One More Kiss (43 page)

William jumped off the rock, anger radiating from him in waves. “Do not tell me what I feel, Cecilia Brent. Do not tell me that this all-consuming need to be with you is not love. Do not tell me that I am too impulsive when this feeling has driven me since the moment I met you, until I drink hoping to forget it, ride too hard hoping to escape it.” He shook his head. “I love you.”

The way he spoke the words made it sound more like damnation than his salvation.

She had never seen him angry before. Now that she thought about it, she’d never even seen him a trifle annoyed. He was always in good humor—until now. It was more reassuring than frightening.

“My apologies, William. Your unfailing good spirits tricked me into thinking that you are not serious about anything. I see that I am wrong.”

He exhaled, a short, sharp breath, but said nothing. She could see the anger was still with him in the set of his mouth, the rigid way he held his body, and the fact that he was standing perfectly still.

She stood straight, too. “I still cannot marry you.” She swallowed. He was not the only one who could give a speech, so she began. “You are the finest man I have ever met. I must love you. I must, because I am miserable without you and your anger does not frighten me. The fact that you are several inches shorter than I seems to be the ideal size and I want to kiss you as much as I want to bury my face in the sweetest roses.”

He took her hand and kissed it, but was wise enough to wait for the “but” that was coming.

“And I am so afraid that it cannot last forever. It is too great a gift from God to be true.”

“Of course it cannot last forever.”

She stopped.

“It will only grow stronger and better. Can you doubt that being together in every way is better than kissing? That sharing children is more complete than anything we have yet experienced?”

Oh dear, she thought. He was winning. She could feel her doubts fading, her longing invading her, overtaking her wisdom and banishing it to the back of her mind.

“Cecilia, my dearest, if you are not sure, then I will not propose to you. I will wait. And if that is not a gesture of the purest love then nothing is.”

That was true, she thought. Patience was not often his to command.

“I will speak to your father for his permission to court you, but I will not propose until you wish it.”

That would please Papa. At least she hoped it would.

“You can enjoy the Season, dance with every man who asks. It will be a trial for me, but I give it to you with all the love my heart can hold.”

“Oh, William.” She was lost now and could not regret it.

“My impulse bows to your sensibility.”

They kissed, each reaching for the other at the same moment. It was as much a commitment as any words could be. And the embrace lasted far longer than their conversation had.

When they were apart and breathing more normally, William reached out for her hand.

“I ask only two things in return.”

Her natural caution was not completely forsaken. “And those are?”

“First, if you do find someone more to your liking, you will tell me in a private meeting before it is announced to the rest of society.”

“Oh, William, of course I would, but I do not see how that could ever happen.” There could never be anyone else. “And the other?”

“That you come wading with me.”

Cecilia remembered that earlier meeting, one of their first, when he had made the same invitation. She had been shocked at the time. This time she gave in to the impulse. For now she understood that this was a man who would listen to her, allowing her words to calm him just as his sense of adventure would brighten her world.

“What a perfect spot for wading.” She gave him her hand. “Yes. Let’s wade in, my lord. But not too deep this first time.”

Chapter Thirty-nine
 

B
EATRICE STOOD AT
the window, watching the drive, feeling sorry for herself. There really was no other way to describe her mood.

What a dismal end to what had started as a fabulous adventure.

Papa was not speaking to her. Cecilia had been moved to another room so that Beatrice could not even have the comfort of her support. Even Darwell had abandoned her, off to find their trunks so she could begin packing for their return to Birmingham.

Beatrice’s bedchamber felt like prison, most likely what her father intended. Would Jess have to leave before she was allowed out of her room? What would it take for her father to reconsider his punishment?

The answer came in the form of a horse and rider ambling up the drive. There was a flat case perched on the back of the horse. That alone would identify the rider as Roger Tremaine. She pushed open the window
and leaned out, not caring that she looked like a housemaid about to shake out a dust rag.

“Roger! Roger!” she called out, waving madly. “How wonderful to see you.”

He looked around, behind, and finally up, and returned her wave with a simple, much less enthusiastic gesture. That was Roger, always calm and ordered. Beatrice knew he was as thrilled to see her as she was to see him.

It took all of fifteen minutes to send one of the footmen for her father. The countess came with him and Beatrice was sure it was entirely due to her presence that her father allowed her to welcome Roger.

Beatrice reached the hall just as her friend entered it. She threw her arms around his neck, certain that he was the exact medicine she needed right now.

“Beatrice! Do behave.” Despite the snub, he hugged her back and then held her at arm’s length.

“Let’s go for a walk, please,” she said with such urgency she knew he would realize it was important for them to talk.

“Yes, let’s walk. It’s exactly what I need after hours in the saddle. Shall I take time to freshen up or is it so urgent that you can tolerate the smell of horse?”

“No need to freshen up for me,” she said with a forced gaiety, suddenly realizing that the footmen were silent but very much present.

Roger took her arm and with a word to the porter about his bags they were out the door again. They walked in silence at first, Beatrice finding comfort in his very presence.

There was a bench under a tree within sight of the drive so it was a perfectly acceptable place for an un-chaperoned
couple to sit. It had the added benefit of being in the shade, which she hoped would give them some relief from the heavy heat of the day.

“Roger,” Beatrice began without preamble. “I am in such trouble. Really. Father is furious with me and he will not even let Cecilia talk to me. It’s as though he has disowned me.”

