Never Fall for your Fiancée, page 13
“Hugh begged?”
“On bended knees.” Minerva smiled at him then. “His voice choked with emotion . . .”
Payne reappeared and coughed politely, spoiling her fun. “The hot baths are ready, my lord. I took the liberty of having the maids draw one for everyone.”
“Excellent.” Hugh sprung to his feet, no doubt grateful his time in the pillory was at an end. “Excellent!”
Everyone, barring his mother, also stood.
“Go.” She shooed them all with a flick of her wrist. “I shall have my maid draw me a fresh bath later. For now, I think I need fresh air, so I shall take a little turn about the garden. And as Minerva isn’t one for relaxing in the afternoons either, perhaps she will join me. Just the two of us.” Her gaze shifted quickly to her son as if gauging his reaction. “I can show you the cave I was telling you about and we can have a proper chat. I should like to get to know my future daughter-in-law better.” Canny blue eyes so like Hugh’s regarded her steadily. There was an undeniable challenge there. One she couldn’t escape without arousing suspicion. “I believe there is much I still need to know.”
“That would be lovely.” Minerva knew it wasn’t going to be. She wouldn’t be able to drop her guard for a second.
“You have interrogated the poor girl enough for one afternoon, Olivia. There’ll be plenty of time for walking tomorrow and I daresay Miss Minerva needs a good lie-down after all your questions.” Mr. Peabody winked at her.
“I am a bit tired.”
“Then that settles it! I am going to enjoy grabbing an afternoon nap. After weeks on that boat, I’m looking forward to stretching out on a proper bed. Those bunks aren’t made for men like me.”
Like Hugh, he was tall, but that was where the similarities ended. Jeremiah Peabody had jet-black hair threaded with a little silver, and dark, laughing eyes. Almost as if he found everything about life— or perhaps this particular situation— vastly amusing. He took his reluctant wife’s arm and tugged her toward the door. “And to that end, we shall bid you a pleasant afternoon and look forward to seeing you again at dinner.”
“By which time, I shall have thought of a million questions, I’m sure.” And with that, she sailed out, closely followed by everyone else, leaving just Hugh and Minerva. He waited till they were all out of earshot before he dared speak.
“Thank you for . . .”
“My fee just went up to sixty pounds.” The unplanned words tumbled out of her mouth. Clearly having some power had gone to her head.
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me. Sixty pounds and I will have the first thirty pounds by tomorrow morning. There will also be no more talk of dispatching Vee— or we leave as planned first thing.”
As his mouth hung slack, she sailed out of the room herself, not quite believing what she had just done but feeling oddly proud. Did that make her mercenary? Probably. And a tad vengeful. But in view of Hugh’s disappointing shallowness, she decided not to allow it to bother her.
Chapter Twelve
Hugh was sick and tired of pacing the floor of his study. He’d paced it all afternoon because the minx only emerged from her bedchamber for dinner, predictably flanked by her annoying sisters and refusing to leave either of their sides or his mother’s afterward, to enable him to speak to her alone. The only communication had been the pointed glares she shot in his direction when she was certain nobody was looking, and those were so cold, they left no element of doubt as to the way she was feeling.
Minerva was seething.
Whereas Hugh’s anger had abandoned him when raw, visceral panic had taken its place upon learning his mother had arrived home early. Panic that his now-renegade fake fiancée seemed intent on cruelly fueling. Just as she had enjoyed twisting the carefully constructed backstory he had woven for nearly two years to make him a laughingstock in his own damn house! The way Minerva told it, Hugh had been a pathetic and ardent suitor from the outset. One she had been training to be a better man since. Silly Hugh. Unreliable Hugh. Self-centered and self-important . . . Thank goodness she had come along at the right time to fix all his myriad of faults before they became so ingrained, he was a lost cause.
