Something Sinful (21 page)

“I’ll join you.”

“I don’t want you to join me. I want some peace and quiet. You are the antithesis of both.”

Zach leaned one haunch against the dressing table. “You’re a bit testy, aren’t you?”

“What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the afternoon—too late for luncheon, and too early for dinner.”

“I came to see my soon-to-be-married brother.” Zachary grimaced. “Actually I came to see Melbourne, but he’s in a fouler mood than you are. And I thought he was angry when I said I wanted to marry Caroline.”

Charlemagne began an insult, but there didn’t seem to be much of a point. Instead he sat on the dressing chair. “He was angry because he thought you’d been tricked into doing something unwise.”

“That does sound familiar, doesn’t it?”

“You mean for me?” Shay returned. “Everyone seems to assume that I made a mistake, and yet no one’s asked for my opinion.”

“Most likely because you’ve never hesitated to express it before.”

“I’m getting married. That’s my opinion.”

Zachary looked at him for a minute. “That’s not an opinion; correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe it to be a fact. And you can hardly blame us for being concerned. If you’re being a gentleman, there are probably ways around this.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” Shay asked, though he had a fairly good idea.

“You have to know what Seb thinks—that Sarah overwhelmed you with her talk of being alone and friendless in Lon—”

“Sarala,” Charlemagne corrected. “And she didn’t overwhelm me with anything.” Actually she had, but not with lust or whatever it was that Zachary had been going to suggest. The woman herself overwhelmed him. Her accent, her eyes, her hair, her skin—all that began it, but what finished him off was her intelligence, her borderline cynicism that made him look at his own England through a foreigner’s eyes, her sense of humor, the way her mind worked.

“That’s what Caro said.”

Charlemagne shook himself. “What?”

“Yes, I can see that you’re completely unaffected by the chit,” his brother stated dryly. “My wife is of the opinion that you two are so logical and straightforward that once you were caught kissing, you couldn’t imagine a way around it.”

“How romantic we are.”

“You’re the one who compromised a chit into marriage. Not me. And you told Seb you were negotiating a business transaction. Forgive me if that talk doesn’t make my knees weak.”

“Your mind is weak.”

“At least I have some romance in my bones. You have pencil lead. And ink for blood.”

Charlemagne actually did find Zachary’s commentary interesting. Obviously Sarala had seen their kissing as a ploy on his part to gain the advantage in a business negotiation. So did his entire family, apparently. Ink for blood. Did Sarala not see him as he saw her, then? Did she not imagine them, bodies entwined, while she cried out in pleasure?

Standing, he clapped his brother on the back. “Thank you, Zach. You’ve made several things very clear.”

“I have?” Zachary rose, as well. “Of course I have. That’s why I came. What are you going to do, then? Tell Melbourne you’re begging off? Let the chit escape unscathed?”

“No. I’m going to make her fall in love with me, and then I’m going to marry her.”

His footman had reported his missive delivered to the house, but as for whether Sarala would come out to meet him, he could only guess. However, knowing her natural curiosity as he’d come to over the past days, he would have been willing to wager a considerable amount of money that she would appear.

Behind him someone moved closer to a window. “…a Griffin involved, of course the wedding will be at Westminster Abbey,” a female voice said from inside.

“Oh, do you think the Regent will attend?” He recognized that voice as Lady Hanover’s. So this was the wedding discussion. Interesting.

“I think
everyone
will attend. It will be the event of the entire Season. After all, Lady Deverill eloped to Scotland, and Lord Zachary apparently insisted on a small ceremony in Shropshire. This is the Griffins’ last and best opportunity to make a splash, if Melbourne’s so uncooperative as to want to remain a widower.”

“But wasn’t Melbourne married at Westminster?”

He recognized that voice, too, and sat straighter. Sarala. That surprised him, considering her stated reluctance to go through with any of this. Unless she
had
fooled him as Sebastian had suggested—which still didn’t make sense to him. Zachary’s observations made more sense, but he wasn’t going to write anything in stone until he’d satisfied his own curiosity and answered every one of his own questions.

“That was nearly eight years ago, Lady Sarala,” another female responded. “Since Melbourne’s not likely to marry there again, even if some lady does eventually melt his stony heart, this is their last opportunity until his daughter, Penelope, comes of age.”

Oh, good God. Anger swirled under his skin. His family’s tragedies had been reduced to this? How could everyone dismiss what they’d been through—that both their parents had died when Sebastian had been seventeen and he twelve, and Charlotte when Peep was only three? Charlemagne felt thankful that Sebastian hadn’t heard any of this version of their lives.

“I think selecting the church should be up to both families,” Sarala’s voice came again. “And I still think you’re all speaking far too soon.”

“Sarala, that’s enough.”

“I’m sorry, Mama. I just don’t understand why this is a celebration. I erred in my behavior. Shay erred in his. It was nothing serious, there was nothing scandalous or ruinous about it, and I don’t think anything will end up coming of it.” Skirts rustled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a breath of air.”

A door closed. “Don’t fret, Helen,” one of the others said. “She’ll become more enthusiastic. Every girl’s dream is a fine wedding. And this will be the finest.”

Charlemagne stood a moment later as Sarala emerged onto the path. Her head was bare, black hair glinting bronze in the sunlight, her eyes darkening to emeralds as she spotted him.

“Hello,” she said, smiling.

“Shh,” he murmured, and gestured toward the window beyond the hedge. “This way.”

He offered his hand, and after a brief moment she took it, wrapping her fingers around his. Silently he led the way toward the stables, farther from the house. A stack of hay bales rested to one side of the building, and he took a seat there. “Hello,” he returned, still holding her hand.

“How long were you outside the library?” she asked, her cheeks darkening.

