The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride (9 page)

A refuge? It was clearly of huge importance to
Jonathan. Beth was not quite sure why that should be. Perhaps it was to do with his time in Spain? It was strange that such a strong man could also seem so vulnerable.

He took a deep breath. It would be now. He was going to tell her the name of the lady he had chosen to share his peaceful refuge. ‘I can tell from your face that I am making a mull of this. Forgive me. It is not often a man puts such thoughts into words. I was trying only to describe…to set out what I seek. I would not, for the world, mislead you about my motives.’ Abruptly, he took both her hands in his. It was a gesture of kindness, the gesture of one friend to another. But now he was silent, waiting for her to speak.

Beth gulped. ‘I…I never doubted your intentions, sir,’ she said. It was a rather bald reassurance, but it was the most she could manage.

‘No, you would not. You see good in everything, and everyone.’

Beth felt the beginnings of heat on her neck. Such a simple compliment, but she was blushing. He was still holding her hands in his. She looked down at them, just as he gave her fingers a tiny squeeze. That was a shock. Beth jerked her gaze up from their clasped hands to his face.

‘Beth, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

Her mouth fell open, but no words came out. Her head began to spin. Soon she was swaying on her feet.
I am going to faint. But I never faint.

He caught her by the shoulders as she staggered, and then he steered her to the bench beneath the massive
beech. Its leaves were beginning to turn brown, but most of them still clung to the parent tree. He guided her onto the seat and unceremoniously pushed her head down between her knees. ‘I have shocked you. It was not my intention.’

After a few moments, she straightened. Her eyes were very wide, and very dark in her ashen face. ‘It is unkind of you to make a may-game of me, sir.’ Her voice cracked. She looked away.

Good God! She did not believe he meant those words, the most difficult for any man to utter. Jon had been standing over her, watching her, worrying. Now, he threw himself on to the seat beside her and seized both her hands. He was not about to let them go until he had received his answer.

‘Beth, I value your good opinion far too much to do any such thing. We are friends, surely? Friends do not… Beth, I would never mock you. My proposal is utterly sincere. You are the most restful woman of my acquaintance. I know it is a rather bloodless union that I am offering you, but there must be honesty between us. I will not attempt to dupe you with false protestations of love. For you are not an empty-headed chit who takes her notions from the pages of the latest romantic novel. You are sensible, and practical. I had hoped that my offer would tempt you: a home of your own where you could be mistress; a proper station in society. It would give you certainty, Beth. You would have your rightful place. Will you have me?’

She jerked her hands out of his with a sound that could have been a strangled sob. She surged to her feet as if she were about to flee, but at the last moment, she
turned back to him, holding up one small white hand to prevent him from rising. ‘There can be no certainty for me, my lord. I am nothing, nobody. I have no name but the one the Aubreys were kind enough to lend to me. I am no fit wife for any gentleman. And certainly
not
for the Earl of Portbury. It is wicked to suggest otherwise, but I will forgive your ill-conceived jest. Let us forget the words were ever spoken.’

She had become as rigid as the beech trunk at Jon’s back. He realised he had been clinging to a vision of his comfortable life with her. He had seen Beth there by the fireplace, sitting quietly opposite him, but he had never once considered that she might not share his longing for a peaceful refuge. In truth, he had not considered her at all. He scrutinised her features carefully now, for the first time in a long while. She was holding herself together by sheer force of will. She was affronted by his proposal, and deeply hurt. In a moment, she would regain enough strength to flee. Unless…

Ignoring her still outstretched hand, he stood up and put his arms around her. Since she did not believe a word he said, he had best try something other than words.

He kissed her.

It was Jon’s first real kiss in a long time. He brushed his lips over hers, very lightly, unsure of how she might react. Her lips parted, and he felt the warmth of a tiny sigh on his skin, as if she had been waiting for his touch, holding her breath. And yet her response was hesitant, the response of an innocent girl. She did not have the way of kissing.

A strange feeling surged through Jon, an unfathomable mixture of pride and possession. He was almost
sure that Beth Aubrey had never been kissed before. And yet she was trying to respond to him. Her head might be telling her that Jon’s proposal was a wicked jest, but her warm body and her soft mouth wanted to reach for him. Jon stopped trying to analyse her reactions and gave himself up to the simple pleasure of kissing her. He wrapped her even more snugly against his body and put a hand to the back of her head, holding her still so that he could explore. He feathered tiny kisses along her bottom lip. She tasted of coffee, and sweetness. He risked a bolder touch, putting the tip of his tongue to the tiny sighing gap between her lips. This time it was no sigh, but a groan he heard, from deep within her. That was too much.

