A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4) (15 page)

What of Devlin?

She hadn’t given him much thought over the past few hours. No doubt he had stomped off to pout, for he used to do just that when they were children and he didn’t get his way. Goodness, she hoped the petulant boy hadn’t turned into a petulant man. Kicking Graelem in his broken leg had been a cruel thing to do.

She couldn’t blame Graelem for fighting back. He’d only done so after Devlin had struck her uncle and then kicked him. One restrained punch from Graelem was all it took to flatten Devlin, her uncle had said.

She knew Graelem had held back, otherwise Dev’s jaw would have been broken or worse, he would have been dead.

She couldn’t worry about him now. Graelem was foremost on her mind. His leg was swollen and purple, revealing another possible break to one of the same bones first broken, and she feared this time it was much worse than Brutus’ trampling.

He was in so much agony not even a healthy dose of laudanum had helped.

She couldn’t bear to watch him suffer, but neither would she leave his side until he was on the mend again.
All her fault.
What was wrong with her? She had a penchant for getting into trouble, but the punishment usually fell on her. This was different. This felt awful, for Graelem was the one bearing the brunt of her misdeeds.

She wouldn’t blame him if he begged out of the betrothal the moment he awoke. How ironic, for now the last thing she wanted was to be apart from him. Why couldn’t she get this marriage business right?

She’d only spent a lifetime training for this moment. Apparently, she’d learned nothing in all those years.

“Lass,” Graelem said, his voice a whispered rasp, gaining her attention as he awoke from his laudanum-induced stupor. “What are you still doing here?”

She sniffled. “Trying to look after you, but I’m not doing a very good job of it.”

“You’re doing an excellent job. You’re the only vision I wished to see when I opened my eyes… and here you are.” He shook his head slowly and swallowed hard. “Though I don’t suppose you’ll be permitted to stay much longer.”

“Since when have I done what I’m told?” she teased and heard him softly chuckle in response. “I’m not leaving your side until your fever breaks and you’re strong enough to get out of bed.” She sniffled again.

“Laurel, are you crying?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But she sniffled yet again because he reached out to stroke his thumb along her cheek to wipe away the tears that must have been shining upon it. “I’m the hot-tempered, disobedient Farthingale, remember? I think of no one but myself and wind up hurting my loved ones in the process.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Her eyes clouded with more tears and she struggled to suppress the sob yearning to break free. “I can’t help it. Look what I’ve done to you.”

“Damnation. You’re the oddest mix of tough and soft. I’ve never… lass, you
are
crying. Blessed Scottish saints, no one has ever cried over me before.”

No one? Now she was desperately struggling not to burst into wailing sobs.

She turned away to dip her handkerchief in the basin of cold water on his night stand, busying herself with the task while she fought to regain her composure. She wrung out some of the moisture and then ran the now cold cloth across his hot brow to cool him down. “Your lips must be dry and throat parched. Here, let me squeeze a little of the water into your mouth.”

He surprised her with another chuckle. “Lass, this one time I could do with your dumping the entire contents of that basin over my head.”

“I will if the need arises, especially since I now have your blessing.” She smiled at him as she dipped the handkerchief into the water again and ran the cold cloth along his neck and chest. Her breaths were still shaky, she was still sniffling, and she was completely unraveling on the inside. She was so distraught and worried, struggling not to bawl like an infant with colic. “I’ve been a fool, Graelem. Can you ever forgive me?”

He caught her hand in his and shook his head. “I’ve been the fool, love. I should be the one asking for your forgiveness. I—” He shuddered as a blinding pain suddenly tore through him. She realized his leg had begun to spasm, each flex and pull of bruised muscle obviously agonizing for him.

Laurel gripped his hand and held it tightly as she drew it against her pounding heart. “Graelem, what should I do?”

He didn’t immediately answer.

“Graelem?”

“Love me, Laurel,” he said in a whisper and lost consciousness as pain and laudanum overcame him once again.

