Never Fall for your Fiancée, page 14
“They married entirely for love.”
“How lovely . . .”
“I know . . .” With her before him doing odd things to his heart, he sincerely wished he was capable of it. But it wasn’t to be. He might be able to behave himself in the short term, but like his cheating sire and grandfather before him, he wasn’t capable of the commitment such a lofty undertaking entailed. Even if she was willing and he tried to fight his wayward blood, he’d end up breaking her heart. Because that’s what Standish men did. “After being shackled to my father, she deserved some happiness.” What had possessed him to admit to that? Being too canny and intuitive for her own good, Minerva noticed. Sympathy clouded her green eyes.
“Was he not a nice man, then? That comes as a surprise. I’ve not heard a bad word against your father in the time I’ve been here. Even Payne seems to admire him— and he is thoroughly devoted to you.”
“Payne? Devoted? If that’s devotion, I would hate to see what disdain looks like.” Nightgown or no nightgown, Hugh was not going to talk about his father. She hadn’t scrambled his wits that much. “Ironically, it was my father who introduced my mother to Jeremiah.” Or perhaps she had, seeing as he apparently was talking about his father. “Jeremiah was a good family friend for many years before she was widowed, he was my mother’s rock during my father’s illness, and then it wasn’t long before friendship turned into more. I was best man at their wedding. I have a great deal of respect for Jeremiah. He is the only person who has ever made my harridan of a mother see reason.”
“Your mother isn’t a harridan.”
“You have only endured one tea and one dinner.”
“Perhaps— but it is obvious she adores you and only wants what is best for you.”
“And you learned all this during two interrogations in which she tried repeatedly to trip you up?”
“We did talk about your scandalous lifestyle— before I came along and rescued you from it.” She failed to hide her amusement as she tried to look appalled. “Opera dancers and married ladies, Hugh? Your mother says they were a predictable choice considering your irrational fear of falling in love.”
“I am not the least bit afraid of falling in love.” Although just saying it aloud made his insides tighten. It wasn’t an irrational fear, it was a genuine one. Love wasn’t for the fainthearted and it certainly wasn’t for the easily distracted. Because the other side of the coin to love was heartbreak and, inevitably, loathing. Ergo, it was best avoided.
“Then I suppose that is why you . . . How did your mother put it?” She paused and then giggled. He wanted to catch the infectious sound in his fist and keep it forever. “Actually, I cannot repeat it. It’s too scandalous.”
“But clearly very amusing. Go ahead. Say it. It’s cruel of you to laugh at me to my face but refuse to say why. At the very least, I should have the right of reply.”
“Very well. If you insist . . .” A very becoming blush stained her cheeks despite her attempt to appear bold. “Your mother says you deftly avoided falling in love by . . . heavens! I cannot believe I am going to say this . . . hopping from bed to bed before you had time to warm the sheets.” She forced herself to meet his eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “Let’s hear your defense, then, Hugh? Is she right? Do you purposefully conduct your affairs based on their transient nature?”
Yes.
The more transient, the better.
“I believe my mother has exaggerated my conquests greatly to illustrate her point, but as usual, she has the wrong end of the stick.” Hugh folded his arms, too, acting bemused rather than overthinking the bullet she had sent flying straight through the bull’s-eye. It was hardly a bombshell, more of a considered choice he’d made. He knew his limitations and wasn’t prepared to suffer the inevitable crushing remorse that would follow each mistake. Just imagining hurting Minerva was already causing an ache in his heart. That pain would be unbearable if he actually did hurt her. “The sad truth is— and you must never repeat this outside this room— despite giving it my best shot, I have never found a single woman I have wanted to spend more than a few nights with.” Apart from her.
“Your best shot? That suggests you have tried and failed. You could hardly spend a prolonged period of time with a married woman, Hugh! That is a road to nowhere. Perhaps you should give one of the many single ladies a go? A nice young lady who has kept her sheets pristine and is waiting for a handsome and charming fellow like you to sweep her off her feet. Have you never courted a single lady?”
