Simmer All Night (23 page)

"Not that I know of."

Sophie hunkered down and peered intently at a beetle making his way along the brick mortar. Idly, she mentioned, "She's making your favorite spice cake too, Miss Chrissy. Does Mr. Welby like spice cake? I know you love it, Mr. Cole, because I heard you tell Mama so at supper one night. It's a funny thing about favorite foods, isn't it? My papa's favorite food was pork roast. So is Michael's. Mine is mashed potatoes. You know Minnie, the upstairs maid? Her favorite is pickled herring. That stuff makes me want to throw up."

Cole's patience ran out with the notion of upchucked pickled herring, and he stepped forward to continue down the tunnel toward the orangery.

Christina called, "Wait, Cole." To the children, she said, "Run along now. This place may be safe enough, but I don't like the idea of you down here alone."

"We can't go yet," said Sophie. "We're not finished picking up."

"Sophie!" Michael shot her a "hush up" glare.

"Picking up what?" Christina asked. "What do you have in—oh my heavens! Children, what have you done?"

The alarm in Christina's voice was enough to make Cole stop and backtrack. "What's wrong?"

Christina stood in the storage room surrounded by hat boxes and stacks of cloth, her expression soured as if she'd just tossed back a jigger of unsweetened lemon juice. She replied to his question by reaching down with two fingers and picking up a piece of gold satin embroidered with red and gold thread. Below it was another garment of blue silk shot with gold. Further movement revealed a whole stack of garments. Cole recognized the items at once. "Welby's vests?"

"And hats. Neckties, too."

Cole's mouth twitched with his first urge to smile since leaving Chrissy's bed. This was much worse than a worm sandwich. The viscount would blow like a welding torch. Cole broke into a cheery whistle as he turned to continue toward the orangery.

"Cole, wait!"

"Not my problem, Christina."

"But—"

Cole kept walking and soon the tunnel curved and muted the echo of Christina's voice. Knowing she'd be torn between seeing the Klebergs back to the house and coming with him to face her grandfather, Cole picked up his pace. Now that he'd thought about it, this particular chat between him and the earl would be better made man-to-man.

The heavy citrus scents of lemon and oranges assaulted Cole as he opened the door at the end of the tunnel. He stepped into the building and pulled the door shut behind him. "It's a jungle in here," he muttered, his gaze trailing over tubs of rubber trees and myrtles and pots of pineapples and aloes.

He located the earl in the center of the glass house section of the orangery where hot water assisted intermittent sunshine in keeping the room warm and suitable for exotic, tender plants. Cole tried to blame the humidity for the beads of sweat collecting around his collar as he faced Christina's grandfather. It didn't work.

Wearing canvas gloves and holding a pair of garden shears in his right hand, the elderly gentleman clipped a leaf from an ivy vine and held it up to the light to study. "Morgan," he said, without actually looking at Cole. "I'm surprised to find you among my plants and flowers. The gun room seems more your domain."

With the moment upon him, Cole found words had deserted him. He stared blindly at the yellow center of a white plumeria, breathed deeply the magnolia-like scent, and wished himself to the tropics.

Now the earl scowled at him. "What is it, Morgan? You look as if someone stole that hat you favor."

Cole cleared his throat. "The engagement is off. Christina won't be marrying Welby."

"Hmm..." murmured the earl. He set his shears down beside a clay pot where a green seedling pushed through black soil toward the light. "My granddaughter changed her mind?"

"You could say that."

"Is Welby aware of this development?"

Cole pictured the viscount as he last saw him. "He should be, but I doubt he's that bright."

The earl shuffled down the row, stopping beside a support post where he leaned forward to study a thermometer. He nodded with satisfaction, then asked, "Dare I inquire as to what precipitated my granddaughter's change of heart?"

Cole felt heat flush his face. If he felt this way facing Thornbury, imagine how he'd be with Jake and Elizabeth.
Where's your gut, Morgan? Lose the henhouse ways and spit it out.
He squared his shoulders and said, "I have compromised Christina."

