Never Fall for your Fiancée, page 5
“What is your weapon of choice?” Lord Bellingham took Diana’s hand and lingered shamelessly over kissing the back of it.
She snatched it away and glared. “Cutting words and pithy setdowns, my lord. If they fail to suitably wound, whatever sharp or heavy object is closest at hand.”
“I like her.” Giles nudged him hard in the ribs. “Miss Diana, I believe we shall get on famously so long as you promise never to mince your words with me.”
“Of that you can be assured, sir.” Already Hugh could tell Diana was going to be trouble.
“And this is my youngest sister, Miss Vee Merriwell.”
Minerva looked ready to strangle her outspoken sibling but hid her annoyance under a brittle smile, although her glare at Diana was quite frightening. Giles was, of course, enjoying himself immensely and looked intent on continuing to spar with the outspoken sister, as did she. To spare them all from it, Hugh stepped forward and shook the youngest Miss Merriwell’s hand. Unlike the other two, she was fair, yet had the same feline green eyes behind her unbecoming spectacles, eyes that looked thoroughly overwhelmed and troubled.
“I don’t recall a Roman goddess called Vee. Or anyone called Vee, for that matter. What an unusual name.” Hugh smiled at her, attempting to put her at her ease.
“Vee loathes her name,” said Diana with more than a hint of mischief. “She thinks it improper. So we call her Vee for short . . .”
Minerva glared. “Thank you, Diana . . .”
“But really it’s Venus. The goddess of beauty and lo— ”
“I said, thank you, Diana.” Again Minerva intervened before the outspoken sister could finish, as their youngest was too mortified to do anything other than blush, something she did with crimson aplomb, the poor thing. He had to rescue her.
“I sympathize on your being saddled with a name you despise, Miss Vee. My middle name is Peregrine. How dreadful is that? But where are my manners? Come . . . sit.” Hugh smiled, offering his arm, and the youngest sister smiled shyly in return as she took it, allowing him to maneuver her out of the line of fire. “Payne is rustling up some refreshments for us all. You must be exhausted from your travels. London is so inconveniently far from Hampshire.”
Once they were all seated, the heavy veil of awkwardness descended on the proceedings. Small talk felt inappropriate. However, so did bluntly tackling the topic of the planned deception. Exactly how did one converse with one’s fake fiancée and her family upon their first meeting? There was so much to do and potentially so little time to do it in. He wanted to get started straightaway. Just in case.
“How was your journey?”
“Very pleasant, my lord. Your carriage was very comfortable.”
“Splendid.” Hugh’s eyes took in the sisters’ tatty frocks and well-worn boots. “Excellent news.” There was another awkward conversation that would need to be had. Anticipating their wardrobes would not be up to scratch, he had already engaged a team of seamstresses who would arrive tomorrow to measure them all for acceptable new clothes and produce them with haste. And new clothes weren’t the only things Miss Merriwell and her sisters would need. He had done a great deal of planning in the last two days. He’d made lists, issued countless instructions, and even prepared notes on everything his temporary fiancée would need to know. Seeing as he had anticipated all that, why the blazes hadn’t he worked on a few tactful sentences to broach difficult subjects? Or preempted his odd and overwhelming reaction to Minerva? “And the inn you stayed in last night . . . Was it to your satisfaction?”
“It was lovely, my lord.” Minerva forced a smile. “And very comfortable, too.”
“Excellent.” He racked his brains for something more erudite. Anything . . .
No.
Depressingly, there was nothing else. The ormolu clock on the mantel ticked more loudly than it ever had before. “Excellent.” That was apparently the full extent of his vocabulary today. His toes began to curl inside his boots, so he looked at Giles in the hope he might take pity on him. But his friend stared back with deliberate blandness, his eyes dancing with amusement.
Excellent.
“Is this your first visit to Hampshire?”
“Indeed it is, my lord. The scenery was very lovely from the carriage window.”