“Long enough to hear that we are going to have the finest wedding in the history of weddings.”

“Oh, dear. That was not my suggestion. I don’t even know why Mama wanted me in there. Obviously what we want has nothing to do with the planning.”

She’d said “we,” at least. “Did you get the coin?”

“Yes. Thank you so much. It’s in exquisite condition.”

“It came from a meadow outside of Verulamium about eight years ago.”

“Did you find it yourself?”

His grin deepened. “I got thrown from a friend’s horse and ended up with a mouthful of grass, eye-to-eye with Hadrian under an oak tree.”

Sarala chuckled. “You might have said you dug through ancient ruins for hours to find this one treasure, which you then passed on to me.”

Charlemagne laughed, as well. “I’ll remember that for next time.” Their gazes met, and as lightning ran down his spine, he leaned in to kiss her.

Her bones simply melted. Sarala swept her arms up around his shoulders, pulling herself closer against his chest and flat, muscled abdomen. Attraction and heat. He obviously felt it toward her, and she knew she felt it toward him.

Oh, everything was so complicated. And all she had to do was absolutely nothing, and she would end up married to this remarkable man. But would he be happy with that? If he wasn’t, she certainly wouldn’t be—and she had no intention of spending her life in a state of bitter misery.

Pulling away from him felt like the most difficult thing she’d ever done. “Shay?”

Gray eyes held hers squarely. “Yes?”

“Have you spoken with your brother?”

“Actually, I spoke with Zachary. He said that we’re straightforward and have no imaginations, and saw agreeing to all this as the logical conclusion of events.”

“Well, that’s not very kind.”

“No, it isn’t. And it’s not true. I didn’t kiss you to acquire the silks.”

“Then why did you kiss me? That first time.”

“Because I couldn’t not kiss you.”

She realized her hands were still clutching his lapels. Clearing her throat, she smoothed the fine material. His declaration sounded good, but considering that until yesterday she’d owned his silks,
he
could clearly be taken advantage of, even if he hadn’t done so to her. “So you can honestly say that when you kissed me yesterday in your sister’s morning room, you did so with the intention that we would soon be married.”

“No, I couldn’t say that. I know I probably would have been sitting here with you today, regardless.”

He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, and she shivered. “And I’d probably be sitting here with you. You do kiss very well, Shay.”

His responding chuckle reverberated through his chest and up through her palms to her heart. “Then what’s your complaint, princess?”

Sarala frowned, pulling completely away from him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? When I first saw you I thought you looked like an Indian princess.”

“But I’m not Indian. I’m English. And I’m certainly not a princess.”

Shay’s brow furrowed. “Perhaps not a literal princess, but what—”

“You are going to talk to the duke, aren’t you?”

For a long moment he sat silently beside her. She knew the answer then, before he spoke. Sarala wanted to hear the words from him, though, the way he said them. That would speak as strongly as the actual sounds of the sentences.

“No, I’m not going to ask Sebastian to help us avoid a marriage,” he finally said in a quiet voice.

“Why not? You promised me!”

“For two reasons. Firstly, we were caught kissing—not just kissing, but grabbing on to each other and knocking things onto the floor. Whatever I said or Melbourne said or you said, you would be ruined, Sarala.”

“I could accept—”

“No.
I
couldn’t accept that. It would make me…an animal.”

“You’ve kissed women before and haven’t married them. I’ve kissed men before and haven’t married them.”

She thought for a brief moment that his expression darkened. “There’s a difference,” he returned, his voice still quiet, but less cool. “Those previous encounters were mutually discreet. None of those women were exposed, none of them were ruined. Everyone knows what happened at Corbett House.”

“I don’t care!”

“Yes, you do. I’ve seen women be ruined, Sarala. It’s…unimaginable that if anyone could prevent it they would allow it to happen.”

The anger in his voice wasn’t aimed at her, but it gave her pause, nonetheless. This was a man who could buy and sell people, estates, countries, even. And the knowledge of what he’d seen, of what might have happened to her if he or Melbourne hadn’t stepped in and done what they considered to be their gentlemanly duty, infuriated him. “So you think we have to get married,” she said slowly, her heart pounding so hard and so fast he could most likely hear it.

“Yes, I do. There are much worse things than a forced marriage, Sarala. And scandal is one of them.”

“Then what is your second reason? Why did you bother to come up with one? Your first reason was…compelling enough, don’t you think?” Her voice broke, but she didn’t try to cover it, or the tears that she felt gathering in her eyes. He would know how she felt.

“Maybe it was, but it isn’t the only reason I didn’t talk to Melbourne. And I wanted you to know there was a second reason.” He lifted a hand toward her again, then hesitated and lowered it. “You have to let me begin and finish, though, because it doesn’t sound very well at the start.”

For the first time since she’d read his note an hour ago, a glimmer of amusement touched her. She nodded. “I’ll let you finish.”

“Very well.” Charlemagne looked down for a moment, clearing his throat. “I like you. A great deal. I have met…a fair number of women in my life, and none of them…tempted me. I mean to say, I have—I’m not—I have experience, but I had a good idea that I would remain unmarried. Melbourne could use the assistance, and my other siblings seemed to enjoy domesticity enough for the rest of us.”

Sarala sat and listened to him. He’d said he would begin badly, but the “I like you” had certainly claimed her attention. Whatever followed was obviously meant to ease her mind, but so many thoughts roiled through her skull that she didn’t think anything would help.

He cleared his throat again. “At any rate, you interest me more than any woman I’ve ever met. We are betrothed, but we aren’t yet married. And I won’t marry you—not until you become as fond of me as I am of you.”

Very well, she’d been wrong. That
did
help.