Page 32 of The Marquess’s Forbidden Bride

In a very short space of time, she’d come to prize his company, his wit—and oh, my, those kisses!—far too much. She wasn’t sure how she would support the disappointment of losing all of that if he did choose not to see her again.

At least she had that upcoming ride with him, she rallied herself. She’d look forward to that and put all the rest—about which she could do nothing anyway—out of mind. Giving her partner a determined smile, she made herself focus on the steps.

Chapter Eleven

In the early morning three days later, Charles walked his horse impatiently just inside the gates of Hyde Park. He’d sent a note to Miss Wellingford yesterday, suggesting the time for a rendezvous and received a brief acceptance that afternoon.

A little niggle of worry troubled him that she might decide not to come. He hated that she’d been the focus of that ugly scene with Lady Routham—whom he could cheerfully throttle. He was no more eager to foist his company on his half-sister than she was to have it and would happily keep his distance. But the attack on Emma he could not forgive.

Recalling that lady’s reaction, though, he had to smile. Quite resilient, Miss Emma. He imagined most maidens would wilt under such a vicious verbal assault. Not Emma Wellingford. She gave her attacker a measuring glance, treated her with the perfect courtesy of a true lady and took her leave unhurriedly, as if parting from an acquaintance rather than fleeing from a bitter diatribe.

First skirmish to you, Emma, he thought.

He probably shouldn’t think of her as ‘Emma’ with no tie of blood or family between them, Society would consider his doing so overly familiar. But the strength of his draw to her, the enjoyment he had in her company, the sense of kinship he felt when near her—not to mention the intimacy of those kisses, the memory of which sparked a heated spiral of desire—all that made her seem too close a friend to be able to consider her in formal terms.

A friend to whom he increasingly hoped he might one day be able to offer more than friendship.

He heard the clock at a nearby church strike the hour. If she were going to fail him, he would know soon.

Catching the sound of approaching hoofbeats, he looked to the street. A rush of relief and anticipation filled him as he spotted Miss Wellingford approaching. He gave a small prayer of thanks that, after the shock of Lady Routham’s verbal attack faded, she had still not been frightened off by his half-sister’s animosity.

That the bond they shared proved strong enough to withstand it.

He remounted his gelding and rode to intercept her. ‘Thank you for meeting me. And so promptly, despite the early hour.’

‘I’m always prompt, and it is always a pleasure to see you. So, no need for thanks.’

They trotted their mounts through the park gates and headed down Rotten Row. ‘A gallop first, then a chat?’ he suggested.

‘Always a gallop first,’ she returned. ‘Shall we go?’

At his nod, she spurred her mare, Charles signalling his gelding to follow.

The rush of air, the thrill of moving at breakneck speed astride a thousand pounds of spirited horseflesh raised even higher spirits already elevated by the prospect of an uninterrupted hour spent in Emma Wellingford’s company. The enjoyment he felt at the idea reinforced his determination to hammer out a plan whereby he could continue to see her often, even if she did not feel comfortable dancing at balls with him.

Their mounts thundered neck and neck, not slowing until they reached the end of the long straight stretch. ‘Nothing as exhilarating as a good gallop!’ Miss Wellingford cried, patting her mare’s neck.

He gave her a look. ‘Nothing?’

To his delight, she blushed. ‘Well… I can think of one or two things that might rival a gallop in excitement and pleasure.’ Sobering, she said, ‘Shall we let Higgins walk our mounts while we stroll by the Serpentine?’

It would allow them to converse at a distance far enough not to be overheard, but close enough to satisfy propriety by remaining within sight of the groom. Nodding agreement, Charles dismounted, tossed his reins to Higgins, then walked over to assist Miss Wellingford from the saddle.

Though he might have let his hands linger at her side just a bit longer than necessary and remained beside her, gazing into those wide hazel eyes and revelling in the warmth of her body so close to his, she didn’t seem displeased. Rather she gazed back at him just as intently, her hand lingering on his supporting arm.

At length, he made himself move away. ‘Shall we dispense with pleasantries and proceed to matters of greatest concern?’

‘Certainly. Since you issued this invitation, I assume you have spoken with Lady Richland.’

‘Yes. She agreed public wrangling was not helpful to either of us. Acknowledged that, as difficult as she found it, she had at length accepted that I am the rightful heir and we can only move forward on that basis. She was gracious enough to offer to withdraw to the Dower House on the Stratton estate, giving me unimpeded access to Stratton House here in London and Stratton Hall. Making the offer because she felt it required, I imagine, but I appreciate the conciliatory gesture nonetheless.’

‘An olive branch, to be sure. One I suspect you assured her was not necessary?’

‘Exactly. I will have to take up residence at both places at some point, but I’ll find it easier to acclimate myself in stages, swallowing the consequences of bearing the title first, assuming the myriad duties and only gradually transferring from my familiar lodgings to the splendour of the marquisate’s residences. I’m certain Lady Richland would much prefer spending the Season in London, being able to receive friends at Stratton House, rather than being immured alone in the country. I assured her again that she should consider both residences her home indefinitely. For which she thanked me, saying she would be pleased to remain there.’ He grimaced. ‘At least, she added, until I brought home a bride. A suitable bride.’

‘Who had better not be a Wellingford?’

‘She was…discreet enough not to mention any names, though the inference was clear. Apparently, she didn’t feel her daughter’s need to spell it out. However, I told her that when I marry, which I do not expect to be soon, my bride will be eminently suitable. But I alone will choose her to meet my requirements.’