And she could be his.
The thought whispered over his flesh, leaving a trail of goose bumps. She could be his and help him save his family from debt. Suddenly, the future looked bright indeed.
“What?” she asked, a telling tremor in her voice. “What are you looking at?” She slipped her hand from her muff and brushed at her face self-consciously with slim fingers.
“I’m looking at you, Miss Howard.”
She dropped her hand back into the protection of her muff, but not before he noted the quiver of her fingers.
Her lips worked for a moment before arriving at the single word: “Why?”
“I enjoy it.” I enjoy you.
“You enjoy looking at me?” She sniffed, her gaze darting nervously over the expanse of white around them before looking back at him. “I am so extraordinary then?” The utterance fell softly, with such skepticism. As though she doubted her own worth. Which was remarkable. She was attractive. Wealthy beyond reason. She had every nobleman in England sniffing about her skirts and she did not appear to especially hold herself in value.
Yes, he thought but held silent. She was extraordinary. She wouldn’t believe him if he said that aloud. He could see that at once in the stiff set to her shoulders. She didn’t consider herself different. Or special. And that only made her all the more appealing.
He tore his gaze off her, afraid he was revealing too much, too soon. Last week, he’d shared his bed with not one but two different women and had been plotting to woo a particular opera singer he’d seen perform. Now he had suddenly made up his mind to marry. That opera singer was forgotten. The only woman he could even focus on was the one before him now.
His cousin had uttered something months ago, following his marriage to Rosalie. When you find the right woman, spending the rest of your life with her will be a simple decision because it’s the only decision. The only thing that matters.
He mentally shook himself for such fanciful thoughts. Of course Dec was in love with Rosalie, and Will had only just met Violet Howard. He didn’t love her. He didn’t know if he ever would. He didn’t know whether the kind of love Dec and Rosalie shared was even possible for him.
But choosing to marry Violet Howard? That had been easy. Just as Dec had said. She was the right woman.
She was the first debutante to hold his interest and not make him want to walk a hard line in the opposite direction. That accounted for something. It accounted for a great deal.
He nodded in the direction of a thicket ahead. “I know one more place where the holly grows dense. You’re not growing weary, are you, Miss Howard? Is such activity too rigorous for you? We could rest.”
That chin of hers lifted as he suspected it would. “I am not in the least wearied. I am accustomed to walking. At home, it is a frequent habit of mine.”
His mouth quirked. “Better, I take it, than staying within the walls of your miniature Versailles?”
“Very astute, Lord Merlton . . . and true.” She strode past him, lifting her skirts and stepping high over the snow-laden ground.
He fell in behind her, pulling the sled. It slid with a soft swoosh over the snow. Still grinning, he cast her an assessing look. “Are you not enjoying my company?”
She slid him a look, her hazel eyes bright with suspicion. “Deny and I appear rude. Agree and I’m the coquette. How shall I answer that?”
“Honestly,” he returned.
Stopping, she crossed her arms. “Honestly? Very well. I’m here at the behest of my mother. I have no intention of marrying anyone while I’m in England. I apologize for coming here under false pretenses, but there you have it.”
He dropped his grip on the sled’s handle and settled his hands on his hips. “You came all this way . . . allowed everyone believe you were hunting for a titled husband and it’s all a lie?”
She lifted one shoulder. “If you knew my mother, you would lie, too. It’s easier to go along with her scheming and feign agreement than fight her.”
He scratched his jaw and lifted his face to the cold air. “There’s only one flaw with this . . . plan of yours.”
She blinked, several snowflakes piling in her lashes. “And what would that be?”
“What happens when a man that fits your mother’s criteria proposes marriage?”
She visibly relaxed, the line of her shoulders easing. “Oh, well, that hasn’t happened.”
“Yet.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That hasn’t happened yet.”
She paused before replying, clearly processing this. He could see the wheels in that clever mind of hers turning. “I’m sure I can avoid such an occurrence.”
“Are you now?” He stepped closer. “So sure?”
“Indeed, I haven’t encouraged any man’s suit enough for him to make an offer.”
He nodded sagely. “True. You’re not the most inviting of females. Declaring yourself opposed to marriage to prospective suitors isn’t the best method to gaining offers.”
“Quite.”
“And somehow, despite that, I find you . . . palatable.”
Her smile faltered. “Palatable?”
“If I must marry an heiress, it might as well be one I find palatable. Your avowal not to marry a nobleman makes you precisely the sort of heiress I want for a wife.”
She inhaled, the red tip of her nose quivering. “That makes no sense. What are you saying?”
He closed the last bit of distance between them. Her head dropped back to gaze up at him. Her eyebrows winged up over her hazel eyes. Those eyebrows were the same pale brown of her hair, on the thick side but well-shaped. Expressive. Especially paired with those unusual eyes. She could hide nothing. She was an open book, guileless, every emotion there for all to see. He could watch her face and all its sifting expressions for hours. A rather nauseatingly romantic notion, but there it was.
“You understand my meaning well enough. I’m saying that you will do, Miss Howard.”
