Wish List Part 23

He pressed closer to her, his hand upon her arm, and forced her to promenade the hallway with him; he would not compromise her, for he did not want her by that route, and he would not give her the chance to catch him with that old ruse. No, all would be proper, if a bit irregular.

"What was the body of your list? How was it compiled?" he asked.

"By priorities, my lord, how else?" she said, and then smiled. "Surely Dalton told you as much."

He smiled down at her, amused and engaged. She was astute. And a beauty. If he had bothered to compile a list, certainly it would have featured those two attributes. Rather call them necessities.

"I was informed only of a list in the making," he quibbled. "I ama honored?a to have been included."

"You are not sincere, but I am," she said, her hand light upon his arm. She did not tremble. He was impressed. "You are on my list of possible husbands. If the truth be told, I am quite certain that you are on many similar lists throughout London. I'm sure your dining companion who plays the pianoforte so sweetly will add your name to her list before she retires."

Her boldness went too far, straying into vulgarity. "You show only boldness and no discernment in making such a remark," he said with tight anger.

"You are right. I apologize," she said quickly enough. "But it is the truth."

It may well have been the truth, but he was both appalleda and flattered. She could read it in him, he knew.

"The truth is delightful, is it not?" she said, laughing lightly.

He had never found being laughed at to be even remotely tolerable. Until now.

He wanted to tell her that she was the rarity, the delight. He didn't know there could be such a woman as Clarissa Walingford seemed to be. But perhaps she only seemed to be.

"Shall we test it?" he challenged. "A conversation of truth, only truth, with none of the layered shadings of practiced civility? Do you dare it, Clarissa?"

"Truth need not be uncivil," she said, her manner quietly cautious. He silently applauded her: bold but not reckless.

"Then a civil truth. Shall we try?" He grinned, pressing his hand over hers as it lay upon his arm.

Clarissa smiled up at him, her expression playful, and said, "Yes. I would enjoy it."

"The first truth. And a truth most civil," he teased. But he wanted more than careful, polite truths from her. He wanted to see into her heart. "How real is your list?"

"Quite real. I held it in my hand but hours ago," she said.

"And my name was on it, held between your hands?"

He did not touch her hand, but his eyes went there, and she clenched her hand upon his arm to keep him away from the vulnerability of her palm.

"Yes," she said softly, averting her eyes. He was so overwhelming at this proximity. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain her composure.

"Why am I on your list?" he asked.

She could only look at him, feeling his nearness and his strength, feeling that she should take care and protect herself, but she could not. She stood, immobilized by his touch and by the impossible nature of his question. Why was he on her list? She would not tell him that he was handsome. She would not tell him that he amused her. She would not tell him that he drew her in when all of London seemed closed to her Irish heart. She would not tell, for she would not allow those words into her thoughts. She could only want him for what he could give her, not for what he could inspire in her. That was all she would allow herself.

"What is it about me that has made me so profoundly eligible?" he said.

Ah, he wanted compliments, as all men did. That, also, she would not do. A man never appreciated the giver of the compliment, but only the compliment itself, hugging the words to his chest as he strolled off in self-congratulation. She had not needed ten brothers to teach her that basic truth.

"You have a wonderfula estate in Ireland," she said casually.

It was not what he had expected to hear. It was not what he wanted to hear. He was t.i.tled, well regarded, fit, and not unpleasant to look upon. All for naught if his Irish lands were forfeit? Impossible. No truth could have so much folly in it. She wanted him; he knew that for a truth.

"Dalton mentioned as much to me. I a.s.sumed in jest," he said, turning her for the walk back down the hall. It was much quieter here, which did not suit him at present, as it made the sound of his shattering vanity ring more loudly in his ears.

"It is no jest."

"I can see that it is not. Why Ireland?" he asked. He had been wondering. It was a strange prerequisite for a betrothal.

"Ireland is home," she said in all simplicity. "I want to go home."

"Ireland is home? When were you last there?"

"Ten years or so. I miss it very much."

"I would say that you could hardly remember it."

"Then you would be wrong. I remember it well," she said, her voice firm and strangely resolute.

He doubted the truth of that statement. She must have been a young girl when she had left, not above ten years. But he could see that she believed her words. As it was to be a discussion of civil truths, he would not argue the point with her.

"Why do you want to marry me?" she asked into his silence.

"Have I said I do?" he replied, just a bit fl.u.s.tered. What sort of woman asked such a question?

"Is this not to be a conversation of truths?" she asked, her words biting into his manhood. "Were the truths all to be my own?"

"I blush," he said almost comically. "You shame me." He grinned and granted her a brief bow. "Very well. I do want to marry you. Have I just proposed?"

"If you need to ask me, then no, you have not. I would not be so unfair."