Had he meant it? Did he realize that he’d spoken the sentiment aloud? She used the back of her hand to wipe at the tears that were now rolling down her cheeks like rivers overflowing their beds. “I do,” she said in a whisper. “I love you so much.”

LAUREL REMAINED
BY
Graelem’s bedside, holding his hand.

She understood what would happen if she stayed here until dawn, something she fully intended to do despite the consequences. There would be no ending their betrothal. No doubt it was already too late to end it, for even though nothing improper had happened over these past few hours, or could happen with Uncle George, Eloise, and a dozen servants slipping in and out of the room all night long, the news sure to spread throughout the
ton
was that she had spent the night with Graelem.

In his bedchamber.

She had, of course. But only to help save his life.

Rose’s husband had come by earlier, having taken it upon himself to report Graelem’s progress to the Farthingale family. Her parents were worried, but as host and hostess, they couldn’t possibly leave their party.

She was glad Julian was the one chosen to report the news to them, for he was as steady as Uncle George and could be counted upon to use his good judgement. He wouldn’t embellish nor would he minimize the danger, but explain it in a manner that did not alarm her entire family. Didn’t they have enough to worry about with Uncle Harrison still missing and the ministry still having no news about him?

What the…
She blinked as a glimmer of light caught her eye. And then another glimmer. She shook her head and groaned softly. The twins, in their inimitable way, were using a mirror to catch the glow of moonlight and send her signals through their window. The sweethearts wanted to let her know they were still awake and concerned.
I love you, too.

She eased away from Graelem’s side long enough to cross to the window and wave at them. In return, she received three quick flashes of light which she knew signified their wishes for his quick recovery.

She returned to Graelem’s side and stared down at him, unable to remove her gaze from his big, handsome body. She’d been an obstinate fool to wait so long to admit that she loved him. What had Graelem meant by the words he’d uttered before slipping back into his stupor?

Love me, Laurel.

Did he want her to love him because he loved her? If so, those words sounded so sweet to her ears because Graelem had uttered them. She wouldn’t have felt the same euphoric joy had anyone else expressed those sentiments. Devlin had declared his love for her tonight, but it wasn’t at all the same thing. She cringed, recalling their conversation. “Dev, what am I going to do about you?” she muttered to herself.

He’d behaved abominably, but otherwise had been a good and loyal friend to her over the years. His outrageous conduct could be explained as jealousy and probably forgiven in time, for he was angry and bitterly disappointed by the thought of losing her.

Indeed, the more she considered it, the more she realized that her betrothal must have come as a terrible shock to him. She owed him an apology and would speak to him, but only after she was certain Graelem was on the mend.

She refused to leave his side until then.

Graelem hadn’t made a sound since falling into unconsciousness, no doubt because of all the laudanum he’d taken, a dosage strong enough to fell a horse. But shortly before dawn, he began to moan and blink open his eyes. She felt him looking at her, his forest green eyes dark and glistening with fever.

She gasped. “Are you awake?” She couldn’t be certain, for the drug was known to induce eye movements that mimicked wakefulness.

“What?” He sounded groggy and confused.

“I was so worried about you.” She kept her voice low in order not to wake her uncle, who was stretched out across the three red silk chairs set in a row by the window and softly snoring. He’d been up most of the night along with her and was finally getting some much-needed rest.

Graelem tried to sit up in bed, groaning as he strained his big body in the hope of finding a position that wasn’t agonizingly uncomfortable.

He wasn’t having much success.

She wanted to help, but was afraid to touch him. Not afraid for him, but for herself. Watching the magnificent flex and pull of his hard muscles was doing shocking things to her insides, sending hot tingles shooting through her body and making her want to hop into bed beside him so that she could feel the flex and strain of his big, handsome body against hers, feel his weight as he wrapped her in his arms and brought her up against his hot, bronzed skin.

Graelem’s eyes were now alert and fully open, but still slightly glazed, which meant he was feverish. He studied her for an endless moment and smiled. “Feeling warm? Me too, lass.”

A fiery heat suffused her cheeks. How could he know what she’d been thinking? Was she that obvious? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Fortunately, he decided not to pursue the embarrassing matter. Instead, he glanced around the room and then toward the window. “What time is it?”

