Chapter Thirty
Heathcliff bit his tongue to keep from swearing as he walked past Samantha’s room on his way to the breakfast room. The memory of last night’s ill-executed idea washed over him with new temptation. He’d be stalwart in his resolve to keep himself from her, from tempting himself to anticipate their marriage vows. It would be so easy; he knew it would only take two, maybe three kisses and a well-placed caress to encourage her to allow him more-than-generous liberties. He’d remained strong in his resolve till he’d walked into his room, and the memories flooded back from that morning. As far as proposals went, his wasn’t the least bit romantic, but it was probably the most determined. But the outcome was exactly as he wished, and in a few short hours, she would be his. And those hours seemed quite the permeable and permissible barrier to pleasure, and one leniency led to another, till he found himself quite convinced it was a capital idea to, at the very least, kiss his soon-to-be wife good night.
So, with his less-than-honorable intentions, he’d strode down the hall, only to hear the softest splash coming from her room. She was bathing, and that knowledge allowed his imagination to spin in a myriad of delightful fantasies. He paused just outside her door, listening to the gentle stir of the water, knowing that her flesh would be slightly pink from the warm water, her cheeks rosy, her hair down and pooling at her shoulders . . . it was almost too beautiful to even picture. He heard a small gasp and wondered if maybe she suspected him, if perhaps she would call out to him. It was a farfetched fantasy, but he waited, and before he could make a poor judgment, backed away and ran from the temptation. He shook his head, bringing his thoughts back to the present. The insistent rumble of his belly reminded him of his earlier intention of breaking his fast, and he continued on his way, casting a backward glance at Samantha ’s door.
The irony of things wasn’t lost on him. He took the stairs down, giving his head a slight shake. Samantha, had successfully escaped her father’s control, and in so doing, had created a situation where Heathcliff was constantly trying to escape from the temptation she presented. It was oddly poetic and apt in representing his life.
For pity’s sake, he was a partner in the Temptations club! Yet, as soon as Samantha had become part of his world, he’d been trying to resist the temptation she offered, when he’d made his livelihood telling men to give in to that very temptation.
Who said God didn’t have a sense of humor?
He walked down the hall, his boots making a slight click against the tiled floor, and he veered left into the breakfast room. Cook had set out a smallish meal, and he was intensely grateful. Soon Lucas and Lady Liliah would arrive for the wedding breakfast, but that would be a little later in the morning, and he was quite certain he would be utterly distracted by the vision of his wife-to-be, and the anticipation of making her his, finally. He doubted he’d be inclined to partake of the feast Cook was surely preparing.
Unless Cook prepared treacle tart. He belatedly wished he had mentioned that to Mrs. Keyes. After all, itwashis wedding breakfast; shouldn’t his favorite treat be served? He lifted a plate and filled it with several pieces of toast and some jam before sitting down and reaching for the tea.
Shortly after breaking his fast, he noted the time and took the opportunity to write to Ramsey. The sooner the better, and if he posted the letter today, the news of his marriage would start to circulate in London. Samantha would be safer once the word had been established. He’d submit an announcement toThe Timesas well. Crossing every T and dotting every I, Ramsey would approve of his plan. His friend was the most thorough of the three, and quite detail orientated.
As Heathcliff quit the breakfast room to his study, he made a mental note to request that Ramsey take any liberties he felt helpful in spreading the news. An announcement inThe Timeswas standard for any marriage, but perhaps there was some detail Heathcliff was missing, and Ramsey would surely remember it. It was quite helpful to have such a friend.
He withdrew a piece of paper from his desk and dipped his pen in the black ink. After dispatching a letter to Ramsey, Heathcliff’s lips quirked into a grin, wishing he could have the added amusement of seeing his friend’s face upon reading the news. Then, Heathcliff withdrew another sheet of paper, this one addressed to the editor ofThe Times. He didn’t know the man personally, but the editor no doubt knew Heathcliff. It was always a boon when your reputation preceded you, and Heathcliff was certain the editor would be pleased to publish a bit of news before the ton was aware of it.
After calling for Sothers, and informing him to dispatch the missives, Heathcliff pulled out his watch and groaned.
He could begin to get himself ready, but it would be awfully early, and he found himself at odds as to how to proceed. He walked over to the window, his land stretching out before him in the morning sun. As they often did when he was in his study, his thoughts traveled to his father. A sad smile tipped Heathcliff’s lips. His father would have liked Samantha. Hell, he would have loved her. It was tragic that he’d only known Margot, that traitorous wench. It was astounding, really, how one person could poison another so deeply. He was shocked that he’d even considered marriage after the wound dealt by his first go at matrimony. But that was a testament to Samantha, not necessarily his character. She made him . . . hope. Really, it was as simple as that: hope. It was something he’d pushed away, ignored and feared for so long, and to experience it was soothing, astounding, and powerful.
He sighed as his brows pinched. But just because he had hope didn’t mean he didn’t fear. Fear of failure, of not being enough, or not being able to love Samantha as she deserved. He thought of Lucas and Lady Liliah. It was clear they held a deep affection for each other. If he couldn’t offer that depth of emotion to Samantha because of his brokenness, would she resent him? Could he endure that?
“Knock, knock.” Lucas’s familiar voice called out.
Heathcliff spun, half-startled by the interruption into his musings, and offered his friend a welcoming smile. “Too lazy to actually knock?”
“Yes. I’m still exhausted from yesterday.” As if to prove his point, Lucas yawned.
“I can see.” Heathcliff chuckled. “You’re early.”
“I thought I should be here for you, be supportive and whatnot.” He dusted his nails on his jacket and then regarded his friend.
Heathcliff narrowed his eyes. “Your wife told you to say that.”
Lucas nodded. “Yes, she did.”
Heathcliff shook his head. “Taking orders from a skirt?”
Lucas gave him an expression that brokered no argument. “You will soon too, and there’s no shame in it. I’ve learned my wife is often right. However, if you tell her, it will be pistols at dawn.”
“You can’t shoot to save your soul,” Heathcliff replied.
“Rapiers it is.”
Heathcliff winced. “I’ll take pistols. That way I can do away with your irritating self far quicker.”
“Afraid of a little blood?” Lucas teased.
“We’re far too evenly matched, and our wives would have to nurse us back to health. Together, no doubt. It would be a fate worse than death.”
“Hear, hear,” Lucas agreed, then changed the subject as he took a seat opposite Heathcliff’s desk. “Having any second thoughts?”
The question took Heathcliff by surprise, and he paused for a moment in confusion before saying, “About?”
