Chapter Three

Chapter Three

More?

Chloe took a step in retreat. She studied him, wary.

What did he mean, more?

He gestured at the topcoat wrapped about her shoulders. “Reach into the breast pocket. Left side.”

Chloe worked her hand into the narrow silk pocket, searching. She’d almost concluded it was empty, but then her fingertips grazed something small and round and metal. It felt like a...

No. It couldn’t be.

Grasping the circle between her thumb and forefinger, she withdrew it and held it under the lantern for examination.

A ring.

Not just any ring. A gold band studded with diamonds all the way round, and in the center a gemstone as big as her thumbnail. An emerald? Aquamarine? The dark made it difficult to tell.

“It’s a sapphire,” he said. “Matches your eyes.”

The breath left her lungs. “Surely you’re not saying that you... That this...”

“It is—or rather, was—meant for you. Yes.”

“Is this some sort of joke?”

“When have you ever known me to joke?”

A fair point.

Chloe struggled to wrap her mind around this situation, but failed. This was all too much to be believed. Even the ring sitting in her hand seemed an illusion. As if an especially large snowflake had drifted onto her palm, and it would melt at any moment.

“You had no idea of my attachment,” he said.

She shook her head, dazed. “None.”

“Remarkable. I thought it must be obvious.” He looked into the distance. “I suppose I flattered myself, assuming you to be paying attention.”

“I was paying attention. Too much attention. All year long, I’ve worried and fretted over your opinion of me. I thought you disliked me.”

“You thought wrongly.”

“But you kept hovering about me.”

“As a moth circles a flame.”

“Scrutinizing my every word and deed.”

“Captivated. Rapt with fascination.”

“Always looking down on me.”

He threw up his hands. “I am tall. There is no other way for me to look at you, other than to look down. And I cannot help looking at you, as you’ve noticed. I find you incomparably lovely. Enticing. Bewitching. Desirable. Beautiful. Take your choice of words, it applies.”

Her cheeks flushed with heat. What did one say when an imposing, handsome earl gave her a dozen compliments all at once, thrusting them at her like a hastily assembled bouquet?

Thankfully, he did not wait on a response.

He began to pace the frozen ground, crossing back and forth before her. A half-dozen strides. Pivot. Another half-dozen strides. Pivot. Repeat. His rhythm was stiff, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his arms. Chloe suspected earls didn’t have reason to pace very often.

She was still holding the ring in her hand. “Did you have a box for this, or...?”

“I left it at home. I didn’t want the box to—” He halted in place and laughed wryly. “I didn’t want it to ruin the waistcoat’s silhouette.”

She cringed. He truly had been expecting a different kind of celebration tonight. What on earth had given him the notion that she would be receptive to a proposal? He must be either vastly mistaken or boundlessly arrogant. Or both?

Probably both.

He resumed pacing.

“So that picnic outing last spring,” she mused aloud, “before Andrew and Rebecca’s wedding.”

“The walk up to Knob Hill, you mean.”

“Yes.” She bit her lip, pondering. “On our walk up the slope, when I made a little crown of wildflowers and weaved it in my hair, and then you looked at me and heaved a dramatic sigh... Are you implying that sigh wasn’t a sound of exasperation?”

“It was not.”

“And when I insisted on climbing that last craggy bit of elevation to see the view, even though all the others were content to remain on the grassy slope, and you insisted on accompanying me and offering your arm, to be certain I didn’t fall off the verge... Are you implying you weren’t reluctant and annoyed?”

“I recall feeling something akin to a thrill.”

“Then later, when we sat down to our refreshments and the icing on the buns was melting because they’d been in the heat, and I ate three of them with my bare hands and licked my fingers clean one by one... Was that not a chastening look you gave me?”

“I assure you, there was nothing chaste about it.”

“Oh.” Chloe lowered herself onto the bench and sat, waiting for her brain to stop twirling. “I see.”

For the second time that evening, she heard him curse. “We may as well have this over with.”

He came to stand before her.

And then he dropped to one knee.

She jumped to her feet. “What are you doing?”

He stood again. “I mean to propose marriage. You’re holding the ring. I’m not being precisely subtle about it.”

Now it was Chloe’s turn to pace.

He said, “I fully expect you to say no, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t help at all.”

“Come.” He waved her close to the lantern, where they could make one another out. “I must speak. I will speak. And you will refuse me, and then this wretched chapter between us will be concluded. I’ll be silent forever. But if I do not express myself now, I will never feel at ease.”

“Neither will I, I suppose.” She braced herself. “Very well. Say what you must. But I won’t sit down, and you must promise not to kneel.”

