Wicked Earl Seeks Proper Heiress (The Husband Hunters Club 5)

Beth’s head was spinning. Oh dear, what now? James was such a nice man and she did like him. She might even love him. But she had no illusions about their situation. She hadn’t imagined for a moment that he would actually propose to her.

He must have seen her confusion and guessed its cause. His shoulders slumped.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve spoken too soon, haven’t I? Forget I said it and we’ll continue on as before, Beth.”

Beth knew he deserved more than her silence. She would be honest with him, just as he was being with her.

“James, I just didn’t expect . . . We get on well together and I enjoy your company, but our lives have been so different. I can’t help thinking that you’d be bored with me before very long, and if you went back to your old ways, well, I would be very unhappy. Marrying you would be a risk, and I’m someone who has always been cautious.”

He smiled, giving her a wheedling look that reminded her of Eustace when he wanted another slice of cake. “I could tell you that I’d be the perfect husband, but . . . Well, I’m not saying I may not do some foolish things if we married, but you can be sure that my love for you would be enough to ensure I pulled myself back onto the straight and narrow again. Because I do. Love you. After all these years I’ve fallen in love with a parson’s daughter. Who would have thought it?”

Tears stung her eyes and Beth could no longer keep up her cautious resolve. She went into his arms, and there was something so right about being there, so wonderful. And yet, as Beth had said honestly, she wasn’t a risk taker, and even if her heart was engaged her mind would rule any important decisions she made. It always had.

“I will have to think about it,” she said, moving back so that she could see his face, read his dazed expression.

James gave an eager nod. “Take all the time you want, my love.”

“And I will have conditions, James. Conditions you may not like very much,” she warned in her sternest voice.

“Condition away,” he said, with a laugh.

Beth let him kiss her gently and then rested her head on his shoulder. So many things to think about, not least how she was going to tell Averil that she was considering marrying the wicked earl’s uncle, and what that would mean for her.

Her eyes strayed anxiously to the window again, and the teeming rain outside, just as there was a bright flash of lightning.

Ever since she was a child, Averil had been terrified of storms. How on earth was she coping right now, without Beth to comfort her?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

/> * * *

Averil glanced at the window and chewed her bottom lip. She’d made a number of sketches of the inside of the dower house, but gradually the light had worsened as the clouds thickened outside, until now the day resembled night. The storm had come upon them so swiftly and violently, they didn’t have a chance to get back to the safety of the castle. A matter of business had prevented Douglas McInnes from coming with them after all, and now Rufus had gone outside to put the horse and carriage under shelter in the old barn, and Averil was left here on her own.

A rumble of thunder sounded ominously overhead, and Averil could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

She hadn’t told Rufus she had been petrified of storms ever since she was a child. How did you tell the man you loved that you were a coward when it came to thunder and lightning? She’d wanted him to think well of her, and somehow she had managed to hide her agitation from him.

Had the strong feelings she experienced the night her mother left, of loss and grief and abandonment, resulted in this terror? Terror that came upon her whenever there was a thunderstorm, paralyzing her and stripping her of everything but the desire to curl into a ball and hide.

“Beth,” she groaned, “where are you?”

Beth knew about her fear, and kept an eye on her if there was a storm approaching. But Beth wasn’t here.

Perhaps it would be all right, she told herself with wild optimism. The storm might move off. Or she might be able to remain calm, this time. Did she really want Rufus to see her like this? A gibbering mess?

A flash of lightning made her jump and she dropped her sketch pad. Inside the room it was getting gloomier and gloomier. Her fears rose up as the thunder roared overhead, threatening to overwhelm her, but she forced herself not to run but to stand very still, trying to breathe, trying to quiet her chaotic thoughts.

She told herself again that it might be all right, that the worst was over and the storm was leaving, and everything would be fine.

The next flash of lightning was so bright, so alive, it undid her completely. Thunder crashed violently, making the whole house shake. She screamed and curled her hands over her head, and screamed again as the thunder growled on and on, as if there were a wild animal loose inside the room with her.

And then suddenly strong, warm arms wrapped around her, tight, and she was being held in Rufus’s embrace. Above the roaring of the storm she became aware of his voice, soft and deep in her ear: “It’s all right, I’m here, I’m here. Averil, I’m here.”

Frantically, she clung to him, her hands clutching at his jacket, her face buried in his chest, as if she wanted to become a part of him. He was damp from the rain, his hair plastered to his head, his skin cold. The familiar scent of him filled her head. Another crash of thunder and then another and she cried out, sobbing, and he lifted her into his arms. She felt herself being carried and the next moment he’d tugged a dust sheet off a chaise longue and sat down on it, his arms still around her, curling himself about her as if he was protecting her with his body. As if the storm really were inside with them and the only thing that stood between her and oblivion was Rufus.

He was speaking but the thunder was so loud she couldn’t understand him. She lifted her head, wild-eyed, and his face was so close. His mouth was so close. Another bang of thunder and she kissed him.