Here Comes the Bride by Alexandra Ivy (16)

It was one of those rare, perfect spring days. A flood of sunlight warmed the wide terrace, spreading through the tidy garden and dancing off the fountains. Overhead the sky was a vast canvas of blue, unspoiled by even a hint of clouds.

Unfortunately, Claire possessed little appreciation for the fine weather. Instead, she paced across the terrace with a restless sense of dissatisfaction.

Blast, Lord Challmond. Blast, blast, blast.

His return to London was-supposed to have ended her torment. With him gone, her life could return to normal, and he would be no more than a distant memory.

But instead of the peace she had expected, she had discovered herself plagued with regrets.

Why had she told him that she wished him to leave Devonshire? That she wished never to see him again?

Because she had been afraid, she acknowledged with a flare of disgust. She had been utterly henhearted and unable to face the truth.

Even now she found herself unable to thoroughly accept the vast jumble of emotions that battled within her. How did one comprehend the terrible sense of loss? The feeling that a part of one’s heart was dying? And yet harbor a queer tingle of delight at having been kissed by the only man she would ever love.

Yes, love, she had reluctantly conceded. That giddy, foolish emotion she had intended to avoid at all cost. How it had happened she did not know; she was not sure she even cared. She was only certain that as the days had slowly passed, she had been forced to search her heart and discover the truth.

She loved Simon Townsled, seventh Earl of Challmond.

She loved his swift sense of the ridiculous, his intelligence, his kind heart and inner strength.

She loved how he smiled deep into her eyes, as if they shared a secret only they understood. And she loved how he made her shiver with the heat of his desire.

But in her fear she had struck out to push him away. She did not want to be in love. And certainly not with a gentleman who considered her an ill-tempered, unmanageable shrew.

Not until too late did she discover that no amount of distance, no amount of denial, and no amount of wishing things had been different could change her emotions. She might not want to be in love. She might long to pattern her life after Ann Stewart, but there was no avoiding the truth. It did not even matter that Simon in no way returned her feelings.

It was all a horrible, horrible muddle.

Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, Claire hurriedly composed her features. She was well aware that her subdued manner and drawn countenance had been noted by those around. She only hoped to divert the questions she could detect glinting in their eyes.

Slowly turning, Claire watched as Ann stepped through the open French windows and swept toward her with a warm smile.

“Claire . . . there you are.”

“Ann.”

Not surprisingly the dark gaze lingered on the shadows beneath Claire’s eyes and the noticeable droop of her soft mouth.

“Are you not feeling well?”

“I am fine.”

Ann lifted her brows in disbelief. “You look terrible.”

“Thank you,” Claire retorted in dry tones.

“Are you certain that you do not wish for me to call for a surgeon?”

“I am fine,” Claire insisted with a sigh. Unless the surgeon possessed the means of removing her heart, there was no cure for her ills. “Is there something you need?”

Ann paused as if considering whether to insist on procuring Mr. Cassel, then, with a small shrug, she allowed herself to be diverted.

“Actually I came bearing good news.”

“Oh?”

An undeniable glow entered Ann’s lovely face. “I have received a letter from Lady Welbrock.”

Claire gave a faint frown as she attempted to place the name. “I do not believe I am acquainted with her.”

“She is a prominent contributor to several charities and has lately collected a group of ladies who are interested in our efforts here,” Ann readily explained.

Claire realized that she was being slow-witted, but she was finding it inordinately difficult to follow her friend’s evident excitement.

“I do not understand.”

“They would like to open an orphanage similar to ours in Wiltshire. They are willing to contribute the money if we will help them get it established.”

“You mean go to Wiltshire?” Claire retorted in disbelief.

“Of course.”

“Oh.”

Ann closely surveyed her expression of startled unease.

“It is what we have discussed for some time,” she pointed out in gentle tones.

It was true. For years they had discussed the possibility of traveling throughout England to help the unfortunate children. It was what she had always dreamed of. But now that the time was here, Claire discovered herself withdrawing from the mere thought of leaving Devonshire.

To go to Wiltshire meant that she might never see Simon again. How could she possibly bear it? At least if she remained here she could console herself with the thought that Simon might visit Westwood Park. A glimpse of him was surely better than nothing at all?

A grim smile twisted her lips. Was there not the old saying, How the mighty are fallen? She was in a sorry state indeed.

Realizing that Ann was awaiting her response, she forced a faint smile to her mouth.

“Yes, I suppose.”

A mysterious glint entered the dark eyes. “You do not seem as pleased as I thought you would be.”

“It is just such a surprise.”

Ann inspected her guarded expression. “You do wish to go, do you not?”

“I . . .” Unable to lie beneath that knowing gaze, Claire abrupdy turned away and crossed to the low stone railing. “What of Father?”

“I presumed his marriage to Mrs. Mayer was all but announced,” Ann retorted in surprise.

“What better reason to wish to be in Wiltshire?”

Claire shuddered, but not even the thought of Lizzy could drive her from Devonshire.

“I shall have to give it consideration, Ann.” She cowardly avoided giving a direct answer.

