To Love a Lord: A Victorian Romance Collection Page 25

  “A kiss does not a lover make,” she hissed.

  Gabriel begged to differ... perchance it was but the beginning, but it was certainly a beginning. He’d never kissed any woman he hadn’t meant to bed, and he while he was never so confident in Margaret’s presence, he had never had cause to doubt his mastery in such matters as law, or discussion, or seduction … or kissing…

  A slow smile turned his lips as he heard his father’s voice: A man must do what he must do, son. Perhaps he’d not entered this bargain with the intent of seducing Margaret—or perhaps he had—but he suddenly resolved to do precisely that. He couldn’t have justified it had he tried, but he suddenly felt unreasonably giddy over the prospect, and more than a bit reckless as he smiled down at her with great promise. “True enough, Margaret,” he said with a wink. “A kiss does not a lover make.”

  She seemed to cow over the silent promise in his eyes, and he swept a hand in a friendly gesture urging her to enter. He arched a brow, when she still didn’t stir, and offered a challenge. “Unless you’re afraid of a simple kiss?”

  “Afraid! Bosh! What should I have to fear?” she said, and brushed past him, marching after the pastor and his wife.

  Gabriel smiled as he followed, heartily glad that she’d reacted so defiantly to his challenge. It would make his seduction go all the easier. And God save his rotten soul, he intended to seduce his bride, and was going to relish every bloody minute.

  Chapter 6

  “Lady Margaret Willingham…”

  The pastor stressed her title before her name as though it must be a blasphemy. “Did you come here today of your own accord?”

  “Of course.” Margaret said. It was the only course of action that would ensure her future to any degree. But though it didn’t alter the fact that within moments she would be entered into holy wedlock with the stranger at her side, and, of course, she couldn’t help but be terrified out of her wits, she was certainly here of her own accord.

  “And you, Mr. Gabriel... I can’t read your scribble here,” he complained, pointing to the document in his hand. “What’s this?”

  “Morgan,” Margaret offered, impatiently.

  The pastor regarded her evenly. “Yes, well… Mr. Morgan, did you also arrive here of your own accord?”

  “Well, of course he did.” Margaret said, anxious for the ceremony to be done, and wholly terrified that Gabriel would change his mind at the very last moment. “Do you see any shackles on this man’s wrists?”

  The pastor did not answer Margaret, and she chafed. “Really, sirrah!” She brandished an upturned palm. “You don’t believe I could drag this man all this way per force?”

  The pastor narrowed his gaze. “A woman’s tongue makes a frightful lash,” he said somberly, and then he turned to look at his wife, muttering, “They dinna need horsewhips.”

  Margaret peered up at Gabriel, trying to gauge his expression. There was little she could read, not the tiniest suggestion of his thoughts, and she wondered if he could be suffering regrets—wondered, too, if he thought her tongue as wicked as the pastor did.

  More than anything, she found herself wondering in particular if he might be thinking about their impending kiss, and her face heated over that last thought.

  “Shut your gob, Duncan,” the wife proclaimed. “Dinna ye see the laddie is not unhappy? Gae on with the ceremony sae we can go tae bed. Leave the poor lass alone!”

  Margaret stared at the whip in the woman’s hand, wondering if she truly would use it on her husband. No wonder the pastor was so discontented. Still, she appreciated the woman’s defense.

  “Yes,” Gabriel answered, “I come of my own accord.”

  The pastor shook his head, as though lamenting Gabriel’s decision. “Ach well, my son... if you’re dead set about it, and if ye truly must, d’ye take this lady tae be your lawful wedded wife, forsaking all others, and keeping only to her so long as ye both shall live?”

  “I do,” Gabriel said, without hesitation. And Margaret wondered how anyone could say it, if he didn’t mean it.

  Examining him, not for the first time, he seemed to be a perfectly healthy male, and she was prepared to allow him some leeway in this area. After all, it wasn’t as though they were eloping, madly in love. It was a marriage of convenience. So why did the truth make her teeth grind?

  “And, you, Lady Margaret...”

