Sweet Surrender (41 page)

"Has it ever occurred to you that I might not wish to do as you say?"

"Yes, that fact has absolutely occurred to me."

She shoved at his chest, trying to push him away, but he wouldn’t move.  Now that he’d caught up with her, he planned to remain permanently attached.

"You’re being a bully," she complained.  "Stop it."

"I haven’t begun to bully you.  If I was a bully, you’d still be at the coast."

"At the coast?  Why would I have stayed there?"

"Because I wanted you to?  Because I expected you to?  I never imagined you’d be foolish enough to leave on your own."

"I had to find out if Michael was safe."

"You couldn’t have asked me?"

"I wasn’t thinking clearly.  In case you didn’t notice, I was in a bit of a state."

"Yes, you were, which means it was ridiculous for you to tot off like a mad woman."

"I’ve only been insane since I met you."

"Don’t blame me."  He wagged a finger under her nose.  "I’m certain you were mad long before we ever crossed paths."

She tried another fierce shove and wiggled away.  She stood, glowering, appearing furious and aggrieved and so desperately alone.  He yearned to draw her into his arms, to stroke a hand up and down her back while he swore everything would be all right.  But in her current condition, she’d never let him be kind.

"Why are you angry with me?" she said.  "I didn’t do anything to you."

"Except give me the fright of my life."

"You were worried about me?  Don’t make me laugh."

"Miss Bennett, the last time we had a civil conversation, you begged me to chase across the country after your sister."

"And I haven’t thanked you.  So…thank you."

"You’re welcome."  He curtly nodded.  "When I returned, I was informed by my mother that you are a tart—"

"A tart!"  She sizzled with rage.

"Yes, a tart and a confidence artist and an embezzler.  She had the signed confession to prove it."

"Well, she told me that you were engaged to your sister-in-law."

"I heard."

"Susan said her wedding to you was approaching, and she didn’t want me here anymore.  She ordered me away."

"I’m sure she did."

His ire spiked, and it dawned on him that—in his dealings with Susan and Beatrice—he hadn’t implemented nearly enough punishment.

"Susan had a big fat diamond ring on her finger."

"It’s a family heirloom that my brother gave her when he proposed.  She waves it around whenever she’s eager to flaunt herself."

"You’re claiming you didn’t give it to her?"

"I’m not
claiming
.  I didn’t give it to her."

"I signed your mother’s confession without reading it.  She offered me money to go away, and if I refused, she threatened to take Michael from me and make him vanish before you got back from Scotland.  I was terrified."

"As you should have been."

"A swine named Rafferty kidnapped me."

"I’ve met Rafferty."

"He tossed me in a carriage, and he dragged me to London against my will, and he locked me in this horrid warehouse, and no one knew what had happened to me, and they put me on a ship, and it sailed away, and I thought…thought…"

Suddenly, she ran out of steam.  She slumped as if her bones had turned to rubber.  Her knees buckled, and he leaped over and grabbed her.  If he hadn’t, she would have fallen to the rug.

He moved to a chair and seated himself, with Grace settled on his lap.  She sighed and—for just an instant—nestled closer.  Then she straightened and scowled.

"That’s the second time I’ve fainted."

"Yes, and I wouldn’t take you for a swooner."

She studied him, then breathed, "Oh no…"

"Oh no, what?"

Miserable and alarmed, she shook her head.  "It can’t be.  I won’t let it be."

"Won’t let what
be? 
What are you talking about?"

"I think I’m pregnant."  She leaned in so they were nose to nose.  "If I am, you’re a dead man."

"You might be pregnant?"

"Yes.  It’s what usually transpires when a female behaves precisely as she shouldn’t, especially when she’s unlucky.  Lately, there’s no woman alive who’s unluckier than me."

"You’re pregnant."  He savored the words, liking how they sounded as they rolled off his tongue.  "You’re positive?"

"No, but I’d bet a hundred pounds.  Why would I be fainting every other minute?"

"You don’t have a hundred pounds to bet."

"No, I don’t."  She groaned with dismay.  "Is there any other misfortune that can land on me?  How many disasters can you render?"

"Probably a few dozen more—if you give me a chance."

"You’re a menace." 

"Yes, I am, and guess what?"

"What?"

"I’m about to be married."

She lurched as if he’d slashed her with a knife.  "To Susan?  I tell you I’m increasing, and the next sentence out of your mouth is to inform me of your marriage to someone else?  You are the most despicable, low down, dirty, foul, repulsive, contemptible—"

He kissed her, stopping her tirade in mid-rant.

"You are so dense," he said as he pulled away.

"That was a list of your
good
qualities.  Shall I start on the bad ones?"

"I’m not marrying Susan."

"You’re marrying someone besides Susan?  How many women do you have?"  She threw up her hands.  "Eleanor was correct; I’m the stupidest female in history!  What will become of me?"

She looked so horrified that he could only laugh.  With her as his wife, he would never have a dull moment.

"Would you be silent and listen to me?"

"Why?  So you can regale me with your fiancée’s many charms?"

"Yes.  She is kind and loyal and steady and true.  She’s smart and shrewd and thrifty and wise. 
She’s—"

"Shut up!"  She seized the lapels of his coat and shook him.  "I won’t have you bragging about her.  I can’t bear it!"

