Wedded in Winter (The Wicked Winters Book 2) Page 9

  As it turned out, Bea’s chance arrived sooner rather than later.

  Lady Emilia had planned, much to Bea’s dismay, a grand ball for that evening. Bea detested balls. Unfortunately for her, whilst she had been left behind in London, her trunk had not, meaning the fine gowns Lady Emilia had commissioned for Bea were all present. Including her ball gown.

  Dancing made her queasy, and she was forever in danger of trodding upon her partner’s instep, or tripping over her hem. Nor could she recall the steps. But for the sake of Lady Emilia and her brother, and especially in the wake of her own lapse in propriety with Merrick, and most certainly because she hoped she might cross paths with him, Bea was in attendance.

  Lady Emilia had seen the ballroom—a grand affair befitting a tremendous home the size of Abingdon House, complete with a gleaming parquet floor and no less than a dozen chandeliers—charmingly decorated with mistletoe and lit with an abundance of candles. The punch was excellent, the musicians gay, and the revelers were many, invitations all curated by Lady Emilia herself, with an eye toward potential matchmaking for the Winter sisters.

  Bea stood alone, watching the gathering, when she suddenly became alert. All her senses sharpened, a soft, slow feeling of anticipation coiling in her belly. And she knew, somehow, Merrick was near.

  He strode into her line of sight, looking unfairly handsome beneath the warm glow of the candlelight. His blond hair had been carefully combed to tame its ordinary wild waves. He wore black breeches, a silver waistcoat, and a black coat over his shirt. The cravat at his neck was tied simply yet stylishly. She took in the sight of his long, strong legs, his broad chest, his muscled shoulders, and part of her did not believe this was the same man she had felt surrounding her with his warmth this morning.

  Merrick reached her and bowed, a gleam in his blue gaze which made her flush. “Miss Winter,” he greeted her formally. “May I have the honor of a dance?”

  Though she had curtseyed to him in turn, she felt somehow awkward, hoping he did not regret what had happened. That he was not angry with her for the situation in which they found themselves, partially her making and part his own.

  “I am an abysmal dancer,” she warned him, biting her lip. The last thing she wished was to stomp all over his feet and end up in a crumpled heap upon the floor.

  “As am I,” he confessed with a rakish grin that took her by surprise.

  She felt the force of his grin all the way to her core. “Are you not cross with me, Mr. Hart?”

  “Being cross is a waste of time,” he surprised her by saying. “We make our choices, and we must accept the repercussions.”

  It was hardly reassuring. Not at all what she had hoped to hear from him.

  “Why do you wish to dance with me, Mr. Hart?” she asked then, prompted by her pride.

  His lips twitched. “Because I want to dance with you, Miss Winter. Need there be another reason?”

  “Is it because of my brother?” she asked, giving her fan an agitated flick as she made sure no one was within listening distance before she continued. “You need not feel obligated to betroth yourself to me to save your position. He cannot force us into marrying. We did nothing wrong.”

  Mayhap that was not precisely true, but she understood enough to know they had not gone too far. She was still a virgin, and she would sooner wed one of the lords she sought to escape rather than a man who was only marrying her out of obligation.

  “It was wrong of me to…be so familiar with you,” he said then.

  There was an intense warmth in his regard that had her flushing as she recalled all too well how wondrous the sensations he had sparked within her had been. She had to look away from him. He was too handsome, too tempting.

  Her gaze settled on the dancers making merry before them. “Nevertheless, I will not be your duty, Mr. Hart. I will face my brother’s wrath on my own.”

  “Bea,” he said softly. “I will not allow you to bear the consequences on your own. As a gentleman, I cannot.”

  The tenderness in his voice had her turning back to him, a pang in her heart, but still, she remained firm. “I shall not marry a man who is being forced into it.”

  Merrick studied her, his handsome face solemn. “We have a few weeks to acquaint ourselves with the notion, but for now, we have tonight, and all I want to do is dance with you.”