“Almost morning.” When she checked his forehead, he felt much cooler than he had been as little as an hour ago. She rested her palm against his cheek and caressed him. “You gave me a terrible scare, you big oaf.”

He frowned lightly. “Did you stay by my side all night?”

She nodded. “I was afraid you were going to die.” The words caught in her throat as she spoke. “So I stayed, determined to fight heaven and earth to keep you here and safely on the mend.”

He grinned. “No wonder I survived. There’s no force stronger than a determined Laurel.” He noticed that she was still wearing her evening gown. “You look beautiful, lass. Did I mention it to you last night? I meant to. You stole my breath away when I first walked into your home, the party under way and already a crush. But everyone else seemed to melt away and all I saw was you in that gown. There isn’t a prettier debutante in all of London.”

She shook her head and laughed. “I think you must be addled, but I do like this softer side of you best.”

“I don’t.” He looked down and saw that his nightshirt was damp and clinging to his body. “I don’t think anyone can like me as I am now. I’m soaked from head to toe and so loaded with laudanum I can’t put two thoughts together.”

“Your conversation isn’t the problem. Nor are your thoughts. What you don’t like is that your guard is down and you’re afraid something you don’t wish to reveal might slip out. You don’t want me, or anyone for that matter, to see beneath your surface.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“But you’re too late. I’ve seen you unguarded.” She caressed his cheek again. “And I like what I see.”

He laughed and reached out to cup her head in his big hand. “How much do you like it?”

“This much,” she said and leaned forward to kiss him on the lips. She couldn’t quite describe the kiss she gave him, for it wasn’t a light peck nor was it a passionate, desperate kiss given with wild abandon. It was full and rich, conveying a deeper meaning, a kiss that spoke of commitment, passion, and enduring love.

Her breasts pressed against his chest as she leaned forward to kiss him, but she didn’t draw away. She wanted nothing to keep them apart—certainly not rules of propriety designed to keep a girl pure until marriage, but allow her to take up as many liaisons as she desired afterward so long as she was discreet.

Her mouth parted against his firm lips as he groaned and drew her closer, enveloping her in his arms and running his tongue across her fleshy lower lip before claiming entrance and rousing sensations throughout her body as explosive and beautiful as fireworks upon the Thames.

Everything about him set her blood on fire. The warmth and strength of his body, the gentleness of his hands as he touched and stroked her with possessive urgency. The scent of heat and sweat and sandalwood on his neck and shoulders.

His kiss was hot and determined, yet also gentle, as though he were purposely letting her know that his attraction to her went beyond a merely physical hunger. In the few weeks she’d known him, she’d grown to understand his wariness and reserve. Having grown up an only child in a cold household, he’d always hidden his feelings to protect his heart. But he wasn’t holding back on this kiss, he was offering to take her into his heart.

There was a possessive honesty about this kiss, an admission that he wanted her for longer than a night, that he could restrain his need and allow friendship and caring to blossom between them. He wanted her, but he’d made her a promise when they’d first met. He wouldn’t impose himself on her unless she was willing, no matter how badly he ached to have her.

Surprisingly, despite her stubbornness and resentment over these past weeks, she’d come to understand his nature well. He certainly understood hers, although she wasn’t very difficult to figure out. She instinctively rebelled against being put on a tether and forced to do something she did not wish to do.

But as her affection for him grew, the tether no longer felt like a restraint but a loving bond.

“Blessed Scottish saints,” he whispered against her mouth, bringing their kiss to an end, his voice a raw, hungry ache.

His arms were still around her, gently swallowing her up as though he never wanted to let her go. She had no desire to draw away either, so she stayed wrapped in his loose embrace. The choice to stay or pull away was always hers. Graelem had gotten that much right. She wanted to stay. “What you do to me, lass.”

She wanted to stay forever.

He ran his big hands along her back and over the swell of her breasts, his thumbs grazing their already taut peaks. His hands trembled and she knew it wasn’t from fever or fatigue, nor was it from bashfulness because Graelem wasn’t the bashful sort.