“Of course.” There was a pause. “Why do I not return later in the week?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Claire listened as Ann slowly crossed the terrace and returned to the house. She had no doubt the older woman was puzzled by her lack of enthusiasm. Mer all, if she had made the same pronouncement two months earlier, Claire would have been overjoyed. Certainly she would never have hesitated at agreeing to travel to Wiltshire.

But how could she explain?

The plain truth was she couldn’t. Not without confessing the truth of her feelings, something she had nQ intention of doing, with Ann or anyone else.

It was only moments later when the sound of the footsteps once again echoed through the air. With a frown Claire reluctantly turned back toward the French doors.

Had Ann forgotten something? Or was it yet another servant attempting to coerce her into eating?

She stiffened in horror. It was not Ann, nor even a servant, who was standing in the doorway and regarding her with an unreadable expression. Her heart gave a violent lurch as her gaze swept over the dark features that haunted her dreams and the decidedly masculine frame encased in a coat of Clarence blue and cream pantaloons.

“You,” she breathed, uncertain if he was indeed there or a vision of her battered heart. “What are you doing here?”

Proving he was very much real, Simon moved forward, not halting until he was standing close enough for her to feel the heat from his body.

“I have come for you,” he announced In firm tones.

She gave a startled blink. “What?”

“Please, can we sit?”

Decidedly dazed, she gave a vague nod. “If you wish.”

Taking her arm, Simon led her to the marble bench, then, ensuring she was comfortably settled, he lowered himself beside her. His hand slid down her arm to grasp her nerveless fingers. She quivered, all too conscious of the warmth of his touch and the scent of his male skin.

“Before I explain why I am here, I wish to confess a secret.”

She frowned in confusion. “Very well.”

“You recall that I told you I was in Italy during the war?” he abruptly demanded.

“Yes.”

“While I was there, Philip, Barth, and I stumbled across an old Gypsy woman,” he continued, his gaze lowered to where their fingers were interlaced. “She was being beaten by a gang of farmers.”

“How awful.”

“The three of us frightened away the farmers and led the old woman back to the other Gypsies. Once there, she gave each of us a .. . blessing.”

Claire regarded him in bewilderment. She had no notion of why he had returned to Devonshire or why he was revealing his story. She knew only that she wished they could remain like this forever.

“What kind of blessing?”

Something that might have been embarrassment rippled over his handsome countenance.

“That each of us would discover our true love before the heat of summer burned again.”

“A typical Gypsy blessing.”

“Naturally we laughed aside such nonsense,” he agreed. “What did three gentleman such as ourselves care for love?”

“Why do you tell me this?” she asked in soft tones.

His gaze slowly lifted, and she gave a small gasp at the pain smoldering in the emerald depths.

“Because since coming to Devonshire, true love no longer seems like such nonsense.”

“Simon . . .”

“Please, let me speak, Claire,” he begged in husky tones. “I do not know why I came to Devonshire. I know only that I have felt restless and in search of peace for years. There was no one I could call family and nowhere to call home. In desperation I simply tried to stay ahead of the emotions that plagued me. Then I encountered a sharp-tongued vixen who made me forget my troubled soul.”

She caught her breath, unable to accept what he was saying.

“You treat me as a child.”

“I assure you, I never regarded you as a child.” His lips twisted with wry humor. “Indeed, there was more than one night I lay awake wishing that I could. Your kisses stirred a desire that was not easily dismissed.”

She gazed at him with an unconscious plea in her countenance.

“What do you want from me?”

His hand tightened on her fingers.

“At first I was merely intrigued by your odd behavior. One moment you were thrusting me away and the next you were playing the flirt.”

“I explained why,” she said with a blush.

“Yes, but while you were honest with me, I was not honest with myself.“ He paused, his gaze probing deep into her wide eyes. “I told myself that I only wished to discover the reason for your unpredictable manner and perhaps punish you a bit for daring to trifle with the Earl of Challmond. But it was merely an excuse to be with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I was falling in love with you.”

She stiffened at his blunt confession, wondering if she was losing her wits. She could not possibly have heard him correctly.

“But . . .”

His features abruptly softened at her bemused expression. “What, my darling?”

“You cannot love me.”

His brows lifted. “No?”

She gave a slow shake of her head. “As you said, I am an ill-tempered, ill-mannered shrew, and I possess none of the talents a gentleman seeks in a lady.”

The emerald eyes flashed with a fierce emotion. “You possess the talents that this gentleman prefers,” he assured her. “You are kind, loyal, and generous to those in need.”

Those in need . . . Claire gave a sudden gasp.

“Oh.”

“What is it?”

“Ann has been offered an opportunity to open an orphanage in Wiltshire,” Claire exclaimed. “She wishes me to go with her.”

He stilled, regarding her with a searching gaze. “Is it what you wish?”

“I do not know,” she answered with an uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty. “All my life I have thought it was my duty to care for others. More than that, I enjoyed knowing that I could make the lives of those around me better.”

He lifted her hand to place her fingers against his lean cheek.