  How he stole her breath. A frisson rolled through her, remembered pleasure making her ache between her thighs.

  “I will step on your toes,” she forced herself to warn him.

  A cocky grin curved his sensual lips. “Never fear. I shall not let you.”

  She eyed him warily, still unnerved by the intensity in his eyes. “You are very sure of yourself, Mr. Hart.”

  His grin only deepened. “If I am to be the man who marries you, I need to be, Miss Winter. And now, it sounds as if a minuet is about to begin. Will you join me?”

  Bea placed her hand in the crook of his proffered arm. “Yes,” she said. “I will.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Did he truly ruin you?”

  “Why did you not say something before the ball?”

  “How can you be sure he is not a fortune hunter like the rest of them?”

  “I do not know why any of you are so surprised. Mr. Hart has always mooned after Bea like a lost mongrel.”

  In the chamber she had been assigned at Abingdon Hall, Bea stared at the five expectant feminine faces before her. Lady Emilia was the sole voice of reason, a fact which was likely down to her status as the only Winter among them who was not a Winter by birth but rather by the circumstance of her marriage.

  “Sisters,” she said calmly, “allow poor Bea the chance to breathe, if you please. You are crowding her, and after all her travel and the upheaval of the past few days, I dare say she is weary. I know I would be if I had to face your brother when he is in a fine dudgeon.”

  “Thank you,” she said on a sigh.

  The relative quiet of the last few days had made her forget for a moment just how overwhelming her sisters could be. It was a miracle Lady Emilia had agreed to become Dev’s wife after meeting them for the first time.

  “We are all tired after the evening’s festivities,” Lady Emilia continued. “Let us have a seat, shall we?”

  The chamber—like all the rest of Abingdon Hall—was immense and impressive, furnished with a large sitting area featuring enough seating for a small army, it seemed. Bea seated herself on a chair, her feet aching and her mind still whirling after all that had come to pass since the morning. Pru, Grace, Christabella, Eugie, and Emilia followed suit.

  Bea stared at her sisters, trying to recall which question had been asked by whom. She began with Eugie, whose own unfortunate history with a scoundrel who had wanted only her fortune had left her reputation in tatters.

  “Mr. Hart is not a fortune hunter, Eugie,” she said gently. “I can assure you. Marrying me was the furthest notion from his mind.”

  “Did he fall in love with you in the span of one day?” asked Pru shrewdly. As the eldest, she was also the most protective.

  That question rather stung, for the answer was that Merrick was not in love with her. Before she could ponder why the realization filled her with such an urgent sense of longing, Grace chimed in.

  “Have none of you ever seen Mr. Hart watch Bea?” Her lip curled in apparent disgust, for Grace—far more than any of them—was the most averse to Dev’s matrimonial objectives for them. “The poor man has eyes for no one else whenever she is in the room.”

  Bea flushed. As Dev’s most trusted man, charged with the overseeing of his many business interests, Merrick had been a part of their unconventional family for years. She had caught him watching her on many occasions, but she had always thought it was disapproval she had seen in his stony blue gaze. Now she wondered if it had been something else all along. After all, had he not said she was the one thing he had wanted but could not have?

  “Bea is beautiful,” Christabella said
. The most free-spirited sister, she was also the sweetest, but her temper rivaled their brother’s in ferocity. “Of course Mr. Hart ought to be in love with her. But what I wish to know is are you truly ruined? I always thought if any of us should be ruined, it would be me first. Now I feel rather disappointed you beat me to it.”

  “Christabella,” Lady Emilia chastised in a scandalized tone. “Have I failed you so utterly that you would wish yourself to be compromised?”

  “With the right gentleman, it could prove quite delightful,” Christabella said unapologetically.

  “Are you certain he is not grasping?” Eugie asked, frowning. “A charming and handsome façade so oft hides a rotten core. I do hate to say it, Bea, but you are the babe of the family, and who shall protect you if we do not?”