He deepened the kiss. Now she truly did respond. Her hands slid up his chest and around his neck. She opened her lips to welcome him in. Desire swept through Jon’s body. There could be something between them after all, more than mere companionship. They would sit restfully together by the fire, no doubt, but he fancied the getting of an heir could be pleasurable for them both.

It was as if her body were relaxing into a bath of warm, scented water, which lapped over her limbs and caressed her flesh. She was floating. Yet she had never been so alive. Her skin, all over—from her cheek to her throat to her breasts to her belly—was awake, reaching and yearning. She wanted him to touch her. Everywhere.

She drove her fingers into the thick hair at the back of his head and pushed her body closer into his embrace. She could feel the strength of him, held in check,
restrained so as not to alarm her. But it was there, none the less, a warm, reassuring strength. She could feel that what had begun as a simple kiss was turning into something much more demanding. He desired her.

That sudden awareness brought her back to grim reality as surely as if he had scrubbed handfuls of snow on to her naked skin. She pulled her hands down to his chest and pushed hard, with balled fists. She tore her mouth from his. The moment her lips were free, she cried out. ‘No!’

The reaction was instantaneous. His hand had been in her hair, holding her steady for the exploration of his lips and tongue, but he did not try to restrain her. He dropped his hands to his sides and took a very deliberate step away from her.

Beth clasped her hands together very tightly. She refused to let them shake. ‘My lord, you—’

‘Jonathan. My name is Jonathan.’ He did not move to close the space between them, but his gaze softened and the merest hint of a smile curved his lips as he looked down at Beth. ‘Jon,’ he said, in a deeper, warmer voice.

He was asking her to use his given name? She shook her head vehemently, trying to clear her thoughts. He had proposed. He
was
proposing. To her! And it seemed it was no jest, after all. She could not think straight. That kiss… Oh, heavens, that kiss had turned her bones to butter. Her body was burning hot and icy cold, all at once. She was quivering. Would she melt altogether? Or freeze?

‘Beth?’ He was uncertain, too. She could hear it in
his voice. He raised his right hand, palm up, and offered it. ‘Beth, will you have me?’

She dared one look at his face, but she could not read his expression. Whatever his emotions, he was managing to conceal them. All she knew was that his proposal must be sincere. ‘It is impossible!’ she burst out. ‘You know it is so!’

He was standing as still as the statues in his park. His outstretched hand had not moved even a fraction.

‘Oh, you ridiculous man!’ She let anger bury the hurt. ‘You must know it is impossible. You are the Earl of Portbury and I am nobody. I have no past, no family, not even a name. You insult me by suggesting you would take me to wife.’ That spurt of anger had saved her. She was back in control. She had even managed to bury the delicious sensations that his kiss had brought to the surface and that had been threatening to overwhelm her. She would not think of those. She turned abruptly and began to march along the path towards the rectory. That was where her refuge lay. That was where she could be free of this torment.

He caught up to her after three paces. He did not touch her. If he had, she might have cried out, so tense were the feelings consuming her. No, he just strode past her and planted himself like a rock on the path, as if a landslide had suddenly blocked the way. Heavy, impenetrable, dangerous. He was not smiling. He held up a hand, not an offering this time, but a command.

She stopped. She had no choice.

‘You
would
have a name. My name. You would be the Countess of Portbury. My wife. Your position in
society would be alongside mine. No one would dare to question that.’

He was very sure, and absolutely wrong. ‘Of course they would,’ she retorted, trying to swallow the pain that was gripping her heart. ‘You have no idea what black deeds there may be in my past that led me to flee. Have you never thought that my memory is shuttered because of what lies hidden there? The Earl of Portbury cannot risk discovering that his wife is a fugitive. Or worse. What would society say then?’

‘No one would dare to accuse my wife of
anything
,’ he retorted, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

His tone was so arrogant that Beth was stunned into silence. He frowned down at her for a moment, and then said, in a more thoughtful voice, ‘You are a truly good woman, Beth. If you fled, it was from someone else’s wickedness, not your own. I believe—I know that to be true. No one would dare to suggest otherwise.’

‘Of course they would,’ she said again, though less forcefully. ‘They would say that the Earl of Portbury had taken leave of his senses, in marrying such a woman. They would obey the outward forms, no doubt, but the gossip, the sly, sneering comments, would be made at every turn. Not only about me, but also about you! Can you not understand that, Jonatha—? My lord?’ She winced. His stony expression had softened at the sound of his given name. The moment she retracted it, he had begun to frown again.