Well, that was another inane question answered as fully as could be expected. Hugh wanted to die. Miss Merriwell didn’t appear any more comfortable, but bless her, she was trying. Her outspoken sister was glaring, the shy one staring at her lap as if her life depended on it, and Giles was barely holding in a laugh. When Hugh heard the rattle of teacups in the distance, he almost cheered out loud. “The refreshments are coming! Excellent.” He was coming to loathe that bloody word. He resisted the urge to greet his butler like the prodigal son. “Step lively, Payne. The ladies must be starving.”
His butler rolled his eyes and set about organizing the distribution of the delicately cut finger sandwiches with a pair of tongs while they all watched the maid pour the tea with much more scrutiny than the task warranted. They then unanimously focused on nibbling on them the second the servants left them alone. Only Minerva resisted tucking in, preferring to stare at her plate mournfully.
“Egg sandwiches,” drawled Giles, eyeing one with relish before winking at Diana. “How very fitting. Do you suppose the kitchen kept the eggshells? Because if they did, perhaps you can call Payne back and have him scatter them liberally over the carpet so we can all walk on them?”
“Might I speak plainly, Lord Fareham?” Minerva had steeled her shoulders.
“Hallelujah!” Giles again. “I wish you would. Somebody needs to.”
She ignored him to stare intently at Hugh, those stunning green eyes swirling with an emotion that he couldn’t fathom but which managed to make him distinctly uneasy nevertheless.
“It occurs to me we are all embarrassed at the Great Unsaid, therefore, I shall be the one to say it so we can all breathe again.” She seemed to stare directly into his soul. “You are currently mortified to have been silly enough to get yourself into such a predicament you had to resort to hiring me— a complete stranger— to pose as your fiancée. And I am mortified I am in such dire need of money that I agreed to it.” She exhaled loudly and relaxed her shoulders and threw out her hands. “There! It’s done. Now we have acknowledged the awkwardness, I’m sure we’ll all feel much better about it.” Although she didn’t look better, she looked agitated. Very agitated. “Actually, Lord Fareham— might I have a word . . . in private?”
“Yes . . . of course. Follow me.” With a sense of impending doom, he led her from the drawing room and into his study. In an attempt to put them both at ease, he sat in one of the wingbacks and gestured for her to do the same. She didn’t sit. Or stand still. Instead, she paced in a haphazard circle on the Persian rug.
“Is everything all right?”
“No, Lord Fareham! Absolutely nothing is all right. I’ve made a dreadful mistake in coming here.” She suddenly stopped and gesticulated passionately at the paneled walls. “I have no experience in this sort of life, my lord. None. I’ve never seen such grandeur let alone pretended I am comfortable with it. I am completely out of my depth and you have made a dreadful mistake in hiring me to help you.”
For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to pull her close and murmur reassurances against her hair.
“I disagree.” Hugh tried to keep the panic out of his voice. He couldn’t allow her to back out, any more than he could risk sniffing her seductive hair. The ramifications didn’t bear thinking about. “My mother is expecting to meet a genteel lady rather than a blue-blooded aristocrat, and you certainly have the voice and bearing of a genteel lady. In fact, I think she would positively approve of the lack of aristocratic blood in your veins. Since she married an American, she has developed exceedingly liberal ideas about class and claims to detest snobbery. They are a very egalitarian lot, the Americans. Not that my mother was much of a snob in the first place. She’s very down-to-earth. Just like me.”
She stared at him as if he were mad.
“Lord Fareham, whilst you strike me as a very personable man, I can assure you there is nothing down-to-earth about all this.” She spun a slow circle on the rug. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. To think you live in this? This!” Her expression was suddenly distraught. “I never would have agreed if I had known I was to impersonate a woman destined to live in a palace.”
“I appreciate upon first sight Standish House might be a little overwhelming . . . but it’s just a house at the end of the day. Made of bricks and mortar like any other.”
“Just a house?” She didn’t seem convinced. “Then look at me! Do I look like I could be an earl’s fiancée?” As she was holding out her skirts, he supposed he should be looking at her clothes, but his eyes didn’t want to leave her face. A face he had the sudden urge to touch. In case he succumbed and sent her screaming for the hills, he clasped his hands behind his back, then, realizing he probably resembled a stern admiral inspecting the fleet, unclasped them and held his palms out.
