Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection
Color flamed in her cheeks. The wan creature of a few minutes ago became only a memory, thank God. “I pray you, Lord Erskine, please stop this.”
He refused to give up. “My delightful Miss Sanders, darling Philippa, will you marry me tomorrow and make me the happiest of men?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she stopped fluttering. “This is such a joke to you, isn’t it?” She rushed on before he could answer. “I don’t know why you find it so amusing. You’ll be trapped, too—although I suppose you intend to maintain your rakish ways and act as if I don’t exist.”
He frowned, all pretense at nonchalance evaporating. “That’s not very flattering. To me or to you.”
“Perhaps.” Her voice bit. “But accurate.”
He released her and rose, glaring. “A sweeping statement, considering how little you know of me.”
She didn’t retreat, although he’d used the tone that made grown men cower. “Surely you want to avoid this disaster as much as I do.”
His vanity pricked under her open reluctance to marry him. “In honor, I can’t—”
One hand made an emphatic gesture, negating his protests. “Honor will be poor comfort when we’re condemned to a lifetime of misery.”
“Please don’t spare my feelings,” he retorted, turning to stare out at the bleak wintry landscape. He fought to calm his breathing. This uncompromising girl tested his temper. Nobody tested his temper. He never cared enough about anything to get angry.
She sighed, and when next she spoke, she sounded less adamant. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. And…and I appreciate you stepping in to try and save me from ruin.”
His lips twitched at her grudging thanks. Women generally worked like the devil to turn him up sweet. He must be mad, but her frankness appealed to him. “Was that apology painful?”
“A little,” she admitted after a pause. He heard the soft click of her heels as she came up beside him. “Lord Erskine—”
He glanced at her. “Don’t you think you should call me Blair?”
She no longer looked cross. Instead, she looked sweet and earnest and breathtakingly lovely with her pretty hair bundled in a loose knot. Her serious brown eyes focused on him, and emotion colored her ivory skin. With every moment he spent in this girl’s company, he found himself more astonished that the world considered Amelia the beautiful Sanders sister.
Philippa’s cheeks turned dusky rose, and when doubt pursed her lips, he couldn’t help thinking of kisses. Privacy tested his restraint. He’d dearly love to haul her into his arms as he had in the dressing room. The only thing stopping him was that in her current frame of mind, she’d probably slap him.
To his surprise she didn’t haver about using his Christian name. “Blair, if I jilt you, no blame will attach to you.”
“Of course it will. I’ll forever carry the reputation of a man who seduced an innocent girl and left her alone to bear the world’s insult.”
For the first time, a glimmer of genuine admiration sparked in her eyes. “Good heavens, I really did have you all wrong, didn’t I?”
He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m not a good man, but there are some things even I won’t do.”
“All the more reason not to sacrifice yourself to a loveless union.”
He floundered here. He hadn’t expected his betrothed to want to cancel the wedding. When he’d received her note, he’d imagined she hoped to soothe her fears of marrying a stranger by deepening their acquaintance. Hopefully with a kiss or two. He hadn’t lied about how the memory of her kisses had plagued him. “If I don’t marry you, your life will be untenable.”
She swung away and slumped onto the bench. “Life as your neglected wife will be untenable.” Before he could argue, she raised one hand. Surprisingly, it was completely steady. “Now that Amelia’s settled, I’ll return home to run the family estate as I’ve done since my father’s death. If I retreat to Essex and live as a blameless spinster, any scandal will eventually blow over.”
He sat beside her, and this time when he took her gloved hand, she didn’t withdraw. Satisfaction filled him at this small sign of trust. Inevitably, he recalled holding her hand in the dressing room. And the enchanting interlude that had followed. “Is that really what you want? To hide away for the rest of your life?”
He expected a heated response, but when she turned to him, tears swam in her huge dark eyes. It was the first time he’d seen her cry. Her misery punched him in the gut.
“At this stage, what I want doesn’t matter. What matters is making the best of things.”
He kept his voice
calm, reasonable. With another woman, a demonstration of passion might persuade her to his point of view, but not with this one. The irony was that with every moment, his need to touch her grew.
“What about your mother and sister?” Distantly he wondered why he was so determined on maintaining their engagement. She was a sweet little thing, and she stirred his interest more than any other woman he could remember. But he enjoyed his freedom. Surely he should seize this chance for escape when she offered it. “What about your aunt and uncle? And your cousin? Your loss of reputation will affect everyone in your family. When we set the world on its ears, we did it with style, my love.”
This time the endearment didn’t turn her as stiff as a ruler. Instead her fingers tightened around his as though she sought reassurance.