A Most Scandalous Engagement Page 9

  Just ask her! Elizabeth thought with desperation.

  “I have looked upon Elizabeth as a friend, but part of me always wished for more. And I didn’t think I could ever have such a preposterous wish.”

  His voice was solemn and low, yet with an earnestness that made it sound so convincing. Elizabeth found herself watching his face, stunned and amazed at how believable he was.

  “But lately, Your Grace,” he continued, “I began to hope that perhaps Elizabeth returned my feelings after all. And now that my financial situation is settled, I can take care of her. All of which leads me to ask your permission for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage.”

  It was done, Elizabeth thought, feeling light-headed. She had linked herself in her mother’s eyes to Peter, who wasn’t the man she’d thought he was, who had secrets—but so did she. How could she find out his without revealing her own?

  The duchess inhaled slowly, then sank onto a sofa, motioning them toward her. They sat side by side on another sofa, across a low table from her. To Elizabeth’s surprise, Peter sat so his thigh just touched hers, hidden beneath her voluminous skirts. She wanted to move away, once again too aware of him. Why was such a simple touch so distracting?

  The duchess smiled at them at last, but Elizabeth wasn’t fooled.

  “My dear children,” her mother said, “this seems very sudden.”

  “But is it, Your Grace?” Peter asked. “Elizabeth and I have been drawn together our whole lives. It seemed only natural to allow these feelings to develop at last.”

  “You mean since your situation has improved,” the duchess said.

  “I will be happy to discuss it with you.”

  “You and my son may discuss a marriage settlement when he returns, Peter. That is not what concerns me now.”

  She paused, as if giving her words careful consideration, a trait Elizabeth had tried to emulate these last few years.

  “My concern is that perhaps one or both of you simply wants your friendship to be more than it is.”

  The duchess looked directly at her, and Elizabeth realized it was she at whom the comment was aimed.

  “Mama, I know why I want to marry Peter,” she said earnestly, for it was the truth. “I am not settling because I haven’t found the right man. Surely you know that I have met scores of men”—and been pressured by some of them—“and never have I felt for even one of them the way I feel about Peter.” Which was again the truth.

  “And what is that, my child?” the duchess asked kindly.

  “I love him, Mama.” She slid her hand into Peter’s and held his gaze a moment. She felt almost dizzy with the intensity he showed her. She gathered her composure to continue. “I think I always have loved him, but I just didn’t realize it. I want to marry him.”

  Her mother’s smile widened gradually, but concern still lingered. “Then I am happy for you, Elizabeth, for I know Peter to be a good man. I grant my permission.”

  Elizabeth glanced again at Peter, but he wasn’t smiling now, only watching her mother solemnly. She knew she had trapped him in her lie, and she imagined it did not come easily to him, when he’d always respected her family.

  But at last he turned to her and gripped both her hands in his, smiling as he said, “This is the happiest day of my life.”

  “Mine, too,” she whispered, grateful for his help. She had cleared one obstacle to her happiness, and now she could work on the rest, she told herself.

  “Did you have a date in mind?” the duchess asked.

  Elizabeth spoke before Peter could. “We’ve decided to give it some thought, Mama. After all, we’re not certain when Chris will return. We’ll need to consult with him.”

  Peter only smiled his agreement.

  “That is good, Elizabeth,” her mother said. “The wedding of a duke’s sister is not an easy event to plan. I imagine the guest list will be extensive.”

  “Do you think so, madam?” Peter asked. “Or do you think there will be some who choose not to attend?”

  Elizabeth caught her breath, but her mother seemed to understand exactly.

  “It will be an unusual event,” the duchess agreed, her expression wistful. “I remember well what it is like to marry into such a powerful, wealthy family. There will be many who disagree with Elizabeth’s choice.”

  “I can accept that,” Peter said evenly. “Can you, Elizabeth?”

  “You make me happy, Peter,” she said, reaching up to touch his face, surprised to find a faint roughness of stubble. It reminded her that he was a man, not just a friend.

