The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) (35 page)

Dillie snorted. “By all of five minutes.”

“Lily followed you around like a little puppy, marveling at your brilliance. You never failed her. We knew then that you would be just fine. Better than fine. That the man who captured your heart would be fortunate indeed. Now, run along. Remind him just how fortunate he is.”

***

“Ugh! Ian, I’m stuck!”

Ian was sitting under a sturdy oak, his back resting against the tree’s hard trunk while he gazed into the rushing waters of the stream and thought of James, when he heard Dillie call out to him. He turned toward the stone wall that separated the Swineshead gardens from the stream and saw her impertinent head sticking up over it. Her fingers were gripping the smooth top stones while she tried to gain a foothold atop those stones, no easy task with a bruised ankle.

He quickly folded the letter he’d been reading and tucked it into his boot. Then, shaking his head, he rose and hurried toward her. “What in bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” He easily hoisted himself onto the wall, and then reached down and carefully hauled her up beside him.

She let out a soft breath, her face pink and her hair a little disheveled from her exertion. “The obvious answer is that I was trying to scale the wall. It’s much higher than I realized.”

He jumped back down, and then took her by the waist and gently set her down so that she was standing on the soft grass beside him along the bank of the stream. They could no longer be seen from the house, and he meant to take full advantage. “The obvious answer? Is there more than one?”

She nodded. “I was worried about you.”

A light breeze wafted through her dark curls, mussing them so that a few slipped out of their pins and whipped against her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled a soft, crystal blue, as they always did when looking at him. “So was I,” he admitted.

She glanced toward the stream, staring a long moment at its sweeping current and the little caps of white foam formed by the wind and underwater rocks. “You were thinking of James.”

“You don’t pull your punches, do you?” He sounded angrier than intended. After all, he’d been the one to bull his way out of the lodge without a word and leave them all wondering what had just happened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound resentful. I was the one who acted rudely.”

She slipped her hand in his. “Farthingales have thick skins. We rarely take offense.”

He traced a finger along the line of her jaw, and then placed his hand to the back of her neck and drew her in for a long, lingering kiss. “No, your skin’s quite soft. Delicate. I ought to know, for I’ve studied it thoroughly.”

She smiled a soft, Dillie smile that warmed his soul. “Thoroughly? You’ve only just begun to know me. I believe you’ll require a lot more study before you can make any assertions, Your Grace. A lot more study.”

“I quite agree.” He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her again, pressing his mouth against her sweet, welcoming lips, loving the way she accepted him, drew him in, responded to his touch. She eased his soul. A moment ago he’d been staring at the stream, thinking of the day James had died, thinking of the two of them sinking under that icy water and no longer able to breathe.

Those dark thoughts faded whenever he was with Dillie. The darkness that shrouded his heart was no match for the girl. Her smile alone could kick the hell out it.

As he continued to kiss her—Lord, she felt so good—he heard the
whoosh
of water flowing with the current.
It’s just a stream meandering through the countryside, not a child’s watery grave.

He felt a light breeze dancing across his body and the warmth of the sun upon his shoulders. He caught the scent of grass and water and the peach scent of Dillie’s skin.
I want this. I want Dillie. James, forgive me.

But he no longer needed his brother’s forgiveness if the words in the letter he’d just read were true. He didn’t dare believe it, didn’t know what to make of it.

“Oh, dear,” Dillie whispered against his lips. “We’re not even married yet and you’ve already lost interest in my kisses.” She tried to keep her voice light and teasing, but he could see that she was concerned about him. Surely, she had no doubts about their impending marriage, even though he was an ass and unable as yet to express his feelings for her.

“That will never happen.” He drew her up against him, taking her into his arms and holding her so that their bodies were practically molded into one. Then he kissed her again, his lips taking hers, plundering and conquering, hot and unrestrained, holding nothing back. He wanted her to feel the heat of his desire and know it would never fade. Not now. Not years from now when they were old and gray. Not ever, for it seemed as though Dillie had been made for him, as though someone had reached into his heart and created the perfect girl, the only one who could ever make him happy.

