Wallflower (Old Maids' Club, Book 1) (31 page)

She drew to such a sudden stop that
Noah nearly tripped. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning to face him in
the shadowy half-light of dusk. “I’m sorry Jo is so meddlesome, and
I’m sorry my brothers and cousins are inconsiderate boors, and I’m
sorry—”

Noah cut her off by placing a finger
to her lips. “Hush. Stop apologizing to me.”

“
But they were ghastly to
treat you in such a way.”

He chuckled. “I’d be more cross if
they hadn’t. They were accepting me into the fold, Tabitha.
Something they are more prepared to do than you, it seems.” He
searched her eyes in the shrouded moonlight. “Miss Faulkner was
just clearing the way for me to be your husband—to more officially
become part of the family.”

“
Still, she oughtn’t to
have done it.” A breeze blew over them, teasing at the hair coming
loose from a knot at her neck and Tabitha shivered.

Moving both his arms down to her
waist, Noah drew her closer to him, almost in an embrace. “Was it
all a ruse?” he asked. “Have you not been longing for a gentleman
to write you a romantic poem?”

This, more than the rest, was the true
stinging point.

“
Ah,” he said when she did
not respond right away. “I see. Well, if I must be a fool, at least
I can be a fool for love.”

Tabitha spoke over him in a rush. “I
do enjoy poetry, Noah, I really do. I’ve never known anyone to make
such a chivalrous gesture, certainly not for me. Will you allow me
to hear the rest of it?”

A wry grin came to his lips and he
winked. “Yes, I suppose I can...now that we’re without all of your
relatives around to gibe at me as I recite it.”

A moment of spontaneous abandon
overtook her, and Tabitha stretched up on her toes to kiss him. It
was a chaste kiss, hardly more than a peck and certainly a far cry
from the other kisses they had shared.

“
Will I deserve another of
those when I finish?” Noah asked. “Or do I have to write another
poem in order to warrant a second kiss?”

Thankfully, the growing gloom of
twilight served to conceal her blush as she said, “This poem will
suffice for such a prize.”

Noah guided her to sit on the stone
bench, then took a seat next to her, again taking her hand in his
own. As he gazed into her eyes, Tabitha’s heart sprinted and her
breath caught.

“
Amidst the gems of life’s
elite

A paragon on the edge
awaits

For one to notice and
defeat

The dictates of the fabled
Fates

Patiently, she plays the
part

Resigned to never glow or
shine

Yet underneath resides a
heart

As wondrous as the world’s
design

Through silvery orbs, her
soul bequeaths

The essence of life’s
boundless drive

Liberating breath
beneath

My chest until at last I
thrive

Akin to God’s own pure
white dove

The beauty of my
ladylove.”

Tears sprung to her eyes, but she
managed to keep them there. Never in her life had she allowed
herself to think a man would do such a thing for her. “That was
lovely.” She leaned across and cradled Noah’s face in her hand,
placing her lips to his. “Thank you.”

“
Happy birthday, Tabitha.”
Noah put both hands on Tabitha’s face and drew her back for a long,
languorous kiss that built her to a slow burn. “The next time I
write you a poem, it will be just between us.”

Tabitha couldn’t miss the inherent
promise in his statement. He intended there to be a next
poem—another moment just between them. And despite herself, she
desperately wanted it.

Chapter
Seventeen

“
I publish the Banns of
Marriage between Noah Standish deLancie, Lord Devonport of
Haverthwaite, Cumberland and Lady Tabitha Eleanor Shelton of
Cotehill, Cumberland. If any of you know just cause, or just
impediment, why these two persons should not be joined together in
holy Matrimony, you are to declare it. This is the third time of
asking.”

A trill of trepidation coursed through
Tabitha’s body at the parson’s words. The third calling of the
banns meant only one thing: her fortnight was up. If Tabitha didn’t
cry off, her wedding would be in held in three days’ time, right
here in this very church.

