Never Fall for Your Fiancee, page 22
“A cynical view. Not all men are untrustworthy.”
“True.” Not that she appeared particularly convinced. “Although I have yet to find one I can trust further than I can throw him. And, to their credit, some gentlemen are honest enough to admit to their failings up front—like your good self.” And with one pithy comment, she tossed him into the same lackluster league as her cowardly former sweetheart and her feckless, missing, shameful excuse for a father. “Which is admirable, for it gives a lady enough forewarning to avoid any potential misunderstanding at the start. Only a fool would fall for a scoundrel she knew was a scoundrel.” Her teasing tone did nothing to lessen the sharp sting of her words.
She gazed off into the distance again. “But enough of that … Is that the sea?”
Deflection.
Something he had always been a master of when people touched a nerve, yet until that moment, Hugh hadn’t realized how frustrating it must be for others, because he wasn’t done. He wanted to expose Minerva’s nerve completely, get to the root of it and fix it. He wanted to argue against her cynicism but was furious that he couldn’t. How could he when she had spoken the truth? He was also untrustworthy, and she deserved better.
“Not quite. It’s an inlet.”
“That’s a shame. I’ve never seen the sea before.”
At least that he could fix. “Another travesty easily remedied.” If only they all were. “We are a few miles from the coast. Would you like to see it today?”
“Could we?” Her lovely green eyes were bright again, excited.
“Today is all for you. If you want to see the sea, then your wish is my command. And I know just the place.” He held out his hand to help her down, and once again found he was unable to let sleeping dogs lie, despite knowing he had no right to be jealous and certainly no right to pry. “What was his name?”
“Why do you need to know?” Just her touch seemed to warm him from within.
“Because if I should ever collide with him, I know already I shall feel duty bound to tell him what a fool he was to let you go.”
Which also made him a fool, too.
But what other choice did he have? If he hadn’t been his father’s son, and therefore exactly the sort of man to ultimately, albeit unintentionally, let her down, then Minerva was the sort of woman he could see himself spending forever with—and happily. She was smart and funny, generous with her deeds and her thoughts, passionate, persistent, wonderfully flawed in her own unique and comical way, and without a doubt the single most attractive and alluring woman he had ever gazed upon. From her unusual height to her inability to sing, he adored everything about her.
“He was a fool.” She paused on the stairs, her features softening as she gazed down at him. “You say the loveliest things, Hugh.” She smiled and he basked in it. “No wonder all the ladies love you.”
“Except you.” That reality hurt.
“Except me.” Deeply hurt.
“Because only a fool falls for a scoundrel.”
“Exactly.” Her foot reached the bottom step. “I am a great many things, but I am certainly not … oh for goodness’ sake!” She yanked the fabric of her coat to reveal the single tenacious branch of bramble that had attached itself to her skirt. Another yank did nothing to shift it.
“You are making it worse.… Allow me.” Without thinking, Hugh reached behind her to untangle it. “Don’t move backward…” Her hand came to rest on his shoulder as she steadied herself. Hugh tried to ignore it while he wrestled with the thorns and his own crushing disappointment because she didn’t want him, and he knew she shouldn’t want him. Because he was his father’s son and incapable of being the man she deserved just like those others. But what if he could be …
There was no denying if he could be that man for anyone, he stood more chance with this amazing woman than any other.
Madness! This romantic place was clearly scrambling his wits.
“Almost done … there.” He intended to smile, triumphant, then escape, regroup. Save them both from his ridiculous, impossible desires, but his eyes were suddenly level with her lips and the smile failed to form because her hand was still on his shoulder and she smelled of strawberries and champagne and she was all he had ever wanted.
What if …
His hand was just millimeters from her hip, desperate to touch her. The few inches of air that separated her lush body and his seemed to crackle expectantly.
Neither of them moved.
He could hear her breathing.
Hear the intimate silence enveloping them.
Hear his own heartbeat.
His own indecision. His fears.
His own hideously romantic ideas. Some lustful. Some worryingly poetic. Neither by any means hideous. In fact, at this precise moment, they were thoroughly … excellent in every single way.
Excellent!
The floor shifted beneath his feet.
Clearly coming here, at this time of the morning, all alone with just her had been a huge mistake. Acting on his desires would be another huge mistake. Both for Minerva and his niggling, damn conscience. It would kill him to hurt her. For the sake of his own sanity and to do what was right, he stepped to the side to sever the hypnotic spell of whatever strange, invisible web was wrapped around them.
“Right, then—onward and upward with our adventure.” He had to force himself to walk back toward the breakfast basket rather than run for the hills in a blind panic, force himself to make meaningless small talk while he hastily packed the food away. Force himself not to give in to the urge to say to hell with it and kiss her anyway and be damned. Force himself not to be thoroughly annoyed that he couldn’t. Shouldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
Force himself not to notice she seemed disappointed that he hadn’t.
He helped her back in the curricle instead, then busied himself with reattaching the basket to the back, returning to his seat only when he felt composed enough to continue as if nothing was amiss at all, when everything was.
He was in pain.