‘I understand no such thing. What’s more, I would not care a jot about society gossip. I do not seek to marry for society’s sake, but for my own. I do not seek to cut a fine figure in this world of theirs. I do not give a fig
for that. And I had thought that you would not, either. Beth? Beth, do you care for such things? I thought you would wish to live retired from society, as I do. Let the tabbies say what they will of us. We have no need of them, and their stiff-rumped opinions. Our life together will be peaceful, and content. As far from society as we wish to be. It is a delightful prospect, is it not?’

It was more than delightful. It would be paradise. But she could not possibly answer with the truth. Nor could she lie. She just stared at him.

He cleared his throat. ‘I can see that I have shocked you with my proposal. It is no wonder, for you are a gently bred lady.’

At that, her head came up even more. He did not know— He
could
not know anything about her upbringing. She herself did not know.

‘But I beg you to understand that my proposal is sincerely meant. You would do me the utmost honour if you accepted me. Will you not at least take a little time, a day, to consider what I am offering?’ He took half a step towards her. ‘Please, Beth. Do at least consider.’

She felt an almost overpowering urge to raise her fingers to his face, to stroke away the tension that was so evident in his frown and in his narrowed eyes. She clasped her hands together once again, forbidding them to stray.

She had to stop him, to save him. She must not let her feelings overcome her principles. She fixed her gaze on the ground at her feet, knowing she dare not look at him for this. ‘I suggest that
you
consider, my lord. Has it not occurred to you that you are proposing to a woman who may be married already?’

S
he had planted him a facer.

Jon had been boxing for too many years to give in just because he had been floored once. He refused to quit, especially when his goal had suddenly become so much more important.

‘Look at me, Beth,’ he said, as gently as he could, reaching for her tightly clasped hands. She tensed for a moment, but then she yielded enough for Jon to take them in his. He did not attempt to pry her fingers apart. He simply lifted them to his lips and dropped a featherlight kiss on her skin. She was still staring at the ground, however. She seemed determined to resist him. Was she afraid, perhaps? ‘There is no need to be anxious. I know you for a strong woman who is afraid of nothing, and no one. I am your friend, Beth. Please look at me.’

It seemed the word ‘friend’ was able to reach her, where his touch had not. Without moving her hands in his, she slowly raised her head and her gaze joined with
his. She was as white as her tucker; her eyes were huge and dark in her pale face. She made no move to speak, but she did not need to, for her emotions were written in her brilliant eyes. His proposal had injured her. Even if she now accepted that Jon was not mocking her, she was certainly not convinced that there was any kind of a future for them as man and wife. She thought Jon was too high, and she—a woman with a shadowy past and no memory—was much too low.

‘I can assure you, Beth, that you are wrong about marriage.’

‘I…I know I am not wrong about this one. It is impossible.’

‘I understand your reluctance, but I cannot agree with you. Will you allow me to explain why?’ He drew her arm into his—she had stopped resisting, he was glad to see—and escorted her back to the bench under the beech tree. He had a chance now, though perhaps not for long. He was going to have to be truly silver-tongued, for she was clearly set against him.

He took his seat beside her, still holding her hand tucked into his arm, but he did not sit too close. ‘I must ask you first, Beth, if you still think I am trying to play a base trick on you with my proposal?’ He had to know that she would listen.

She coloured a little and shook her head.

‘Good. That is a start.’ He patted her hand, just the lightest of touches. It was too intimate, it seemed, for she flinched. He felt the tightening of her muscles through the layers of clothing. He let his free arm drop back to his side. One more false move and she might run.

‘You think you may already be married. I can see
why you would think that. For a lady, it is a logical assumption but, as a man, I can tell you that you are certainly…er…untouched.’ No married woman would have responded so innocently to Jon’s kisses. He was not mistaken there.

‘Untouched?’
She blushed, like a white rosebud caressed by the first rays of the early morning sun.

Jon cleared his throat. That had not been a good choice of word. There were some aspects of marriage that one did not discuss with a gently-bred, single lady. ‘Beth, you think you are not good enough to become a countess. To become
my
countess. Will you not permit me to be the judge of that? Believe me, your lack of memory does not matter. You are a lady, bred in the bone. It is clear in every word you say, in everything you do, in every step you take. No one doubts it. My wife must be a lady, I admit that. But you fulfil the requirement admirably.’