But he would not call it unfair to achieve union with such a woman. She was enchanting, completely out of his experience, delightful. He was more than ready to ask her for her hand.

He was not to have the chance that evening. Perry and Jane, obviously concerned over her lengthy absence and not put at ease at finding them in such relative seclusion, interrupted their conversation. It would not be resumed that night; he was to have no such liberties with Lady Clarissa again. His eyes followed her throughout the remainder of the evening; he could not even think to play at his amus.e.m.e.nt with Lady Elena. In all the room there was only Clarissa.

They had not finished their conversation, not yet. Tomorrowa tomorrow he would call upon her. The thought was a fever in his blood that he welcomed as warmly as a brother.

"Has he proposed yet?" Jane whispered as they donned their cloaks.

"Tomorrow," Clarissa said softly, with a smile of pure antic.i.p.ation. "He will tomorrow."

At the hour of three, which was when Beau felt it appropriate to make his appearance at the Walingford town house, everyone in the house, including the pastry chef, knew he was there to propose marriage. Her brothers were especially jubilant; after all, Clarissa might have an imperfect understanding of politics, but she understood the way a man's mind worked well enough. With ten tutors it was hardly likely that she'd be less than proficient at it. They were d.a.m.ned proud of her, too. Montwyn was a good match for them. She'd done well. For privacy, it was agreed that they be allowed to stroll the garden together. Clarissa looked fetching in a lilac pelisse with a matching bonnet. Dalton, watching from a third-floor window, could only smile. Montwyn had been spoken for. One could only wonder if he realized it yet.

However, the more interesting question was whether Clarissa understood that Montwyn would never let her plop herself down in Ireland without him.

The garden was barren of leaves, but the privet hedge provided structure, as did the stone bench on the back wall. It was a pretty garden, the bricks laid in a herringbone pattern around a sundial that amply demonstrated how cloudy a day it was. Fortunately there had been no rain for a week. It was a pleasant place to linger, even in December. And they had all the privacy they could wish.

"Shall we continue?" Beau asked, looking larger than usual in his greatcoat and hat.

"You like truth very well, it seems," she said, smiling at him.

"I do." He nodded with a smile. "I may well have contracted a daily need for it."

Clarissa held her tongue. She would not put the words in his mouth to spit back out at her. He would do this on his own.

"Do you play coy now?" he asked.

"No," she said pleasantly. "Let us return to my question of last evening. Why do you want to marry me?"

"Why?" he bl.u.s.tered, clearly taken aback. It was most amusing. "Why does any man want to marry?"

"For heirs?" she said. "Any woman could do that for you."

He really was blushing now, but she would not relent. She would not bind herself to a man because he found her amusing or entertaining. Let there be more to their union than that, even if she dwelled in Ireland alone. But with this man, would she be left alone?

"You are the most confounded woman," he grumbled.

"I suppose I am, and it's best you know it now. Perhaps if you ask me to marry you, our conversation will progress more smoothly," she suggested, giving up her earlier transigence.

He turned to face her, stopping them on the path. Her feet were cold. It didn't matter. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, the most masculine, the most marvelous. His eyes, so green in the gray world of winter, demanded something of her. Pity, she supposed. He looked a man beset and just a bit bewildered. A man on the brink of matrimony would have such a look; Lindley had looked so when he had offered for Miss Brookdale. It must be the way of men to have to be hounded to the altar. She felt completely calm. She knew what she wanted. She only waited for him to say it.

"Let me ask you instead why you so clearly want to marry me," he said, adjusting his hat when it was already set perfectly upon his head. When she paused, he crowed, "You see? It is not so simple a question to answer. No one should be put in such a position. I withdrawa""

"No," she interrupted him. "I want to answer you. This is more in the matter of a practical arrangement, and I believe we should be truthful about both our purpose and our expectations."

"Come now. I expect no such answer. This borders on incivilitya""

"I disagree. Let us be honest with each other at the very least; even if this is to be our last conversation."

At his silence, she only smiled. He had not liked hearing that gently voiced threat.

"I have come to the point in my life when marriage is expected," she said, her voice grave. "I have a duty to my family to marry well. Your t.i.tle and your income make you quite desirable."

"High on your list, you might say," he interjected curtly. He looked irritated. It didn't alarm her, as it didn't signify; men were so easily irritated.

"I do say," she said brightly. "You are my first choice, most especially because of the desirability of your Irish estate. You are in a county I particularly admire, and all agree that your house is outstanding."

"To h.e.l.l with all that!" he roared, obviously pushed beyond his endurance for honest communication.

Oh, he was definitely angry. And he had used foul language. If he thought to shock her into silence or submission he had calculated poorly; she had ten brothers, three of them in the army.

