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Archie could see the shock register in Cecilia’s face for the second time that day. He had not thought of the consequences of leaving alone with her when they left Great Farleigh Hall that morning but knew there was no turning back when they reached the inn.
The situation should have terrified him since it was exactly what he had been trying to avoid since reaching his majority, yet there had been nothing. Just the feeling that if that was how it was going to be then... fine. Which should be shocking, but he had little time to examine his own emotions as he saw Cecilia turn white and sway on her feet. He gripped her upper arms a bit tighter. Her gaze was far away, and there was a distant, glassy quality to her eyes.
“I think I might be sick,” she whispered in a thick voice.
Swiftly Archie hauled her into his arms and carried her to a narrow and uncomfortable looking settee in a corner. He would have liked to have placed her anywhere else perhaps except on the floor, but this was the best that he could do. As soon as she was resting there, he took two swift paces to the table, emptied a bowl of green beans into one with peas and carrots and thrust the porcelain bowl under her chin.
“You will be fine,” he murmured and helped her remove her bonnet and shawl. He stroked her hair as she leaned over the edge of the settee, her face close to the bowl. He meant she would be fine this moment. That it was fine by him if she cast up her accounts, that he would not judge her for it, yet if she interpreted it as she would be fine in general it made no difference to him.
They stayed this way for minutes, him crouched next to the settee and her leaning over the side. As it seemed that she was not actually in imminent danger of dispatching her food, he started to relax more and was able to appreciate the softness of her hair under his hand. He had made a sore mess of it, but Heaven it felt wonderful. Like the silky skin of the peaches that the head gardener at Great Farleigh Hall produced in their hothouse with extreme effort.
A swirl settled in the pit of his stomach. It was definitely desire but there was more to it than that. Possessiveness. She would be his to touch now. His to kiss when he wanted. To take to his bed. To run his house but also... to spend those lonely evenings at Farleigh Cottage with. Yes, he would probably like being married to Cecilia Gaywood very much.
In that moment, she hurled her head up and lay back on the settee with a heavy sigh, hiding her head in her hands.
“We can’t marry, Archie,” she told him, her voice muffled by her palms.
Her slight frame on the settee made a new wave of possessiveness rush through him. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the fact that she used his Christian name and not his title. He was quite certain that it was unintentional, but he liked that she thought of him in that manner.
“Of course, we can. In fact, we have to,” he said and moved to sit on the settee by her hip. It was not that he wanted to encroach on her space, but his calves were starting to prick and go numb due to the cut off blood circulation in his bent knees.
“No, this is all wrong,” Cecilia complained behind her hands.
A sinking feeling spiraled through his body as he studied her. There was nothing to say to her statement. If she truly would rather be ruined than be married to him that was her choice to make. This was a situation that he could not coax or charm himself out of.
“Why is this all wrong?” he practically whispered after a couple of minutes, even though he knew: There were all the other women. His reputation and the scandals he had caused over the years were enough to scare most. The persistent matchmaking mamas of the ton certainly did not entertain the idea of their daughters marrying him because he would make a great husband, but primarily because of his family connections and the fact that he owned Farleigh Cottage. Some might cling to the hope that reformed rakes made the best husbands, but also seemed to doubt that their daughters would be the ones to reform him. Thus, he could not exactly fault Cecilia, but it made his chest constrict that she would dismiss him completely. He had thought that she at least enjoyed his company.
Cecilia slowly removed her hands from her face and looked at him with wide, gray eyes. There was an apprehension in them. Her full raspberry-colored lips parted slightly as if she was about to speak but then decided against it. Her gaze did not waver though as she looked into his eyes.
“You do not want a wife,” she finally stated, slowly as if wishing that he would interrupt her while she was speaking.
“I...” Archie began, but then stopped. No, he had never wanted a wife. Even though his parents, three eldest siblings and several of his friends were happily married and seemed to benefit from it, he had never believed that it would be for him. Marriage was hardship and compromise. But with Cecilia... it would not be as bad, he figured. “I want to do what is right,” he told her.
Cecilia huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, which looked a bit ridiculous as she was lying down.
“What’s right? What is right would have been for you to...” she stopped, bit her lip, and looked at the ceiling. “There has to be another way out of this predicament,” she then whispered, and he could hear how her voice vibrated with emotion.
Archie’s chest hurt and for the first time he wanted to take a crying woman that he was not related to into his arms and comfort her instead of staying as far away from her as possible.
“There is no other way. It is my duty as a gentleman to marry you...”
“Duty,” Cecilia snapped and sat up. It brought her face much too close to his and Archie moved to the edge of the settee sitting beside her feet instead of her hip.
“Yes, duty,” Archie snapped back, feeling irritation starting to boil inside of him. Surely, she was not that naïve. And he was not such a poor match. He would be able to provide for her, perhaps not the same way an earl would, but most sufficiently indeed. “Is the concept of my wanting to do my duty by you such a strange notion?”
Cecilia’s mouth opened and closed again without a word coming out. Her arms were crossed once more, and her lower lip shot out in a pout. He could see different emotions cross her face, one of them definitely annoyance, another one anger, some he was not certain what was exactly.
