Let It Be Love (10 page)

“I thought it was sherry.” She choked the words. “It looks like sherry.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.” He paused in a significant manner. “Exactly as I have been trying to—”

“You thought I was an actress!” She glared at him.

“I’ve explained that,” he said warily.

“My mistaken conclusion was influenced by anger. Yours was the result of, I don’t know,lust perhaps?”

A horrible thought struck her. “Did you think I was a whore as well?”

“Of course not.” Even as he said the words, she could see in his eyes that the idea that she was at least of questionable virtue had indeed passed through his mind.

She gasped.

“See here, Miss Fairchild, I can tell you I have known any number of actresses who were not, well—”

“Whores?”

“Yes, although admittedly they do tend to be of looser morals…” His voice trailed off helplessly as if he had no idea what to say now that would not make the situation worse. It would have been rather endearing if she wasn’t so furious.

She narrowed her eyes and resisted the urge to wrap her hands around his neck. “Is that why you took the liberty of kissing me?”

“Not at all,” he said staunchly. “Your morals had nothing to do with it. I kissed you because I very much wanted to kiss you.”

“And to seal our bargain?”

“No! I was not making a bargain. I was making a mistake.”

“In that you thought I was an actress with loose morals?”

“Yes! That was definitely a mistake. Although you did nothing to correct that impression. Indeed”—a smug smile lifted his lips—“you kissed me back. And I must say, Miss Fairchild, it was not the kiss of a woman who has never been kissed before.”

She scoffed. “Of course I’ve been kissed before. You yourself pointed out that I am far from my schoolgirl days.”

“You’ve been thoroughly kissed,” he said pointedly.

“And you have obviously kissed thoroughly,” she snapped. “You are very skilled at it. I assume you have had a great deal of practice!”

He shrugged in a modest manner.

“I do hope you enjoyed it, as your days of practicing are quite at an end.”

“What?” His brow furrowed.

“No husband of mine is—”

“I am not going to be your husband.” His voice rose.

She stepped to him and poked a finger at his chest. “You agreed!”

“I told you it was a mistake.”

“Nonetheless”—she emphasized every word with a jab of her finger—“you gave your word and I am holding you to it.”

He caught her hand and glared down at her. “I am not going to be trapped into marriage.”

She gritted her teeth. “I did not trap you.”

“I feel trapped!”

“You feel trapped? You haven’t the vaguest idea of what trapped truly feels like.” She stared up at him.

“To know that the one man that for your entire life you trusted and loved above all others has left you in an untenable situation where your only recourse is to marry one stranger or throw yourself on the mercy of another! That, my lord, is trapped!”

His expression softened. “I am sorry.”

She gazed up into his blue eyes and for a moment wanted nothing more than to stay like this, with her hand in his, caught between the two of them forever. And wished as well they had met under different circumstances when she could indeed be the type of woman he’d always wanted and he would be the man her dreams were made of. “Save me, Jonathon,” she said softly, and raised her lips to his. “Rescue me.”

“I would like nothing better than to rescue you, Fiona.” His head bent to hers, his voice low and inviting.

“You might well be everything I have ever claimed to want.”

“Then marry me,” her lips murmured against his.

“No,” he whispered, and pressed his lips to hers.

For the length of a heartbeat she reveled in the warmth of his lips on hers and the longing that rushed through her at his touch, exactly as it had on Christmas Eve. Not that it mattered. Her anger rekindled and she shoved him away.

“You are a cad, Jonathon Effington! The very worst kind of beast, and don’t you dare try to kiss me ever again!”

He chuckled. “I didn’t just try, I did kiss you.”

She sniffed. “Hardly.”

He stepped closer. “Perhaps I should try again, then?”

“You’re refusing to marry me, yet you want to kiss me?” She glared in disbelief. “Have you no shame?”

He thought for a moment, then grinned. “No.”

“If you come one step closer to me I shall scream, thus attracting the attention of the entire household, including Aunt Edwina. It should be a most compromising position to be found in. No doubt she will insist on marriage at once.” She studied him for a moment. “Upon further consideration…” She opened her mouth to scream.

Before she could get so much as a squeak out, he had moved to her, pulled her into his arms and clapped his hand over her mouth.

“Now, now, Miss Fairchild. We shall have none of that.” There was a distinct twinkle of amusement in his eyes and her anger rose. She struggled against him. “If you promise to behave like a reasonable person, I shall release you.”

She glared at him, wishing that just this once looks really could be lethal.

“Well? Do you promise?”

What choice did she have? His hand wasn’t even in a good position to bite. Pity. She nodded.

“I’m not entirely sure I believe you.” He grinned, and she vowed to hurt him at the earliest opportunity.

“I suppose I shall just have to trust you.” He released her and stepped out of range. She cast him her most scathing look, then moved to the door and flung it open. “Oliver!”

“You needn’t yell.” Oliver lounged beside the door. “I’ve been right here all along.”

She raised a brow. “Then you have heard everything?”

“I missed something between how trapped you are and what a beast he is, but other than that, I pretty much caught it all.”

“Good.” She turned and stalked back to the center of the room. “Then I won’t have to repeat it.”

Abruptly she turned on her heel and glared at her cousin. “This is almost as much your fault as it is his, you know.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Jonathon said under his breath.

“My fault?” Oliver’s brows pulled together. “How is this my fault?”

“You told me I was exactly what he wanted in a wife. You said he would jump at the opportunity to marry me—”

“I don’t think I ever said jump,” Oliver murmured.

“You said he was nice!”

Oliver shrugged. “I was wrong.”