“No kneeling,” he agreed. He cleared his throat. “My dearest Chloe...”

“Wait. No ‘dearest’ or ‘darling’, either. Nor any similar words.”

“How is one to propose without terms of affection?”

“I don’t know. But I can’t think if you speak that way.”

“Youcan’t think? For God’s sake, I haven’t formed a coherent thought since we met. Not one that didn’t concern you, at any rate. It’s misery.”

She bristled. “So this is what you want to tell me? That I make you miserable?”

“You’ve forbidden me to use any tender words!”

That was true, she supposed.

“This is absurd.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I love you. There, it’s been said. Plain language, no poetry. I love you.”

How strange. Chloe was certain that she’d possessed knees when she’d risen from bed that morning. But she didn’t know where they’d gotten to now. The space where they’d been was currently filled with custard.

“I love you,” he repeated. “I’ve never spoken those words before. To anyone.”

She’d never heard them before. Not from a man.

“It never stops, you see. It’s all the time, every moment. I’m a hopeless wretch for love of you. I hear you laugh, my breath is stolen. I see you dance, I’m struck still. When you challenge me, I am weak to my bones. You place a flower in your hair, and the whole world blossoms. You lick icing from your fingertips, and I yearn to taste the sweetness on your lips. Can you imagine?” He jabbed a finger in his chest. “Me. Yearning.”

“It does seem unlike you.”

“And if it’s material evidence you desire, look no further.” He swept his hands down the unbuttoned horror of a waistcoat and flicked a tassel with his fingernail. “I wore this. On my body. In public.”

Chloe swallowed hard. She had to admit, that was rather convincing.

“The worst part about this waistcoat? Now that I know you made it with your own hands, I won’t even be able to burn the thing. I’ll have to keep it in my wardrobe. And when I’m very, very drunk, I might even put it on. I love you. There’s nothing to be done about it. I’ve tried.”

“Tried?”Well, this should be interesting. “What, precisely, have you tried?”

“What haven’t I tried. Believe me, I made several valiant attempts at a cure. I put a great deal of effort into the endeavor, and I’m not lacking for resources or strength of will. If there were a remedy sandwiched between pages of a boring ledger, or stuck to the bottom of a brandy decanter, or loitering about a fencing academy, or buried in a fox’s den on the grounds of my estate, I assure you—I would have found it. But I found nothing. Actually, I found worse than nothing.”

“What’s worse than finding nothing?”

“Finding everything. I don’t know how people survive this love business. The world is alive to a painful, bewildering degree. I’m nothing but a raw, throbbing nerve. My heart lives outside my body, where it’s more likely to be bruised than delighted. It is torment, and yet”—he exhaled, resigned—“a lifetime of torment wouldn’t be enough. I love you without reserve or limit.”

Lord above.

“I’m now aware, of course, that I have misunderstood you at every step of our acquaintance, and that my feelings are not and have never been returned.” He looked toward the carriage house. “Can’t imagine what’s taking my coach so damned long.”

They stood in awkward silence.

“I have an idea,” she announced. “You should kiss me.”

He stared at her. “That may be an idea. But it is not a good idea.”

“For once, hear me out before you start correcting me. When I was fourteen years old, I spent the summer with my older sister Eliza and her husband. They have an estate in Hampshire. Their land steward’s son was home from school. He was almost sixteen and quite handsome despite his pockmarks. I spent the summer drowning in infatuation. I didn’t want to marry the boy, but I hoped for some pining on his part, a good case of heartache on my end, and perhaps a few romantic letters from Harrow.”

She was babbling, but it couldn’t be helped. “Most of all, I wanted a kiss. My first kiss. The summer went on and on... Nothing. Finally, the day before he was to leave, I cornered him in the gardener’s shed. I pinched my cheeks to make them pink, batted my eyelashes like butterfly wings, and all but drew an archery target on my mouth. At last, he either caught the hint or simply gave in. And the kiss was dreadful. It felt like a salamander had wriggled into my mouth and had an apoplectic fit.” She shook off the unpleasant memory. “Suddenly, I was cured. I wanted none of it. No lovelorn suitor, no romantic letters from Harrow, no heartache. So I was thinking... perhaps if we kissed, it would be similarly disappointing.”

Lord Cheverell was silent for a long time. Chloe fidgeted, tapping the bewildering ring against her palm.

“Forgive me,” he finally said. “I am uncertain how to receive this. Are you suggesting that if I were to kiss you, the experience would be similar to that of kissing a pockmarked, salamander-tongued fifteen-year-old schoolboy in the gardener’s shed?”

“No,” she leapt to say. “No, not at all.”

“But you believe it would be disappointing.”