  “There will be newspaper articles that question your sanity,” he said.

  “And my sister-in-law is a journalist who can be trusted to print the truth.”

  “You would do well to speak with Abigail, Peter,” the duchess said. “Not just as a journalist, but as one who recently married into the aristocracy.”

  “I will do that, Your Grace,” Peter said.

  “Until you decide on a wedding date,” the duchess said, “I will need something more immediate to plan. Will you permit me to give you an engagement party?”

  Elizabeth wanted to refuse, or at least delay her.

  But Peter grinned. “Thank you. I will enjoy showing off my future bride.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “I will be happy to help you and your mother with any or all of the plans.”

  “All of them?” Elizabeth asked sweetly. “Shall I consult you on the flower arrangements?”

  He laughed. “If you wish. I do have opinions, you know. And my mother would, too, if you wish to consult her.”

  “Have you told your family?” the duchess asked.

  “Not yet. I wanted to wait for your permission, Your Grace.”

  “And did you doubt it?” She raised an eyebrow.

  Elizabeth winced, although she could see that her mother teased him.

  He lifted Elizabeth’s hand and kissed her bare fingers. “I knew Elizabeth could persuade you of the sincerity of our feelings, madam.”

  She stared at the moist spot where his mouth had touched. Her hand had been kissed by dozens of men—but never soft lips on bare flesh. It felt too good.

  “Shall we tell the rest of your family?” Peter asked, pulling her to her feet.

  “Only if you wish.” Elizabeth smiled.

  “Biddable already,” he said to the duchess. “I like that.”

  Elizabeth watched her mother laugh, even as the woman came around to take Peter’s other arm with easy familiarity. Peter escorted them both into the smaller drawing room, where the family usually gathered in the evening. There was no denying that they all awaited the news with excitement, for each of them rose to their feet when the three came through the door.

  Elizabeth was amused at their various comical expressions of anticipation and decided not to draw out the suspense. “Peter asked me to marry him,” she said.

  With a happy cry, they surrounded Peter and her. She accepted their kisses and congratulations, and watched Peter surreptitiously as he did the same. One would never know he was lying. She’d been feeling relieved at how her plans had flowed smoothly so far, but now her mood dampened.

  “Congratulations, Elizabeth,” Lucy said, kissing her cheek.

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth met her gaze but didn’t hold it long, afraid that Lucy might not be as accomplished an actor as Peter.

  Abigail shook her head as she looked up at Peter. “You are a brave man, Mr. Derby. This announcement will affect all who know you. Many will be disbelieving; many will be jealous.”

  “And well they should be,” he said, hugging Elizabeth to his side with an arm around her shoulders. “I am marrying the sweetest girl in all of England.”

  No one said “and the wealthiest,” but Elizabeth knew many would. Her dowry could transform the life of any man.

  She found herself watching Emily, though she tried not to. Had Emily been attracted to Peter when she thought her husband dead? Was that why Peter wouldn’t discuss their courtship?


  But Emily seemed genuinely happy for Peter, her eyes sparkling as she spoke to her mother-in-law. Obviously, she had come to terms with whatever had happened between Peter and her.

  Had Peter?

  Oh, what did it matter? she reminded herself. She wasn’t marrying Peter. She was burying herself so deeply in the charade that she was forgetting the truth.

  The questions about their secret courtship began to flow, and Elizabeth realized she hadn’t settled on a story with Peter. She answered with the truth, that she’d always thought of him as a friend but had only recently begun to understand that there was more.

  “Did something in particular make you realize that you loved him?” Abigail asked. “Oh, I do love romance.”

  “Enough,” Elizabeth said, holding up her hands. “Peter has yet to tell his family, so he cannot spend all evening answering your questions. I’ll walk him to the door.”

  They smiled and called their good-byes, and Peter clearly enjoyed every minute of the feminine attention. At last she had him in the hall, but before they even reached the central split staircase, he pulled her through an open door into the library.

