One Moonlit Night (Moonlight Square: A Prequel Novella) (9 page)

Which was exactly the case,
she realized, the thought instantly curdling the ice cream in her belly.

But meanwhile, her handsome companion was scoffing at her words as they resumed their walk, Trinny moving dazedly.

“That’s not the case. I like you well, my lady. I find you very agreeable, and I think you know that’s the truth.”

She eyed him in suspicion, then paused to ask Cora to take her empty goblet and spoon back to the shop for her. She did not want the servant overhearing any more of their conversation.

“It makes sense to me,” he said.

“A marriage of convenience.”

“Yes.”

“But you said marriage is a cage, a trap. And I assume—forgive me if I’m wrong—that you have no desire to, er, shall we say, change your ways?”

He avoided her gaze, but his diplomatic silence told her all she needed to know.

She shook her head, realizing the firm conditions of his offer.
What nerve!
This was not a marriage proposal; it was a rooming arrangement.

“No, thanks. I’ll not be made a laughingstock over a cheating husband,” she said, then shuddered. “No, thank you, indeed.”

“Oh come,” he cajoled her, “it’ll be fun.”

She eyed him in severe disapproval. No doubt that charm usually got the rogue everything he wanted, especially where females were concerned.

“You realize we only just met? We barely know each other,” she pointed out.

“That is not uncommon among those betrothed, as I’m sure you are aware.”

She scowled at him, ignoring the bizarre reality that after being rejected by far less desirable suitors, she couldn’t seem to get rid of this one.

“You don’t want to be a countess?” he goaded her, as though his vanity had taken hold now. Like he had to win this contest for his pride’s sake.

Why? Because to be rejected by the girl no one else wanted was just too much? She gave him a dirty look.

“Well, at least it must mean something to you that I don’t care if you’re a quiz—your words, not mine!” he reminded her when she belted him in the arm for that remark. “Ow! Do you mind? Bullet wound.”

“You deserve it,” she muttered.

“Now, now, dear girl,” he soothed, eyeing her in bemused fascination. “I understand that the, er, limits on what I’m offering you may not be entirely to your liking—”

“But beggars can’t be choosers? Is that it? I thought you applauded my decision!”

“That is
not
what I was going to say! I was going to say that at least I accept you for who you are. You don’t have to pretend with me or ever feel nervous, the way you described feeling around those other chaps. Ever since that night I found you crying in the park… Well, I happen to like you being eccentric. That must count for something!”

“Certainly.” She gazed up at him in dismay, tempted, in light of everything.
Don’t do it,
her heart warned.
It can only lead to disaster.
She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Your acceptance of me as I am makes me very glad to have you for a
friend
, Lord Roland.”

His eyes widened, as though no female had ever said such a thing to him before.

Cora returned and they walked on, resuming their slow trek homeward to Moonlight Square. It wasn’t far.

“Dear me, a friend!” he echoed in astonishment at last, his air of sardonic humor beginning to run a bit thin, by the sound of it.

“I’m sorry,” she offered.

He seemed to struggle for words. “I confess I am amazed, my lady. Am I to understand you are really turning me down?”

“You’re the one who told me not to marry.”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind!” he said with a flash of annoyance. “And maybe this time, it’s you who needs to swallow your pride.”

“Me?”

“Come, reconsider.”

“There are other names on your father’s list, surely. Try
them
.”

“I don’t want them. I like you. You make me laugh. There’s a castle in it for you,” he added with a roguish glance.

“What castle?” she mumbled, admittedly intrigued and already beginning to wonder if she was an idiot for balking.

“Castle McCray. It came into my family’s possession through the Scottish clan McCray, our ancestors. I love that place,” he added. “It’s become our hunting lodge, up in Galloway. Wonderful seaside retreat in the summers. My father says I can have it if I pick one of his girls. I’ll share it with you gladly,” he teased, nudging her with his elbow.

She looked askance at him, then shook her head. Did he really think a bribe would sway her?

“My dear Lord Roland, you really are a piece of work.”

“I said call me Gable,” he insisted in a droll tone. “I don’t deem it too improper, since, after all, I am your future husband.”

“No, you’re not,” she countered sweetly.

“Yes, I am,” he assured her in a tone just as mild.

“Go away!” she said, laughing despite her vexation when they reached the corner of Moonlight Square.

He stopped and turned to study her for a moment.

“What?” she asked, growing self-conscious. When he didn’t answer, she hesitated. “You’re angry at me,” she said.

“No. Just surprised. When you chose to embrace spinsterhood, I guess I didn’t think you entirely meant it.”

Trinny gazed at him, unsure, herself, all of a sudden—and cursing him for making her so. What was wrong with her?

“I mean, you must be curious,” he murmured, leaning closer.

“About what?”

He flicked a smoky glance over her. “The marriage bed.”

Her eyes widened, and a red-hot blush flamed into her cheeks. “You did
not
really just say that to me?”

“You’re missing out,” he taunted softly. “Especially with me.”

Her jaw dropped. “You coxcomb,” she uttered.

He shrugged and sauntered away. “Ask anyone.”

“That’s p-precisely the problem!” she sputtered.

But the expert seducer merely sent her a smile. “Do let me know if you change your mind,” he said politely as he took his leave of her, ambling off in the direction of his own house as they reached Moonlight Square. “But don’t dawdle, my sweet. Father only gave me four weeks to secure a bride.”

“You let me know if
you
change your mind!” she shot back, her face still hot.

He furrowed his brow at her in question.

“About your wicked ways!”

“Ah, that.” But the frank look he gave her required no words to tell her, with unmistakable eloquence, that the other girls on his father’s list weren’t going to care about his peccadilloes.