His mother, of course, lapped it all up because Minerva was purposefully echoing all the things she had nagged him about for years. No doubt simply to torture him, she had just gone to bed on his mother’s arm, too, the pair of them gossiping like fast friends.
Meanwhile, Hugh was being left in the dark, forced to watch his meticulously orchestrated charade play out from the stalls rather than from the center of the stage, and he didn’t like it one bit. After their altercation this afternoon, the new Mercenary Minerva might well be royally stabbing him in the back— yet while she was being guarded by her loyal coven, he had no possible way of finding out.
It was all a huge mess, one that was making him so anxious he couldn’t concentrate on anything else.
Payne scratched on the door and let himself in, still plainly carrying the note he had sent to Minerva in an attempt to call a desperate truce to the hostilities.
“She refused to take it, my lord. She told me to tell you she still wasn’t speaking to you, which, she argued, included reading anything you have written.”
“Blasted woman! What does she think she is playing at?”
Payne simply shrugged, his expression deadpan.
“Do you think I am in the wrong?”
“I think the version of events you gave me is a bit different to the one Miss Minerva just apprised me of. In your version, you neglected to mention you were in high dudgeon well before your altercation with her.”
Of course she would have told him about Sarah, although Payne would have the good sense never to mention her directly. “I confess, I was in the highest of dudgeons after her sister threw another tantrum.” There was no denying Hugh hadn’t been himself when he had embarked on his necessary conversation with Minerva. “Vee would try the patience of a saint.”
“And you, my lord, were of course an angel.”
“I lost my temper, Payne, as anyone would when faced with unreasonableness.”
“Miss Minerva said you galloped off and almost caused her to fall from her horse, when you knew perfectly well she was a novice rider and lacked the confidence to cope well with that speed.”
“It was barely a trot.”
“She also called you a selfish, shallow brute.”
“Brute?”
“The lady’s exact words, my lord, and you will be pleased to know I challenged her comments.”
“Thank you, Payne. . . . I am a lot of things, but a ‘selfish, shallow brute’ isn’t one of them.”
“Indeed, my lord. I said to her, ‘Selfish and shallow I will grant you, because he is both in spades, but I have never known His Lordship to be brutish. Such a trait would take far too much effort.’ ” The butler smiled at Hugh’s narrowed eyes and dropped the note on Hugh’s desk. “If I might be so bold as to offer some advice, my lord.”
“As if I could stop you.”
“You had a tiff and are both still too aggrieved to be reasonable. Therefore, I suggest you both sleep on it and then discuss it in the morning. Rested, I am sure she will be in a much better frame of mind and more receptive to your apology.”
“I am not apologizing!”
“For a man who has such success with the ladies, it always surprises me how little you know about them.” Payne turned to leave.
“Et tu, Brute! You do think I am in the wrong.”
“In all honesty, my lord, you are both stubborn people. It is frankly a miracle you haven’t fallen out before today. Until now, you have both displayed impressive restraint and an admirable facility to compromise. I am strangely proud of you. But you are the man and therefore you must be the one to apologize. That is the law.”
“Which law?”
“The law of women, my lord. Believe me, as all married men will doubtless readily attest, your life will be much easier if you throw yourself willingly on your sword. Or do you wish to spend all of tomorrow frozen out of the proceedings, too? I am afraid in this particular situation, you need Miss Minerva much more than she needs you. Best to keep her on your side, don’t you agree?”
His smirking butler bid him a good-night, then left Hugh to ponder. It was true, the wench had him over a barrel. He was still smarting at her demand for more money. It wasn’t so much the money he had a problem with, because he had plenty of that, it was more the manner in which she presented him with the ultimatum. She had wanted to put him in his place, and by Jove she had. Then she had thrown him in purgatory and seemed only too delighted to leave him to languish there for the duration. As much as it pained Hugh to admit it, perhaps Payne was right about one thing. There was nothing he could do about it tonight. Better to tackle it with fresh eyes and hopefully a more conciliatory mood tomorrow.