"I’m talking about you, you silly fool.  It’s
you
.  You are my fiancée."

"Me?"

"Yes, you.  I’m marrying you."

She still looked horrified.  "You are not."

"I am."

She frowned and glanced away.  "No, that can’t be right.  Why would you even think that way?"

She slid from his lap and walked across the room.  She was pacing, mumbling to herself.  Occasionally, she’d peek over at him, her expression irked and perplexed.

He watched her as she fumed and fussed.  As long as he could keep her in his sight, he was happy to let her rage.  He could be incredibly patient when pursuing an important goal, and he’d wear her down.  She didn’t stand a chance.

After some extensive fretting, she halted and whirled around.  "Why did you chase after me to Dover?"

"I was terrified over your fate."

"Over
my
fate.  Over me…"

"Yes."

"But…why?"

"Don’t you know?"

"I have no idea."

She was mystified, and in light of what she’d endured in the past few days, was it any wonder she was confused?  She was like a wild animal, hearing the dogs approach and trying to figure out the best route of escape. 

He loved sparring with her, but she was in no condition for discussion or debate, and he decided to have mercy on her.

He rose and gestured to his chair.

"Come here, Grace."

She gaped at the chair as if he was about to tie her down and torture her in it. 

"Why?"

"There’s something I have to tell you."

"You can say it from over there."

"No, you have to sit."  He gestured again.  "Come.  Please."

She took a hesitant step, then another and eased herself down.  With her sitting, and him standing, he towered over her.  He felt as he was meant to feel, manly and protective.

Could he persuade her that she needed him?  He’d never been overly loquacious, and she was so darn tough.  Would it kill her to lean on him just a bit?

"What is it?"  She appeared wary and exhausted.

"When I was riding across England, searching for your sister, I had plenty of time to reflect."

"What about?"

"About what I want out of my life."

"Well…good.  Your life is a mess.  It’s about time you took stock."

"Yes, it is.  And guess what I discovered?"

"What?"

"I want you."

"You want…me."

"Yes, today and tomorrow and the next and the next and the next after that."

"As your…what?"

"As my wife.  What would you suppose?"

"Me.  Grace Bennett.  You’d like me to marry you."

"Now you’re getting it.  You’re really slow this morning, Grace."

"We’d wed, and I’d become Mrs. Jackson Scott." 

"Yes.  You.  Me.  Husband and wife.  Wed.  To each other."

"Why?" 

"I could pretend to be incredibly noble, and with you increasing, declare it my duty to do the honorable thing."

"Yes, but I’d know you were lying."

"Or I could claim that I lust after you as I’ve never lusted after another female, and I want you in my bed."

"I wouldn’t believe that, either."

"Or I could simply confess that I’m so madly in love with you, I can barely breathe."

"You’re…what?"

"I love you, Grace."  He dropped to one knee and clasped hold of her hand.  "Will you marry me?"

"What?"

"Your tribulations must have affected your hearing.  Are you deaf?"

"I’m not deaf.  I could swear you just asked me to marry you."

"I did."

"I could swear you said you love me."

"I do, I am, I will.  Forever."

"No, no, no"—she extended her palms as if warding off evil—"you can’t be serious."

"Why can’t I?"

"Because you’re Jackson Scott."

He nodded.  "Yes, I am."

"And I am Grace Bennett."

"Yes, you are, and I’m happy to see that we’ve established our identities."

"You can’t wed me."

"Why can’t I?"

"You’re a member of an aristocratic family, and I’m not.  Aren’t there rules to prohibit such a match?"

"Not for me.  I’m a grown man with my own fortune, and I can make my own decisions.  No one can tell me how to act.  May we please move on?  Answer my question."

"What question?"

"Will you marry me?"

"You have women lurking around every corner.  You host parties with concubines, and you participate in orgies."

"I never claimed to be a saint."

"You’re a confirmed bachelor who enjoys his freedom, who refuses to be tied down."

"All in the past."

"What is the
past
?  Two weeks ago?"

"Yes, starting with the day you stormed into my life.  Nothing has been the same since I met you."

"Yet suddenly, preposterously, you want to get married, and you want to get married to me."

"Yes, Grace, I do."

"Get up, Jackson."  She frowned with dismay.  "Get up now."

She stood, and she tried to pull him up, too, but he wouldn’t cooperate.  He knelt before her, humbled, content, eagerly ready for what the future would bring.

"I’m not much of a catch," he stated.

"You’re right about that."

"But I swear to you that I will always love you and protect you and make you happy.  Say yes, Grace.  Say you’ll have me."

She began to tremble, and she slid away and walked over to the window.  As he pushed himself to his feet, she was staring out across the park, lost in thought.

"What is it?" he asked.  "Don’t you love me in return?  Is that it?  I was positive you had feelings for me."

She paused for so long that his pulse pounded with dread.  What if his powerful sentiments weren’t reciprocated? 

He’d proceeded with his typical vain certainty that he could shape the world to his own liking.  Yet he couldn’t force her to love him.  What if she didn’t?  What then?

"I…I…" she haltingly stammered, "have feelings for you."

He slumped with relief.  "Then what’s wrong?"

"I’m afraid."

"Of what?"

She spun to face him, and she looked so forlorn that his heart broke.  Why did he make her so miserable?

"I’m afraid you don’t mean it," she murmured.