Chapter Seven

G eorge did not understand why Arabella looked so unenthusiastic about this plan. He’d expected her to immediately see the advantages such a union offered both of them. She was usually quick to catch hold of a new idea. But she did not react as he’d anticipated.

After she shut her gaping mouth, she shook her head. “George, we’ve already been over this, haven’t we? I have no desire to enter into a sham marriage. I am rather surprised that you brought it up again.” For once, those gentian eyes looked hard rather than soft as she glared at him from beneath lowered brows.

His shoulders stiffened, and he swallowed nervously. This was not an auspicious beginning. But she was not rejecting him. She merely misunderstood him. Best to start by clearing that up.

George leaned forward, trying to hold her gaze. “Belle, you misunderstand me. I am not suggesting a sham marriage again. This time, I am suggesting a real marriage.”

Her eyes widened, and she cringed away from him. He shifted back in his own chair, fearing that he might be crowding her. Belle never did like being pressed too close to other people. When they had been children visiting a crowded town square on market day, or gathered to watch some sporting contest, the others often had to shield Belle from accidental bumps or jostles.

“George, you have windmills in your head! You and I do not”—her cheeks turned pink as she stumbled over her words—“we do not love each other as a husband and wife should. Which is not to say I don’t care about you, but caring for a friend is not the same as loving one’s husband.”

“So what?” George dismissed that argument with a shrug. “People get married for terrible reasons every day, don’t they? Plenty of people marry someone they can’t stand just for the sake of a dowry or an income. At least you and I like each other! And we know each other quite well. In some ways marrying an old friend would be better than marrying anyone else, because one knows what to expect from them.”

She looked unconvinced, so George tried his most winning smile, hoping to expel that doubtful line from between her brows. “For example, I would know better than to expect you to host large parties.”

Not that Dogwood Cottage had room for large parties. The dining room and parlor had been built for family use rather than for entertaining. For that matter, George himself had never cared for events that crammed too many people into too small a space, making too much noise. What mattered was the principle at stake.

“And you would know better than to interrupt me while I’m working.” At least, he hoped she would. As a boy, he’d been famous for snapping at people who disturbed him. But a childhood spent growling like a bear who’d been poked with a stick did not stop Caro from bothering him with questions while he was trying to work on an already-overdue book review.

Even worse was when Caro kept chatting with George while he worked on his newest secret project. Thanks to his father’s critical literary opinions, George had to keep some of his work sub rosa , at least for now. After only a few days at Newton Park, he’d already grown tired of trying to cover up his work anytime someone passed him by. That always resulted in smeared ink, sometimes forcing him to start the page all over again. At least Leland knew better than to interrupt a man who was only trying to do his job!

George thought he’d made some excellent points, but the frown remained firmly fixed on Belle’s face. “I am sorry that I cannot help you win that cottage you want, but it really is rather selfish of you to ask such a thing of me. I have my own life to live.”

His whole body drooped in despair. So that was it, then. Perhaps this idea had been as mistaken as his original plan for a sham marriage. He swallowed uneasily, hoping that would soothe the ache in his chest. Dogwood Cottage was only a house, after all. He ought not be so disappointed by Belle’s response. He could have no reason to feel hurt. She had not really injured him. If anything, he was the one in the wrong.

Meanwhile, Belle turned her face away from George and picked up the leather-bound sketch book on the tea table. When she opened it up, a folded paper fell out. For some reason, the sight arrested her. Her eyes widened again, and her soft, plump lips tightened into a hard line.

Wanting to at least be helpful, George stooped down and picked up the letter. He pasted a smile on his face as he handed it back. “I suppose it was foolish of me to think I could give you what you wanted,” he confessed.

She stared at him blankly. “Give me what I wanted? How would—”

“You know,” he interrupted. “The things you said you wanted.” Her words in the garden sprang easily to his lips, as if he had memorized them. “A home of your own, a husband in your bed, a baby in the cradle. I could give you those things, Belle. But of course, you wouldn’t want them from me .” His throat tightened alarmingly, but he forced the words out. “I hope you find someone more to your liking.”

Geroge got to his feet, thinking it best to end this conversation. He might have no reason to feel injured, but rejection always stung, and he didn’t trust his ability to control his voice or facial expressions.

Before he could walk away, Arabella caught hold of his hand. “Oh, George . You foolish boy. I have hurt you, haven’t I?”

He drew a deep breath, intending to tell her that she was talking nonsense. Of course he wasn’t hurt—not seriously, anyway. But before he could assure her of his uninjured state, she rose from her chair. Then, to his intense embarrassment, she stepped forward and folded him into an embrace, as if he were a child in need of comfort.

“It was sweet of you to offer for me, but you know it would never work. When you think it over, you’ll realize how much better it would be if you married someone you fancied.” She stood on tiptoe to press a kiss against his cheek in much the same way Caro might kiss Charlie after he’d banged his head or scraped his knee.

Maybe to Arabella, kissing George felt like kissing her brother. But it did not feel that way to him. Even the casual brush of her lips left a point of heat on his face. He suddenly felt very aware of every place Arabella’s body met his: her arms around his back, her face brushing against his, her bosom pressed against his chest. This close, he even caught a whiff of the rosewater with which she washed her face.