And now Minerva was beginning to sound like his mother. She used to come out with exactly that sort of reasonable rot all the time, when she of all people should know the Standish male was not to be trusted.
Of course he had never courted a single lady!
The one thing he hadn’t inherited from his wayward ancestors was his blasted conscience— a grave burden that had certainly never plagued either his father or his grandfather, and very probably nary a great-great-grandfather before that. Therefore, Hugh flirted shamelessly with certain women, and they flirted shamelessly back. That wasn’t courting, it was a dance. One both parties knew would end in the bedroom but would never stray further than that. “When I told you I wasn’t the marrying kind, I meant it. I am fairly certain I am not capable of falling in love— or not completely, at any rate.” And suddenly, because of her, that flaw depressed him.
He saw her disbelieving expression and decided to clarify the point rather than hear her inevitable counterarguments. “That elusive, all-consuming, selfless feeling poets and hopeless romantics like my mother go on and on about simply isn’t in my arsenal of human emotions. It is a defect in my bloodline.”
She stared at him, and he realized he had once again said too much. “Oh, Hugh— have you considered you simply might not have met the right woman? You are far too thoughtful and nice to be incapable of love.”
“ ‘Nice’?” She had inadvertently given him the way out. He scowled with mock affront. “That is the second time I’ve been called ‘nice’ today, and frankly I am outraged by it! ‘Nice’ is such a nondescript and uninspiring word. Wallpaper is nice. As is a new hat which looks exactly like the old one. Are you sure you didn’t mean ‘debonair’? Charming? Irresistible? There is a dictionary full of adjectives far more suited to me than ‘nice.’ ”
“Well, you are nice. You are also irritating and far too confident for your own good. And secretive. I’ve always suspected there was more to you than meets the eye, but every time I try to take a peek beneath the surface, you batten down the hatches and brush away my questions with charm.”
“See— you admit it! I am charming. I shall take that compliment as a replacement for the insipid ‘nice’ you just foisted upon me.”
“There you go again . . . deflecting, leaving me to once again wonder why you feel the need to immediately deflect. What are you hiding?”
“Absolutely nothing.” He opened his arms, wishing he wasn’t a carbon copy of his father. “This is me.”
“You are a conundrum, Hugh Standish.”
“Now, I do like that word. ‘Conundrum’ suggests a man of mystery. I hear the ladies love a man of mystery.”
“Deflecting again.”
“Always.” He shrugged, trying to ignore the constant, nagging emptiness this conversation had highlighted. As much as he wasn’t looking forward to her leaving, because he knew already she would leave a temporary void in his life, there was no point dwelling on it. Because ultimately, he wouldn’t. Just as soon as another willing woman came along to distract him, he would be distracted. That was the Standish way— damn it. A fait accompli. “If my mother is unconvinced by our betrothal, it’s probably just as well we will finally end this charade tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Was that disappointment he saw swirling in her stormy eyes? “So soon?”
“I think it’s for the best, don’t you?” He willed her to disagree. To make him revise the sudden plan. “The longer we draw it all out, the more holes she will find in our story.”
“I suppose . . .”
“It is actually the main thing I came to talk to you about tonight.” He had needed to say goodbye as quickly and as cleanly as possible. “Let us get through tomorrow and then sometime around midnight, Payne will come and fetch you, so make sure you’ve packed a bag, and you will leave with Giles in his carriage.” Just saying it aloud made him miserable. Empty. Lonely. “I will dispatch your sisters, your belongings, and Lucretia in my carriage early the following morning, and you will rendezvous at a coaching inn midway between here and London.”
She digested it all for several moments, staring at her hands in her lap, before she finally nodded. “Yes . . . I suppose it does make sense.”
Then her lovely eyes lifted to his, and he saw something else there. Something that looked a great deal like a sadness that mirrored his. He quashed the urge to go to her. “It is just so quick . . . so sudden. I wasn’t expecting it all to end so abruptly.”