“My dear Miss Merriwell, I am not entirely sure what you see when you look in the mirror but I see a very beautiful, intelligent, and confident woman.” Too beautiful. The siren was scrambling his wits. “It was one of my first impressions when we collided— even before I heard you speak. You have an air about you, Miss Merriwell. A certain something that makes you stand out from the crowd.”
“I do?”
“Indeed. In fact, you are exactly the sort of woman I would want a real fiancée to be like, if I had a mind to have a real fiancée.” Alarmingly, that clarification seemed to be more for him than her. “The fundamentals are there. All the rest is merely window dressing. And window dressing is easily achieved. There are seamstresses coming first thing in the morning and I have meticulously planned the next few days to ensure not only you but also your sisters are all fully prepared.”
She was wavering. He could see it in her expression. Yet Hugh was thoroughly ashamed of himself. “It is late and you are tired. Everything, in my experience, always seems worse with fatigue.” The soothing words were for both of them. “After a decent meal and a good night’s rest, I doubt this will seem half as daunting.”
“Perhaps . . .”
“There is no ‘perhaps’ about it. And there is no hurry. Why don’t I have Payne show you to your rooms? He can send up trays of food, have hot baths drawn, and the three of you can relax to-night. Then we can reconvene in the morning when you feel more yourself.” Her teeth were gently worrying her bottom lip; whilst it was very distracting, he saw her indecision as a very good sign— then instantly felt guilty for it.
“How about we see how you feel after a few days here, when you are more comfortable with this house and the people within it? We have a fortnight until my mother arrives, at least. And that is assuming the trade winds are uncharacteristically ferocious. In truth, we probably have three. Which gives us ample time to make sure you are all fully prepared and used to all the grandeur.” He was prepared to beg if it came to it. “Please— stay for this week and if at the end of it you still feel you cannot carry it off, then you can go with my blessing and the forty pounds.”
“Oh— I couldn’t take the whole forty.” She blinked rapidly, clearly embarrassed she couldn’t allow herself to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Not for failing to honor our agreement . . .”
“Half then. One week. Twenty pounds and no hard feelings.”
“I suppose we have come all this way, Your Lordship . . .”
“If we are supposed to be engaged, you must call me Hugh . . . Minerva.” How lovely that sounded on his lips. Even more unsettled by his uncharacteristic reactions, he stuck out his hand for her to shake in case she changed her mind and then instantly regretted his decision. Without the barrier of gloves or mittens, her hand felt perfect in his. He could feel the heat of her fingers everywhere, but particularly along his spine, where something odd, almost tingle-like was happening. In case the tingles spread, he quickly withdrew and tucked his hands behind his back, not caring that he might resemble a crusty old admiral, clenching his fists in the hope the odd sensation would quickly subside and his bouncing nerves would return to normal.
They didn’t.
He decided to politely focus on her eyes, then found himself drowning in them, so he dropped his gaze to the plump bottom lip she was still worrying with her teeth and almost groaned aloud at a bolt of lust so intense he could barely breathe. In desperation he took several steps backward, supremely conscious that he was still staring but powerless to stop.
When she finally blinked, he was able to suck in a calming breath, then forced it back out via his peculiarly strangled vocal cords to choke out one hideous, cringeworthy word into the painful void.
“Excellent.”
Chapter Five
“You will probably need this. For research. In case my family asks about your illness.”
“My illness?” Minerva took the book and stared down at the cover— The Complete Treatise of Diseases of the Lungs stared back. “Gracious . . . What did I have?” They were over an hour into her first “Being Minerva” lesson, and she was already overwhelmed. Hugh hadn’t told a few lies. He had constructed an entire world.
“Consumption.”
“Consumption!”
He nodded sheepishly. “I was going to kill Minerva off, and a lingering death seemed appropriate.”