  “Dev will protect her,” Lady Emilia interjected firmly, and with complete confidence—such was her love for Dev. “Just as he will protect you all and see each one of you wedded to a suitable gentleman who will cherish you as you deserve to be.”

  “I am pleased to wed Mr. Hart,” Bea added then, though whether she spoke the words to reassure her sisters or herself, she could not say.

  The truth of it was, she could not shake the fear Merrick had agreed to marry her solely out of a misguided sense of duty. Though she longed for him, the last thing she wanted was to trap him into a marriage he did not desire.

  “If you are happy, then we shall all of us be happy for you,” Christabella assured her, flashing the smile that revealed both of her dimples.

  She thought of how she had felt this evening, dancing in Merrick’s arms. She could only hope it was enough as she smiled back at her beloved sisters and sister-in-law.

  “I am happy,” she said, doing her best to tamp down the questions and the doubt churning through her. “Truly.”

  “I know you do not drink the poison,” Dev told Merrick wryly. “But are you sure you do not want a brandy or a port?”

  His father had cured him from all desire to ever touch the stuff. Merrick flashed his friend a tight smile, feeling as if he were about to face an inquisition. “Thank you, but I must decline.”

  Because the ball the night before had lasted well into the early morning hours, Dev had summoned him to the library the following afternoon to discuss the particulars of the marriage contract with Bea.

  Marriage.

  Bea.

  She was going to be his wife.

  It was still a shock. A damned good one, but a shock, nevertheless. He had always imagined he would wed one day. But he had never dared to believe he would ever be able to call Beatrix Winter his.

  “Shall I have one of the footmen fetch a chamber pot?” Dev asked him. “You suddenly look a bit green, Hart.”

  “No,” Merrick bit out, cursing Dev inwardly as he watched the devil stride toward him with a cocky gait. “Can you truly believe the notion of taking Bea as my wife would make me retch?”

  He was insulted on Bea’s behalf.

  And irritated.

  Most men cowered before Devereaux Winter, not just because of his immense wealth and power, but because of his tremendous size. He was tall and massive, all muscled strength and meaty paws. But Merrick was a fair match to his brawn, and after spending his youth toiling in a dark, dusty, dangerous factory, he was no longer frightened of anything.

  Dev eyed him solemnly before raising his glass of port to his lips and taking a slow sip. “She is not Bea to you yet, Hart. After you satisfy me that you will treat her well and the banns are read, and the vows are spoken, she will be your wife. If you so much as breathe upon her in the wrong fashion between now and then, I shall thrash you to within an inch of your life.”

  “I would thrash myself first,” he said, and he meant those words. “You have my word I will not bring any dishonor upon her.”

  “I know you will not.” Dev flashed him his fox’s smile once more, the one which said he had all the control.

  And he did, because he was Devereaux Bloody Winter, the richest man in all England.

  Still, Merrick inclined his head. “Thank you for your confidence. Given my lapse of control, it is more than I deserve.”

  Dev’s lips tightened into a grim line before he spoke again. “My confidence is because of the contract I intend to have prepared. I have treated you like a brother these last few years, and there is no man I have trusted or admired more than you. But my own damned sister, Hart…”

  Merrick lowered his head as a bitter wave of shame washed over him. “I understand, Dev. I am sorry for my actions. My only explanation is that I…”

  His words drifted off as he realized, with utter shock, what he had been about to say.

  My only explanation is that I love her.

  Good God. Did he? Was it possible? Or was this a case of his tongue running wild, making promises his mind would later deny?

  “You what, Hart?” Dev demanded.

  Try as he might to convince himself otherwise, the truth loomed before him, undeniable as a fist to the gut. Or a Devereaux Winter fist to the jaw, as it were.

  He loved Beatrix Winter. He loved her stubborn recklessness, her inquisitive mind, her determination to not just believe in herself but to take action upon what she wanted most. He loved her flashing blue eyes, her golden curls, her upturned nose, her sweet pink lips, her…

  Fucking hell.