  “I do,” Margaret said quickly, searching for, and handing the man a symbolic ring from her purse.

  The pastor peered up from his volume, raising his brows. In disapproval? But, why? Why shouldn’t a woman provide her own rings? Of course, she wouldn’t have expected Gabriel to provide them. And neither had she bothered to procure any of her own; her mother’s ring would do just fine. And if she hadn’t brought one for Gabriel to wear, it was simply a matter of consideration on her part. Under the present conditions, she would never expect him to go about shackled by a wedding ring.

  “Go on now… tis late,” she reminded the man. “We simply must make haste.”

  The pastor shook his head, casting another dubious glance at Gabriel as though he wished to be certain he should continue.

  Margaret resisted the urge to stomp the man’s foot as he reached out to receive her ring. He handed it to Gabriel. “‘Tis no’ too late,” he said ominously.

  “It most certainly is.” Margaret argued, sounding far more like a fishwife than she cared to. She cast an uncertain glance at Gabriel, hoping his opinion hadn’t been skewed.

  The pastor sighed, again, shaking his head. “Gae on, then, place it on her finger,” he directed Gabriel.

  “Hurry,” Margaret urged. But she worried all for naught, because Gabriel peered down at her, his demeanor composed, and he had the audacity to wink at her as he slid the ring over her fourth finger, sending the most delicious shivers down her spine. For a very, very disconcerting instant, she forgot where they stood. His touch lingered, and then, when he withdrew his hand, Margaret shuddered in total awareness of the man standing at her side. In mere moments he would be her husband... and she knew him not at all. Her hand trembled as Gabriel held it.

  “Now, Lady Margaret,” the pastor was saying, “repeat these words after me... with this ring I thee wed.”

  “With this ring I thee wed.”

  “With all my worldly possessions I thee endow.”

  Margaret’s brows collided. She shook her head. “Not all,” she argued. “Merely some.” Else wise, why, indeed, would she be wedding anyone at all?

  Gabriel merely smiled, but the pastor’s gaze snapped back up at him, looking as though he thought them both quite mad. “Go on,” Gabriel urged the man.”

  The pastor grumbled, peering back at Margaret. He sighed, again, quite loudly. “With my body I thee worship,” he said cantankerously.

  Margaret blinked, and for all her previous interjections, she suddenly couldn’t speak. She couldn’t promise Gabriel her body, and yet the thought did affect her, sending her pulses skittering. She looked up at Gabriel and saw a stranger—a stranger she knew no better than she did this confounded scotch-drinking preacher. She blinked again and saw the warmth nestled in the oddly familiar eyes. She blinked yet a third time, and his face blurred out of focus.

  And then she swallowed convulsively, because there was simply no choice to be made here. She was no child to go flying away in fright. She had, in fact, contemplated this option quite thoroughly, and it had been her most sensible choice. So then... what was she waiting for?

  “I thought you were in a hurry?” the pastor inquired, sounding perturbed.

  Margaret frowned. Of course, she was. But she couldn’t get the words to squeeze past her constricted throat, even despite that this was clearly covered in their list of concerns. But, even if he was prepared to disregard her vows, the very act of speaking those very words threatened all her carefully laid plans. She could not promise to worship him with her body.

  She was vaguely aware that Gabriel withdrew a timepiece fr
om his vest pocket. He flipped it open, glanced at it, frowned, and then closed it quickly, replacing it into his vest. He gave her a brief nod, urging her to continue, and Margaret inhaled a breath, and blurted, “With this ring I thee wed. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  The pastor slapped his book shut, outraged. “Ye canna change the wedding words, Lady Margaret!”

  “I can and have,” Margaret informed him badly, with far greater conviction than she felt. “Please, do go on, sirrah!”

  “Yes, please,” Gabriel insisted, coming to her defense. Margaret smiled up at him a little tremulously, uncertain as to whether she should be grateful for his compliance. He was staring again… specifically at her mouth… reminding her of their private arrangement just as surely as though he’d spoken it aloud. She lapped at her lips, averting her gaze.