“You were prepared to marry Lambourn – and don’t try to fool me into thinking that it was a love match. Anyone looking at the two of you could see that it was not,” Archie snapped.
Cecilia uncrossed her arms and let them fall to her lap. She was looking at them when she said in a very small voice:
“That was different.”
“How?” Archie demanded. Now it was his turn to cross his arms over his chest.
Cecilia still did not meet his eyes as she spoke.
“I knew that he wanted to marry...”
“But you were not in love,” he interrupted her.
Cecilia’s gray eyes shot to him. They were hard as granite, and he was quite certain that he could have cut himself on them.
“No, and neither are we,” she hissed.
No, they were not. He liked her company, yes, he desired her, most definitely, but love no. He doubted that he would ever fall in love with anyone.
“Is it because I’m not an earl then?” he demanded.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cecilia all but growled, now crossing her arms as well.
Archie let out a frustrated sound along with a long exhale. He did not know how to argue with her. He had thought her reasonable and this was the rules of their society. What they had done meant that they had to marry.
“I will go find the innkeeper and secure rooms for the night,” he told her as he rose, not wanting to continue the fight tonight.
As he went in search of the innkeeper, he thought of how disappointed his parents would be that he had ruined Cecilia and would now have to marry her. They would be even more disappointed if he did not marry her. But that was not the sole reason that it was so important for him to do so. He wanted to as well for her sake. A ruined woman would live in the shadows for the rest of her life. He could not let such a fate fall on Cecilia.
***
Archie recognized the heavy steps of his father in the upstairs hallway of the inn, before the innkeeper had knocked on his door to announce the duke. Archie swirled the brandy in the tumbler and looked at how the fire reflected in the amber liquid and placed it on a side table.
As his father entered, Archie quickly rose from his chair and took in his father’s stern countenance. The white hair, the fierce blue eyes, the dark overcoat that rain drops rippled down over. He was holding his hat in his hand. But no one should mistake it for a humble or courteous gesture. Archie knew it to be merely a practical one. Neither of them spoke before the door was firmly closed from the outside by the innkeeper.
“You will have to marry her,” his father said without a greeting.
“I know, Father,” he said with a sigh. Problem was how to convince Cecilia of it. They had not spoken after he had secured them rooms. He had helped her up the stairs and into her room next to his. She had practically smacked the door in his face. He supposed that she was entitled to be a little on edge: in the span of a day, she had gone from being a future countess to having to wed a rakish second son. Granted he was the second son of a duke, but that did not seem to be of import to Cecilia.
“You have completely ruined this girl’s reputation,” his father continued. His face still unreadable.
“I know, Father,” Archie said, a bit more sternly now.
“After all the scandals you have created, for some reason, I never imagined that you would throw yourself at an innocent...”
“She is still innocent,” Archie interrupted him in a tense voice and pointed to the room next door. Despite the fact that they had to marry, he would never have thought of sharing her bed tonight, and not simply because they had argued.
His father’s lips thinned, and Archie braced himself for another stab. But all that came was:
“Good.”
His father walked to the other chair in front of the fire and sat down with a heavy sigh. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. The wrinkles around his eyes and the lines around his mouth were enhanced by the light from the fire and in that moment, he looked... old and tired.
The thought was shocking since his father had always been the firm rock that was the foundation of their family. He was sixty-six, which for some was old, but to Archie, he had seemed immortal until that minute. In that moment his father opened his eyes and they seemed to pin Archie in place. He gulped and hoped that his father would not be able to tell what he had just been thinking.
“Sit,” his father commanded and gestured towards the other chair as if it was his room and not Archie’s. Archie obeyed without a word, nevertheless.
“Why, Archie?” his father then asked in a much gentler tone than Archie would have expected. His father did not have to elaborate on what he meant. For a moment Archie looked at him, trying to gather his thoughts.
“She saw Lord Lambourn and Hester together and wanted to leave. I... I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to be a friend to her and help her. It only occurred to me after we left what it would actually mean for us,” Archie tried to explain. He reached for his brandy on the table and drank the last.
“I could use one of those as well,” his father told him with a sigh.
Archie immediately rose and refilled his own glass at a side table as well as pouring his father a generous amount of brandy. His father gave a curt nod before he took a sip of the brandy. Judging by his pinched facial expression it did not sit well with him. It was certainly not of the same quality as what was in stock at Great Farleigh Hall.
“How is Hester?” Archie asked as he sat down again.
“She and Lambourn will be married within a month.”
“And... is she happy?”
His father looked at him with a genuine smile on his face. His facial expression softened.
“It seems so. For all the mess this has created, it seems that Hester and Lord Lambourn are actually in love. I trust the same cannot be said for you and Miss Gaywood?” His father raised his eyebrow in question.
Archie shook his head as he pouted and averted his gaze towards the fireplace.
“Nevertheless, Miss Gaywood might be good for you. She certainly seems like a reasonable young woman. I trust that you will be faithful to her?"
