Marguerite Kaye – The Earl's Countess Of Convenience (страница 11)
‘In love! I am not sure I would know where to begin. How does one stare in a besotted manner, for example?’
He studied her, smiling uncertainly at him, and found himself, wholly unexpectedly and entirely inappropriately, wanting to kiss her. Properly kiss her. Which would be a catastrophic mistake. Because he also wanted, very much wanted, Miss Eloise Brannagh to become his convenient wife.
‘I think,’ Alexander said, ‘that we can discount any besottedness.’ He took her hand, lifting it to his lips. ‘Small demonstrations of affection will suffice.’ He kissed her fingertips. ‘There will be shared glances, times when our eyes meet, when it will be obvious to everyone that we are counting the seconds until we are alone.’
‘I am not sure...’
He turned her hand over, kissing her palm, felt the sharp intake of her breath, the responding kick of excitement in his gut, and met her eyes. Her lips parted. Dear God, but he wanted to kiss her.
‘There will be other glances.’ He leaned closer, his voice low. ‘Glances that speak of pleasure recently shared, rather than pleasure hotly anticipated.’
‘I don’t know anything about such things.’
‘You don’t have to. It will be an act. You have an imagination, don’t you?’ He ran his fingers up her arm to rest on the warm skin at the nape of her neck. ‘Pretend, when you look at me, that we have been making love.’
‘But I don’t know how that would—what should I be feeling?’
‘Happy. Think of something that makes you happy.’
‘When a gown I’ve made turns out to be exactly as I’d imagined it?’
He bit back a laugh. ‘Think of something a little more—how did it feel when you climbed to the top of a tree as a girl?’
‘Exciting. Dizzying. A little bit frightening. I always wondered what it would be like to let go, as if I might fly.’
‘Imagine you are feeling that now.’
Eloise gazed at him wide-eyed. He could feel her breath on his face, see the quick rise and fall of her breasts beneath the neckline of her gown. She reached tentatively for him, resting her hand on his shoulder. ‘In the mornings, in the summer, when the sun is only just coming up, I like to walk on the grass, barefoot,’ she whispered. ‘It’s cool, and damp, but in the most delicious way that makes you want to curl your toes into the grass. Is that what you mean?’
‘It is perfect.’ So perfect that he could picture the bliss on her face, that he wished, absurdly, he was the grass under her feet.
‘Alexander, I’ve never even been kissed.’
He could have groaned aloud at the temptation. Instead, he forced himself to sit back, to lift her hand to his lips once more, to press the lightest of kisses to her wrist. And then to let her go. ‘There will be no need for real kissing. Absolutely no lovemaking. What we have discussed will be the extent of our performance. Do you think we can manage that?’
‘Do
‘Yes, I do.’ Alexander shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench.
‘Would you still think so if I had been as you imagined, fiercer, older and with spectacles?’
Would he? The chivalrous answer would be no. But hadn’t they agreed to be honest? ‘Luckily, I tried to avoid imagining you at all.’
‘For fear you wouldn’t be able to abide me? It’s fine, you can admit it,’ Eloise said with a rueful smile, ‘for I confess, that I was—I was steeling myself for the worst.’
‘And would you be here now, if I had lived down to your expectations?’
‘Would the vast sum I will earn compensate for a stoop or spectacles or bad breath?’ Eloise grimaced. ‘The truth is, when I saw you I was vastly relieved, but—well, we are being brutally honest, aren’t we? Then I will tell you that you could have been an Adonis, but if I had taken you in dislike, and felt I could not overcome my reservations, then I wouldn’t be sitting here with you.’ She smiled shyly. ‘The fact that you do resemble a Greek god—a fact that I am sure cannot come as a surprise to you—well, the female population at least will not find it too difficult to believe that I fell in love with your face and not your fortune. Not that I mean to imply that all females are so shallow as to fall in love only with handsome men, but...’
