughed, awkwardly. “I’m a coxcomb. Tell me to leave. I meant to talk to you, that’s all. We do have things to say, do we not?”

“Yes.” She took a pace back, putting distance between them. Her heart pounded and her breasts heaved with her effort to pull air into her lungs. “Yes we do.”

“You made a list.”

“It’s not my list.” Had he thought she’d compiled it? “How on earth would I know all those people? I haven’t even met them all yet, although the princess is determined that I should.”

“What do you mean, not your list? It’s in your hand.”

She paused, her mind working, and then propped her hands on her hips, jutting her chin forward belligerently. “What, did you think I cold-bloodedly made a list of suitable candidates for my hand?” What kind of mercenary woman did he take her for?

He shook his head. “It’s not unknown for young ladies to do so. In fact, I think their mothers often do it.” He regarded her with a bleak stare. “But I hadn’t thought you would do it. I suppose I should be glad you remembered to put my name. But why only younger sons? Do you not wish for a title?”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Did he not realize she’d been prepared to break her lifelong resolve for him? “I didn’t compile the list. The King did. I merely made a few copies, so I wouldn’t lose it.” She swallowed. “I’m to choose one of them by”—a shock made her realize how fast time was passing—“the end of the month.” Barely two weeks away. “He is considering reviving my father’s title and bestowing it on whomever I marry.”

He went completely still, only his breathing moving his dark blue waistcoat, making the cut steel buttons glitter in the cold light of the sun. He blinked. “He is?” He barked a laugh. “Of course. Second sons. I’ll have to tell my brother. He won’t be amused at being cut out.”

“This morning the princess informed me that I might add Lord Westwood to the list if I wished.” The news hadn’t pleased her, because more people meant more choice. She didn’t want more choice. “He has a viscountcy, so my father’s title would lift him in rank.”

“I doubt he’d be pleased to hear that. His father would not be pleased, either.” A smile made his lips twitch. “Especially the fortune that comes with the viscountcy. However, if you chose him, the lesser title would exist in a courtesy title to your oldest child.” His chin firmed. “Not that you’re going to marry him.”

“And why not, pray?”

“Because you’re going to marry me.”

Breathless, she glared at him, trying to get some air into her lungs. A blackbird sang in the hedge. “What? Do I not get a say?”

“It seems not.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that why you thought I was Val?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My cousin, Valentinian Shaw?”