Her eyes flashed, the gold shards sparking in the green depths. “I will do? Is that your idea of a proper proposal?”
“Shall I go down on bended knee in the snow then? I did not think such a gesture necessary. You hardly strike me as a romantic, but very well. Far be it from me to withhold ritual—”
“No!” She grabbed hold of his arm and tugged, stopping him from lowering to the ground before her. “You’re mad! You cannot mean it.”
“I assure you proposals are not something men issue without complete sincerity.”
She gaped at him, still clinging to his arm. “Then no! My answer is no.” Her grip loosened and she took a hasty step back as if suddenly aware of their proximity. Her throat worked as she swallowed. When she spoke again, her voice was more even, controlled. “Even if I was interested, your proposal would hardly entice me.” Her lip curled in distaste.
“Ah, wounded your vanity, did I? Shall I use other methods to coax you into acceptance?” His gaze skimmed her, wishing they were some place where they had no need of cloaks . . . where he could better reacquaint himself with the curves he had felt last night.
He reached for her and she jerked back, losing her footing and falling in a tumble of skirts into the snow. “Stay away from me.”
He reached down to help her up, but she scrambled back, snow flurrying around her. “Don’t touch me.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he frowned down at her. “Come, now. I’m not so unappealing, am I? There’s something between us. You felt it last night. . . .”
“No.” She shook her head, the hood of her cloak falling back, her expression a little wild, desperate. “No. I . . . there is someone else.”
He froze, staring at her face—into eyes that could hide nothing. Tell no lies. Which meant she was telling the truth. There was someone else. Some other man who held her affections. Intense and sudden hostility toward this stranger surged through him.
“Who?” he demanded, a heaviness sinking in his gut.
“Someone back home.”
“And why did you not marry him?”
She clambered back to her feet. “He’s my father’s man of affairs. Papa would not give his blessing.”
“He’s ineligible then. You should move on—”
“I don’t care if he’s deemed ineligible!” Her words flew like arrows at him, hot indignation coloring her cheeks. “I only care that he wants me. That he loves me.” She points at her chest. “Me.”
His hands opened and closed at his sides. “Are you so certain of that? He’s in your father’s employ. Perhaps he sees you as a way to further himself?”
She shook her head. “Not everyone is like you, searching for an advantage, cold calculation guiding every—”
He reached for her. This time his fingers closed around her arm through her cloak. “I’ve had plenty of opportunities to wed an heiress. You’re the first one I’ve asked. I assure you cold calculation does not guide me in this.”
She snorted, leaning back as he tugged her closer. “I’m supposed to believe you’re overcome with sudden love for me? I’m not that gullible.”
He winced. “I said nothing of love, but there are other considerations.”
“None worth me forgetting my Mr. Weston. Or myself for that matter and jumping into marriage with you—”
“This other man,” he cut in, his voice biting. “Weston. Where is he now?”
She blinked. “I told you my parents refused—”
“So while he’s in New York, you’re over here letting your mother parade you on the marriage mart. You might want to question his devotion to you.”
“Mr. Weston knows I won’t marry someone else. I told him I wouldn’t.”
“And still.” He tsked. “He let you go. What a weak and paltry love is his.”
The color rode higher in her face. “You know nothing of him!”
“Only that he does not deserve your loyalty.”
“What was he supposed to do? We didn’t have my father’s blessing. We both agreed to wait for Papa to change his mind.”
“I wouldn’t have waited.” He brought his face closer, lowering his head until his mouth hovered a mere inch from hers. “I would not have let you cross an ocean. You would already be mine. You would already sleep in my bed. You would wake with my mouth on yours every morning.”
She exhaled and he tasted her sweet breath. Her hazel eyes flared wide, more gold than green right then and he knew he was scandalizing her, but better she knew who he was. What he wanted.
How it would be between them.
“Of course,” she sneered, shaking herself slightly. “Because I’m an heiress. You couldn’t risk letting me slip away.” She cocked her head. “We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if I was just a simple girl without a dowry. Would we?”
He stared at her, unable to deny that. The only reason she was here was because he needed to wed an heiress and his mother had invited her. They would have never even met otherwise. He made a point to stay away from the ballrooms of the ton.
“I thought so,” she answered for him. Satisfied, she wrenched free and began slogging through snow in the direction of the house.
“Where are you going?”
“I think we’ve gathered enough holly.” She paused and turned to face him. “I know you like to win, but sometimes in life . . . you simply lose.” That said, she turned and began descending the slope toward the house.
He watched her go, certain she wasn’t talking about the holly, and equally certain that if they were playing a game, he would win.
CHAPTER FOUR
* * *
He wanted to marry her.
The notion should not have left her so shaken, but it did. As did his words about Mr. Weston. She had never doubted Mr. Weston. Or herself. It wasn’t fair that a few words from one arrogant nobleman should suddenly make her question her feelings for Mr. Weston . . . or Mr. Weston’s ability to permit her to cross an ocean without him. Even if it was a ruse and she was pretending to go along with her mother’s matrimonial scheming, he had not appeared too bothered at the prospect of her entertaining the suits of other gentlemen. He’d accepted the situation with unflappable ease. Too much ease? She frowned, considering the possibility that perhaps he did not care for her as much as she believed.
