Never Fall for Your Fiancee, page 15
“Are you trying to put her off me, Jeremiah?” Although, by her amused expression, Hugh’s mother didn’t appear to have taken offense at the gibe.
“I am merely stepping into the breach until Hugh arrives—to shield the poor girl from the worst of your incessant prying.” He sat directly opposite his wife and then handed her his cup, grinning. “I cannot help but notice this is empty, my darling.”
“Something which is just as well, or you would presently be wearing it, dearest.” Blue eyes, so like Hugh’s, twinkled. “You see, Minerva—devoted couples argue all the time.”
Mr. Peabody rolled his eyes as she got up to fix his drink. “I knew she wouldn’t be able to leave it alone despite my repeated warning it was none of her business. She bored me to sleep last night speculating on what she believed was the peculiar atmosphere between you and Hugh.”
“And I was right. They had a tiff. But it is over now.” She plonked his cup in front of him, and he gave it a tentative sniff before taking a sip and sighing.
“There is nothing like the first cup of coffee in the mornings, is there?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m a tea drinker.” A fresh cup of tea appeared in front of Minerva, and she almost sighed aloud, too. She pushed away the cooling cup of treacle and measured just the one scant spoon of sugar into the new cup with more precision than it needed. “Coffee always tastes so bitter to me, Mr. Peabody.”
“Gracious girl, we are about to be family. Please call me Jeremiah.… And coffee is not for the fainthearted. It’s a strong drink. A man’s drink…”
“What he means is, it’s an American drink. My husband is radically opposed to tea. On principle.”
“Of course I am! My grandfather was a revolutionary. He was there at the Boston Tea Party, standing up for fairness and patriotism. He risked his life for it! He’d be spinning in his grave if he knew I allowed that British muck past my lips.”
“Assuming he isn’t already spinning like a windmill in a gale because you conveniently forgot your proud revolutionary heritage when you chose to marry an Englishwoman.” Hugh strode in looking effortlessly handsome, and her lips, alongside other parts of her, started to tingle with abandon. “Somehow, I think he would find the occasional cup of tea more palatable than a blue-blooded daughter of the British establishment. Good morning, everyone.”
His eyes flicked to hers only briefly before he kissed his mother’s cheek, but this morning they looked at her differently. They dropped for just a second to Minerva’s lips before they pulled away, and she knew in that instant he was having recollections about last night’s kiss, just as she was.
“How is everyone today?” As his eyes kept darting to hers, Minerva answered.
“I am well, thank you.” She wasn’t well at all. She was all over the place, completely at sixes and sevens and severely lacking sleep. That was all his fault. “I trust you are well, too?”
“I am. Excellent, in fact…” There was longing in his eyes, and once again they dropped to her lips. “Excellent…” Hugh rapidly turned to Jeremiah with an overbright smile. “And how are you? Recovered from your travels, I hope?”
“Your mother is prying. Your fiancée is politely tolerating it, and I wish I was still in bed.”
“And what is she prying into, pray tell?”
He sat opposite her, forcing Minerva to smell his cologne. The spicy, obviously expensive scent had been mixed with crisp fresh air as if he had been outside. There was something about the combination that made her want to bury her nose in his neck and sniff. “Our little argument yesterday.” Why was it so hard to meet his eyes? Probably because only a few hours ago, she’d allowed her wandering hands free rein on his body and made no secret she had craved his on hers.
“It was hardly little, dear, if it lasted throughout dinner. What exactly did the pair of you argue about? Despite all my prying, Hugh, your fiancée has been annoyingly scant on details.”
“It was nothing, Mother. Just as Minerva said. A tiny lovers’ tiff.” Their eyes finally met properly across the table, and his were amused. “All that matters now is that it’s all sorted.”
“Then if it’s in the past, I see no reason why you cannot share it with us. Once finished with, silly arguments make such wonderful entertainment. What did my horrid son do, Minerva?”
