The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘But if you only proposed to me because... Why are you smiling?’

‘Frances.’ His smile spread even further. ‘You timed your arrival perfectly. Ten seconds later and, believe me, I wouldn’t have been smiling at all. I might never have felt the impulse again. Believe me when I say that I’m deeply grateful to you.’

Grateful? She shook her head, trying to make sense of so many conflicting emotions. He preferred her to Lydia, she felt elated by that, but she didn’t want him to marry her out of gratitude either. The very thought made her suddenly, irrationally angry. What kind of proposal was that?

‘But we’re still trapped, both of us, and we don’t have to be.’

‘I believe that your father might see it differently.’

‘My father can see it in whatever way he wants!’ She squeezed her hands into fists. ‘He only needs some time to recover from the shock. He’ll come around if I talk to him.’

‘I think not.’ Arthur’s smile faded as he got back to his feet. ‘He’s right about Amelia Kitt. All of Whitby will know that your sister came to visit me by now. Your story ought to save her reputation, but not yours and certainly not mine. I don’t mind being called a recluse, but I draw the line at being a debaucher of innocents.’

‘But no one will think that! Not when it’s me. People will assume...’

‘People will assume the worst because that’s what they do.’ He was starting to look angry now, too. ‘No matter what you think, your scar doesn’t make you exempt from the rules.’

‘Well, maybe I don’t care about rules or reputation! Maybe I’d rather be a social pariah than an object of pity!’

‘Pity?’ He was scowling openly now. ‘Who do you think pities you?’

‘Everyone! Poor Frances Webster, they call me, that poor, jilted girl with the scar. Well, I don’t want to be her any more. I’d rather people thought I was ruined!’

‘Personally I’d prefer it if you were Frances, Lady Scorborough.’

‘No!’ She shook her head furiously. ‘I won’t be pitied by anyone and that includes you.’

‘Is that what you think? Hell, woman, what does a man have to say? I’m not asking you to marry me out of pity!’

‘Then duty or honour or whatever you want to call it. They all amount to the same thing. Don’t try to deny it. You were the one who said that you’d been a bad son and a bad brother and you didn’t want to be a bad husband, too. You said you didn’t want to marry! If it hadn’t been for yesterday then you still wouldn’t. But I don’t need you to be honourable and I don’t need you to support me either. I’m selling my own jewellery now and I don’t need a husband telling me what I can and can’t do.’

‘I don’t want to tell you what to do! I’m not trying to trap you either. We can be independent together.’

‘Oh.’ She blinked, the wind taken out of her sails somewhat. ‘Well, that doesn’t matter anyway. I can manage perfectly well on my own.’

‘So can I!’ He grasped hold of her arms, pulling her towards him. ‘Only I don’t want to any more. You’re right, if it hadn’t been for yesterday then I might not have changed my mind, but I have. I thought I wasn’t suited to marriage, but I still want to give it a try. For some reason, I want to share my life with a pig-headed, stubborn, infuriating woman like you. Now will you let me finish this damned proposal or not?’

‘Pig-headed?’

‘Yes, if you think that I wouldn’t want you just because of your scar. I thought I showed you how I felt last week. Or did you think that was just pity, too?’ He lifted a hand to her cheek. Despite the roughness of his words, his touch was gentle, sending a warm pulse through her body. ‘Because it wasn’t. Now, Frances Webster, will you marry me? Not because your father insisted, but because I do. I want you. The only question is whether you want me, too.’

‘You really don’t care about my scar?’ She caught her breath as his other hand slid round her waist.

‘Do I need to prove it?’

‘Yes.’

She breathed the word on a sigh as he lowered his head and touched his lips lightly against hers. He tasted salty, she thought, though that was hardly surprising when they were stood on top of a cliff with the sea breeze blowing all around them, making the ribbons on her new bonnet flutter like streamers.

She tipped her head back, feeling as if she were being lifted, too, as she reached her arms around his neck and let her lips mould against his, all the yearnings and cravings that she’d ever felt, but put aside, rushing back to her in a raw, unrestrained t

orrent. His arm tightened around her and she could feel desire building again, even stronger than the first time they’d kissed, so strong she felt as though she were being consumed by it. The tip of his tongue traced a path along the seam of her lips as if he wanted her to open them so she did, then almost leapt backwards in surprise as his tongue slipped inside, stroking and exploring and caressing until finally it joined with her own.

She was vaguely aware of a warning voice at the back of her head, telling her to stop. She doubted that this was what her father had anticipated when he’d agreed to them taking a walk together. First a public argument and then this, a kiss that was pushing the very limits of decency. It was really quite scandalous. She ought to insist that they stop and move apart...which she would, in just a few more seconds. Another minute perhaps...

‘There.’ It was Arthur who lifted his head finally, his ochre eyes black with desire as they gazed down into hers. ‘Now do you believe me?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled, feeling faintly dizzy.