maple leaf off and began twisting it around her fingers. She said, “I will not marry you, Jason. I will speak again to my father, tell him that-”
Jason growled low in his throat, grabbed her, and kissed her hard. He said into her mouth, “Be quiet. It’s done. You’ve got me. We’ve got each other. I will do my best to be a good husband to you, Hallie, I swear it to you. Now stop being a mule.”
He raised his head and she was forced to look into his incredible eyes, a woman’s downfall, those eyes of his, and his mouth-well, she wasn’t going to look at his mouth, or his eyes, she wasn’t that great a fool. She wanted to ram him against the tree. No, she was strong, in control of herself, she knew what was right. Forcing him to wed her wasn’t. Her heart, though, it was pounding so hard and fast it nearly hurt. She wanted him to press his fingers to her racing heart. She felt his fingers stroking through her hair again, this time pulling out the pins. She felt his mouth again on hers, and finally, thank the good Lord above, felt his fingers lightly cup her breast. Her wits fell out of her head. She saw things very clearly in that moment, looking up at him, seeing his determination, and yes, lust as well. Perhaps there was caring as well, mayhap a dollop of tenderness. It was enough. It was more than enough. Without another thought, she jumped off the cliff. “All right,” she said. “Yes, perhaps marrying you would be a very wonderful thing.”
Over dinner that evening, Jason invited all the staff into the dining room for a glass of champagne.
“What is this, Master Jason? Have we a new mare to be covered by our virile Dodger?”
“No, Petrie. Miss Carrick and I will be married. Very soon. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the rumors. The rumors will cease once my uncle Tysen says the hallowed words over our heads.”
Martha accepted her glass of champagne, beaming. “Oh, Miss Hallie, how very exciting, to actually have Master Jason all to yourself! But you nearly had him in the stable, didn’t you? Well, perhaps it’s best not to speak of that.”
“To the joining of partners,” Baron Sherard said loudly, and everyone cheered and drank the rather decent champagne, all except Petrie, who looked like he would burst into tears.
“Give it up, Petrie,” Jason said. “Drink your champagne It will make you feel more resigned to the inevitable.”
“Is that what you have become, my poor master? A guzzler?”
“That is quite enough, Petrie,” Angela said. “Trust me on this.”
Petrie wasn’t stupid. He saw the warning in the master’s eyes, knew he was dead serious, and gulped down the champagne. “Don’t let her rearrange the furniture in your bedchamber, Master Jason.”
Hallie said, “Oh goodness, I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Please, don’t, miss,” Petrie said.
“Not the furniture, you dolt, I hadn’t thought about sharing his bedchamber. I like mine better. Why can’t he move into mine? Why can’t we each keep our own bedchambers?”
Jason patted her hand. “Don’t worry about it now. We will figure things out.”
Angela said comfortably as she accepted another glass of champagne from Lord Sherard, “Perhaps I can move to your bedchamber, Hallie, and we can tear down the wall between mine and Jason’s bedchambers. You’ll both have enough room and Jason can arrange the furniture. What do you think?”
Hallie looked like she might bolt. Jason himself wanted to bolt, but he said, “We will consider this. However, right at this moment, I believe we should stick to well-wishes and toasts.”
Petrie moaned again, and it wasn’t at all discreet. Martha rounded on him, waved her glass in his face. “You don’t amuse me, Mr. Petrie. Look at my mistress-a beautiful lady she is, nearly as beautiful a lady as Master Jason is a gentleman. It’s close. Maybe not really close-Yes, you’ve hurt her feelings with your sour little female slurs that smack of a female-having-blighted-your-heart, something that probably happened years ago.”
“Not that many years ago,” Angela said. “Petrie isn’t that old.”
Hallie said under her breath to her father, “I wonder if that can be true. Is Petrie’s dislike of women because his heart was broken?”
“No,” Jason said. “Petrie came into this world disliking the fair sex. His mother never chided him, never abused him. She adores him. She still does.”
“She doesn’t love me deep inside where it counts,” Petrie said and everyone looked at him.
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard, Mr. Petrie! Have you told your mama this?”
“Of course not. It would upset her and a female who’s upset does scurrilous things.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “I will tell your mother you feel this way, Petrie, so any curses she has are heaped on my head, not yours.”
Martha said right in his face, “You’re a petulant stick.”
Petrie opened his mouth to blast her. Angela said, “Goodness, all this excitement makes me hungry. Cook, why don’t you bring out your blancmange?”
Petrie said, “But I-”
Martha rounded on him again, this time her voice black with warning, “You say another word and I’ll stuff the blancmange up your nose.”
“Martha, you must show me proper respect, you-”
Angela said, “You don’t want to waste the blancmange on Petrie’s nose.”
As for Cook, she had seemed perfectly content to stand quietly and look from Jason to Alec Carrick, not a single aria bursting out of her mouth. “Petrie’s nose? My blancmange, Miss Angela? Oh goodness me, that’s a sort of food, isn’t it? How could I forget? Ah, two such lovely gentlemen. I must ease my parched gullet.” She drank down her glass of champagne, carefully set the glass on the sideboard, and went to the kitchen, saying over and over, “How can I make both lovely gentlemen stay right here so I can feed them until they swoon on my kitchen floor?”
“I’ll drink to that,” Hallie said. “Father, I’ve never seen you swoon.”
Alec’s eyes met his future son-in-law’s. “It happens,” he said. “Believe me, it happens.”
Petrie moaned.
CHAPTER 33
Jason and Hallie Sherbrooke spent their wedding night under the distinctive curved eaves of the master bedchamber of Dunsmore House, Georgian in mood if not in style, set gracefully on a broad tree-covered promontory just outside Ventnor on the southeastern coast of the Isle of Wight, the summer residence of the duke of Portsmouth. After a two-hour steamboat ride from the mainland, they’d arrived at Dunsmore House, windblown and sunburned, smiling from ear to ear at the housekeeper, Mrs. Spooner, and ready to tear each other’s clothes off.
Once upon a time, Mrs. Spooner had been intimate with lust, having five grown children to show for it, and not to mention being three months shy of a half dozen grandchildren. She certainly recognized it when it stood in front of her, though she wasn’t certain which of the two had greater lust for the other. The simple beauty of this couple would warm the coldest heart, which hers wasn’t. “Well, now, His Grace told me you were two special young people and so you appear to be. Come in, come in. You’ll have the large bedchamber that looks out at the harbor and all the fishing boats. It’s Her Grace’s favorite bedchamber and the sheets are all fresh for you. What a fine day to begin your married life.”
Because she wanted them to eat, Mrs. Spooner herded them into the breakfast room, smaller and more intimate than the grand dining room, and quickly served them cold chicken and warm bread for dinner, and fresh peas from her own garden in Ventnor. She said comfortably as she passed Mr. Sherbrooke the platter of chicken, “Only I will be here to see to you.” She passed Hallie another small loaf of hot bread, whispered close to her ear, “Eat up, my dear. One will need strength with that one.”
Hallie gave her a blinding smile. “Yes, I certainly hope so.”
Mrs. Spooner patted her arm. “The duke and his family always like their privacy, and so you’ll have it too. Maids will come during the day, but they won’t bother you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Spooner. I’ve never had privacy before. I have three brothers and a sister and-” Hallie blinked and shrugged. She’d looked at Jason. “I forgot what I was going to say.”