He wanted her to stay there forever. He wanted to pull her closer to him. And he wanted to press his mouth against hers in an extremely unfraternal way. Was she really oblivious to all of that? How could she not feel it too?

“Belle, do you have any idea how much I desire you right now?” The unsteadiness of his voice surprised even him. He gently freed himself from her embrace and stepped back.

“How much you what ?”

This close, he could see the flutter of Belle’s eyelashes as she blinked. Her lips parted slightly with surprise. He stared at her sweet, soft mouth, nearly overcome by the outrageous desire to show her what he meant.

“How much I desire you,” he repeated. Irritation colored his voice. Or was it frustration? “I could kiss you right now! And I don’t mean a brotherly peck on the cheek. I suppose to you I am merely an old friend from your childhood, but...” He paused to draw a deep breath. “Truth be told, I think I rather fancy you.”

He wouldn’t have thought it possible for her eyes to widen any further, but they did. He was a little surprised himself. He had not intended to say that. Only a few days ago, he’d told Caro that he did not fancy Belle. But he was fond of her, and he desired her, and what was fancy but a combination of attraction and affection? If the word fit, why not use it?

“Oh.” She gulped audibly.

He had messed things up again, hadn’t he? George closed his eyes in despair, steeling himself for another apology. A tiny part of his brain whispered that he should pack his bags and catch the next stagecoach back to London. If it was too late to leave today, maybe he should retreat to an inn to make things less awkward. It would be easy enough to pretend that he only wanted to be on hand to catch the earliest coach.

“ George . Look at me!”

He instantly obeyed, opening his eyes in time to see Belle step closer to him. She tilted her chin at a determined angle. Some strong emotion glinted in her eyes, but he didn’t recognize it. Thus, he was entirely unprepared when she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his.

It was, to be honest, a terrible kiss. Clearly, Belle had no idea what she was doing. She kissed much the way she spoke in unfamiliar company: shyly, uncertainly, with occasional pauses as if to make sure of her footing. But George did not let that deter him. He took her face in his hands and kissed her back, catching and teasing her lower lip. He moved his mouth slowly, giving her ample time to figure out how this worked. Though he would have liked to taste her more thoroughly, he kept his tongue in his own mouth, not wanting to startle her.

As far as physical sensation went, this kiss would not have made it into George’s top ten. But in terms of emotional depth, kissing Belle felt worlds apart from most of his previous experiences with the fairer sex. The only time George had felt anything like this combination of hesitancy and hope during a kiss was when he kissed Priscilla Brooke for the first time. That brief entanglement had ended badly for him. He could only hope that history would not repeat itself with Belle.

With what little of his attention he could spare, George frantically wondered what Belle meant by this. Was her kiss a sign that she accepted his proposal, or something else? But what else could it mean? Maybe she wanted to say “yes,” and could not find the words. Maybe—his thoughts skittered to a halt when he felt her teeth gently nibble his lower lip. Whatever Belle meant by kissing him, her technique was certainly improving. She had real potential, by Jove!

Belle ended the kiss by lowering her head and burying her face against George’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her as it seemed the natural thing to do. When he brushed his lips against her golden hair, he again caught a whiff of rosewater. She clung to him tightly, and he thought that might be a good sign. Unless, of course, she was currently in a state of shock and needed to lean on him for support. He couldn’t rule out that possibility.

“Well?” he prompted. He couldn’t remember which of them had spoken last, but he wanted to hear her explanation before he said anything he would regret. Or rather, any more things he’d regret. He had already said too many regrettable things over the past few days.

Belle muttered something that he couldn’t hear, since her face was still muffled against his shoulder.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” he admitted.

She lifted her head and stepped back from him. This meant he could see her face, which he supposed was an advantage, but his arms felt empty without her.

“I said, that didn’t work the way I intended.” Her eyes shone brightly and her cheeks were flushed.

George cocked his head to one side as he tried to make sense of that. “What did you intend, then?”

She hesitated, fidgeting with the little gold cross that hung on a chain around her neck. “I intended to prove you wrong. I mean, I intended to demonstrate that there was nothing between us but friendship; that we did not desire each other as... well, as man and wife. But it didn’t work out quite the way I expected.” Her already-blushing cheeks turned two shades pinker.

“Ah.” George had no idea what he should say. I was right and you were wrong did not seem an appropriate response, under the circumstances. I want to stop talking and go back to kissing you, we could get even better with practice would have been honest, but not necessarily helpful. And it was probably not yet time to say Why don’t I pay a call on the bishop to see about getting a license? After all, Belle had not accepted his proposal.

Seconds ticked by as he waited patiently. Belle stared at the floor for a long time. When she finally lifted her head, the corners of her mouth were still turned down, and a puzzled line had formed between her brows.

“Very well,” she said slowly. “I suppose we might do worse than to get married.”

It might not have been the most unflattering acceptance in the history of matrimony, but it probably ranked in the top ten percent. Even so, George’s heart bounded with joy. He caught Arabella’s hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it.

“I will make certain that you never regret this.” In his initial burst of happiness, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable promise to make.