“You want me to feign consumption?” She blinked at him, stunned. “This is your great plan for terminating the engagement? I must say, you are putting a great deal of faith into my acting abilities if I am to die whilst your mother is here.”
“Of course not. That would be preposterous.” His mouth struggled not to smile. He had such an easy way about him— one that made her completely forget he was an earl. But as he had pointed out, they were supposed to be not only engaged but madly in love. Therefore, her initial formality had no place in their relationship. Although Minerva suspected he wasn’t one for formality at the best of times. “You made a miraculous recovery just before Christmas last.”
“I recovered.” She stared at him, incredulous. “From consumption. The disease that kills everybody.”
“Not everybody . . .” He tapped the book and winked. “I did my research. To be a convincing liar— which I must warn you Standish males always are— it is imperative all lies are founded on fact. There are a few cases where the patient defies the odds. Granted, not many, and I hinted we suspected your initial physicians might have misdiagnosed your condition. The new chap I engaged from Switzerland was a godsend. I credit him with saving you from the snapping jaws of death. In fact, once you began his treatments, the change was almost immediate. I have another idea about how to end our engagement which you will be relieved to know doesn’t involve you dying.”
“I am all ears.”
“You are going to elope with Giles.”
Minerva opened her mouth to speak and closed it again when nothing came out. He saw her dumbfounded expression and grinned. “And best of all, nobody will see it coming, so neither of you will have to act smitten. A few days into my mother’s visit, you and Giles will leave in the dead of night. I will awake to a heartfelt letter, written in your hand, which outlines your utter turmoil, your overwhelming feelings for my rakish best friend, how you both tried to fight the attraction, but— and this is the best bit— because of your recent brush with death and the loss of your father, you have come to the conclusion life is too short and too precious not to live it to its fullest with the man your heart desires.”
“Will Lord Bellingham and I also be eloping with my sisters?”
“That would be daft. Who elopes with a crowd? No— with you gone, a shocked Diana and Vee will be dispatched hastily home in a carriage so I can mourn the betrayal alone.”
“The archetypal tortured hero. Completely absolved of any wrongdoing.”
“I know! Brilliant, isn’t it? Abrupt. Sad. I adore the pathos. It draws a decisive line under the whole relationship.”
“Relationships.”
“Pardon?”
“Your mother will expect you to terminate your friendship with Giles on the back of his betrayal.”
He waved that away. “Oh, I’ll think of something on that score.”
“This is utter madness. You do know that?”
He nodded with a good-natured smile, the sort that probably got him out of a great deal of trouble all the time. “I did tell you I gilded the lily.”
“I think you did more than gild it, Hugh.” Minerva glanced down to her copious notes and exhaled slowly. Why should she care how ridiculous his plan was or how convoluted his lies? The financial reward seduced her like a Siren’s song. Forty glorious pounds if she could prevail, a healthy twenty if she only lasted the week. Regardless of the circumstances, it would be the easiest twenty pounds she would ever earn. She had promised him a week at least of her undivided attention, and she intended to give him his money’s worth.
If he was happy to continue with this nonsense rather than fall on his sword and beg his mother for forgiveness, then so be it. When it failed, which it likely would, it wouldn’t be because she hadn’t given it her all.
“I suppose it’s as good a solution as any.” She dipped the pen in the ink and held it poised. “For the sake of continuity, what were the approximate dates of my illness?” Just like a good woodcut, the devil was always in the detail.
“You began to deteriorate in the spring of ’24. By the autumn, I feared the worst.”
“But then I made my miraculous recovery just in time for Christmas.”
“It was around the beginning of November, as I recall, because you were well enough for me to risk leaving your bedside to visit my mother in Boston.”
“And how long were you away?”
“Three months. You wrote to me every week.” He slid open the drawer to his desk and removed a bundle of letters tied with ribbon. “In case you are wondering— Giles was the author and he did take my request for a weekly love letter seriously.” He grimaced as he placed them before her. “And typically, he had fun at my expense.” Intrigued, she slipped the top letter from beneath the ribbon and opened it.