The ache in her heart eased a little when Roger took her hand. She leaned against his shoulder. She could feel his heart beating steadily. That’s what Roger was. Steady as a sheltered flame. She knew that she would find that steadiness monumentally boring in a mate, but right now it was exactly what she needed.

“You know he will see reason, Beatrice.”

“I have not even told you what I did.”

“It does not matter what you did. He is your father and he loves you.”

His confidence bolstered hers a little. But she wanted an informed opinion, not a sentimental one. “He says I ruined Ceci’s chance at a successful Season.”

“Nothing is going to compromise Cecilia’s Season, for reasons too often recounted for me to repeat.” He patted her hand. “But, my dear girl, you are to have a Season as well, find a match, and enjoy every art gallery in town.”

“You know it was always more important to Cecilia than it was to me.”

“What else is there, Beatrice?”

“So much it will take awhile to explain.” Beatrice drew a breath and recounted the details relevant to her confession of spending time alone with Jess.

“So the earl is certain Lord Crenshaw’s death was an accident?”

“Yes.” Beatrice thought for a moment about how to phrase the next. “There was a witness who wishes to remain unnamed but before any of that came to light, Lord Jess was a prime suspect. So I had to tell everyone that we were alone together, for almost an hour. And you know how Papa feels about Jessup Pennistan.”

Roger pursed his lips and nodded. “Yes, and your father would see it as a deliberate effort on your part to disobey him.” He leaned away so he could see her face. “Was it something more?”

She looked down and nodded. “It was for me. It still is.”

“But not for Lord Jessup?” Roger said with the tiniest edge to his voice.

“Yes. No. I’m not sure, but I think so. Roger,” she said, turning to him so he could see how serious she was. “Despite his reputation, Jess is very much a gentleman. I know that in my heart. I have seen him at his best.”
And his worst
. But she kept that to herself.

“Then you will wait and see what he and your father decide.”

That was not comforting. Not at all. “I will not marry someone who offers because my father insists. I cannot imagine anything more humiliating.”

“Then you will spend the rest of your life in Birmingham, in your father’s house. But we will always be friends, Beatrice. No matter what happens.”

“Thank you, Roger.” She put her head on his shoulder again. Beatrice wished his heart would beat a little faster when she was near or her heart would give that little leap the way it did when she saw Jess. But it never would.

Roger had been right. They were friends, dear and
good friends, and would never be anything more. Or less.

J
ESS WATCHED THE
cozy scene from the window of the room where he was waiting for the countess.

Who
was
that man with Beatrice? Roger Tremaine, the name swam up from his memory. A good friend, she had said. He could see that. How good a friend exactly, he wondered.

He was so engrossed in trying to decipher what they were discussing that he did not hear the countess come into the room.

“Good day, Jess.”

He turned around, feeling caught out like a schoolboy. The countess came to the window anyway.

“What are you looking at?” She followed the line of his gaze. “I see,” the countess said. “It’s not what you’re looking at but whom.”

“Beatrice is talking with her friend Roger Tremaine.”

“A fine young man,” the countess said. “His father is General Tremaine, one of the heroes of the Battle of Corunna. Of course he was only a captain then.”

What was Tremaine’s connection to the family? Oh yes—he was not in the army at all, but he worked for Mr. Brent. Not that it mattered to Jess.

God help him, he couldn’t even lie convincingly to himself anymore. Of course it mattered. He didn’t want anyone closer to Beatrice than he was. If this was love then it was a damn painful state.

The countess’s quick glance from the corner of her eye told him she had the same thought. “He works for, or perhaps I should say he works with, Mr. Brent. He
designs machines and machine parts for Mr. Brent’s mills.”

“Yes, I do recall. She introduced me to him that first night.” Which now seemed about a hundred years ago. “The only thing he has designs on right now is Beatrice.”

The countess laughed and pulled him away from the window. “They are friends, Jess. They could have been well on the road to marriage long ago if either of them wanted it.”

The countess took a seat in front of a desk that was laden with objets d’art and not a single ledger or book. Jess leaned against the edge of the desk, too restless to sit down himself.

“It’s time for you to decide what you are going to do about this mess with Beatrice, Jess.”

He stiffened, even though he’d known that was what the countess had on her mind. “I am not a schoolboy who needs to be led through the moves on a chessboard.”

“This is not a game, Jessup Pennistan.” The sternness in her voice was resoundingly maternal. “You have compromised a young woman’s reputation.”

“Yes, yes, I have, to my great and lifelong regret.”

“Though I can guess it was a mutual effort.”

Jess could not believe those words had come out of the lady’s mouth.

“Beatrice’s curiosity about life, and now love, is the bane of her father’s existence. He might be more understanding of your situation than you think. He told me once that he found Beatrice attempting to run one of the devices at his first mill. It fouled the machine for
hours and she nearly lost her hand, all because she was curious about how it worked.”

“I am going to offer for her.”

The countess closed her eyes and shook her head. “Of course you are. The girl deserves at least that show of respect.”

“We agree on that, my lady. I am going to find her father now.”

The countess stood up and made for the door. “Love makes fools of us all. For men like you, being a fool comes with serious complications.”

Her words hung in the room even after she left. Jess was going to find Brent as soon as he pulled his thoughts together, as soon as he found a way to word his offer as the apology it was.

Chapter Forty