“You can make a difference as my wife,” he shook her by insisting. “Already you have made me open my heart to my staff and tenants. They are no longer just people who depend upon me for their livelihood, but Mrs. Foley and her damp cottage and Harry with his fear of the blacksmith and Cook who cried when I remembered to give her a small token on her birthday. With you at my side we can accomplish anything you desire.”

Wife.

Could it be true?

Could he indeed love her with the same burning intensity that she loved him?

Her heart clenched with poignant excitement, but at the same moment she did not forget the loyalty she owed her best friend.

“But what of Ann?” she demanded. “She will be on her own.”

He gave a sudden laugh. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have the distinct impression that Locky intends to follow Miss Stewart wherever she chooses to go.”

Claire felt a flare of disbelief at his words. “Mr. Lockmeade?”

“Yes.” He gave a shrug, the emerald eyes dancing with wicked amusement. “If we had not been so distracted with each other, I believe we would have realized there was something going on between them.”

Claire recalled Locky’s insistence that he enjoyed spending his days at the orphanage, his ready willingness to take the children fishing, his gentle smile as he watched Ann across the room.

“Mr. Lockmeade and Ann?” she murmured.

“Do you disapprove?”

She considered the question before giving a firm shake of her head. “Not at all. I am just shocked.” “He will be very good to her,” Simon promised in low tones.

“Yes, I believe he would.”

“But not as good as I will be to you if you will only say you love me.“ He moved her hand to his lips and gently nuzzled her fingers. “You do love me, do you not?”

She shivered, not quite certain she was thoroughly at ease with the passion he could spark with a simple touch.

“I did not wish to.”

“But you do.”

His tone was firm, but there was a hint of uncertainty in the proud features that melted her heart.

She might not have planned to love this man, but destiny had chosen her path the moment Simon had returned to Devonshire. She belonged with him. She belonged with him, and there wasn’t a blessed thing she could do to change that fact.

“Yes.”

“Claire.”

An agonized groan rumbled deep in his throat as he lowered his head. With exquisite care he touched his lips to her own, softly urging her mouth to part. Claire shivered as she pressed herself to the wide chest, opening her lips with a gasp of fierce pleasure.

Night after night she had dreamed of being held in his arms, feeling the heat of his searing kisses. But nothing could compare to this moment.

Sensing her surrender, Simon cupped her face with strong hands, deepening his kiss with a moan of satisfaction.

They were lost in a world of pleasure, and it was not until there was a loud cough that they reluctantly pulled away.

Turning her head, Claire discovered her father standing in the center of the terrace with his hands on his hips.

“Here. Here,” he scolded. “What is the meaning of this?”.

Slowly rising to his feet, Simon regarded the older gentleman with a determined expression.

“I am attempting to convince your daughter to wed me,” he announced in blunt tones.

Surprisingly Henry Blakewell merely raised his brows in a mild manner.

“You do not say? Having any luck?”

Simon turned to glance down at the bemused Claire. “Well?”

She forced herself to give a faint shrug. “I suppose I shall have no peace until I do.”

Simon gave a shout of laughter. “You are learning, my vixen.”

Her father heaved an audible sigh. “Well, at last.”

She favored him with a frown. “What?”

“Good God, I thought I would be forced to marry that ghastly woman before you came up to scratch,” he complained.

“Marry?” Claire gave a slow shake ot her head.

“Yes, marry.”

“You mean Lizzy?”

He glared at her in reproach for her slow wits. “Of course I mean Lizzy. Do you honestly believe I would wish to wed a lady with no interest beyond my pocketbook?”

“Then . . . why?”

“All I wished was to frighten you enough to find a husband.”

Claire regarded her father in stunned surprise. He did not wish to marry Lizzy? It had all been no more than a cunning device to lure her into marriage?

“Why, you devious old fox,” she accused her father in disbelief.

A slow, decidedly sly smile crossed the thin face. “At last I shall have my grandchildren.”

A rush of heat stained her cheeks, but it was Simon who responded as he returned to the bench and wrapped an intimate arm about her shoulders.

“I hope not too swiftly,” he murmured as he gazed down at her upturned face. “I already share my beloved with tenants, orphans, cats, and any other poor soul who might be in need of help. I would like at least a portion of her time.”

“Yes, well . . .” Henry cleared his throat, sensing his presence was unwelcome. “I must call upon Mrs. Mayer. She will wish to resume her flirtation with Mr. Mallot. He does, after all, possess quite a prosperous brewery, if no title. Oh, and do not forget to set a date for the wedding.”

Once again lost in each other, Claire and Simon paid little heed as the older gentleman crossed the terrace and disappeared into the house.

Slowly smiling, Simon lifted his hand to stroke the satin softness of her cheek.

Claire gave a bewildered smile. “What is that?”

“A Gypsy’s blessing,” he answered as his fingers moved to her soft lips. “Now, about that wedding day, Miss Blakewell.”

“The sooner the better, Lord Challmond.” Claire raised her hands behind his neck.

“Sooner,” he murmured as he angled his head downward. “Definitely sooner.”