  The pastor glowered at Gabriel as though he were a goose gone mad. “Are ye daff, mon?” he said. “What are ye wantin’ with a wife if ye canna have the best o’ what comes wi’ her?”

  “Leave them be, Duncan.” the pastor’s wife said.

  Again, the pastor muttered something beneath his breath, and thrust his book into the wife’s hands. “Forasmuch as this man and this woman have consented to be together by giving and receiving a ring, I therefore declare them to be man and wife before God and these… witnesses” —he waved a hand indicating his wife and sleeping child— “in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen. Gae on tae bed,” he commanded his brood, shooing them off. “And dinna bar the door, Constance.” he said sternly, and with no small measure of disgust, he added, “You may now kiss your bride!”

  Margaret let out a gasp, suddenly overwhelmed by the knowledge that they were lawfully wed—she and this very intimate stranger who was staring so expectantly at her lips, with a smile that seemed so disconcertingly familiar.

  Suddenly, she felt much too hot, and she couldn’t breathe. But a promise was a promise, she reminded herself. Drawing in a fortifying breath, she puckered her lips, tilted her face, squeezed her eyes closed, and waited, anticipating the brush of his lips…

  “I believe I’ve changed my mind,” her husband said.

  Margaret’s eyes flew wide. “Again?” Her brows collided. “What do you mean you’ve changed your mind? You cannot change your mind; it’s too late!”

  “You don’t wish to marry her?” the pastor asked, sounding bemused, and perhaps a bit hopeful.

  Margaret cast the man a withering glance.

  “Of course I wish to marry her,” Gabriel said evenly. And more to her, he said, “I just don’t wish to kiss you, is all.”

  Margaret’s face burned.

  He didn’t wish to kiss her?

  The pastor mumbled something uncharitable beneath his breath. “That’ll be half a guinea,” he demanded of Gabriel. “In all me bluidy days, I ha’e never seen the likes of this. Good luck, son. Ye’re gaein’ tae need it.”

  Gabriel withdrew the appropriate payment from his pockets, offered an extra coin for the pastor’s troubles, thanked the man, gathered the necessary papers, looked them over, and then led Margaret out of the marrying house, leaving the pastor to complain quite bitterly, and the wife, having forgotten her whip for the time being, to soothe his riled temper.

  Chapter 7

  Margaret was brooding.

  It was all Gabriel could do not to chuckle with pleasure over the fact. Unconscionable though it might seem, he was quite satisfied with the reaction he’d wrought from her. She sat before him now, looking entirely bemused, with her thoughts whirling behind those delightfully bewitching eyes. At the instant, he felt as giddy as he had that damned day before she’d said her goodbyes; he was once again that boy, dashing toward the hill, pasteboard in hand to show her.

  He realized only then how bloody disappointed he’d been that he’d never even shown her his silly pasteboard. More than anything, he’d craved the sound of her laughter—as he did so right now.

  But, of course, as it was on that fateful day, not all would go as he’d hoped: They’d gone directly to the inn, and hoping to procure a single room as husband and wife, Gabriel bribed the clerk to deny them two. Unscrupulous though it might be, he couldn’t muster any remorse. At any rate, it wasn’t as though he intended to force her, but he’d hoped that a certain proximity would soften her mood—so, yes, perhaps he had meant to seduce her.

  Alas, though, Margaret refused the arrangement out of hand, opting to make the return journey to Blackwood—forcing them to ride another four bloody hours back to Blackwood.

  No matter. Gabriel could wait. He’d waited a lifetime already, and the rewards to be reaped were well worth his patience.

  Unfortunately, the return journey was far more tedious than anyone anticipated, every bump and bend in the road a bother. All the while, Margaret kept her silence, barely deigning to look at him, and Gabriel realized she was dealing with confusing emotions. He gave her the quietude she needed, and just at the point when he began to fear she was regretting their bargain, she breached the silence.

  “That man was dyspeptic!”

  She didn’t bother to look at him.

  “You think so?” he asked conversationally.

  “Quite,” she said, clearly annoyed. “He was ill-tempered, bigoted, and rude, to say the least.”