His mother really was like a dog with a bone, one she was unlikely to let go of unless she was thrown a few treats to replace it. “If you must know, we disagreed about the wedding venue.” Hugh’s cup paused midway between the table and his mouth, which made her immediately feel stupid at her hasty fabrication, but she was committed now. Backtracking would be impossible.
“Hugh suggested he wanted us to marry in London while I thought I had made it perfectly clear I would prefer to marry here … in Hampshire. Saint Mary’s is so beautiful…” His mother’s eyes had lit up. Minerva apparently couldn’t have picked a better topic to appease her, although she also recognized his long-awaited marriage was his mother’s dream and his worst nightmare. “I thought his devoted tenants should get to enjoy the day…” Her voice trailed off, and she took a nervous gulp of her tea. It was so hot it brought tears to her eyes.
“Well, of course you should marry in Hampshire!” His mother glared at her son. “I am staggered you would even consider London, Hugh! I hope you conceded Minerva was right?”
“Of course I did. London was merely a suggestion.”
“A stupid one. As well as unnecessarily complicated. It will be devilishly difficult to plan the wedding from such a distance.” She patted Minerva’s arm. “I am entirely on your side in this. No wonder you shot daggers at him throughout dinner. Had I been in your shoes, I’d have probably hurled the silverware.” Then she shuffled her chair a little closer. “Have you finally set a date?”
“No…”
“Probably just as well, as there is much to arrange and until we know about the availability of Madame Devy, it would be silly to commit to a date.”
“Madame Devy?”
“The modiste, dear. The very best modiste in the whole of England. She is highly sought after and a veritable genius with silk. She must make your wedding gown! I shall send word to her today and tell her it is an emergency. She owes me many favors.… But once she has all your measurements, I am certain she will be able to turn things around by Christmas.”
“Christmas?”
“Well, obviously, this far from summer, it stands to reason in the absence of a June wedding you should have a Christmas wedding.” She clapped her small hands together and beamed. “What do you say, Hugh? Wouldn’t a Christmas wedding be perfect?”
“Yes, excellent…”
“Have you thought about colors, Minerva?”
She opened her mouth to speak, and then his mother cut her off. “No! Silly me. We cannot discuss colors with Hugh present. It’s bad luck for the groom to know anything about the dress. We shall talk about that later.… But we can talk about guests, can’t we? And bridesmaids. I suppose you will want your sisters as your bridesmaids, won’t you? And I shall assume that rapscallion Giles will be your best man, Hugh?”
It was as if Minerva had inadvertently opened a gate and allowed a flock of crazed sheep to escape. Hugh’s mother was in her element, firing off ideas and questions she clearly expected no answers to. Her husband seemed to give up the ghost and withdraw into his coffee, while poor Hugh gripped the handle of his teacup so tightly, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if he suddenly snapped the thing off.
She cast him a mournful glance, hoping he could see the apology in it. Then Lord Bellingham walked in, and she watched Hugh practically sigh with relief.
“Giles! Thank the Lord! You couldn’t have timed it better. Please save me from this living hell. My mother is planning wedding dresses. Come! Sit! You must be starving!”
“I am not hungry.”
“What? Has the world ended? I’ve never known you to not be hungry.”
“Might I have a word, old boy?” He smiled to the table, then stared pointedly at Hugh. “In private?”
“Of course.” The wretch was up and out like a shot, beyond eager to escape when he had only just arrived, leaving Minerva alone to deal with the rabid monster she had inadvertently constructed.
“We’ll hold the wedding breakfast here, at Standish House, then have an evening feast for the village.…”
Chapter Fourteen
“What do you mean you have to go?” Hugh gripped Giles by the lapels and seriously considered shaking him. “You can’t!” Because Hugh had kissed her, practically ravished her, and the only hope he had of not kissing her ever again was if she left tonight. “I need you!”
“It’s an emergency, old boy.” He waved the note in his hand, then snatched it away when Hugh tried to grab it. “Ask Payne. It came by express fifteen minutes ago. I have to go.”
“But Giles…”
“It shouldn’t take long.”
