Page 47 of 10 Things I Hate About the Earl

The muffled sounds of a woman’s raised voice penetrated the oak door a moment before it burst open, and Kate Locke strode in. Her auburn hair lit up like a flame in the afternoon sunlight and her eyes gleamed when they fell on him.

Marcus staggered back, his heart in his throat.

“Kate! What the devil is the meaning of this outburst?” Ainsley scowled, going toward his sister as though to ward her off.

Marcus sighed, drinking in the sight of her, savoring each moment that might be his last for a very long time.

“Aha. He is here, Celinda.”

On Kate’s heels came Lady Celinda Grantham. She fixed her stare on him as well but gave him a wink. What the deuce did that mean? What was going on now?

Kate stretched out her arm, pointed her finger at him, and in a voice dramatic enough to rival Sarah Siddon’s Lady Macbeth announced, “Nathan, I demand that you make Lord Haversham marry me.”

Marcus blinked, looking from Kate, whose eyes blazed, to her brother, whose mouth hung open.

“What?” Ainsley finally managed. He kept his attention on his sister, though he glanced at Marcus, eyebrows raised. “What the deuce is going on, Kate?”

“I said you must make Lord Haversham marry me.”

“I must? But why?”

Kate arched her neck and lifted her chin. “Because he kissed me—in front of witnesses.”

“He did what?” Ainsley turned the color of new cheese.

Marcus gripped the back of the nearest chair. He’d hoped to keep those kisses—and everything else—a secret so Kate wouldn’t be obligated to a man she detested. So why was she literally shouting about it and demanding he marry her? Could she have had a change of mind? Or was this some wild ploy to disgrace him once again? Best err on the side of caution. “I believe Miss Locke is mistaken.”

“No, she is not.” Lady Celinda stepped forward, a smile still playing over her lips. “A woman knows when she’s been kissed, my lord, unless the man is very inept, which I would wager you are not. Not based on what I saw at Vauxhall.”

“You saw us?” Dear God. How could Lady Celinda have been able to see anything on that dark path? She’d been with his sister at the fireworks.

“So you did kiss her?” Ainsley rounded on him, anger darkening his face.

“Well, yes, I did, but I thought at the time I was marrying her.” Marcus ran a hand over his face. The morning had taken on a nightmarish quality.

“You are absolutely correct about that, Haversham. If there were witnesses to your depraved behavior, you will be saying ‘I do’ immediately after the third set of banns is read.” Ainsley had puffed his chest out, the very picture of the vengeful brother.

“Just a moment, Ainsley.” He couldn’t let this go so easily. “I think I should be able to speak on behalf of Miss Locke and myself.” He turned to Kate.

She stared at him, her wide blue eyes pleading. Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head and mouthed, “Forgive me.”

Marcus’s head reeled. Abruptly, he strode forward, grasped her head in his hands and sank his mouth onto hers. The warmth of her lips spread through him, from mouth to chest and then lower, the most welcome, satisfying sensation he’d ever known. He could do nothing save stand there and devour her. Let the world go hang.

“Humph.” Ainsley gruffly cleared his throat.

Marcus finally broke the kiss, his heart thrumming with contentment when Kate laid her head on his chest. He raised an eyebrow and met Ainsley’s eyes over her bright head. “That was for insurance.”

Epilogue

Marcus stood next to Kate, his chest bursting with pride that he’d managed to marry the most beautiful and loving wife in the world. Their wedding had gone off perfectly this morning and, finally, the wedding breakfast was winding down. They need only wait for their guests to leave, and they could be alone at last.

Now, they chatted with friends and neighbors as the orchestra finished a set of quadrilles, and Marcus awaited a particular piece of music he’d requested.

“Are we to be wallflowers today, my love?” Kate glanced up at him, a saucy glint in her eyes.

“I would never deprive you of the pleasure of a dance, my dear.” He smiled down at her. “I am, however, waiting for one particular—”

The strains of a waltz broke through the murmurs of the guests.