“It’s for the best.” Hugh stood, fearing if he didn’t escape promptly, he might do something he would regret. Something wholly stupid and dangerous— like postponing the elopement to spend more time with her, something the persistent voice in his head was screaming at him to consider. “I shall have more of the details tomorrow. In the meantime, I think your lack of devotion for me against my absolute devotedness gives our tragic tale of heartbreak more credence, don’t you? After all, who would choose a rakish earl over the more rakish heir to a dukedom? It probably couldn’t hurt to cast the odd longing gaze at Giles tomorrow.” Which would be utter torture to witness.
“Yes . . . I shall try to appear intrigued by him.”
“Don’t try too hard.” Not what he should have said at all. “Giles’s head is quite big enough already.” There was nothing else to say, despite there being so much still unsaid. “Thank you for hearing me out.”
She walked alongside him to the door, but before he could open it, she touched his arm. It was an innocent and gentle brush, but like all her touches, one so potent he felt it burn through the thin sleeve of his shirt and sear itself onto his soul.
“Thank you, Hugh. For everything. These last few days have been . . . rather lovely. I shall always look back at my time here fondly.”
He nodded, feeling oddly emotional, then gripped the door handle. It was time to sever their unexpected acquaintance. “Good night, Minerva.”
“Good night, Hugh.” She looked sad. So sad. As was he. It was ridiculous, really, when they barely knew each other, but he already knew he would miss her. He wouldn’t have to fake that emotion for his mother. “And thank you for coming to talk to me. I’ve never been able to sleep on an argument. I am glad we get to part as friends.”
Friends.
As insipid a word as “nice” if ever there was one. “Me too. And because we are friends— please know if you ever need help, I will always be there. You know where to find me.” Leaving an open door was easier than a goodbye, because this goodbye hurt too much, even though he knew already this proud, vexing, and stubborn woman would never use it.
“More proof you are exceedingly nice. In fact, you are the nicest man I have ever met.”
If only . . .
Hugh made a face of disgust as he was expected to, depressingly shallow and unworthy to the last. He had one foot out the door when he turned and did something very stupid. Possibly the most stupid thing he had ever done in his thirty-two years on earth. He listened to the screaming voice in his head, gave in to temptation, and kissed her.
Chapter Thirteen
His lips were soft. His touch achingly gentle as he cupped her cheek. Yet the emotion both conjured was as intense as it was unexpected. As his mouth brushed over hers, his free hand sought hers at her side. That touch, too, felt profound, their laced fingers an acknowledgment of the strength of their feelings in a way no mere embrace ever could be, but also an admission that they both knew that whatever this was between them was never meant to be.
Neither of them hurried to increase the contact. The moment was too special for that. Instead, they strung the poignant kiss out, marveling at its intensity while mourning the cause of it.
Goodbye.
So final, yet . . .
Minerva sighed against his mouth, then melted against him, needing to deepen it, needing to feel his body against hers just this once before she had to let him go. Slowly, she traced her fingers over his face, searing it onto her memory for all the empty years to come. Then, because it was necessary, she did the same with his shoulders, then his arms and chest, while his hands toyed with her hair.
Beneath her flattened palms, she could feel his heart beating again, a sure and steady rhythm that seemed to echo the sound of her own beating erratically in her head. His skin radiated warmth through the thin linen, the muscles in his chest too intriguing not to explore with her fingertips. She felt them tremble a moment before he moaned her name against her mouth and his arm snaked around her waist, tugging her closer still until their bodies touched from ribs to hip.
Time had no place. She lost all concept of it as his lips slanted against hers, oblivious of everything except the way he made her feel. She had been kissed before, and more than once. Yet those chaste, innocent, brief touches of lips all those years ago fell woefully short of Hugh’s. His was a wholly different and potent experience, which opened her eyes to all manner of things she had not really understood before.
This kiss was both physical and temporal. Both passionate and painful. Making her body yearn while her heart wept.
Who knew a kiss could say things no words could? Filled with longing, sadness, regret, joy, understanding, and gratefulness all at the same time. Or that the line between tender and heartfelt, and passionate and all consuming was so fine or so precarious it could change in an instant? Like the world shifting on its axis, this kiss had the power to alter everything immeasurably, and she knew nothing would ever be quite the same again.