‘No, but I fear that the majority of men
‘When you meet Phoebe and Estelle, you will realise why I am known as the clever sister.’
‘Clever
‘Clever enough to recognise that you have not answered my original question.’
‘I think we are all shallow creatures as far as first impressions go. I would like to think that I’d have overcome any reservations by getting to know you. I am certain that, having come to know you a little, I’d want to know more, and I can also say, as you did, that if I’d taken you in dislike, I would have put an end to the matter. But I am relieved—I can say now, hugely relieved—to discover that while your exterior is extremely attractive, it is what lies beneath that makes me think we will suit.’ He cast a worried look up at the sky. ‘We should get back inside, it looks like it’s threatening to rain.’
Eloise stood up. ‘Do you realise we’ve been talking all this while as if the decision has already been made?’
Alexander considered this. He felt odd. Not afraid, but it was that feeling he often had, at the culmination of a mission, when everything was finally coming together but there was still the danger that it could all go wrong, the thrill of the unknown. He felt as Eloise had described, perched at the top of a tree. ‘Have I been presumptive?’ he asked.
‘Do
‘Yes,’ he replied, surprising himself with his certainty. ‘I think—I really do think that we will suit very well. And you?’
Eloise bit her lip, frowning. Her smile dawned slowly. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think—I think if opposites attract, then we are an excellent match.’
He took her hands in his. ‘Miss Brannagh, will you do me the honour of marrying me?’
‘Lord Fearnoch, I do believe I will.’
And then she smiled up at him. And Alexander gave in to the temptation to kiss her. Delightfully, and far too briefly, on the lips.
Six weeks later
The journey from Elmswood Manor to London was made by means of a carriage which Alexander had sent for her. Eloise had been too sick with nerves to notice much, conscious only that each passing mile drew her nearer to the beginning of her new life. She knew she was approaching the metropolis because the roads became crowded, the post houses noisier, the buildings first crammed closer together, then growing ever taller. The well-sprung carriage jolted over cobbled streets. Iron palings, imposing mansions passed in a blur. She could hear street criers, see people jostling for position on the pavements, but little of the colourful city landscape registered. Overwhelmed, she abandoned her futile attempt to work out where she was and where she was headed, and sank back on the seat, trying to regain some element of composure before she arrived at the church.
She had made her own wedding gown of white satin with an overdress of white sarcenet. A broad crimson silk sash was tied at the waist. Redheads should on no account ever wear red, Mama always used to insist. She had never allowed any of her daughters to do so, one of the very few instances of her involving herself with their upbringing, so naturally it was one of Eloise’s favourite colours. She had trimmed the neckline and the sleeves with the same crimson silk, and had worked a frieze of crimson flowers along the hem with her tiny, perfect stitches. There was a short velvet pelisse to match. Phoebe had trimmed her poke bonnet with complicated knots of crimson satin ribbon. Estelle had fashioned her a matching reticule. Kate had generously given her the locket on a gold chain, her only piece of jewellery.
How many hours was it since she had bid them all goodbye? Her sisters had been so dejected at first, to be missing out on the wedding ceremony, but Eloise’s anxious pleas, endorsed by Kate, to be allowed to focus entirely on establishing herself as Lady Fearnoch without either the distraction of their presence or risk that they might give the game away, had reconciled them. Though at this moment, with the carriage drawing up in front of a church, she’d give a great deal to have them here in person to give her a hug and tell her that she was going to be the best Lady Fearnoch imaginable.
It must be late afternoon. The church, she knew from one of Alexander’s flurry of missives, was St Mary-le-Bow in Cheapside. A sudden squall of rain spattered the window pane, and Eloise shivered. Panic kept her in her seat as the carriage door was opened, the steps lowered. It was one thing to agree to a very convenient marriage, another to actually go through with it. Though there had been any number of letters, she had not seen Alexander since accepting his proposal. Was she really going to marry him?