Defeated, he took himself up to bed and dismissed his valet. He was done with feigning politeness when all he really wanted to do was kick the furniture around. But instead of shattering his toes on the unforgiving old oak bedstead, he settled for balling up his waistcoat and cravat and furiously tossing them at the wall before he took a deep breath, tugged off his boots, and stretched out on top of the covers to ponder some more.
This really wasn’t how he wanted his dealings with Minerva to end. In light of his mother’s impromptu arrival, he and Giles had already deemed it necessary to bring the elopement forward, too. She and Giles would flee tomorrow night. It seemed the most prudent way of limiting the potential catastrophe and, ironically, the awkward frisson between Hugh and his beloved all day, combined with Minerva’s lackluster and lukewarm recollections of their courtship, did play in their favor. If it was apparent to his mother and Jeremiah the affection between the besotted couple was more one-sided than they had been led to believe, they wouldn’t be completely surprised if Minerva’s head had been turned elsewhere. All they had to do was get through one more day together. Just one more paltry day and their charade would be done.
Not that the vexing Minerva knew any of this, because she hadn’t read his blasted note!
And if she awoke in a snit tomorrow, and avoided him again, he would have to get Payne or Giles to explain it all to her. And get them to say goodbye.
For some reason, that made him feel both sad and furious in equal measure. Sad, because despite her recent betrayal and flagrant blackmail, he liked her. A great deal. He had from the outset, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her disappearing when he knew he would forever worry about how she was faring on her own again. And he was furious because she would leave still unjustly assuming he was a brute, while absolving herself of all blame for his supposed brutishness.
That hardly struck him as fair.
Why did she get to have the last word when there were important things to be said? The logistics for tomorrow, for example? The need for her to continue to behave as if she was peeved at him. The fact he needed her to know she could come to him if life or fate was ever cruel to her again? She was denying him the right to continue to be her knight in shining armor, when he was resolutely committed to continue being it.
He jumped off the bed and began to pace again, annoyed with himself for still being annoyed and annoyed at the thought of her enjoying the blissful sleep of the self-righteous when he wouldn’t sleep a wink. So much for being master of his own house. What sort of master had to resort to pacing the Persian?
Not this one.
Something inside him snapped, and Hugh was striding across the landing toward the east wing before he thought better of it.
If she wouldn’t read his note, then she would hear it in person!
As he turned into her hallway, he saw the thin strip of light bleeding beneath her door.
Good.
She wasn’t asleep. He hoped she was feeling as remorseful and frustrated as he was by today’s unfortunate chain of events. He stalled his clenched hand before it pummeled on the door, realizing in the nick of time that without stealth, her sisters would dash to her aid and he’d have to try to hold one of the single most important conversations of his life in front of an overprotective audience. Instead, he tapped lightly once and then strode inside without allowing her the opportunity to tell him to go to hell.
“Minerva, we need to . . .” The rest of the words died in his throat. She stood at the window in nothing but a billowing nightgown. A nightgown the firelight rendered translucent. Her dark hair was loose, hanging almost to her hip, a breathtaking silken curtain that shimmered in the dim flame of the single candle.
“What the . . . !”
He winced at the shriek and motioned with his hands for her not to scream as she scrabbled for the shawl hanging on the mirror and held it against her, thoroughly spoiling his splendid view. “I am sorry for barging in— but it cannot wait. I really do need to speak to you.”
“Here? How dare you come here!” Her eyes then raked the length of him, taking in the loose untucked shirt and bare feet and calves poking out of his breeches. “You’re not even dressed!”
“It was a sudden decision . . . and in the spur of the moment I forgot myself. I’m sorry.” But he wouldn’t be deterred. Nor would he be seduced. “Would it help if I apologized for part of what transpired earlier?”
“Only part!” Instead of placating her, his words only served to get her dander up further, and Hugh sighed, remembering his butler’s advice.