  “He was also smashed.”

  She turned to look at him, finally, and Gabriel sucked in a breath at the incredible loveliness of her face. “Smashed?” Illumined by the bloodless moon, her cheeks seemed overly pale, her eyes incandescent green. The everlasting journey was beginning to take a toll on her.

  “Soused,” he explained. “Drunk.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t believe there was any need to reward him for it. Do you? How much did you give him?”

  He very wisely refrained from pointing out that she, in truth, had needled the man, and disclosed, “Double what he required.”

  “I thought so. I do hope you’re not so quick to spend the stipend I’ll provide, because there won’t be any more once it’s gone.”

  “I don’t need your money, Margaret.”

  “Don’t you?” she asked.

  I do not,” he assured. “Money was never my primary concern.”

  She tilted him a dubious glance, narrowing her eyes. “Tell me again; what was your primary concern?”

  Gabriel smiled patiently, diverting the subject. “My timepiece revealed one quarter past the midnight hour as we exchanged vows. I thought it prudent to leave the man appeased, as he’s the only one who could gainsay us.”

  Her brows collided. “Oh,” she said, and her color seemed to pale all the more. “You don’t think he’ll do that, do you? Her sea-green eyes were full of concern. “Did he put the correct hour on our certificate?”

  “Yes, he did.” Still, Gabriel withdrew the papers from his vest and offered them to Margaret, hoping she wouldn’t note his full signature—not that she could possibly make it out in the darkness of the coach. Regardless, she would eventually see it and realize, so now was as good a time as any. “Examine them for yourself.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and took the folded papers from his grasp, never averting her gaze. “I never even thought to ask. He made me so angry. I-I didn’t….”

  She seemed to lose her train of thought as she peered back at him—as he lost his own every time she met his gaze. For a moment, he thought the jig was up, but it was satisfying to see that he wasn’t alone in his distraction.

  After all these years, she was like a feast to his starving senses. The whispering black silk of her gown made him yearn to reach out, to draw the sleek garment into his greedy fingers. The soft scent of jasmine filled the carriage, making him long to bury his face into her hair, against the soft curve of her neck... taste her flesh... place his tongue over the pulse at her throat, feel it beating beneath his lips. The even fainter scent of peppermint... exhaled in his direction by her soft, tantalizing sighs, made him thirst all the more
to kiss those lips. All in all, he was in a dangerous state... for a man who’d only just vowed to give his wife due time.

  “Well... they do seem to be in order,” she said, without ever even having glanced at the papers in question.

  Gabriel could scarce help note that she was once again staring at his mouth, and he smiled, his lips curving with a fierce sense of satisfaction. He couldn’t, of course, note what women saw in him, but he knew precisely how they behaved in his presence, and yet, he’d never desired a one of them the way he desired Lady Margaret Willingham.

  His gaze lowered to the papers she held... flicking toward the décolletage of her gown, groaning inwardly, closing his eyes, his senses reeling. She was his wife now… duly wed… and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face against those sweet breasts, taste the hardened nipples and lift his head to whisper sweet nothings in her ear…

  He opened his eyes, and the hazy moonlight toyed with his vision... darkening his mood... conspiring against his better nature. Lord help him, he was no saint, and he was dizzy with desire, and his mouth felt dry.

  She didn’t know him anymore, he reminded himself. She didn’t even recognize him. She needed time, and he needed to allow her that time.

  It’s the right thing to do.

  He laid his head back again, repeating the litany until he was certain he must believe it, but his body remained as tense as a caged lion’s.

  Her gaze was still focused on him when he reopened his eyes, and he swallowed and held still... because if he moved... if he so much as stirred... he was going to reach out and draw her into his arms, seduce her right here in this carriage…

  Margaret had returned the papers, hands trembling, her thoughts in chaos. Of course, she hadn’t even bothered to look at them, she realized—but, then again, why should she have bothered? She couldn’t see print in the darkness of the carriage, anyway.

  And Lord, it shouldn’t matter, but somehow it did... After making such a tremendous fuss about it all, why had he so rudely refused to kiss her?