"Hmm..." The earl frowned down at an aloe plant, plucking an errant myrtle leaf from the pot. "You have been doing that since the day you arrived at Hartsworth, going off alone with her, the daily meetings between the two of you out in the park about this search of yours. I am aware that in Texas social customs are more relaxed than they are here, and for the most part you have been discreet about your assignations. While society would consider my granddaughter's reputation compromised, in view of the circumstances I see no reason why her wedding to Lord Welby should fail to take place."

"That's because you don't know all the circumstances of the assignations," Cole grumbled. Gazing around the hothouse, he spied a hibiscus like Elizabeth grew back home. Familiar with the plant, he recognized the need for water. Lifting the appropriate can from the garden cart, he sprinkled the dirt as he said, "If we were in Texas, you'd be holding a shotgun on me while the preacher spoke the words."

"Are you saying you...?"

"I bedded her." He dropped the can back onto the cart. "I'm going to marry her."

"Hmm... I see." The earl tugged off his garden gloves and Cole halfway expected to be slapped with one. But instead, Thornbury dropped the gloves into the tool tin, folded his arms, and smiled. "Well, it is about time."

"What?" Cole blinked and gave his head a shake, certain he'd misheard. "What did you say?"

"I said it's about time. Elizabeth and I were beginning to worry our plan wasn't working."

Every muscle in Cole's body froze. "Plan? What plan?"

"Our plan for the two of you to marry." The Earl of Thornbury reached out and clapped Cole on the shoulders, his green eyes twinkling. "Welcome to the family, son. You may call me Grandfather if you like."

Christina's voice blew through the citrus trees like a winter frost. "Grandfather? Wicked wretch is more like it!"

A strange sort of detachment settled over Cole as he watched Christina bearing down upon the earl. It was as if the heating system had malfunctioned, filling the orangery with a fog that couldn't be seen or felt, but somehow served to insulate him from the action taking place around him.

He observed Christina's rage in the flash of her eyes and the clench of her fists. He heard it in her tone as she accused, "You planned this? You and my mother?"

He saw the earl's chagrin as he ducked his chin and sheepishly said, "Now, Chrissy..."

"Don't 'Now Chrissy' me." She advanced on him, a fiery-haired hellcat spitting her fury. "Tell me how much of it was planned. When it started. Here at Hartsworth? Whose idea was it?"

Cole was two people. One listened to Christina and her grandfather, the other was frozen by a notion he couldn't quite believe.

Elizabeth
wanted
her daughter to marry him?

"It makes no sense," he said as much to himself as to the others. "She went on and on about wanting a titled son-in-law."

The earl nodded. "True. But she thinks nobility is a worthier trait, and using the American definition of the word, she believes you qualify."

"But she never said anything. She never once gave me a hint."

Christina stabbed Cole with a glare. "Are you saying you weren't in on it?"

His own temper flared and helped clear away some of the fog. "If you're going to eavesdrop, do it right," he snapped. "Whose idea was this? This is the first I've heard of any of it." To the earl, he said, "Christina asked whose idea this was. I'd like that answer myself."

The earl shrugged. "My daughter has been writing to me about Christina's marital prospects ever since we healed our estrangement. I don't remember when she first linked your name with hers. Some time ago. She became frustrated when time dragged on and the two of you remained blind to the attraction between you. Then early last summer she told me she was worried you were about to make a commitment to someone else."

Cole assumed the earl referred to Christina. Meeting her gaze, he asked, "Were you engaged early last summer?"

Christina frowned in thought. After a moment, she said, "No, I believe I was between fiancés at that time."

"Not her," said the earl. "You, Morgan. Something about a widow?"

"Elizabeth knew about Louise Larsen?"

Christina asked, "Is that—?"

"No one important," Cole said with a dismissive wave of his hand. His mind spun. He simply couldn't believe this. "Are you trying to tell us that Elizabeth had this marriage notion in her head
before
we came to England?"

"What does it matter? What does any of the whys and wherefores matter? I don't see what has you so upset. All we did was open the door. You two are the ones who waltzed through it." He frowned at the both of them, then added, "And you didn't have to dance all the way to the bed, either, you know. I'm certain that is not what Lady Elizabeth intended. It is within my rights to call you out, Morgan. You compromised my granddaughter."

"I said I'd marry her, didn't I?"