Beside her, Noah took her
hand and gently squeezed. Damn him, he knew her too well. He could
always sense her mood, whether she wanted him to or not. That was
one trait she wished, more than anything, he did
not
share with
Jo.

She tried to remove her hand from
Noah’s—such a display was unseemly in a church, of all places—but
his grip held firm. When she tugged again, more forcefully this
time, he resituated their joined hands on his lap with a flourish,
drawing the eyes of her entire family and half the congregation.
Even the parson looked up at the commotion. Tabitha knew her face
had to be as bright as a raspberry.

Perhaps she shouldn’t try that one
again. Who knew what Noah would do the next time? So she sat there,
with her hand enveloped in his, for the next hour as the parson
delivered a sermon on the message of love in 1 Corinthians
13.

Patience and kindness—Noah gave them
both to her in abundance. Freedom from envy, boastfulness, and
pride? She’d known him for many years now, and had never seen
evidence of a boastful nature. He was far more likely to bolster
another than to vaunt his own consequence. And would a proud man
have lowered himself to deliver such a poem before her family?
Hardly. The envy part of the equation was still up for debate,
however. Tabitha had seen Noah’s response to Lord Oglethorpe’s
pursuit all too often over the past month. But was that envy, or
was it more the aspect of love that always protects, hopes, and
perseveres?

The section about keeping no record of
wrongs, however, was a sticking point. Not where Noah was
concerned, however. Tabitha was the guilty party there. She’d held
him responsible for the actions of other men in her past, when he
had done nothing to deserve her animosity or distrust. Indeed, he
had never failed to prove himself worthy and true.

And love never fails.

Suddenly, Tabitha became aware of
Noah’s thumb tracing circles over her palm where it lay lax on his
lap. But this time, the swirls flowing through her body were not
those of lust, heating her body’s need. Damnation, he had gone and
made her fall in love with him.

It was more than just that, though.
Everything he had done over the last month, every interaction
they’d had over the previous fortnight, had served to prove that he
truly loved her too. Why, just yesterday, he and Owen had taken
Tabitha and Elaine to see Owen’s newest foals at the stables. There
was no mention of riding. He only wanted her to enjoy the youthful
horses as they were.

Noah didn’t just want her dowry. He
didn’t even just want her body. He wanted her. Tabitha. Just as she
was.

What a blithering idiot she’d
been.

The parson brought his sermon to a
close and dismissed them. Noah let go of her hand and moved his to
her waist in that protective-possessive manner he had. Then he
pulled her to her feet. “Shall we go?”

He drew her along beside him,
propelling her feet forward with a gentle pressure on her back,
until they stood before the parson under the entryway. “And a good
day to you both, my lord, my lady. I’ll see you on Wednesday
morning then.”

“
That you will, Mr. Hyde,”
Noah said. He winked down at Tabitha and pulled her out the door.
Her father and Toby were waiting by the carriage while Owen helped
Elaine and Lily climb in. When they moved closer, Noah said to her
father, “If it is all right with you, I’ll take Tabitha home in my
carriage.”

Father narrowed his eyes at Noah for
just a moment. “Very well. We’ll expect you for luncheon then.”
Toby winked at Tabitha, and then they both took their places in
Father’s crested coach and closed the door.

Noah’s driver brought his carriage
around. A closed carriage today, not a curricle or something in
which she could be seen from the outside. They’d be secluded once
they were inside. Alone. There would be no escape from giving the
answer she knew he’d beg from her.

Once the steps were set down, Noah
took her hand and assisted her in before climbing up behind her. He
sat across from her, not next to her. She felt uncommonly bereft at
his absence by her side. But then he rapped his knuckle against the
roof and the vehicle lurched into motion.

“
So,” Noah
began.

He’d worn blue today—a rich blue
superfine overcoat over buff breeches and a stark white shirt and
neck cloth. Everything about him was sheer perfection, from the
sparkling, smiling blue eyes to the starch in his cravat, save the
always mussed hair. Even that, to Tabitha, was
perfection.