“For you. You would be the one disappointed. I have had so few kisses, and none of them good. It’s bound to be mediocre at best. I scarcely know what I’m doing.”

His gaze was intense. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh.”

“And if I were to kiss you, Chloe, it would not be disappointing. If I kissed you, it would become my life’s purpose, my sole reason for existing, to make that kiss so deeply, lushly, passionately soul-stirring that from this night forward, for the remainder of your days, any other kiss from any other man would turn to ash on your lips.” He leaned close. His voice was thrilling and dark. “It’s not. A good. Idea.”

This encounter had left Chloe wholly unmoored, but she knew one thing for certain. Good idea or not, he was going to kiss her. He knew it. She knew it. It was destined to happen.

But apparently not quite yet. The wait drew out to an eternity. She didn’t mind waiting for other things. Christmas was all about anticipation, after all. But this? It was sweet, aching torture. She couldn’t bear it for another heartbeat.

So she grasped him by the tassels of that hideous waistcoat. And with a jingle of bells, tugged him close. “Lord Cheverell, I’m beginning to think you’re all talk and no kiss.”

His mouth quirked in a knowing half-smile. For once, he didn’t seem to mind her teasing. And for once, she didn’t mind being corrected.

His hands took her by the waist. His head lowered until their breathing mingled. His lips found hers, after months of searching.

And Christmas came two hours early.

Chloe’s lips melted under his. He truly did know what he was doing. She might have had her first kiss from a boy, but this was her first kiss from a man. A delightfully strong, determined man with sensual tension coiled in his body but tenderness in his kiss.

Could this be real? Was it actually happening? In lieu of pinching herself, she squeezed the ring in her hand until the diamonds bit into her palm like a row of teeth.

With her free hand, she touched his face. His jaw was smooth-shaven, but when she caressed his cheek, the faintest rasp of whiskers scraped her palm. She slid her hand to the back of his neck, weaving her fingers into his dark hair and letting the heavy locks run through her fingers. So much softer than she’d expected.

A masculine groan rose in his chest. The sound sent a thrill racing through her veins. He gathered her silk gown in fistfuls, pulling her body close to his.

She was breathless. His hair might be soft, but the rest of him? The rest of him was decidedly not so.

Even as a relative innocent, Chloe knew he wanted more from her than a kiss. She also knew he would take nothing she didn’t freely offer. She felt fiercely desired, and at the same time, protected.

Cherished.

Safe.

So she surrendered to the kiss, giving herself over to exhilarating sensation without the slightest fear or shame.

He explored her mouth with confidence and skill, and though she hadn’t his experience, she tried to be a quick study. They traded soft kisses, then searching ones. Giving and taking. And oh, the teasing. She was delighted to learn that teasing was part of this, too. She did have a talent for teasing.

As he pressed kisses to her neck, she arched and gasped with delight. Each slight brush of his lips ignited a wildfire of sensation.

She’d always prided herself on appreciating life’s smallest pleasures. But while she’d been paying attention to bluebells and miniature teacakes and faint breezes in her hair, she’d overlooked what should have been unmissable. The six-foot-tall, broad-shouldered, classically sculpted demigod of wicked kisses who had been standing right there all along.

She’d been nonsensical.

He lifted his head and looked down at her, breathing hard. “You’re laughing.”

“A little.”

“At me, I suppose.”

“No. At myself. It’s nothing. Carry on.”

“Carry on, you say.” He shook his head. “If only I knew how. You will be the end of me.”

“Drat. I forgot to be disappointing.”

“That was a doomed effort from the start.”

“I’m a bit rattled myself, you know. A mere hour ago I was convinced that you thought me a nuisance. Suddenly you’re speaking to me of love and pressing jewels into my hand. And now I’m reeling from that kiss.”

“I warned you about the kiss.”

“You needn’t gloat about it.” She pushed a stray hair from her brow. “It’s all so confusing. I don’t know what to say.”

“You say ‘no,’ Chloe. Unless you wish to marry me, live beside me always, share my bed nightly, bear my children, grow old with me, and eventually be buried at my side under one headstone.” He took her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. “Unless you love me, you say ‘no.’ And I will never trouble you again.”

She couldn’t make her lips form the word. It was so unfair of him to demand an answer like this. She couldn’t possibly tell him ‘yes,’ and it didn’t feel wise to say ‘perhaps.’ But something wouldn’t let her say ‘no,’ either.

There had to be some other word available.

She put her hand over his where he cradled her cheek. “Justin.”

“Chloe!” The call rang out from the front portico. “Chloe, is that you out there?”

Oh, Lord. Her mother.

