Page 65 of Reforming Lord Neil

Her lips sought his with as much longing as had been in his heart for weeks. He held her close enough to feel her heartbeat against his chest, one arm keeping her near while his hand held her, fingertips in her hair and thumb brushing her jaw. Teresa’s kisses were like rain, and he was a man too long in a draught.

Teresa deserved every happiness he could give her. Neil slowed his kisses, becoming more tender. He parted from her, hardly able to hear her ragged breathing over his own.

“Will you marry me?” She had not yet answered, and he had to hear it.

“Yes,” she whispered. “As soon as possible.”

He chuckled and pressed another kiss to her forehead. “I agree. The week after your mother exchanges vows with the vicar. Can you wait until then? We cannot take her day of happiness.”

She pulled back and looked up at him, her expression bright. “You are the best man I know, putting my mother’s happiness before yours that way.”

“I have another motive,” he confessed, purposefully putting on his most wicked grin. “It means she will be married and living at the vicarage, so we can send Caroline to her after our wedding.”

Teresa laughed, and even in the lamplight he had the great pleasure of watching her blush.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The day before Teresa’s wedding, she lingered in the orchard with Neil. The leaves were beginning to change colors, and there was nothing to keep them there except for their desire to be with one another.

Arm in arm, they walked beneath the trees. “Tomorrow,” she said, “I will be Mrs. Duncan. I never thought I would love someone again. Not like this.”

Neil raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I never thought I would love anyone at all. Thankfully, I have you as a most excellent teacher in such matters.”

Teresa was fully prepared to reward him for that compliment with a kiss, but a clatter of hooves and wheels made her pause. They turned, together, to face the house. A carriage had appeared on the road, and turned into their lane.

“Goodness me,” Teresa breathed, hand going to her mouth. She recognized the coat of arms only because Neil had recently drawn it for her. A dark blue background with a black swan upon it declared for all to see that the carriage belonged to the Marquess of Alderton.

“They would turn up now,” Neil muttered, sounding rather cross. “My family enjoys stomping upon the happiness of others.” He kept Teresa’s hand in his, but stalked toward the cottage and their unexpected visitors.

Teresa kept up with his long-legged stride, trying to keep her dread at bay. Neil loved her. Nothing his family said or did would change that. She knew that.

One of the men atop the carriage had climbed down and opened the door. He reached inside and helped a most elegant woman to alight. Her hair was the same honey-blonde color as Neil’s, and though she had to be older than Teresa’s mother, there was a handsomeness about her that suggested she had once been a great beauty.

The woman who stepped out next was a younger version of the first, closer in age to Teresa. “Dear me. What is this horrid place?” she asked, her voice clearly ringing through the air.

Caroline had appeared in the door, her grandmother behind her. The vicar and his new bride had come to visit and help Caroline pack a small trunk for her stay with them.

“Mother,” Neil called as they stepped upon the newly laid gravel between house and barn. “Olivia. Welcome to Bramble Cottage.” He gave Teresa’s hand a squeeze when the marchioness turned toward them. “Allow me to present Mrs. Clapham.” Teresa curtsied, undaunted by the chilly glares from both women.

Though they were Neil’s family, she saw at once they held no warmth in their hearts for her. Perhaps not for anyone.

“I received your letter,” Lady Alderton said. “You are quite determined to wed this woman?” She did not at all mention the other letters Teresa knew Neil had sent her, every week since he had come to Dunwich and the cottage.

Had she only come to prevent her son’s wedding?

Neil drew Teresa closer and looked down at her, his expression determined. “I am. I love her.” He looked up. “You are welcome to stay for the wedding tomorrow.”

Lady Olivia huffed and stamped one foot, a childish display of temper even Caroline had given up years before. “Neil, how could you? And what are you dressed like? A peasant?” Her lip curled. “Papa was on the verge of relenting until your letter arrived.”

Teresa swallowed and looked at Neil again.

He shrugged. “I doubt that.”

With slow, purposeful words, Lady Alderton spoke. “He has written you entirely out of his will. You will receive nothing more from him, even after his death.”

For a moment, Neil’s expression fell. But not with regret. With sorrow. “I hope his anger has not hurt you, Mother.”

That statement seemed to surprise his mother. She looked at him more carefully, then at last looked to Teresa. “And what do you have to say to this, Mrs. Clapham? My son is penniless. For the rest of his life.”