“I am sorry for being in a bad mood earlier and for taking it out on you.” He owed her that much of an apology. “And I am sorry for galloping off and leaving you to struggle with Marigold alone. That was ungentlemanly.”
Still clutching the shawl in front of her like a shield, she looked down her nose at him. “It was. Very.”
“In light of what happened subsequently, I also regret falling out with you over Vee.”
“That doesn’t sound the least bit like an apology.”
“It is a partial one. One which when combined with the other two acknowledges I am three-quarters to blame for this morning.”
“I suppose you expect me to take responsibility for the remaining quarter?” He decided to take the fact she was not shouting as a positive sign.
As tempting as it was to moan about Vee, he wouldn’t. Her sisters were her Achilles’ heel, and mentioning that wouldn’t release him from purgatory. “Not all of it.” He held up his finger and thumb an inch apart. “Just the bit where you were mean to me and then tried to blackmail me as revenge for my shoddy behavior.”
“It was shoddy.”
“My behavior or your attempt at blackmail?” He offered her a tenuous smile as an olive branch.
“Both.” Contrition replaced the affronted outrage. “I shouldn’t have stooped to your level. You don’t have to pay me sixty pounds.”
“I will and gladly. You saved my bacon today and for that I am truly thankful. Do you accept my apology, or shall I get down on my knees and plead as I did when I begged you for your hand?”
The beginnings of a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She wasn’t the least bit sorry for making him sound pathetic and lovelorn in front of his mother, and he admired that. “As tempting as that is, I shall accept.”
“Thank you.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, then had a very odd moment when he realized it wasn’t only her hand he wanted to kiss.
It was all of her.
Off-kilter yet again, Hugh stepped back awkwardly and tried to look unaffected as she blinked back at him. Lord, she was lovely! Too lovely. All that hair, the nightgown. The shadow of the long legs he could see beneath it. Realizing he was staring, he looked away, only to be confronted with the large bed that dominated the room. Its covers turned down in invitation. “Then I declare a truce.” His heart was racing. Beads of nervous perspiration seemed to multiply along his spine as images of the pair of them in that bed skittered vividly across his mind. “Now can we talk?”
“You didn’t just come here to apologize, then?”
As he was in danger of awkwardly bouncing on the balls of his feet, Hugh sat on the chair by the dressing table and, after casting another frantic glance around the room, had no choice but to gesture for her to sit on the bed or continue to stand like Eve tempting Adam before him. “There is much to discuss and I haven’t had a second with you alone since you told me to go to hell outside the stables.”
She sat, rearranging the shawl primly around her shoulders and forcing him to notice some alluring female jiggling beneath the nightgown. Then the jiggling reminded him that the diaphanous nightgown was the only flimsy barrier between his eyes and her nakedness. More unwelcome images writhed erotically in his imagination, more than he feared he was capable of coping with. Rather than groan out loud at the visceral effect they had on his body, he crossed one leg over the other and tried to imagine he wasn’t alone in this intimately lit bedchamber with a woman who had no idea how much he wanted her. He tried valiantly to picture Lucretia in that seductive garment instead— short, stout legs and slightly crinkly graying hair unbound. He clung to that unappealing image like grim death. “What were you and my mother whispering about after dinner?”
“Your mother wanted to go through your entire story with a fine-tooth comb. How we met, our courtship, my illness, and my father’s death.” Her pretty face became pained. “I did my best to answer every question, but I am not entirely sure she is convinced, Hugh. She asked the same things over and over in different ways. All very cordially, but I got the distinct impression she was trying to trip me up.”
“She excels at that.”
“If I say so myself, I did a good job of distracting her. I asked a great many questions about Boston and Mr. Peabody.”
“Jeremiah has always managed to distract her.”
“It’s obvious she adores him.” Minerva’s face softened, and she had a faraway look in her green eyes that made him want to go far away with her. “She lit up whenever she talked about him.”