When his tongue teased hers, she welcomed it, plunging her fingers into his hair to anchor him in place, not caring that the blatant need in her breasts would be obvious, flattened as they were against his chest, or that her greedy hips had pushed themselves wantonly toward his so that she could feel his desire.
Entwined, they stumbled back into her bedchamber, and one of them must have kicked the door shut, because she felt the cold wood against her back while his hands smoothed unhindered down her shoulders and rib cage before he filled them with her bottom.
She didn’t recognize the bold woman whose hands burrowed beneath his shirt, who was suddenly impatient with the barrier of her nightgown, whose palms raked over his bare skin as if her life depended upon it. Her body now controlled her mind, reacting in a way it had never reacted before— even when she had thought herself in love.
It welcomed him. Wanted him. Molded against him, until she could discern the full size and shape of his hardness, reveled in it and ached to feel it inside her. Then his hands found her breasts, and she had moaned into his mouth. Moaned and writhed because it felt so glorious. Then all at once his was gone.
Hugh had broken the contact and now stood breathless, blinking and stunned. “That was . . . unexpected.”
She had no earthly idea if that meant he regretted it, but the distance between them made her suddenly self-conscious, so she reached for her shawl.
“No . . .” His raised hand stayed her. “Please don’t. Let me have the memory of you exactly as you are now.” His eyes, still darkened with passion, dropped to her lips, then greedily raked her body before they changed and swirled with something else. Something deep and complicated that she didn’t understand. He took another step back, shook his head, and smiled with regret. “I shall miss you, Minerva.”
“And I shall miss you, too, Hugh.”
As the door opened, he turned, stared deep into her eyes as if searching for something, then sighed. “For what it’s worth, I have adored having you as my fiancée.”
Minerva stared down at her tea. Had she sugared it already? If she had, she didn’t remember, so she spooned some in to be sure and stirred it idly, returning to the same thing she had been mulling over all night.
That kiss.
Thank goodness she had the breakfast room to herself, because all these hours later she was still not fully over it or fit to be seen in company.
Obviously, it had been a goodbye. A thank-you. An acknowledgment that the attraction between them had been mutual. Bittersweet, too, tinged with regret that their enjoyable interlude was at an end but also accepting of the fact that they could never be more. Under all normal circumstances, a carefree earl who owned this palace and a cynical girl from Clerkenwell would never have met, let alone spend almost a week ensconced in one another’s company. She was in no doubt, life for them would move on— but oh my goodness! That kiss had been something!
Thanks to Hugh, she now knew a kiss was not just about lips— but teeth and tongues, bodies and hearts as well.
Somewhere she had offered him both and gave them freely, expecting nothing in return. Because what was there to expect? He lived in his world and she lived in hers, and never the twain should meet. There was no future, no past, only that moment. A moment she had lived in fully.
In truth, if he hadn’t been the one to tear his mouth away, she realized she would have given him more. Allowed him greater liberties, Lord only knew how many, because her body had craved them and in that moment it had felt right.
She smiled and added more sugar to her tea. Because Hugh had been as stunned as she at the spontaneous passion that had erupted like a volcano between them. Wonderful, poignant, perfect but as impossible as it was impractical. As soon as her door had clicked quietly closed, she had staggered to the chair at her dressing table. And there she sat for a good ten minutes before she allowed her eyes to finally focus on her own reflection in the mirror, and barely recognized the wanton creature who stared back.
Her hair was a tangled disaster. Her lips plump, swollen from his kisses, while the proper nightgown she had dressed for bed in had somehow undone itself at the neck and had slipped down, exposing one entire naked shoulder and an improper amount of flesh between her chin and the upper swells of her breasts. If that hadn’t been scandalous enough, two very erect, very greedy nipples were prominently poking through the filmy linen, the dark shadows of them something he had to have seen when his eyes had possessively raked the length of her just before he left.