“‘Shouldn’t take long’? What sort of a woolly answer is that? When will you be back, damn it?”
“A few days…” Good grief! “A week at most.”
He did shake him then as blind panic took hold. “A week! A bloody week! What the hell am I supposed to do with them all for a week!” He had a million ideas what to do with Minerva, all of them wholly inappropriate. Each and every one had stopped him from sleeping last night, then necessitated an icy wash followed by a brisk gallop across the fields before the sun even rose first thing this morning. Neither had done anything to dampen his ardor. “You need to take her today!”
“Well, I can hardly elope with her now, can I? She’s eating breakfast with your mother!”
“They are planning my wedding! Have you any idea how much planning my mother is capable of in a single week?” Hugh let go of Giles to pace, trying to focus on his own misery and not to notice his friend’s suddenly gray pallor and fraught expression. Something was wrong. Very wrong. So wrong it stopped him from lusting after Minerva. “What is it, Giles? Can I help?”
“Nothing serious, old boy—rattling skeletons which urgently need my attention, that’s all—but thanks for offering.”
He could tell by his friend’s closed expression he would hear nothing more. And Minerva accused Hugh of being secretive, which of course he was with good reason, but he’d known Giles for over a decade and sometimes wondered if he knew him at all. He frequently disappeared with little explanation, always claimed rattling skeletons but never confided what those persistent old bones were. “I shall be back as soon as I am able. You have my word. As I said, it shouldn’t take long…” Although even Giles didn’t look convinced by that half-hearted statement. “Or at least I hope it doesn’t. In the meantime, try to avoid getting married, there’s a good chap.”
“Easy for you to say. My mother is doubtless writing the guest list as we speak. The banns will be read on Sunday…” Fresh panic gripped him. “Bloody hell, Giles! How do I stop the banns from being read?”
“They have to be read three times before they’re official and I’ll definitely be back before that happens.”
“Hardly reassuring.” Aside from putting off his mother, Hugh couldn’t imagine being able to resist Minerva for one week, let alone three. She had been so passionate. So magnificently wanton. If her kisses alone made him lose his head, anything more didn’t bear thinking about. Except he kept thinking about it. Those long legs, the gauzy nightgown, the dusky nipples beneath it he was now desperate to see properly. Touch … taste …
“Look on the bright side, while she is occupied with wedding preparations, she won’t have the time or inclination to be suspicious. Just maintain the status quo, act besotted, let your mother have her fun, and before you know it, I shall be back to sweep your fiancée off her feet and scandalously steal her from under your nose.” Giles attempted to smile, then shook his head in apology. “I really do have to go, old boy.”
“Then go, damn it! The quicker you do, the quicker you can come back and the quicker this sham will be over.”
If Hugh survived it—and that was a very big “if” indeed. If his mother didn’t kill him for his duplicity, his lust for Minerva would. Perhaps, in this instance, death would be a blessing? He had never been so consumed by a woman before. So tempted to ignore all of his hard-and-fast rules about the sort of women he wooed. This morning, as soon as he saw her, he had wanted to flirt with her. Pick her flowers. Spend all day with her. Talking, kissing. Getting to know her in every possible way. He blamed the nightgown, the firelight, and all that seductive hair for his idiotic lapse in judgment. But unfortunately, last night his wayward Standish blood had fired his loins to such an extent, the pragmatic, reasonable, and noble part of his brain had stopped working and he had completely forgotten all his deeply ingrained principles.
So much for respectfully keeping his hands to himself. Thanks to his foolhardy and spectacular lapse in judgment, they had had a high old time thoroughly getting to know Minerva. He couldn’t look at his palms without remembering how perfectly her delectable bottom had filled them. Or her breasts.
Giles left him to pace the study. A week didn’t bear thinking about. Under the original circumstances, it would be a risky gamble that would be near impossible to pull off. But now he’d kissed Minerva! Thoroughly kissed Minerva and been thoroughly knocked sideways by his own incomprehensible reaction to it, rendering a single day in her company pure torture.