  “Peter!” she cried softly, reproachfully.

  “I won’t shut the door,” he said. “This is perfectly respectable for an engaged couple.”

  “We should have a chaperone,” she said, releasing his arm.

  “We don’t need one in our homes any longer. Out on the street it is a different matter, but now, here, we have an understanding.”

  He grinned and arched an eyebrow, looking devilish. She suspected he wanted her to laugh, but there was something intimidating and . . . exciting . . . about being alone with him. She didn’t know what to make of it.

  “Why did you bring me here?” she asked unsteadily.

  “Would not an eager bridegroom want to be alone with his future bride?” he asked softly, his smile fading as he looked down on her. “I’m only doing what you want me to, Elizabeth.”

  She hesitated, caught up in the blue of his eyes, the determination she read there. “You are taking advantage of this situation.”

  “The situation you created for a purpose you won’t divulge?”

  “I’m not one of your smitten women, Peter.”

  “Smitten women?” he echoed. “Barely engaged, and your jealousy is already showing.”

  She ignored the teasing. “I know you were questioning Lucy about me earlier tonight.”

  He smiled with satisfaction. “To keep you safe, I’ll do what I must. She is worried about you, too.”

  “What did she say?”

  He was no longer smiling. “That more than one man has tried to force himself on you.”

  “That sounds positively sinister,” she said, trying to make her voice light. It didn’t work, even to her own ears.

  He took her shoulders in his hands. “But you were afraid of them, Elizabeth. Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

  She looked away. “I don’t want to be afraid.” Her voice was low, strained. “I’ve never had to be before.”

  “You weren’t even afraid when I found you stuck halfway down as you climbed a bluff.”

  She gave a faint smile. “I just need . . . help, until my brother arrives.”

  “And you trusted me to help you.”

  “And I don’t know that I should have,” she said, raising her chin. “Look at your behavior tonight—boldly asking Aunt Rosa about Susanna and Rebecca. As you can see, you learned nothing that would help you win your wager.”

  “Perhaps I was simply showing you that you cannot lead me about without suffering the consequences, Elizabeth.”

  “You’re angry that I’m not falling into your arms like a helpless girl needing to be rescued.”

  “Aren’t you?” He pulled her up against his body.

  She gasped, but didn’t struggle. She didn’t like how his proximity affected her. It made her feel . . . delicate, feminine. He suddenly seemed so much larger and stronger than she was, his chest a hard wall against her breasts.

  “Peter, anyone could walk in here,” she said. Her voice sounded too breathless, not her own anymore.

  He was leaning over her, overwhelming her, and he’d never made her feel that way before.

  “That is the point, Elizabeth, my sweet.”

  He leaned down until his lips were only a breath away from her own.

  “This mustn’t happen,” she whispered, “not even to prove—”

  “Be quiet, Elizabeth.”

  And then his lips touched hers. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but now she knew why she should have resisted. The feeling of his mouth on hers was sublimely sweet, unbearably powerful. It wasn’t a simple meeting of lips. He kissed her repeatedly, tilting her head, nibbling on her lower lip until she moaned. The sound gave him entrance, and to her shock, his tongue invaded her mouth. She shuddered as excitement and pleasure and confusion all churned inside her. She hadn’t imagined a kiss from a man could be so powerful, so compelling.

  As if he knew her sinful weakness, he put his arms about her and lifted her clear onto her toes, molding her to him. She didn’t want to hold him, but when at last she needed some touch with reality, she slid her hands up his shoulders. He groaned against her mouth, startling her, even as he deepened the kiss. His mouth, hot and open, played with her, teasing her tongue until at last she met him in return. Pleasure was a dark, overwhelming sin that took away her resolve, whispered that nothing else mattered. It curled low in her belly, giving a throb of need that fascinated her.

