Mary's Christmas Knight (7 page)

Wesley hadn’t thought much about
the modern ladies’ fashions, except to stay informed on how to remove them. But he did have sisters, and he heard the talk of the ladies backstage.
Tightlacing
and boasting about waistlines eighteen inches, sixteen, fifteen…

“Darcy
?” Philip nudged his elbow.

He shook himself out of his one-sided lecture, disturbed as he watched Mary take a carefully measured bite of boiled egg. He wanted to put a chocolate truffle in her lip
s and bite off half of it. “I wonder why she is yet unmarried.”

“Mary
turned down half a dozen proposals last Season.”

Wes took a bite of bacon-wrapped sausage, wondering what it would be like to never eat it again. “As well she should. Good for her.” He swallo
wed then tried to sound only mildly curious when he asked, “Miss Cavendish seems to consider herself a spinster, but she cannot be more than twenty?”

“She is twenty.”

“Then she should take her time. She is young.”

“Too young for you.”

“Possibly, but at twenty-and-nine, I still have all my teeth, and my bones creak only a little.”

Philip stabbed an unsuspecting sausage and sawed it in half. The message was not lost on Wes. “Too young in the ways of the world, Darcy.”

“Then it’s to the credit of her excellent older brother.” Hopefully he hadn’t visibly flinched, but nothing to be done for his poor reputation. It was half-deserved, the parts about his rakish exploits. As a man of the theater it was to be expected.

But when
Lenora Pendleton, his fiancée, took ill with the influenza and died, the rumor that she’d been poisoned by the dastardly Sir Wesley Samuel Darcy had been too sensational for the
ton
to put down. Its entertainment factor had made it true in the eyes of society. They said he’d killed her to get her money, but her death meant he got nothing, of course, so it made no sense.

Just the same
, if Philip meant to protest Wesley’s eligibility on the grounds of his poor character, he had a valid point.

Philip leaned close, spearing Wes with his captain’s leer. “Have a care, Darcy.
I would hate to have to geld you, but I would do anything for my sister.”

“I would expect nothing less, old mate. However, might I ask you to set your knife down before I confess that I too would do anything for your sister.”

“No,” Philip ground between clenched teeth, his fist gripping white-knuckled on the knife handle, which made Wesley a bit anxious.

He nodded, trying to keep a cool head. “Might I ask how you like your brother-in-law, Lieutenant Sherman?”

Philip looked as though he’d been pinched hard under the table. Likely Wes had struck to the heart of it: Philip believed as any brother should, that no man was worthy of his sisters. Wesley had the same philosophy for his two sisters, and he’d managed to marry them off without killing their interloping husbands… both of whom proved to be tolerable.

“Give the idea some time,” Wes said the
n took another bite of sausage.

“Does Mary love you?”

I think so, yes.
“That’s a question I should ask her. In private.”

Philip conceded wordlessly with a terse nod, as though he had to fight his own neck to do it.

After the meal, Wesley did what he’d come to Rougemont to do; he entertained the family in the drawing room with dramatic readings. He performed
A Visit from St. Nicholas
for the children, who thought his impression of St. Nick’s belly laughing “like a bowlful of jelly” was hilarious. He read Charles Dickens’
A Christmas Carol.
Madeline prompted Mary to join him in reciting favorite scenes from Shakespeare and insisted on
Romeo and Juliet
. Wes decided he liked Mary’s crafty little sister very much.

Wesley
missed his family, but only marginally. He simply couldn’t be pitied and fawned over any longer. Lenora Pendleton was dead, and she wasn’t coming back. Wesley refused to relive the misery, even if relief meant borrowing another family for Christmas.

What sweeter music can we bring,

Than a carol
, for to sing

The b
irth of this our heavenly King?

Awa
ke the voice! Awake the string!

Heart
, ear, and eye, and everything, Awake!

Dark
and dull night, fly hence away,

A
nd give the honour to this day,

That sees December turn'd to May.

~Robert Herrick, 1648

Not until after
her visits to the parish widows and after Christmas dinner did Wesley find the chance to get Mary alone. She went out for a walk right as dessert was served, he noticed. Wesley pocketed a bunch of grapes and said he wanted to go for a ride before it grew dark. On his way to the stables, he passed Mary, wearing a purple hat and cloak.

“Will
you go for a ride with me?” He nodded toward the stables, expecting her to take his arm and follow.

“No, thank you. I don’t like to ride.”

“You don’t? Truly?” How could anyone not love the rush of speed and wind and the thrill of partnership between steed and rider?

“Truly. And I’d like some time alone to think. Surely even you can understand that.”

A little smile meant she was teasing — progress, since the previous day her barbs had all been intended. “As my lady wishes.” He made a low, formal bow then went to the stables. He couldn’t help keeping an eye on her as he followed the trail, making sure her purple cloak stayed in sight along the crest of the hill she walked.