Pain like he had never experienced before, because it was apparently his heart that felt it the most keenly, an organ that had never been thus affected before or one he had ever given much thought to. It forced him to face a reality he had never expected, one he had believed himself immune to and unable to feel. One that had crept up on him without him realizing, taking root and growing quietly stronger in a secret corner he never knew existed.
He had feelings for Minerva.
Affectionate, possessive, needy, and all-encompassing feelings, but for the life of him, Hugh had no clue what to do about them beyond ignoring them and hoping they went away.
“I thought we’d tour a few of the pretty villages, then have lunch at the Queen’s Head in Titchfield. They do the most wonderful pies. Trust me. Pies to die for. And then we’ll drive to Hill Head, where there are miles and miles of beach for you to finally see the sea in all its glory. How does that sound?”
“Excellent…”
Hugh did his best to be the perfect host for the next few hours, and to her credit Minerva also carried on as if nothing had happened, but the atmosphere their peculiar moment had created hung in the air regardless. He spent most of their luncheon pondering whether or not he should broach the subject, and once he decided he would, he spent the next hour procrastinating about how best to bring it up. Before he bit the bullet, they caught the first glimpse of the ocean on the horizon. Not that he paid much attention to it, he was too busy watching her face, trying to enjoy the look of awe she had as the vast expanse of water came closer into view. He couldn’t spoil that by bringing up what Minerva would call the Great Unsaid—even if his foolish heart wanted him to say it.
“I can hear it!” Unsurprisingly, being almost December, the brisk sea breeze was doing its best to whip the water. Wave after wave formed way offshore and rolled to crash on the shingle beach before them, sending torrents of foam between the pebbles, which quickly receded. “It sounds exactly like the sound you hear when you put a shell against your ear. I never believed that before.… But it’s true.”
She didn’t wait for him to help her down as he brought the curricle to a stop. Instead, she hopped down and rushed to the beach.
The wind plastered her skirts to her legs. She had to hold on to her bonnet with one hand, yet long tendrils of dark hair escaped unbidden as she ran, enthralled by the view. Then she turned to him, laughing, the very picture of absolute joy, and he found himself caught up in it, smiling back, and his odd mood lifted.
“Come on, Hugh! You promised me a walk on the beach. And there is so much of it!”
There was probably a worn path somewhere, but she was too impatient to find it, so he helped her scramble down the bank and, still holding her hand, led her as close as he dared to where the water met the shore without risking a stray wave filling their boots. “This is wonderful, Hugh! Thank you for bringing me.”
“Another splendid thing for you to paint one day.”
“I doubt I could do it justice … all the colors … all the movement.”
“They say the moon controls the tides.”
“They do?” She stared up at the sky in wonder, not that any sign of the moon was visible. “How on earth does it do that from so far away?”
“Something to do with gravity, or so I’ve read. I can’t say I understand it all, really.”
“Some things aren’t meant to be understood, they just are. That is enough.”
“Very philosophical.”
She bent to scratch a flat white shell out of the wet sand, but turned her face to grin at him. “It’s clearly the day for it. And what a lovely day it has been—embracing what-ifs and not understanding the things that just are.” Hugh merely nodded, a little thrown that her statement seemed to sum up everything he was feeling. He held out his arm and she took it, making everything instantly right again, and they wandered the entire length of the beach. Minerva collected shells, examined seaweed, watched the gulls glide overhead, took in everything, and shared it with him with an almost childlike delight. When the wind stole her bonnet, and sent it rolling along the beach, she chased it, laughing, causing more unwelcome pangs of need and longing, more regrets.
More what-ifs …
He finally caught her bonnet and dusted off the sand with his hands. She took it and spun a happy circle. “It’s beautiful, Hugh—just as you said. Are all beaches as beautiful as the ones in Hampshire?”
“Not all. Some more so. Some less.”
“What about that beach in Italy? The one we might have to run away to later? Is that as lovely?”
“That is the most beautiful beach in the world.” Because she would be on it with him. Anywhere that she was, was beautiful. “We wouldn’t be running away there otherwise.”
She stopped spinning and gazed at him, and Hugh saw everything he was feeling mirrored in her eyes. The longing. The yearning. The sadness. The million what-ifs that neither of them wanted to acknowledge, and something snapped.
Some things were not meant to be understood, they just were, and right here, right now was one such moment.
A perfect moment.
Perhaps the only one they had left.
He reached for her hand and tugged her against him, wrapping his arms possessively around her waist. Neither of them spoke. Words seemed unnecessary, because he was drowning in her intense emerald gaze and she had looped her arms around his shoulders and taken a step closer so they were touching from chest to hip.
He wasn’t entirely sure it was him who dipped his head first, or her who tugged it down, but he sighed into her mouth when their lips finally touched, and poured everything he felt, every tangled emotion, every impossible dream, all his passion and all his fledging affection into the kiss.
The kiss to end all kisses.
But one that came with a million more what-ifs and not a single answer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Minerva had no idea how long they stood there entwined in each other’s arms. Time stood still, and there was nothing but her and him and the distant sound of the sea. But as the crashing waves grew louder, once again it was Hugh who pulled away. He let go and stepped back, then paced, raking his hand through his hair, looking completely miserable.