  She could not be this person so easily overcome; and she could not stop the transformation. It was as if her years working so hard to control herself had never happened. She had no idea how long they stood thus, wrapped in each other’s arms. Mouths mating, hands roving along backs and sliding into hair. His lips were softer than she’d imagined, his body harder than hers. She almost whispered Yes! when his hands slid up her sides. Though she wore a corset, she could feel the edge of his palms just touch the outside of her breasts.

  It was that forbidden touch that forced her to remember who she was—who they were to each other.

  She reared her head back, put her hand in front of his mouth when he would have captured her lips in another melting kiss.

  “Peter, thank you very much for the lesson!” she cried unsteadily.

  He frowned, his darkly shadowed eyes still on her mouth. He pulled her hips tight against his, and the pressure of their bodies together threatened to pull her under his wicked spell again.

  “What are you talking about?” he rasped.

  “I can use everything you just showed me to woo the man I intend to marry.”

  Chapter 9

  Peter was certainly dazed, overcome by the kiss. He didn’t think he’d understood her words, for they’d taken so long to get to his lust-addled brain.

  “What did you say?” he asked, trying to concentrate, when all his body wanted to do was press her down on a sofa and finish what they’d begun.

  She pushed at his chest, and he had no choice but to let her go. Stepping back, she looked at him too brightly, her face flushed, her mouth moist and pinkened from his kisses. He found himself reaching for her hand, but she eluded him, stepping farther away.

  “I’ve been very sheltered, you know,” she said conspiratorially. She looked over her shoulder as if to make sure no one had come to the doorway. “I didn’t know where I was going to learn what I needed to make a certain man realize we’re perfect for each other. Now, thanks to you, Peter—”

  “Wait a minute.” He lifted his hands to stop her chatter. “You have a ‘certain man’?”

  “Yes! Didn’t I tell you?”

  She tilted her head, smiling up at him as if they hadn’t just kissed each other senseless. Or maybe he was the only senseless one.

  “No, you didn’t,” he said, frowning. She was only saying something so brazen because she’d been overcome by what they’d just shared. Surely she now r
ealized there was more than friendship between them.

  “It’s difficult to talk to one man about another, Peter—even though you are a friend.” She seemed to add the last as an afterthought.

  “How long have you been partial to this man?”

  Something in her eyes softened as she seemed to look inward. “For many years, even in my girlhood. I was too embarrassed to tell you then, and as an adult, I would hardly run tell you about him. Don’t ask me his name, since I won’t divulge it. It shouldn’t concern you,” she added sweetly.

  The tender look on her face made him realize at last that she wasn’t just putting off his romantic overtures. She was telling the truth. He wanted to shake this nonsense out of her, but he had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t work.

  “It feels so good to finally admit this to you,” she continued with sigh. “You’ve been helping me with the engagement—surely you won’t mind if I use everything you teach me?”

  “He obviously doesn’t deserve you if he needs to be persuaded,” he said in a cool voice.

  “He is young and unattached. Surely you understand that he is not ready to marry, although he did imply to me that I would be his perfect choice for a wife. I’ve been patient, and I’ll continue to be. But at least now I’ll know what to expect, how to react, when at last he and I kiss.”

  “Was he why you posed for that painting?” he asked softly. “Were you preparing yourself to pursue him?”

  “He doesn’t know anything about it!” she cried, then covered her mouth and glanced guiltily over her shoulder at the open door.

  “So he wouldn’t like that reckless side of you.”

  “I am not reckless, Peter Derby!”

  “Go ahead and tell yourself that.” He advanced on her slowly, and felt dark satisfaction when she backed up another step. “But you’re talking to the man who saw that side of you for many years, who knows the signs. And now you want one man, have been pursued by many, and you’ve gotten yourself engaged to another.”

  Anger and worry passed through her expression swiftly. “I’ve had no choice!”

  He straightened. “Very well. I have no choice either. I’ve promised to help you, and I will, however you need me to, using whatever methods we must to convince everyone we’re in love.”