“
You’ve had a fortnight.
The banns have been called. We’ve each held up our end of the
bargain. Are you prepared to give me an answer?”

Tabitha looked into the crashing waves
of his eyes. They were filled with love—the same love the parson
had been preaching about all morning. The same love Noah had shown
her every day over the last month—maybe even a lot longer than
that, if she’d taken the time to notice. The love she’d somehow
been afraid to see. “Yes,” she said. She couldn’t deny him any
longer. She would probably never be able to deny him anything ever
again.

“
Yes, you’re ready to
answer me?” His voice broke at the end. She’d tormented him far too
long.

“
No. Well, yes to that,
too. But yes, I’ll marry you.”

A gust of pent-up air flooded from
Noah’s lungs. With a single, rapid motion, he grabbed hold of her
hands and tugged, pulling her halfway on top of him. Tabitha’s eyes
flew wide and her lips landed on his as they came together, and he
kissed her with ardent devotion. After a moment, he let out a
little growl in his throat and set her on the velvet-covered bench
next to him. “I can’t keep kissing you like that or I’ll take you
right here in the carriage.”

Tabitha struggled to catch her breath.
“Why would that be a problem?”

He closed his eyes and removed her
hand from where it had landed mid-way up his thigh to her own lap.
“We’re supposed to be having luncheon with your father once we get
you back home. Or had you already forgotten?”

“
I might have wanted to
forget, I suppose,” Tabitha murmured with a blush.

His eyes roamed over her. “I love it
when you color up like that. It makes me w—” Within the span of a
hair’s breadth, he moved himself to the opposite bench and pinched
the bridge of his nose, forcing his eyes closed. “By gad. I can’t
talk about that. I can’t even think about that. Not now. Not
here.”

This was getting to be a little
ridiculous. “Why not?” Tabitha asked silkily. She slid into
position beside him, placing her hand back where it had been on his
thigh. He jumped at her contact—and her eyes caught a jump
somewhere else.

“
Three days,” Noah choked
out. “Three days, and then this can happen. But not here. Not
now.”

“
But if it is only three
days, why not here and now?” Ever so slowly, Tabitha inched her
hand up his thigh. He watched her progress with turbulent eyes.
When she was just below the apex, she stopped.

Noah let out a ragged breath. He
pulled her hand away and held it tight, and with the other hand he
held her head firm so she could not look away if she’d wanted to.
“Because I love you. We can’t do this now because I love you, and
you are to be my wife. The Marchioness of Devonport will not be
treated like a common trollop, like a lightskirt to be tossed about
at will anywhere that can boast a modicum of privacy. Not by me or
anyone else. You deserve better than that.” He let her go, then
once again shifted to the opposite seat. “Now stay on your side of
the coach.” With a yank, he adjusted his overcoat, attempting to
pull it into a position in which it could hide the growing evidence
of his desire.

Tabitha tried to force her attention
elsewhere. She didn’t want to embarrass him. And she didn’t want to
allow her imagination to run rampant. After several moments of
silently staring at the luxurious fabrics lining the inside of the
coach, Tabitha tentatively said, “Noah?”

With his hands still firmly holding
the edge of his coat in place, he made a sound similar to one of
Owen’s grunts. She took that to mean she should
continue.

“
I love you,
too.”

~ * ~

Dusk settled over the congregated
party at Vauxhall, casting Tabitha in an ethereal glow. She’d worn
a silvery gown this evening, some sort of silky, gossamer with lace
trimmings that twinkled like stars in the growing moonlight, much
as her eyes did. She’d had that sort of glimmer in her eyes almost
constantly since the day before—since she’d finally confessed that
she loved him, and nearly drove him mad with need. It was as though
she knew the special form of torture she was enacting upon him, and
drew a fiendish delight in it.