  He swallowed. “I love her.”

  Dev eyed him for what could have been seconds, minutes, or hours. Merrick could not be certain. All he did know was that he was being examined, in most thorough fashion, by one of the most intelligent and most frightening men he knew. A man he considered a friend, a man who was his employer, and soon to be his brother-in-law.

  But he stood firm for the perusal, his gaze never wavering. He had nothing to hide. His feelings for Bea had been a part of him for quite some time now. He simply had not allowed himself to indulge in them or acknowledge them. But he knew now. And he knew what to do with them.

  Or so he thought.

  At long last, Dev nodded. “That is most reassuring to hear, Hart. There is not another man I respect more, nor another man whose wits I admire more. I truly believe you can make Beatrix very happy, else I would never countenance the match. I could have easily secured an earl for her, perhaps even a duke, you realize.”

  He nodded. “I am not of noble birth, nor will I ever be, but unlike a man born knowing his worth, I have been forced to prove mine and earn it all my life. I cannot help but feel it sets me apart.”

  Dev flashed him a true smile then. “As a condition of the marriage settlement, you will promise to allow Bea to pursue her interests within reason and safety. After discovering what she has been about for the last few months, I know she will simply sneak out and do what she wishes if presented the chance. My wife has persuaded me to believe that a bit of leniency with Bea will go a long way. You are entrusted with her protection and her happiness now, Hart. In return, I will allow you full ownership of five of the Winter textile mills. You will also have control over half of Bea’s dowry, while Bea will control the other half. The remainder of her fortune, as my father’s will insists, will be managed and invested by me until the birth of your first child. At which time, the full extent of her portion of the Winter fortune shall be in your hands.”

  Merrick’s mind scarcely understood half of what Dev had just told him. It was too much, far too much. More than he wanted. Bea as his wife was gift enough. But control of mills? A portion of the vast Winter fortune? For the son of a drunkard who had spent the first half of his life toiling in a factory, it defied logic.

  He shook his head. “I do not want that, Dev. I do not want any of it. All I want is Bea—Miss Winter—as my wife.”

  Dev closed the distance between them, resting a hand on Merrick’s shoulder. “This is the way of things, Hart. Whether you wish it or not. All I ask is that you be kind to my sister. Treat her well, tame her waywardness if you can, keep her safe, and, above all, love her.”
>
  Merrick felt a strange prickle in his eyes. He blinked. It was not—nay, it could not be—he never… Tears were out of the question. He blinked again. “Thank you for trusting me. You have my promise I shall strive to always do all those things.”

  Dev’s fingers tightened on him. “You will not strive, Hart. You will do. Else you know the consequences.”

  Merrick’s lips kicked into a reluctant half grin.

  Yes. Yes, he did.

  The merrymaking was well underway at Abingdon Hall.

  But Bea had no desire to play games and entertain frivolity when her heart was so heavy. Slipping away from a game of hoodman blind which was in full, riotous force, she made her way to the library, where she had taken to hiding herself over the past week. A merry fire crackled in the grate at the opposite end of the cavernous room.

  On a sigh, she walked slowly past the shelves of tomes lining the walls, searching for something suitably distracting. Since her arrival, she had been swept up in Lady Emilia’s impressive efforts at entertaining her dozens of guests. Sumptuous dinners and endless games had kept her busy. But she had been afforded precious little time with Merrick.

  The banns had been read once, and yet she had not even had an opportunity to meet with him again in private. Their exchanges had been polite and few, all in the watchful presence of Dev or one of her sisters.

  And as the days passed, bringing her ever nearer to their impending nuptials, Bea’s disquiet only increased. She still could not be confident Merrick truly wanted to marry her. The last thing she wished was to be his duty.

  Even if the prospect of marrying him filled her with anticipation. She had been longing for him for years. The thought he could be hers at last was almost like a dream. But the dream would not fulfill her if he did not feel the same way she did.

  She scanned the spines, looking for poetry, desperate for distraction.