For her, it wasn’t just a physical severing of the kiss, but an emotional one. She could feel him distancing himself from it—from her. As if he regretted it.
“I’m sorry.… I shouldn’t have done that. It was a mistake. A huge mistake. I am not entirely sure what came over me…”
“It was a mistake.” She tried to appear blasé about it. Unaffected rather than wounded by the bitter remorse she could see in his eyes. Eyes that were now too stormy to twinkle with mischief as they usually did. Eyes that struggled to hold hers.
“You have to understand it is an impossible situation.”
She knew it was an impossible situation. Knew it before she allowed him to kiss her. Knew it when she’d allowed herself to develop feelings for him, yet developed them regardless. That didn’t make his rejection hurt less. “Pay it no mind. It was just a kiss.”
Just a kiss.
One that had made her heart sing before it surrendered itself completely to him. What an absolute fool she was. He had never hidden the fact he was a scoundrel, and she had thought herself immune to scoundrels, but she had fallen for Hugh anyway. Seduced by his charm and his easy way. Somewhere over the last week she had forgotten where she came from, forgotten this wasn’t her life at all. It was a fabrication. A construct. An intoxicating break from reality, that she, the proud realist, had lost sight of alongside all the harsh lessons life had thrown at her.
“We should probably forget it happened … shouldn’t we?” Now he looked queasy, which was just plain insulting.
“Probably.” Not that she had forgotten the last kiss, the one that had expediated her growing attachment to him. The one she thought about all the time. “We should also probably head back. It will be dark in an hour or so.”
“Yes … of course … unless you want to discuss what just happened?”
“What is there to discuss? It was just a kiss. Let’s not let it spoil our day.” How she managed to smile, she would never know, when she wanted to weep and howl at the missing moon like a banshee.
“Yes … an excellent idea.”
He held out his hand to help her up the steep bank, and she pretended she hadn’t seen it. She didn’t want to touch him now. Didn’t want to be anywhere near him.
Fool! Fool! “Will it take long to get back to Standish House?” She couldn’t wait to get to the sanctuary of her borrowed bedchamber and lick her wounds in private. What had possessed her to give her heart to another man who had no intention of staying for the duration?
“If the roads are clear, less than an hour.”
Fool!
He was paying her. Paying her to keep him from the clutches of matrimony. There was a glaring clue if ever there was one as to the man’s intentions. What had she been thinking? Had she thought she was the one to change him? Her? A downtrodden woodblock engraver from Clerkenwell, when all of society’s finest beauties hadn’t tempted him to change his ways before?
Of course not!
The sorry fact was, she hadn’t thought beyond the romance of it all and had allowed herself to be swept away. Right from that first day, she should have told him where he could shove his money!
“I wonder how they all coped without us?” Her tone was light and conversational. She wouldn’t allow him to see how much he had hurt her. If he regretted the kiss, she wouldn’t deign to care about it. Let him think it didn’t matter.
“I suppose we are about to find out.” He came around the side of the curricle to help her in, and she thanked her tall ancestors for providing her with long limbs, so she was able to climb up before he could assist, and wrapped the thick blanket about her suddenly chilled body like a shield.
Redundant, Hugh climbed in beside her and began to steer the curricle around, the tension stretched between them like a barricade across the narrow bench seat. Neither said a thing. Minerva racked her brains for something, anything, light and inconsequential to convince him he didn’t matter to her in the slightest, and when nothing came, she turned slightly away, watching the scenery rather than Hugh, grateful his expensive, sporty curricle was fast as the miles sped by.
They had been whizzing along for a good twenty minutes when he suddenly yanked on the ribbons and brought the little gig to a screaming stop. “We need to talk.”
“We really don’t.”
“I am so incredibly sorry about that kiss. And I’m sorry about earlier … on the stairs. And that night outside your bedchamber door.” Beside her she felt him exhale slowly. Saw the tension in his fisted hand still gripping the reins. “To be perfectly frank, Minerva, I’m having the devil of a job not kissing you now despite knowing it cannot go anywhere.”
Cannot go anywhere.
A very polite way of reminding her that engravers from Clerkenwell had no place forming fanciful attachments to earls.
“But I want to clear the air. Bring the Great Unsaid out into the open and find a way for the two of us to come to terms with the issue. We can’t keep ignoring what is blatantly there between us.”
“Between us? I see you are conveniently relieving yourself of all the blame for what just happened. It was you who kissed me. Twice. I do not recall asking you to on either occasion and am quite content never to do it again. Fear not, I have no designs on you, Lord Fareham. There is nothing between us. It was just a kiss. Not my first and doubtless not my last.”
“It was more than just a kiss, damn it! It meant something. To both of us.” He reached across the seat and took her hand in his while she digested his words. “Am I wrong? Or is it only me who is afflicted with odd, futile romantic feelings which refuse to go away?”
“‘Romantic’ or ‘romantic’?” Her silly heart needed to know despite the fact that he called it futile.
