Pulling his robe tightly around his naked body and knotting the belt at his waist to make certain he was completely covered, he headed towards the stairs, not entirely sure what was about to greet him.
Last night’s kiss had certainly changed everything, and not only because he was now locked into this marriage. He had seen a side to Miss Whitmore he had suspected might exist but now knew for certain. A passionate nature that was simmering just beneath that tightly controlled surface. And soon that simmering woman was to become his wife. What he thought about that he was unsure, but there was one thing about which there could be no doubt. He would have to accept a forced marriage, just as many men had done before him, and he was sure many other reckless fools would have to do in the future.
Marriage was a state he most certainly was not champing at the bit to enter, far from it, but, as Mr Whitmore had said last night, he knew the consequences of his actions. He would just have to accept his punishment for that one fateful lapse in judgement.
But that one fateful lapse in judgement had also given rise to many confusing thoughts he couldn’t even begin to sort out. So he had gone with the easiest option and chosen to leave those thoughts to a later date—a date which hopefully would never come.
But one thing required no thought whatsoever. He knew Miss Whitmore wanted this marriage even less than he did. If the events of last night had occurred with any other young lady, he would suspect it had all been intentional. But when her mother had all but dragged her away from his carriage, she did not have the appearance of a woman who had got her wish. Quite the contrary.
He entered the drawing room to find Miss Whitmore pacing up and down on the Oriental rug.
‘To what do I owe this unexpected honour?’ he asked.
‘We have to do something,’ she stated, not stopping her frantic pacing. ‘We have to find a way out of this.’
He crossed the room and gestured towards an armchair, a gesture she ignored.
‘You know there is no way out of this,’ he said, watching her pace. ‘Your father caught me kissing you. We both know the penalty for that.’
He frowned, wondering if describing their forthcoming nuptials as a penalty was appropriate, but Miss Whitmore’s expression did not change, so presumably she thought the same.
‘It’s all your fault, you know,’ she said, momentarily stopping in her pacing to glare at him.
Of that Jacob had no doubt. He had kissed a debutante. Every man knew what happened if you were caught kissing a debutante. You were up the aisle before your feet had time to touch the ground. That was one of the many reasons why he had always avoided such women. Until now.
‘Yes, I apologise,’ he said, genuinely sorry for what he had done for more reasons than he could mention, although among them was the strange way that kiss had affected him. That was something he was struggling to understand, especially as it had been little more than a brief kiss. It had aroused the usual physical reaction of course, but it had stirred up something else as well, something indefinable. But that too could be consigned to the list of things to be thought about at a much later date.
Bates entered with a coffeepot and two cups. Quietly placed them on an end table and just as quietly departed.
Jacob poured the coffee and held a cup out to Miss Whitmore. She flicked her hand in the air and frowned, which presumably meant,No, thank you. I do not wish to drink coffee. Nor did she take a seat, so he would have to drink his much-needed pick-me-up while standing.
‘I gave you the option to call this whole engagement thing off,’ she continued. ‘Why on earth did you not take if? If you had, none of this would have happened.’
Jacob took a sip of the thick black coffee then placed the cup on the mantelpiece. ‘That’s why you’re angry with me? For agreeing to continue our fake engagement for the rest of the Season?’
‘Yes.’ She paused in her pacing to scowl at him. ‘If you had not, we would not be facing the prospect of a forced marriage.’
That was debatable, but he suspected Miss Whitmore was in no mood for a spirited debate. ‘I believe it was your father catching me kissing you that sealed our fate.’
She stopped pacing, closed her eyes briefly and then looked in his direction, a blush tinging her cheeks. ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that.’
‘You’re sorry? What on earth have you to be sorry about? We both know I should not have kissed you, and I should be the one asking for your forgiveness. So, once again, let me say I am truly sorry for my behaviour last night.’
He picked up his coffee cup then placed it back in the saucer. Was that true? He regretted being caught and he certainly regretted having to get married, but could he say in all honesty that he regretted kissing Miss Whitmore? Kissing her had been unlike anything he had experienced before, and that was why he had not listened to the commands of that underused sensible part of his mind. He’d ignored that little voice reminding him that he had a debutante in his arms and instead had given in to what he knew to be madness.
‘You didn’t kiss me,’ she said, causing his eyes to widen and his brows to rise.
‘You appear to have a very short memory. I definitely kissed you. I remember it well.’ Too well.
‘No, I was the one who kissed you.’
Yes, that was right. Her lips had touched his first. It had been as surprising as it had been welcome, but surely, who’d kissed whom first was an irrelevant technicality, and it hadn’t taken long before he’d most certainly been kissing her back, and for that he now had to pay the price.
‘I am truly sorry,’ she added.
‘No need to apologise,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I for one enjoyed it.’ And her behaviour last night made it patently obvious she’d enjoyed it as well, although her severe expression today would contradict that claim.
‘Well, yes, it’s not that I didn’t…’ She bit her lip, a surprisingly shy gesture for such a forthright young woman. Jacob watched on, rather enjoying seeing her like this. ‘I just mean if I hadn’t kissed you, we would not be in this mess now, and that is what I am apologising for.’ Her expression was once again stern.