When she began to protest, he shook his head and continued without allowing her to speak. ‘Beth, I have had my fill of ladies of rank. My first marriage—’ He swallowed hard. ‘Normally, I would not discuss the failure of my first marriage, but you are entitled to know. My late wife was a duke’s daughter, with all the accomplishments her position entailed, but she brought me nothing. Another dynastic marriage to a chit out of the schoolroom could easily be just as bad. I want— I
need
a wife who will be a companion and a friend, a woman I can esteem, not an empty-headed child whose world revolves around balls and bonnets. You, Beth, are a truly remarkable woman. You care for others. You look to do good in the world. As my wife, you would be able to use
my wealth and position to achieve all that you desire. Think what you could do.’

There was a small, sharp intake of breath beside him. Then silence.

‘My rank would protect you. And we would be comfortable together, I am sure of it. Imagine how our life could be.’ Jon waited. Had he said enough to persuade her? Would she at least consider his offer?

She withdrew her hand and clasped her fingers in her lap once more. Not a good sign. Was she going to refuse him again?

‘If I do not accept you, sir, what will you do?’

Another facer. ‘I would—’ His answer began automatically, but then he stopped short, trying to collect his thoughts. He owed her a considered response on something so important.

That was when he realised that he had no answer to give her. He had not the faintest notion of what he would do if she turned him down.

The silence stretched between them. Jon found that it was surprisingly comfortable to sit in silence with Beth, even when he was trying to decide how to reply to her searching question. It was just as he had supposed: she was a restful woman and an estimable companion. She was exactly the wife he needed. He could not afford to lose her. He must not.

That sudden urgency had started his mind racing, as if he were back facing the enemy. He was going to have to fight—and fight harder—to convince her to accept him. His tactics so far had failed. He needed—

A new idea exploded in his rioting thoughts. Now,
at last, he knew how to begin. ‘I have a bargain to offer you, Beth.’

‘A bargain?’ Her voice had become hoarse. ‘I don’t understand.’

He grinned at her, feeling himself regaining control at last. ‘I have made you a sincere proposal of marriage. You have asked, reasonably enough, what I will do if you refuse me. I will answer you, and truthfully, but not now, not here. Tomorrow, if you agree, I shall call at the rectory to take you out driving. I will dismiss the groom as soon as we reach the park, so all our conversation will be quite private. Then, I promise, I will answer your question. And perhaps you, in turn, will give me your response to my proposal?’

‘I…I should not— You will not take my answer now?’

He shook his head. He allowed his self-assured grin to subside into a wry smile as he looked down at her, but he could see that her resolve was weakening. If he could make her wait, make her reflect, then all hope was not lost. ‘If you want to hear my answer before you speak, Beth, you will have to drive with me tomorrow. Do we have a bargain?’

She sat immobile for a long time, staring vacantly across the garden. Jon waited. The longer she thought, the better his chances, he decided. He would wait until darkness fell if that would help his cause.

Beth rose quite suddenly, in a single graceful movement. A well-bred lady’s movement. This time she did not stop him from joining her on the path. ‘Perhaps we should go in?’ she said, in what Jon could only describe as her company voice. ‘It is beginning to get a little
chilly out here and Aunt Caro will be wondering what has happened to us.’

Without waiting to be asked, she tucked her arm into his. It was a confiding gesture, Jon thought. And hopeful.

They began to stroll towards the house. ‘Let us hope that the fine weather continues for a few days yet.’ She glanced up at the sky. ‘It looks to be set fair.’ She smiled at nothing in particular and twisted her head to look up at him. ‘At what time do you plan to call for me tomorrow?’

Beth began to pace up and down in the small free space between the end of her bed and the window overlooking the shrubbery.

Untouched.
The word was echoing in her head like a drumbeat in an empty hall.
Untouched.
How could he know for certain? Surely he might be mistaken?

But did it matter, provided he really wanted Beth to wife? He said he did. And it was more than wanting. It seemed that he needed her. Beth had been wrong to believe he had loved Alicia. In fact, his first marriage had been a failure. He had no son. And she sensed that he was very lonely. He wanted a companion and a friend more than he wanted a wife. He had almost said as much.

Could she really be that woman? Wife to an earl? Would it be such a sin for a woman with no past to accept him?

It would be a sin to condemn him to loneliness. And it would be worse to condemn him to another marriage like his first. Perhaps he would prefer no wife, and no
heir, to marriage to a woman he could not esteem? He did esteem Beth, for all her lack of family and history. He said there could be nothing truly wicked in her past, that he knew her well enough to make a judgement about her character. He was so sure of it that she had begun to believe him. But did
she
know
him
?