“I’ve been searching all over,” Mama said, minding her steps as she made her way across the frost-slicked paving stones. “It’s time for the caroling to begin, and ever since Lionel’s voice changed we’re lacking in sopranos. Why on earth are you out here? You’ll catch your death of—” Her mother stopped short, some ten paces away.

Chloe could only imagine the picture they presented. She, wearing his coat. He, undressed to his shirt sleeves with his waistcoat undone. The two of them, clinging together like burrs.

Her mother composed herself. “Why, Lord Cheverell.”

“Look away,” Chloe whispered to him, frantic. “It’s The Eyebrow.”

“The what?”

“The Eyebrow.” She shielded her face with one hand. “It makes you confess everything. Close your eyes. Save yourself.”

“It’s too late for that. I was a lost cause months ago.”

When Mama reached them, she sighed. “Chloe Anne Garland. Couldn’t you be gracious to Lord Cheverell for one evening? What mischief have you wrought on the poor man now?”

Chloe sputtered. “What? You’re blaming me?”

Her mother turned to Lord Cheverell. “I do apologize for my daughter. Mr. Garland and I tried our best with our children’s upbringing. But there were eleven of them, you know. They can’t all be successes.”

“No, it is I who must apologize,” Lord Cheverell said. “Mrs. Garland, I owe you and Mr. Garland an explanation for my behavior. Perhaps we could go inside, and—”

“Please do not trouble yourself. No explanations are necessary. Mr. Garland holds you in the highest regard, as do I. We know you’d never contrive such a scene on purpose.” She arrowed a glance at Chloe. “Really, Chloe. It’s like the land steward’s son all over again.”

“I was fourteen! And all the way in Hampshire! How do you know anything about it?”

Mama’s slender brow arched. The Eyebrow knows all.

Lord Cheverell cleared his throat. “Mrs. Garland, I must insist that—”

Gravel crunched beneath heavy wheels as his coachman brought the carriage around. A footman jumped down from the box to open the door with a flourish and bow. “At your service, my lord.”

Mama shook her head at Chloe. “See, now? He’s leaving. You’ve chased the man away.”

“I’ve not been chased anywhere,” Lord Cheverell said.

“He’s engaged this evening.” Chloe rued the words as soon as they left her lips. Not the best choice of phrasing, considering the ring still pressed in her hand.

“Is this true, Lord Cheverell? You have an engagement?”

“I’m not certain.” He gave Chloe an inscrutable look. “I truly should pay my regards to Mr. Garland before I leave.”

Mama clucked her tongue. “No, no. I will hear nothing of it.” She removed the topcoat wrapped about Chloe’s shoulders and returned it to its owner. “We bid you Happy Christmas, Lord Cheverell.”

She elbowed Chloe in the ribs.

“Yes, of course.” Chloe made an ungainly curtsy. “Happy Christmas.”

“To you, as well.” He made a solemn, if perplexed, bow.

Mama linked arms with Chloe and briskly guided her back toward the house. In a low voice, she said, “You are fortunate indeed that it was I who happened upon you just now, and not someone else. You have a father and four older brothers inside, all of them in their cups. If any of them had witnessed this, they’d be devising the world’s first hexagonal duel.”

“Mama, I did not scheme to corner Lord Cheverell, or cast my virtue at his feet, or whatever it is you think I’ve done.”

“I know you didn’t, my dear.” She squeezed Chloe’s arm. “He’s in love with you.”

Chloe’s toe caught on a clump of frozen mud. “You knew?”

“It’s been evident for months. To me, at least.”

“You might have warned me,” Chloe said numbly. “I had no idea.”

“I believe professions of love are best heard from the source. What are your feelings toward him?”

“A few hours ago, I would have told you I thoroughly disliked the man, but now... I don’t know.”

“Understandable. Being loved by man like Lord Cheverell... Well, it is an overwhelming prospect. And loving such a man in return is not a task for the faint of heart. But your heart is anything but faint. It’s strong and stubborn. He sees in you a woman who could be his equal. That’s why he loves you.”

They neared the door. Before they went inside, Mama turned to Chloe and touched her cheek. “Tonight was a close thing, Chloe. If your father knew of this, you’d be forced to accept the earl regardless of your feelings. I hope I’ve bought you some time to consider. However, I suspect you won’t have much of it.”

Chloe kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Come along, then. I have carols to lead. And you have a heart to search.”

Mama went inside. Before following her, Chloe looked over her shoulder.

Lord Cheverell was still there, standing in the drive by his waiting carriage. He was watching over her until she was safely inside.

And he was still wearing the ugliest, gaudiest, most repellently festive waistcoat in the history of Christmas.