Shaking her head, she pushed such thoughts away and loosened her lips lest anyone see her scowling. Sipping from her spoon, she avoided the earl’s gaze throughout the midday meal even though she felt his blue eyes assessing her across the table.
She attempted to listen to the Duchess of Banbury describe the months she had spent in Scotland following her marriage to Banbury. They had eloped and then remained there, returning to Town only a few months ago.
Violet felt certain there was more to the story of their hasty marriage, but none they were sharing.
Lady Peregrine pursed her lips. “Your wedding should have been the event of the year. I’m still most vexed with you. I wasn’t even present!”
“I was,” Lord Camden volunteered. “It was quite lovely. The bride was glowing.” Smiling, he saluted the duchess with a lift of his cup.
“I’m certain Rosalie was beautiful,” Aurelia chimed in, “Although the reminder that you were present while my mother and I were not is of no comfort.” Her eyes gleamed more topaz than brown right then as she glared at the viscount.
His smile slipped and he glared right back at her.
The duchess shook her head. “Be nice, you two. Remember, ’tis the season of goodwill and charity.”
The viscount nodded once at Aurelia. “Tell that to her.”
“Oh, I’m perfectly charitable . . . to those deserving.” Grinning, she lifted her glass at the viscount in mock salute.
“Aurelia, be kind. The viscount is a guest—”
“He’s not a guest, Mama. He’s always underfoot. As common as that old stool in the drawing room in desperate need of refurbishing from the constant abuse of Will’s boots. . . .”
Color stained the viscount’s cheeks and his lips compressed as though he were fighting back a response.
“Aurelia.” Will’s voice rang with quiet command. “Enough.”
With a lift of her chin, she closed her mouth and focused her attention on her plate.
Violet studied the earl, intrigued how one word from him held such command. She doubted there were many people that Aurelia obeyed, but it was clear the girl respected her brother.
As though he felt her stare, his gaze snapped to her. She started with a small jerk to find herself the subject of that intense blue gaze. Even though he only stared at her face, she felt stripped bare sitting there with everyone else surrounding them. As though he could really see her. And perhaps he did.
Even after only just meeting her, he perhaps knew her better than anyone else did in this country. For he knew the one thing she had not told another soul since leaving home. That she would marry no one here. That she would live a spinster rather than marry a man who wanted her for only the fortune she brought him. She would rather be alone than spend her days with such a man. He knew that and still he looked at her as though he would gobble her up, clearly indifferent to the audience around them. She fidgeted on the seat.
Aurelia leaned close to whisper in indiscreet tones, “I believe someone is fond of you. You have achieved the impossible.”
Clearly, she meant others to hear. Titters broke out along the table. Mama and Lady Peregrine beamed, looking back and forth between Violet and Lord Merlton.
“You’re being fanciful,” Violet murmured.
“My sister has been described as many things, but never fanciful, Miss Howard. She’s a bit of a pragmatist.”
Heat scalded her cheeks. It was virtually a declaration. He was implying that his sister was right and he fancied her. Violet bit back the response burning on her tongue: You are fond of my dowry.
His lips lifted in a crooked, irresistible grin.
Oh, why, of all place
s, had they come here? Why must she be tempted by him? Why not a dim-witted man with putrid breath and missing teeth? The idea that she could have him, his smiles, his attention, was enticing. Only it wouldn’t be real. She would be giving up on herself if she surrendered to the illusion of that. That life would be a lie, and even on the best of days she would always know that.
To be fair, it wasn’t that she didn’t trust him as much as she didn’t trust herself. Yes, he was handsome. Beautiful, even. But she wasn’t so weak to let that guide her. It was his intensity. His confidence. When he looked at her . . . and said the outrageous things he said, she felt alive. Every nerve in her body tingled and broke loose from slumber.
She had not even realized she had been living and walking around half-awake until now. Until him. He made her feel breathless and anxious and thrilled and nauseated all at once.
“Perhaps you don’t know your sister as well as you think you do,” she countered, ignoring her mother’s small sound of displeasure beside her. “There’s a bit of the fanciful inside everyone.”
He clung to his smile, but his eyes changed . . . hardened with something akin to determination.
This time, she didn’t look away. She let him drink his fill of her and read the resolve in her own expression.
Violet spent the next three days avoiding the earl. No easy feat with matchmaking mamas involved.
She knew she couldn’t avoid him entirely for the remainder of her stay, but she could make certain they were never alone again. She glued herself to Aurelia’s side whenever possible, never straying far as they hunted for a Christmas tree or arranged holly and decorated beribboned boughs throughout the house.
The man was trouble. He made her doubt herself and all her carefully laid plans. He made her doubt . . . everything. With a satisfied nod at her reflection in the dressing table mirror, she exited her bedchamber to join the others for dinner downstairs, smoothing a hand over her gold skirts. Ever since Papa told her that it made her eyes glow like a lion’s, it had been a favorite. Even Mr. Weston complimented her when he had seen her wear it.