What he didn’t understand, what he had been wondering incessantly since he’d left her last night, in between reliving the experience over and over again in his mind, was what was different about the way Minerva kissed from all the other women whose lips had locked with his over the years. He’d lost himself in it, poured all of himself into it, and then been left blindsided by the impact. Her kisses were potent, addictive, dangerous, and best avoided henceforth. He could barely look at her now without a new, strange, and frightening yearning taking over. A yearning he hoped to God was just carnal.
“Lord Bellingham’s carriage has left, my lord.” Payne hadn’t bothered knocking—or perhaps he had and Hugh was so bewitched by the vixen he’d been rendered deaf as well as stupid. “Therefore, it would be prudent if you apprised me of the alternative plan.”
“There is no alternative plan. And unless you can come up with something brilliant, we shall just have to make it up as we go along, Payne. Until Giles returns.”
“Oh dear…”
“‘Oh dear’ indeed, Payne. My mother has already made a spirited start on the wedding preparations and she hasn’t been home a full day yet.”
“Those will only keep her occupied for so long.”
“But at least they will keep her occupied for the time being. I have no choice but to allow my mother to plan to her heart’s content.”
“But she is planning with Miss Minerva. Is it fair to load such a burden solely on her shoulders?”
“I suppose not.”
Poor Minerva. All the money in the world wouldn’t compensate her for that onerous task. Hours and hours together, his meddling mother gradually chiseling away at their flimsy story until there was nothing left to hide behind. “Damn and bloody blast, Payne! What the hell am I going to do?”
“Until a new plan emerges, might I suggest you attempt to be the model son and fiancé.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Spend as much time with your mother as possible. Take her riding, visit her friends—whatever it takes to keep the woman busy. Accompany Minerva in all dealings with your mother, or at least as many of them as you can without arousing suspicion. That way you can better manage their interactions as well as mitigate any unwelcome surprises. And, what better way to distract your mother than by allowing her free rein to plan the wedding? At least it allows you to direct the inevitable meddling there, too.”
“That is exactly what Giles said.”
“Then we have our alternative plan. Shall I inform Miss Minerva once she is alone?”
“No, Payne. I will.” Because Lord only knew they needed to talk. Aside from the hastily cobbled together plan, Hugh needed to construct some boundaries between them, which were suddenly very necessary if he was going to survive till the end. “Can you find a way to occupy my mother and her blasted sisters so I can speak to Minerva after breakfast?” The last thing he needed was Diana realizing her prophecy concerning his supposed plans to debauch her sister had come true. And in less than a week. A very stark reminder indeed of what could happen in the coming week if he lost his head again.
* * *
“It is an unforeseen development, to be sure—but not insurmountable.” Hugh was pacing the floor of the rarely visited portrait gallery like an expectant father, his errant hands clasped tightly behind his back in case they gave in to the overwhelming urge to touch her. Heaven only knew why he had chosen this place for their clandestine meeting, because now he felt the weight of all his ancestors’ eyes on him as well as Minerva’s. His philandering cruel grandfather and his philandering and duplicitous father both a stark warning of the hereditary weakness that flowed through his veins, and which would break her generous heart if he succumbed. “All we need to do is keep my mother occupied.”
By the looks of her, she was as uncomfortable with their meeting as he was. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her like a prim schoolmistress, when she hadn’t been the slightest bit prim last night. Those hands had wandered as freely and as boldly on his person as his had on hers. Something he had enjoyed at the time but wished he didn’t remember quite so vividly now. “She’s already occupied, Hugh. Thanks to my clumsy comment.” She stared down at her feet, her expression pained. “I am so sorry I brought up the wedding. I was trying to extricate us both from an awkward situation and yet have only made it more awkward in the process.”
“It’s all right. In a funny sort of way, it’s the perfect distraction. So long as she is fervently planning our nuptials, she won’t be watching the pair of us too closely. All we have to do is cheerfully play along.”