“Stop,” she ordered.

He stopped. “You’re very stubborn,” he said. “You could be the next Countess of Sefton. With a castle and several fine estates. And a damned fine husband, if I say so myself.”

“Gable,” she said softly, tentatively, trying out his Christian name. Not because he’d ever be her husband. But because she truly
had
come to consider him a particular friend after his advice had altered the course of her entire life. “I won’t be changing my mind.”

He considered this, the mask of suave humor finally melting away. “Why not? Am I so bad?”

“I don’t want to be the one who cages you. Not now that we’ve become friends. You told me the truth of your opinion on marriage the night we met. So it’s no use. And besides…” Her words trailed off.

“Besides what?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t want
you
to be the one who really breaks my heart. Because you could.”

Her heart thundered at her own stark admission.

He tilted his head and gazed at her for a long moment from where he stood a few feet away. Then he returned, lifted her hand gently from her side, and kissed her knuckles.

“Then I retract my offer, sweet Katrina. Because I fear you’re probably right, and I would not hurt you for all the castles in the Realm. Farewell for now, my lovely friend,” he added softly, and, releasing her hand, he turned around and strolled away.

And, Trinny feared, likely took her heart with him.

# # #

Gable walked away with the taste of ice cream on his tongue and the sting of rejection smarting worse than the pain in his arm.

He could not believe the little quiz had turned him down.
But so be it.

Startled, confused, with his pride bruised, and yet intrigued, he could feel her gaze on his back as he cut through the park, heading for his side of Moonlight Square.

Well, damn,
he thought with a droll wince,
maybe I’m not quite the catch I thought.

But no matter. He did not want to marry someone who didn’t want to marry him. More importantly, she was right, and Gable did not trust himself enough not to hurt her.

One of the other young ladies on his father’s list would no doubt do just as well. They’d probably give him less trouble, too.

For the next week, he went down his father’s list, ticking off the possible brides suggested to him. He sought them out from a wary distance at social events, had a look, made a few discreet inquiries about them. Asked his father for details. But none of them raised much enthusiasm in him.

Lady Simone Pelletier was quite young and still seemed afraid of her own shadow in Society. No, too shy. He did not want a wife too terrified of his attention to have a conversation with him.

Lady Hypatia Fox was a scandal waiting to happen. A loud, dashing girl who loved to hunt, and surrounded herself with equally loud, fun-loving fellows from the sporting set. She had a marvelous reputation as a fearless rider. But Gable was not interested in snaring the girl who fancied herself one of the boys. That was just plain trouble.

Miss Adora Walker was as beautiful as an angel, literally. A once-in-a-decade sort of beauty. She was young, too, but Gable was entranced enough by her exquisite face to seek an introduction. When he talked to her, though, good God, he could not flee fast enough. She was fantastically proud of her own righteous virtue, and nothing was worth having to live with that. What God had added to her in beauty, He must have subtracted from any vestige of a sense of humor.

The last girl had a horse face to go with her huge dowry, but when he saw her digging a finger into her ear and then studying whatever she had found in there, he gagged a bit and turned away.

Thus, the riches of his father’s bride list too soon ran out.

Growing desperate, he expanded his angry and disgusted search. This would not get him the castle, but at least he wouldn’t be cut off.

There were other nice girls who seemed appealing once he started really looking. The vibrant, raven-haired beauty, Lady Serena Parker, oozed sensuality, but he found out she was all but betrothed. Gable wondered if he could steal her from her beau, some bookish, bespectacled fop who rambled on about his literary project collecting old folklore and putting the tales in a tome. He’d probably be doing the vibrant beauty a favor, saving her from such a dull fellow, and a younger son, to boot, but he decided not to meddle, and pressed on in the hunt.

Next he considered Miss Felicity Carvel, a slim, stately blonde with a reserved demeanor that pleased him. A niece of the Marquess of Bellingham, she had excellent breeding, and everything about her seemed impeccable. She was kind, too, obviously devoted to caring for the old dragon, Lady Kirby, her great-aunt, whom she had served as companion ever since her own mother died.

Perfect wife material, Gable had to admit.

But to his surprise, his friend Netherford sent him the strangest look while Gable was dancing with Miss Carvel. Something along the lines of a brief, deadly glare.

Right.
Well, then. No Miss Carvel for him. Gable had thanked her for the dance and backed away. Something was definitely afoot between the duke and the sister of Netherford’s boyhood friend, Major Pete Carvel. What that might be, Gable was too polite to ask, but he had no intention of poaching on his fellow rakehell’s territory.

Besides, the truth was, the longer he stayed away from Katrina, the more he grew obsessed with seeing her again.

He craved her company, he knew not why. He kept wondering what she was doing, what hilariously odd thing she might say the next time he talked to her. Since his campaign for a bride was such a dismal failure so far, perhaps she’d have some advice for him on how to proceed.

Then it dawned on Gable he had never even told her that he’d taken her advice in the duel. He supposed he hadn’t mentioned it the last time he’d seen her because it had needled his pride to admit he had apologized after specifically saying he would not.

In hindsight, however, she really did deserve to know, since, after all, she had taken
his
advice.

Indeed, his
wonderful
advice was the very thing causing him all these bridal headaches now.
And well done on that,
he sarcastically congratulated himself.

He’d call on her tomorrow, he decided as he lay awake in bed that night alone.

Having devised this excuse to visit his “friend” again, he finally fell asleep, only to ravish her in a scarlet dream of unbridled sex that shocked him awake after midnight, panting, sweat-soaked, and hard.