“I say, I am nice.” Indignation sounded in Jonathon’s voice. “Ask anyone.”

“Hah!” Fiona crossed her arms over her chest and studied each of the two men in turn.

She’d thought, and still did think for the most part, that Oliver had been sincere in his suggestion of Jonathon as a husband. Now, however, it was apparent that his motives might not have been entirely pure. Of course, he couldn’t possibly have imagined that Jonathon would think she was part of a hoax. As for Jonathon, as much as she needed a husband she couldn’t marry a man who had no desire whatsoever to marry her. Indeed, a man who had strenuous objections. What kind of life would that be?

He would resent her for the rest of his days. Why, regardless of hownice he was, he’d no doubt have an actress in his bed before her vows were out of her mouth.

Still, Jonathon offered her only hope for salvation at the moment.

“Oliver”—she met her cousin’s gaze—“I will assume that you were sincere when you suggested Lord Helmsley as a prospective husband and had no intention of tricking him in any way.”

“On my word, Fiona, I had no idea he would think your situation…”—he cast a pointed look at Jonathon—“yourdire situation was a ruse. And I never would have put you in such a position. Although I do have to admit”—Oliver tried and failed to hold back a grin—“if it had been a joke it would have been a damn fine one. Brilliant, really.”

“Not that I would have fallen for it,” Jonathon said under his breath.

“No, you would have been too clever for that,” Fiona snapped, then closed her eyes and prayed for calm. She drew a deep breath and leveled Jonathon a firm look. “As for you, I am willing to concede that your agreement to marry was”—she grimaced—“a misstatement—”

“A mistake,” Jonathon corrected.

“Said in error.” She clenched her teeth. “That you did indeed believe I was part of a hoax—”

Jonathon heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“However”—she smiled in a pleasant manner—“I do intend to hold you to it.”

Oliver choked back a laugh.

Jonathon’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Unless you can come up with a better solution to the absurd dilemma that is my life. And when I say you”—she shifted her gaze from Jonathon to Oliver—“I mean both of you.”

“I am completely at your service.” Oliver nodded a bow.

“I don’t really have a choice,” Jonathon said under his breath to Oliver. “Do I?”

“I don’t see one, aside from marriage.” Oliver thought for a moment. “You should keep in mind as well there is always the possibility of legal action on Fiona’s part. Breach of promise, that sort of thing.”

“Nonsense.” Jonathon scoffed. “I have excellent solicitors.”

“As do I,” Oliver said firmly. “And as Fiona is a member of my family, they would be at her disposal to use as she sees fit.”

Jonathon glanced at his friend. “Would she do that?”

“She is a desperate woman.” Oliver shook his head. “I might if I were her.”

“It would create a huge scandal.”

“Indeed it would.” Oliver grinned. “Might be worth it to at last see you in the midst of something truly tasty.”

“I am still in the room, you know.” Fiona glared at the men. They were both most annoying. “And I would much prefer that you not discuss me and what I might or might not do, as if I were not here.”

“Yes, of course,” Oliver said.

“My apologies,” Jonathon murmured.

She studied the two of them for a moment, then squared her soulders. “Since I first learned of the provisions of my father’s will, I have, needless to say, con sidered all aspects of my situation. I have come to the conclusion that I essentially have three options.

“First, I can resign myself to my fate. Surrender to my father—my dead father—complete control over my future and marry Whatshisname—”

“Who is Whatshisname?” Jonathon asked Oliver.

“The American her father has arranged for her to marry.”

“An American?” Jonathon shuddered. “I can see why she objects.”

She ignored them. “There’s a possibility I could convince him to agree to a marriage of a temporary nature.”

Oliver frowned. “Divorce?”

“As distasteful as that is, and as difficult as it is to arrange, yes, or possibly annulment. The solicitors I consulted believe either would satisfy the conditions of the will. However, this would depend entirely upon the type of man Whatshisname is. My inheritance and dowry represent a considerable fortune, you know.”

Jonathon glanced at Oliver. “How considerable?”

“Quite considerable,” Oliver murmured.

“It would take a man of impressive character to let it, and me, go. It would also take brilliant legal maneuvering as well. I am not willing to risk everything based on either character or brilliance. Furthermore, when I marry I would much prefer it be for the rest of my life.

“Secondly”—she directed her gaze toward Jonathon—“I can force Lord Helmsley to live up to his agreement and marry me.”

Jonathon opened his mouth, probably to object, then closed it again and smiled weakly. He obviously had more intelligence than he had displayed thus far.

“Unfortunately”—given her circumstances she could not believe she was about to say this—“I cannot imagine a more dreadful way to begin a life together than with a marriage that does not appeal to both parties.”

“I say, Miss Fairchild”—sheer relief rang in Jonathon’s voice—“that is damnably decent of you. I cannot tell you—”

“My decision”—she thrust out her hand to quiet him—“regarding my second option is contingent upon the success of my third.”

Oliver chuckled. “I suspected there would be a condition.”

Jonathon swallowed hard. “And that third option?”

“I fully plan on marrying someday, Lord Helmsley, and therefore someday my inheritance and my sisters’ dowries will be released. However, the chances seem excellent that Whatshisname will appear to claim his”—she winced—“bridebefore someday arrives. I fear I shall have no other choice but to marry him, if only to resolve this mess.” She pinned Jonathon with a firm glance. “My character is considerably weaker than you may think, my lord.”

Jonathon stared in obvious disbelief.

Oliver snorted.

“Therefore, I—or rather we—need to find some way for me to get, to put it bluntly”—she fairly spit the word—“money. I need to make my fortune.”