Had James done it? Had he purposely thrown him and Dillie together that night in Lady Eloise’s lilac-scented garden?

He eased away to stare at her. “You sneeze when you eat sardines. You can face down an army of villains, yet you’re easily rattled when out in society.”

“I am not.” She let out an adorable, breathy
eep
when he began to trace his finger along her throat.

“You
eep
whenever you’re ruffled, usually when I’m near. You blush whenever I touch you, turning bright red from the tips of your ears to the tip of your nose. You’re blushing right now.”

He stopped her when she opened her mouth to protest. “Dillie, you crawl around on carpets with your cousins, and your hair is never perfect. There’s always a stray curl dangling over your forehead or about your ears.”

She frowned. “Is there a point to your inventory of my faults?”

He reached out to tuck back her hair, surprised she’d taken his words the wrong way. “They’re not faults,” he said in a throaty whisper. “They’re all the reasons I wish to marry you. I don’t want cold, society elegance. I’ve lived with cold my entire life. I want chaos and meddlesome warmth. I want someone who gives a fig whether I live or die. I want someone who will love me even though she thinks I’m an idiot.”

“Oh, Ian. I haven’t called you that in a long while. And you know I never really thought you were an idiot.”

He nodded. “The point is, I don’t want perfect. I want you.”

She shook her head and laughed. “I think that was a compliment. If so, I’ll take it. Although it isn’t quite the down-on-your-knees-desperate-to-have-you speech I was hoping for, but it’s a good start.”

He was about to withdraw the letter he’d tucked into his boot when Dillie suddenly let out a soft cry. A butterfly had landed on her hand. “Ian, look! It’s so beautiful,” she said in an excited whisper, her eyes widening in delight. “Look at how the colors on its wings shimmer, the emerald green and purple amethyst. I’m afraid to move or even breathe. I want it to stay. I want to hold on to it and never let it fly away.”

“You have to let it go.”

She frowned lightly. “No. Why should I?”

“It has to move on in order to survive. You can’t—” He suddenly felt as though an anvil had been dropped on his head. Dillie’s desire to hold on to that butterfly was no different from his desire to hold on to James’ death. All his life, he’d been trapped by his memory of that dreadful day. He hadn’t moved on. He’d never been able to let James go.

Bloody hell.

He stared at Dillie, wondering just how she’d manipulated him into saying the words aloud.
Let it go. Move on.
She wasn’t looking at him, but smiling at the butterfly. “How...?” He shook his head. “Never mind. You’re scary, you know that?”

She cast him an innocent gaze, her gorgeous eyes wide as she took him in. “Because I like butterflies?”

“Yes.”

She laughed and shook her head once more, tousling her curls. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The butterfly flitted away, and they watched it disappear over the stone fence. Dillie turned to him, her gaze soft as she nestled against his body, her curves fitting so perfectly against him. “All I know is that everything feels right when I’m with you. I don’t understand why.”

“Blame it on the Chipping Way curse,” he said.

She looked up at him and smiled. “It isn’t really a curse, thank goodness. I’m so happy when I’m with you. I love being with you. Even when facing down blackguards in a stable or a fashionable London street.”

“You’ve always believed in me.”

“It wasn’t hard to do.” Her eyes were sparkling as she continued to gaze at him. “I love you, Ian. My heart twists in knots every time I think of the pain your family has put you through. James’ death was an accident. If the situation were reversed, you jumping in to rescue James, I know you would never have blamed him.”

“Dillie,” he said, his voice and every limb in his body shaking. He wanted to say more, but didn’t know where to start. Instead, he reached into his boot and withdrew the letter he’d just finished reading when she came upon him. He led her back to the tree where he’d been sitting and handed her the letter. “I’d like you to read it. Hell, I don’t know what to make of it.”

She sat on the grass, propped her shoulder against the trunk of the old oak tree, and unfurled the letter. Ian felt too much on edge to sit beside her, and instead began to pace along the water’s edge. “Tell me what you think, Dillie.” He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “You’re the only one I trust to tell me the truth.”