Christina shot a scorching look his way. "Well
she
didn't say she'd marry you."

"You have to marry him, my dear. You have no choice."

"No choice?" she screeched. "I most certainly do have a choice."

Her grandfather chided her with a look. "Now, Christina, it seems to me you made your choice when you fell into bed—"

"Her illness!" Cole interrupted as the preposterous possibility occurred to him. He clutched the old man's arm. "What about her illness?"

"What illness?" Christina asked.

Cole's hand dropped away and he went still as a corpse. An ugly feeling rumbled around his gut. "Thornbury?"

The wealthiest, most powerful man in Derbyshire dipped his chin and shuffled his feet. "Hmm..."

Hell. I can't believe it.
A sense of betrayal churned his stomach, but on the heels of that, anger began to build. "They lied?" he challenged softly.

Christina slapped his shoulder. "What illness?"

The earl blew out a sigh, then shuffled over to one of the compass-back chairs scattered throughout the orangery. Sinking into the seat, he said, "It was an excuse. Elizabeth is in the peach of health."

Cole slumped back against the wall. Sonofabitch. This was truly unbelievable. That Jake and Elizabeth would pull such a vicious joke on him, why, it was an arrow through the heart.

"Morgan," Christina said in a warning tone.

He looked at her, dumbfounded, and explained. "Jake told me she was ill with a heart condition. Said the doctor prescribed peace and quiet, which is why she was sending you to Hartsworth. I thought she was dying, Chrissy. I thought she might die while we were away. I knew... I knew you'd be crushed."

She gasped a breath, then stared at him in disbelief for a long second. "Mama and Jake did that?"

"From what I understand, Jake believes the story of your mother's ill health," the earl interjected. "Elizabeth thought he would be more convincing that way."

Cole didn't know whether that made him feel better or worse. While he was still trying to sort the question out, Christina's temper blew. "How cruel! The nerve of her. The gall. I can't believe she would be so mean to you and Jake."

Despite his emotional confusion, Cole noticed she failed to include herself in that charge against her mother.
Ah, Bug, she has hurt you, hasn't she?

Energy rolled off Christina in waves as she marched up and down the narrow aisle between pots of pineapple plants and tubs of orange trees. She sputtered and spewed, condemning her mother's insensitivity and interference. She talked with the movement of her hands and head and hips. The woman was in a fury, and Cole was distracted from his troubles by the sheer beauty of the sight.

He loved the fire in her hair and in her heart. He loved her passion. He loved her pride. He loved... her.

I love her.

The truth of it took his breath away. He reached out for something to hold on to and grabbed the prongs of a garden fork carelessly hung from a support post with the sharp edges out. Metal punctured his skin as Christina wound up her harangue by shaking her finger in her grandfather's face and saying, "Write my mama a letter and tell her this: Her wicked plan failed. She caused no end of grief for nothing. I might have—just possibly, mind you—considered marrying Cole. But now, after what the two of you have done, I'll be going through with my plans as they now stand. You tell my mama that next time she sees me I'll be Lady Welby."

Her words ripped Cole's heart out as she drew herself up regally and added, "Grandfather, you can tell my mother I wouldn't marry Cole Morgan now if he were the last man on earth."

* * *

For the next twenty-four hours Chrissy hid from the world in the privacy of her room. She ignored all knocks at her door, even Lana's, and especially the pounding Cole gave it from time to time. When hunger finally caused her to request a tray from her maid, she sent the accompanying notes from Cole and her grandfather back unread, then buried her face in her bed pillow to indulge in yet another bout of crying. She had alternated between tears and temper since storming from the orangery yesterday evening. So far she'd gone through almost a dozen handkerchiefs. Indulging her temper had resulted in three broken vases, two cracked decorative plates, and a shattered figurine she regretted throwing the moment it banged against the door. That particular porcelain piece had been among her favorites. She wouldn't have reached for it had Cole not been shouting and pounding on the other side of the locked door.

At some level, Chrissy knew the decisions she'd made yesterday were based on childish emotion rather than adult logic. She'd jumped upon a runaway horse galloping toward disaster, but she couldn't quite manage to summon the strength to holler whoa.