"My lord? I am not accustomed to such speech," she said tartly. "Can you not refrain? This is a point I had not considered; is such intemperance a permanent feature of your character?"

Apparently it was.

Beau, his face a mask of barely controlled frustration, pulled her into his arms. He was not gentle. She was not afraid. She felt lost against the size of hima"lost and then found.

"There is more to me than my estate, Clarissa, and more between us than t.i.tles," he said in a growl, his mouth bare inches above hers. "That is a truth you shall not deny."

He kissed her then, and, bold as she was, she welcomed it. It was a hard kiss, an angry kiss, a kiss of threat and promise. She felt only the promise.

His mouth was hot and heavy upon hers, yet she did not turn from it, for there was pa.s.sion, too, and she was hungry for his pa.s.sion. She knew the truth of his desire for her in his kiss. She could nota"would nota"turn from that.

Dalton, appearing at the entrance to the garden, ended it.

Beau lifted his head from hers, his eyes green points of fire in a face chilled by winter. She felt burned, and shivered.

"I'm afraid I'll have to insist that you marry her now, Beau," Dalton said, cheerily enough, all things considered. "You certainly have fixed yourself." He almost laughed.

"I had already asked your sister to marry me," Beau said, pulling Clarissa to his side and holding her there. "This was her answer."

"Ahhh." Dalton grinned.

He didn't believe a word of it.

The marriage took place on Friday of that week, a small affair of family only. Still, they filled the salon. Chadwick and Braden, both in the army, were unable to attend. Leighton was busy in Ireland and couldn't make the crossing in time, and Alston and Harden were touring the continent, trying to avoid trouble, they wrote. So only Albert, Lindley, Jane, Dalton, Russell, and Perry attended the ceremony from her side. All wore smiles. On Beau's side was his paternal grandmother, Lady Claire, a delightful woman with the same green eyes as her grandson.

Beau still looked a trifle angry, which puzzled Clarissa completely. Oh, well, that would pa.s.s. He had the wife of his choosing. She had done her duty to her family and married well without a whimper of complaint. At least not in the last week.

During the wedding breakfast, she sat quietly congratulating herself as the conversation flowed around her. Beau was oddly quiet as well; perhaps he was equally self-congratulatory. They had made a good match, each of them, and deserved a small moment of victory. Before the breakfast was quite overa"she had hardly finished her teaa"Beau announced to the room that they would be leaving immediately on their wedding trip. It seemed a bit precipitous to her, but she was not of a mind to cause any commotion over it. She was eager to see Montwyn Hall.

Naturally Jane would accompany her.

Naturally Albert had to stop her as she was entering the coach to congratulate her once more on her excellent judgment. And again, as it had the last ten times he had offered such words of praise, the compliment rankled. It should not. She had made the best match of the season. She was on her way to Ireland even now, for that was the final destination of their bridal itinerary. Ireland. She would be in Ireland again. Home. Once she was settled, Beau would return to England. Which was where he belonged, being English. She would remain in Ireland, alone.

The thought brought less pleasure than it had even a week ago. Alone was such a lonely-sounding word. Would he really leave her alone? Pish, she would have Janea and Ireland. She would not be alone.

But she would not have Beau.

Did he honestly mean to leave her alone?

At present, he did not. Beau had her bundled into the coach with Jane snug against her side before she had quite finished her farewells. Beau sat across from them, warm in his greatcoat, solemn and silent.

And so he remained throughout the day; even Jane with her pleasant and hopeful nature could not stand against such a wall of silence.

Clarissa had no energy to make the effort. All her thoughts were of Ireland; the man who had made it possible, her husband, she barred from her thoughts. Though it was a most difficult thing to do with him sitting just across from her, his knees brushing against her skirts, his green eyes studying her. Still, she persevered. It was to be only the first of many barriers she would set between them, because, ultimately, she would bar him from her life. She had married well, done credit to her family, acquired access to an Irish estate, and, once she'd produced a child or two, giving him his heir, their paths would hardly cross again.

Just what was required to produce an heir she did not dwell upon.

And so the journey was spent in silence, a silence as heavy and cold as winter itself.

They arrived at Montwyn Hall just at dusk. It was impressive. Most impressive.

Manicured woods, bare now, limbs reaching toward the growing darkness, lined the gravel drive, which swept in a graceful arc to the front of the hall. The hall itself consisted of a ma.s.sive central building surrounded by four pavilions linked by quadrant colonnades, all perfectly symmetrical, perfectly grand.

Jane looked suitably impressed. Clarissa could not have been more pleased.

"So you're happy with your bargain?" Beau asked as the coach stopped in front of the portico. It was the first sentence he'd spoken to her all day.