He wanted her and was struggling to hold back his desire.

“You do the same to me.” She felt breathless and her words mingled with her exhale of air. “Is this what desire feels like?”

“A burning, fiery craving that can’t be doused? Och, lass. That’s desire. The same as I feel for you.”

No, what she felt was more. She was in love with him, not just a physical ache or tingle, but a sensation that penetrated into her soul and made her cry out for him. She wanted to describe this feeling to him, talk to him about it, but she heard her uncle’s snuffling snores, a reminder they were not alone.

She eased away.

He had also begun to ease away, groaning as he fell back against his pillows. “We’ll explore this another time, lass. Soon, I promise. I’m not at my best now anyway. I must smell as rank as a drunk after a night in a dockside ale house.”

“You’re not quite that bad.” She smiled to hide her disappointment. She wanted to pursue the meaning of that kiss. She wanted to learn so much more from him, for she’d felt the hard length of him along her hip and knew that she had affected him as well.

She liked that his gaze was hot and hungry, that his body was tense and smoldering, as though he wanted to roll her under him and do whatever men did to relieve that hard heat between their loins.

He thought he smelled rank, but he didn’t. Beneath the layer of sweat was a clean, manly scent, a heat and dampness mingling with traces of sandalwood from last evening’s bath before the party.

“My sweet, tough Laurel,” he said in a reverent whisper.

Yes, she was tough because she wanted so badly to be released from her promise to marry him. It wasn’t because she wanted to walk away. She had no intention of walking away now. Quite the opposite, she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life. But he’d never know she felt this way—or be certain of it—unless he trusted her enough to set her free.

When she took her vows, it would not be through forced promises and trickery.

“Your lips are pursed,” he said, his brow lightly furrowed in concern. “You have something on your mind.”

She nodded. “But as you said, it’s best we speak later.”

There were loose ends she still needed to tidy up before she discussed the matter of her forced betrothal with Graelem. One of those loose ends was Devlin. She had to see him and let him be the first to know that she intended to become Graelem’s wife.

Poor Dev, he deserved more than a cold letter containing a hastily penned farewell. She’d ask to meet him tomorrow or the day after. She dared not wait longer than that.

She also needed to talk to her parents. Graelem and her father had not discussed terms of the marriage contract yet, and she wanted to be sure her own terms were conveyed and accepted. She wanted to marry Graelem, but theirs could not be a marriage of convenience.

She wanted the sort of marriage her parents had. Love, commitment, shared hopes and dreams. Shared bed.

Shared hearts.

She hoped Graelem would want the same. But what if he didn’t?

Graelem arched an eyebrow, his expression now one of confusion as she slumped in her chair and sighed. “What is it, lass?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

He reached out and took her hand. “You can tell me anything, Laurel. At any time. I don’t want us to hold back secrets from each other, even if it means hurting the other’s feelings or angering the other.”

She nodded. “Neither do I. It’s just that I’m not certain what it is I wish to say to you yet. My brain is a bit scrambled at the moment.” She grinned. “And don’t you dare comment that it’s always scrambled.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he teased, laughing as he ran a hand roughly through his hair, which was damp at the ends and curled messily about his nape and ears. All she could think of was that he looked wonderful and approachable, and she wanted to run her fingers through those thick, brown waves and draw his head to hers for another tenderly scorching kiss.

“Right, not while you’re weak as a lamb and completely at my mercy,” she teased, and then gulped as he shifted toward her, his solid muscles rippling across his chest. He wasn’t weak. He was splendid. He wasn’t at her mercy either. Quite the opposite, she had lost her heart to him and was utterly at his mercy.

The notion terrified her.

How could they be equals in the marriage when she loved him more than he could ever love her?

* * *

By eleven o’clock that morning, Laurel’s father entered Graelem’s bedchamber to fetch her home. Julian must have reported to him that Graelem was out of danger. “Come along, child. Your mother is worried about you.” He patted her on the shoulder. “She needs to know that you’re all right.”