***

Dillie’s heart was pounding through her ears as she began to read. Ian trusted her, valued her opinion, and she simply couldn’t make a mistake. He’d handed over more than this mere letter, for along with that sheaf of paper, he’d handed her his heart. She knew this was the most important letter she might ever read in her life.

For that reason, she took her time going through it, not just once but several times before she dared to set it down. However, she still had questions. “Ian.” He stopped pacing and cast her a grim smile. Indeed, grim was an apt description of how he must be feeling, his insides painfully knotted and thoughts confused. “Who is this Mr. Badger?” She was referring to the gentleman who’d written the letter.

“Celestia and my cousins had let a house in Belgravia. Badger was their head butler. He came with the house, as did the rest of the staff.”

“What an odd name.” In truth, Daffodil was little better.
Duchess Daffodil. Ugh! Almost as bad as Duchess Daffy
.

“I thought so, too. I only met him a couple of times, when I stopped by to visit Celestia.” He ran hand through his hair again. “I never stayed long. You know how suffocating a mother’s affection can be at times.”

The sarcasm was evident in his voice, but so was his anguish. If only that horrid woman had ever held him, praised him, or kissed him goodnight. Just one hug, one kiss, or kind word would have been enough to sustain Ian. But it had never happened, not even once. “I’m sorry.”

She dared say nothing more, for he’d take her words as pity. He wanted honesty, no matter how brutal those words might be.

“I didn’t know what to make of Badger when I first met him. He looked so familiar, yet I couldn’t place him. There was something about his eyes, and something in his manner... a paternal kindness about him. I don’t know. I just sensed it. But what would I know of kindness?” He sighed and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have told you anything about him. I want you to form your own opinion of the man. For all I know, he could be a bounder, paid to write that pack of lies at the behest of Celestia. This would be the sort of cruel hoax she’d devise.”

“If it’s any consolation, I also thought Mr. Badger was an honest man. I sensed a pain in his own soul, and I don’t think that is something easily faked.”

Ian strode from the water’s edge and knelt beside her, arching one eyebrow. He looked handsome enough to melt her heart. “Go on, Dillie. Tell me more.”

“The letter sounds more like a confession, as though he’s wanted to relieve his burdened soul for several months now, but never quite found the courage. I’m glad he finally did, though I can’t blame him for his hesitation. It could not have been easy for him to open these old wounds about your brother.” Dillie felt her eyes misting and knew she’d likely be in tears before this conversation progressed much further. “We have to talk about that day, Ian. Do you trust me enough to tell me everything?”

He stroked his finger lightly across her cheek, his touch quite comforting and tender. “I have no secrets from you.”

Dillie was surprised by his earnestness. In truth, he could have lightened his words by calling her a snoop, for she was an incorrigible one, always with her ear to the keyhole. But he’d just been open and heartfelt about it. He wanted her to know the workings of his heart. “I love you, Ian.”

He grinned. “I know.”

She felt herself melting again.
Crumpets!
How could any woman ever resist this man? She turned away to peer down at the letter now open on her lap and began to read it aloud. “
Your Grace. My sister, may she rest in peace, was in your father’s employ, charged with the care of you and your brother.”

Ian immediately tensed beside her. “She was our nanny at the time of the accident,” he explained, his voice tense and raspy. He seemed reluctant to continue, but Dillie encouraged him with a nod, for he needed to speak the words, the haunting thoughts he’d kept bottled inside for all these years. “She was with us that day. We called her Miss Nell. Never knew her full name. Just Miss Nell. James and I liked her. She was a cheerful, decent sort who rarely shouted at us, even though we often deserved it. We always got into mischief.”

“All little boys do. It’s in their nature.” She returned her attention to the letter.
“My sister told me what happened shortly before she died. That was several years ago. Your Grace, please believe me when I say that she had no idea of the suffering your family has put you through. She would not have stayed quiet had she known.”

Dillie reached out to take Ian’s hand.

He laughed softly and gave her hand a light squeeze. “Still trying to protect me?”