The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride

brother?

‘No. George does not come to Fratcombe Manor.’ He kissed her hair, breathing deeply. When he spoke again, his anger was leashed. ‘You will meet him-and my mother-at King’s Portbury. But only after I have made you mistress of it. Which requires a wedding. A very private wedding. As soon as I can arrange it.’

‘You mean here?’

‘Why, yes. I assumed you would wish the Reverend Aubrey to perform the ceremony? Was I wrong?’

She shook her head. Her throat was too tight for speech and she could feel the beginning of tears in her eyes. To be married to Jon, and by the dear man who had protected her against so much pain and loneliness…It was much more happiness than she deserved.

‘Excellent. I shall speak to him tomorrow. Or rather-’ he glanced up at the sky, but it was still quite dark ‘-later this morning.’

‘What if he will not agree? What if-?’

‘He will agree, I promise you.’

‘But-’

Jon silenced her protests by putting his lips to hers and kissing her hungrily. Soon passion was beginning to consume them both, just as before. For Beth, everything else was forgotten.

She tore her mouth from his at last. ‘I need to touch you.’ She was wriggling within her velvet. ‘I don’t care if I freeze in the process.’

‘But I do,’ he said, on the thread of a laugh. He rose easily to his feet and started across the roof, still holding Beth securely wrapped. ‘Let us return downstairs where it is warm. We have hours yet before I must take you back. A long, long time, Beth, in which I promise I shall let you do exactly as you wish.’

Jon strode so quickly along the hallway that Mrs Aubrey’s little maid was left a long way behind. ‘I will announce myself,’ he called over his shoulder. Better to have this done quickly. He rapped on the library door and threw it open, without waiting for the rector to respond.

‘Jonathan!’ Mr Aubrey had been sitting behind his desk, quill in hand, gazing vacantly out of the window. He threw down his pen and started to his feet, smiling broadly. ‘What brings you to see us so early?’

Jon paused in the open doorway to bow politely, before closing it quickly and coming forward into the small book-lined room. A good log fire burned in the grate, warming the library against the autumn chill, just as Jon had warmed the folly room last night…

‘Jonathan?’ The rector’s smile had become a little uncertain.

Jon dragged his wandering thoughts back to the business in hand. This should be a straightforward interview, a matter of plain dealing between two men who knew each other very well. So why did memories of sweet-tasting skin and sighs of ecstasy keep trying to intrude and divert him from his purpose?

Because this was more than a business transaction now. Those last blissful hours holding Beth in his arms, uniting their bodies till they were sated with loving, and yet still yearning for each other… In one night, Jon had learned that their physical union could be more satisfying than he would have dreamt. Could be? Rather, it would be, for both of them, provided there was no impediment now.

‘Good morning, sir. I have come to ask your permission to marry Beth.’

The rector’s mouth dropped open. He stared. No wonder. Jon had blurted out his request like a panting, love- sick boy, rather than a grown man. What had become of the Earl of Portbury’s hard-won self-control?

The rector cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. ‘It is perhaps a little early in the day,’ he said carefully, ‘but I think I should welcome a glass of Madeira.’ He crossed to the little table where the decanters stood. Stopper in hand, he half-turned back to Jon. ‘You will join me, I hope, my boy?’

Jon forced himself to respond as if this interview were the most normal thing in the world. ‘Thank you, sir. With pleasure.’

By the time the rector had set down the glasses and resumed his seat behind the desk, they had both had time to collect their thoughts. Jon took the visitor’s chair opposite the rector’s and allowed himself a small swallow of wine. It was only Madeira, but it burned its way down to his empty stomach. After returning to the folly to remove every last trace of Beth’s presence there, he had stopped only long enough at the Manor to change his clothes.

The rector set his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. ‘You are asking my permission to marry Beth?’

‘Yes, sir. As soon as may be. We hope you will perform the ceremony, too. If you agree, I plan to post up to London for a special licence.’ He had not said as much to Beth, but it was the only sensible way to proceed. She would accept that. She was nothing if not sensible.

‘Jonathan, I… My boy, I do not see that I can give you what you seek. Beth lives here as our adopted daughter, it is true, but I have no authority over her, especially not in something as important as this. She is a grown woman and her own mistress.’

Jon nodded. ‘I am aware of that, sir. And I am proud to say that she has already accepted my proposal of marriage.’

‘Indeed? You surprise me.’

Jon bristled. ‘May I ask why?’

The rector laid his hands flat on the desk and leaned forward, frowning. ‘Beth has great common sense, and great delicacy, too. She knows-as you and I do, also-that she is a lady born and bred, but a lady with neither name nor family. A nameless female cannot marry a peer of the realm. I cannot believe that she would have agreed to such a thing.’

Jon swallowed his surging temper. This old man was his friend, and Beth’s protector, to boot. If he could not be brought round to see the advantages of the match, no one else would, either. ‘Beth has your name, sir, and that is quite honourable enough for this peer of the realm. Allow me to be open about this. I may be an earl, but I do not seek another great match, for I have learned how disastrous they can be. What is more, I have seen the available candidates. Believe me, sir, I could not abide any of them for even a week.’ He forced himself to relax a little, and tried to smile winningly. ‘Beth and I have an understanding. She will bring me the peaceful, comfortable home I have been longing for and-God willing!-the children I need to carry on my line. In return, I will give her my name and the position she has lacked since her unfortunate accident. Once she is the Countess of Portbury, no one will dare to question her past.’

The rector’s eyebrows rose but he said only, ‘So it is not a love match?’

Love? Jon shook his head vehemently. ‘Love is for hot-headed young bloods and simpering misses just out of the schoolroom. No, sir, this is to be a union of wiser heads than that. I esteem Beth greatly. She is a woman of sterling qualities, as she has amply demonstrated during her time here at Fratcombe. She will make me a splendid countess on the public stage. And in private, we shall enjoy the quiet companionship we have both come to value.’

‘I see.’ Mr Aubrey sounded a little sad. He was staring down at his hands, avoiding Jon’s gaze.

In the end, it was Jon who broke the tense silence. ‘Will you agree to perform the ceremony, sir? It is Beth’s dearest wish.’

The rector slowly raised his head. His eyes had lost their usual brightness. They were rheumy, as if he had suddenly aged ten years. ‘I am sorry, Jonathan. It is impossible. You must see that, surely?’

Jon drew himself up. ‘No, sir. I do not.’

The rector sighed. ‘I have to know that the couple are free to marry. You are a widower, but Beth… Jonathan, she could be anything, even some other man’s wife.’

Jon took a deep breath. He was going to have to be extremely frank and trust to the old man’s discretion. ‘I can assure you that Beth has not been any man’s wife, sir.’ He held the rector’s gaze, waiting for a sign that the full import of his words had been understood. It came sooner than Jon had expected. The rector’s eyes widened a fraction, and his sharp intake of breath echoed in the silence. ‘I see that you take my meaning, sir. To put the matter beyond doubt, I should perhaps add that there is now every reason to carry out the marriage ceremony as soon as it may be arranged.’ It was a little underhand to lead Mr Aubrey to believe that Beth might be with child, but Jon found he was prepared to go to almost any lengths to achieve his purpose. Nothing else mattered.

The rector downed the rest of his wine in a single swallow, got to his feet and began to pace. There was precious little room in the tiny library. He had to turn after every three or four steps.