Yes, of course she did. He was a fine man, a man of integrity who cared for his tenants, and for all those who depended upon him. When he returned from Spain and discovered what his brother had done to the Fratcombe estate, he had set about putting matters to rights. The repairs had been done, the workers had received fair prices for their labours, and he had paid for the children to be sent to school. Yes, he was a good man. He did need an heir, certainly. Unless he married again, and produced a son, his heir would remain his younger brother, George, the man who had tried to bleed Fratcombe of every penny it would yield.

It had been so simple to refuse him when he first proposed. His offer had come as a shock, and her answer had been automatic. But it was not simple any longer. Was Beth truly the only woman he could bear to think of as a wife? She would not know the answer to that until tomorrow. If he said it was Beth or no one, would she accept him? She refused to think about that. Jonathan was a man of the world. He knew he had to marry. If Beth refused him, he would find someone else, surely? He would not marry a girl out of the schoolroom. That was abundantly clear. But there must be other women, other ladies, who were older, more knowledgeable. A widow might suit him, perhaps. Yes. A widow of rank.

Beth’s pacing had brought her back to the window yet again. She stopped. The sun was setting. The red-gold light was shining through the leaves of the huge beech, making them glow like amber jewels. In a few weeks, its branches would be bare. It was nearly winter. This golden autumn was a joy, but short-lived.

She pressed her palms to the panes, leant her forehead against the wood and closed her eyes. She tried to visualise Jonathan sitting in comfort by his fire, his new wife on the opposite side, calmly reading a book of sermons. The new countess’s face was hidden from Beth’s view. She was wearing a fine silk gown in a deep shade of red, her hair concealed by an expensive lace cap and her head bent as she concentrated on her reading. Was she reading aloud? It appeared not.

And Jonathan? What was he doing? He seemed to be leaning back, staring at the fire. His hands were resting on the carved wooden arms of his chair. He looked…he looked…

Beth could not decide. His expression was rather vacant. It was not happy, not even content. He was somewhere else entirely. And his wife, the high-ranking widow he had married, was quite oblivious of it.

‘Oh, it is wishful thinking!’ Beth exclaimed, exasperated at her own wilful daydreaming. ‘You want him. That is the truth of it. You have always wanted him. And you are looking for reasons to persuade yourself that he needs you, that you should not refuse him. You are a fool, Beth Aubrey, or whatever your true name is. You are a fool!’

But what if he really does need me? Just as I need
him? What then? What if he might come to love me, as I love him?

Those forbidden words. She had spent so long trying to banish them from her thoughts. And now they had ambushed her. Did she really love him? She took one last look at the glowing golden tree and sank to her knees on the floor, pillowing her head in her hands. Of course she did. She wanted him in her heart, and in her bed. She wanted more than that one spell-binding kiss. And she wanted to spend her whole life trying to make him happy, to ease the loneliness and hurt from which he was suffering. Perhaps one day, he might even confide in Beth about what had happened when he was in Spain.

He had never said a word in her hearing, but she was sure that something he had done, or something he had seen in his time there, was at the root of what troubled him. The man who had carried a shivering foundling to the refuge of the rectory was a man who needed a refuge of his own. He seemed to be sure, in his own mind, that Beth was the woman who would provide the sanctuary he was seeking. Why deny him and, in so doing, deny her own deepest longings?

Because you have no right to inflict a nameless wife upon him, no matter how much you may love him. If you really loved him, you would not do so. Who knows what there is in your past? Who knows what men you may have known? Whatever he says, Jonathan cannot know that you are untouched.

That was surely the cause of her recurring guilt. Somewhere in her past, she had lost her virtue, perhaps even colluded in her own disgrace. No wonder
her memory was blank. She deserved to be a nameless outcast. If she had done such a wicked thing, she was no fit wife for any man.

The dream had come so close, yet now it was floating away again like a soap bubble borne aloft on the tiniest breath of air. She could not do it. She must not. The Countess of Portbury must come to her husband untouched, and unsullied.

Beth could not swear to be that woman. And without that, she had no choice. She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. It was no weakness to allow a single tear, or even two, for the man she loved and would have to refuse.

Beth could not sleep. It was not surprising, for her mind was full of tomorrow, what she would say, how much he would be hurt. She rolled over yet again and punched the pillow.

She was going to look a fright when he appeared to escort her to his curricle. Perhaps that would be some consolation to him. However estimable he thought her, he would not wish to marry a woman with black circles round her eyes and quivering limbs.