His horse kicked a cobble, stumbled, then limped. Wesley reined
to a halt and dismounted. Tapping the gelding’s left flank, he prompted the animal to lift its hoof, revealing what he suspected: the shoe knocked loose and hanging by a couple of nails. Levering the hoof against his thigh, Wes pried free the remaining loose nails, pocketed them, then dropped the horseshoe into the saddlebag. Guiding the reins over the gelding’s head, he led the animal carefully down the hill, gingerly avoiding rocks.

Mary sat a
top the rock wall dividing Rougemont from the easterly tenant farm, her face to the wind and her hat removed. Hopeful that she’d had enough time alone, Wes made his way toward her. She turned as he approached, her expression unreadable. Glad to see him, perhaps, but a haunted look warned him not to be jovial.

Wordlessly he
brushed away the snow on the wall and sat next to her. He switched the reins to his right hand to give his injured arm a rest.

Their shoulders touched, as did their legs from flank to knee. He
liked the feel of her next to him. His other shoulder burned, an irritating, nerve-drilling fire. Occasionally the wind blew one of her curls across his neck, which made him close his eyes and focus on the silky, tickling sensation.

He remembered the bunch of grapes in his pocket and offered them to her. A small victory that she took them and ate them, even if he
’d rather watch her eat something substantial.

Content to say nothing
for a while, before long he decided to take a leap. “You brother tells me you rejected no fewer than six heart-broken suitors last Season.”

“Yes, I carved a path of destruction through the Beau Monde.”

Saucy remarks like that made him want to kiss her. “I’m curious what you found lacking.”

She tilted her head one way then the other in a thoughtful gesture. “Mercenary. Political aspirations.” She counted on her fingers. “Another fortune-hunter, a below-the-chin-looker—”

Wesley huffed and gestured, sweeping a hand in her direction as though unveiling a painting. “Badly done, of course, but can you blame him?”

She shook her head
in scolding, but her cheeks blushed again, on top of the color from the wind.

“Two more,” he prompted, afraid his interruption had put her off.

“Not well-read and too slight of frame.”

“I read bo
oks without pictures. I have no interest whatsoever in politics, and I’m a large fellow.” He counted on his fingers. “And I promise not to look below your lovely chin until I have the right. But once you’re mine, I intend to look. A lot.”

She laughed, flashing beautiful, clean teeth, which made him aware of not having seen her smile much
before. He hadn’t noticed she had a pair of dimples in her cheeks.

“Don’t prac
tice your proposals on me, Sir Wesley. Though I daresay it needs a great deal of work.”

“What if I’m in earnest?

“Don’t worry, you’re not.”

He pressed his lips together, trying to discern if she was teasing.
“What if you’ve enchanted me? Stopped time so that two days feels longer. Long enough to recognize a sympathetic soul. Long enough to know I don’t want to leave you.” He quit before adding,
You belong to me.

She turned and speared him with a half-angry
, half-incredulous look. He let her stare.

“
Mary Diana Cavendish. Marry me.”

“No!
”

“You’re right
— I must sound like a lunatic.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Well, I haven’t had much practice proposing, and you’ve had plenty rejecting, so it’s not quite fair.”

“You’ve had enough practice.” Her tone made it clear she thought him dubious. If she believed the rumors, then she must think him a bad sort indeed.

Wes refused to rise to his own defense. In time his character should speak for itself, and if she was ever brave enough to ask frankly if he’d killed his fiancée, he’d tell her the truth. “You should be warned; I don’t surrender easily.”

“I wish you would. I’m tired.”

He let out a breath and decided to take her at her word rather than leave her be, as she’d politely requested. With an arm draped across her shoulders, he opened his coat, tucked her against his side, then wrapped his coat around them both to counter the chill on the breeze and the cold seeping from the stone wall.

She went without protest, fitting her head in the dip between his chest and shoulder. Some
thoughtful designer had made Mary just her height and Wesley just his size so that they fit together precisely the way they should. Didn’t she notice?

Minutes later he felt the
tentative brush of her fingers on his lapel. He hummed in his throat, encouraging her, waiting. Before long she grew bolder and slipped her fingers under his collar and rubbed over his shoulder, back and forth across the ridge where his pectoral joined the deltoid muscle. If she’d been uninspired by a smaller man, then the way her hand moved on his skin seemed to convey appreciation.

He cleared his throat.
“Is it the money?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t want your money, Mary. I have my own. The Duke of Sutherland is my uncle. I have a generous allowance.”

“Oh.”

The insight that his roguish persona appealed to her prevented him from clarifying that he was second in line to inherit. The philanthropic, artistic, rebellious part of Mary, which he suspected she’d revealed to no one else but him, would not be lured by the prospect of being a duchess.

The horseshoe nails in his pocket bothered him
. He took them out, tossing away the one with jagged edges but keeping the smoother one, which he tuned over in his fingers. “What else am I lacking, Mary?”

“Open the front door so I can roll out the list.”

His hand already resting in the crook of her waist, he gave her a light pinch and chuckled. With his wife, his inclination would be to spank her for teasing. “Be serious. I want to know. Which of my faults are unforgivable?”

She sighed, drew breath, then didn’t speak. Finally she said, “You are impulsive
, and therefore inconstant, I wager. How can you make my acquaintance yesterday and propose marriage today? That sounds like a morphine delusion to me.”

“On the contrary, my head has never been clearer. Haven’t you ever laid eyes on something fo
r the first time but felt it had been yours forever? It resonates with truth and gives you peace. How else can you explain your behavior?”

She
made a sound like an angry hen.
“My
behavior?”

“I assume you’re not in the habit of climbing into a fellow’s lap and kissing him into tomorrow.”

“Of course not!”

“Not until you met me. Because you know me
already. And I think you do care for me, Mary.”

“How could I? You are a rapscallion and a libertine. And I never met a beautiful man who wasn’t vain.”

“Confidence is not vanity.”

“But you couldn’t possibly be satisfied with Mary Cavendish forever. And I don’t want a philandering husband.”

“I would
never.”

“I want a knight on a white charger.”

He almost gestured to the gelding and said,
“Will a dapple grey do?”
then was glad he didn’t make a joke when she’d likely just confessed a secret. “You should have a white knight, Mary. And diamonds, and chocolate truffles. You should have everything.”

She sniffed, and he feared he’d made her cry. Wes traced his thumb over the nail, replaying his words and trying to discern what had been offensive. The tapered head of the nail slid between his fingers, and it occurred to him that it was called a “diamond.”

Pulling his other hand free, he leaned to retrieve the horseshoe from the saddle bag. Inserting the nail through a hole, he levered the horseshoe against the stone wall to bend the point of the nail against the “diamond” head in a closed loop.

Mary leaned across his lap to look. “What are you doing?”

“Voilà,” he said.

“What is that?”

“A diamond ring.”

Her brows furrowed, he placed it in her palm, and she held it up to scrutinize. He saw when she got it; a slow smile spread on her lips and dimpled her cheek. He ducked down to kiss it.

She turned the makeshift ring in her fingers, perhaps contemplating putting it on. He looked from the metal loop to her finger, trying to judge if it would fit. Looked like it would. Very badly he wanted her to wear it. If she did, her horseshoe diamond ring would mean more to him than the real diamond he’d buy for her later. A purple diamond.

The half-minute that passed in silence felt like years, since his heartbeat filled every second with a dozen hammering pulses. “I want you now, Mary, but I can wait. Please just say you’ll think about it.”

She held up the ring, turning it over. His breath stalled, and all he could think about was how ridiculous his gesture had been. Did she think him a fool?

Her hands moved to the back of her neck, and he tried not to groan in disappointment. She hadn’t put it on. Agonizing long seconds later, and she still didn’t slide it on her fourth finger. It seemed the sheer force of his will should’ve been enough—

Mary held the two ends of a gold chain, then threaded the horseshoe nail onto it. As she fastened it around her neck then dropped the ring down the front of her bodice, Wesley racked his brain for the meaning of it.

She huffed and turned a witchy look of condemnation on him, which made Wesley wish the stones would collapse in a heap and bury him. “
I should match your bravery and confess I feel a certain accord—”

“Accord? Mary, if there were any more attraction between us, we would
burst into flames.” He loved the rush of color on her cheeks. Bad of him to provoke her blushing on purpose.

"Well, yes.
There is that. And I do think you are sincere,” she said.

He couldn’t help his sigh of relief.

“But not once did I hear the word
love,
Sir Wesley. And I will marry for nothing less.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, because she was right. Finally he had the answer: “I could say,
I love you, Mary,
and mean it. But what you want — what you deserve — is something that takes more than two days to cultivate.”

She closed her eyes and breathed a long
, “Oh,” as though he’d just spouted poetry. “Yes. That’s true. Thank you.”

He tried not to be too injured by her show of relief.
Risking a glance at the gold chain that disappeared down her décolletage — where she’d specifically warned him not to be caught looking — he said, “So as long as you’re waiting for the real version, you’ll wear my diamond ring? Around your neck?” Actually, she wore his ring someplace much better, which he found immensely satisfying.

Catching her eye to communicate his intent, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, deeply, like he was starving, as though it was their first and last. He tried to tell her what he’d meant to say but
had muddled:
You are brilliant. And generous, strong, fascinating, and the woman I want to wake up next to every morning.

When her hands wrapped around his neck
and pulled him closer, he wanted to crow. She kissed him back, not like a lady, but tenderly, unself-conscious as a longtime lover. Wes let her lead. He simply held her and kissed her, dismissing her unintentional cues to escalate. Kneading a hand down his chest, brushing across his lap, a teasing stroke of her tongue along the side of his — she probably had no idea what to do about being aroused, unaware of what she provoked.