Archie tried to curb the urge to squirm in his chair. He took another large sip of brandy to avoid answering. He had not given the matter any thought. But he assumed that if Cecilia shared his bed willingly and gladly, he would not have a need for a mistress.
“I don’t see how that is any of your concern, Father,” he said curtly.
“Trust me on this, Archie: You must do your utmost to make your marriage a success.” His father paused and took another swig of brandy. “Your mother is the greatest gift I have ever received...”
Archie felt his brows draw together at the statement. He knew his parents were devoted to each other, but he had never heard his father say this.
“You might be thinking that my children should also be but truthfully, I would have had children no matter what woman I had married, and I would have cared for you regardless of who she was. Without your mother I would not be the person I am today.” His father’s gaze turned from the brandy in his hand to Archie, the same piercing quality to them. “Mark you my word, Archie. You should do everything in your power to make your marriage to Miss Gaywood a success. You say that you view yourself as her friend, that is at least a good start.”
Archie returned his father’s gaze but did not comment on his speech right away. He knew that his parents’ marriage had not started out on the best terms and that his father had kept mistresses for the better part of a decade.
“Is this about Lady Lindley?” he asked brazenly.
His father snorted as if he had seen right through him.
“No, Lady Lindley saved our marriage, but I still find it difficult not to regret that I was not more open with your mother when we first married. That way she might have dared to confide in me as well.”
Archie never had a chance to ask what his mother might have confided and perhaps his father would never have told him anyway. At that moment Cecilia’s cry pierced the wall between the two rooms:
“No, I won’t do it and you cannot make me!”
Both Archie and his father looked at the wall as if it might hold answers.
“You will end up like your Aunt Elizabeth!” Mr. Gaywood bellowed.
“Perhaps I would rather...” Cecilia began but was cut off when Mr. Gaywood shouted:
“Don’t be so naïve, girl!”
Without thinking, Archie rose from his chair and hurried out the door, down the hallway and into Cecilia’s room, not caring that he was only in his shirtsleeves and stockinged feet.
Cecilia, Mr. Gaywood and Algernon Gaywood all carried equal looks of bafflement in their wide gray eyes. It was not until he saw them all together that Archie noticed that particular family resemblance.
“Lord Archibald,” Mr. Gaywood stated, his voice vibrating and his shoulders tense. “You might as well take on your husbandly duty already and make my daughter see sense. She refuses to marry you.”
As he spoke of his daughter, he pointed at her with a shaky finger. Archie looked from Mr. Gaywood to Cecilia who was staring at her father with a scowl on her face, supporting herself on her crutches.
“There is no reason to ask him to do anything, Father,” she said calmly, ice dripping from her voice. Archie hoped that she would never speak to him in that tone of voice. "As I’m not marrying him.”
“Cecilia,” her brother pleaded at the same time as her father sternly said:
“You will!”
“We drove in a carriage; we ate dinner and then we retired to separate rooms. I know that it does not look the best, but if the five of us do not say anything, then no one will know, and I will not be ruined.” The last words came out high-pitched and pleading.
“You will. If you do not, you will end up even worse off than your Aunt Elizabeth.”
Archie had no idea what her Aunt Elizabeth had done, but the statement silenced Cecilia for a moment and she bit her lower lip before her face took on a steely quality once more as if she was about to speak.
“Miss Gaywood,” his father stated from the doorway. Archie turned to see him enter and then close the door behind him.
“No, you cannot make me,” Cecilia cut his father off in a shrill voice, which made Archie both want to laugh and his heart race with anticipation of how his father would react. He had never experienced anyone interrupt his father before. “Algernon has told me enough that I know perfectly well what should have happened before I was actually ruined.”
Mr. Gaywood turned and stared at his oldest son with a thunderous glare. Algernon Gaywood’s ears turned bright red, and he avoided his father’s gaze.
“Now, Miss Gaywood,” Archie’s father said behind him and walked further into the room with slow and steady steps until he reached Archie’s side. “I am sure that you are aware that nothing actually has to happen for a woman to be ruined. The mere possibility is enough to taint her reputation.”
Cecilia only sent his father a mean scowl as she regarded him for a second before she turned towards her own father and once again stated:
“You cannot make me do it.”
Archie had liked her before, had found her attractive before, but this fierceness that she was displaying was absolutely intoxicating. He felt breathless at the prospect of what it would be like to be alone with her, to be intimate with her, if she showed this kind of passion in the bedroom.
“Mr. Gaywood, might I have a word alone with your daughter? I promise that nothing untoward will happen, it is merely... I find that it might be easier to convince her if we are alone,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and his gaze off Cecilia.
Mr. Gaywood regarded him for a moment with an unreadable expression. His eyes strayed to Archie’s father. Archie looked at him as well and saw that he gave a short, curt nod.
“You will have ten minutes and we will be waiting right outside the door,” his father told him in a clipped voice.
Archie nodded and took a step towards Cecilia who in turn stumbled back a step.
“And what if I do not want to be alone with him?” she demanded, stopping the three other men who had only managed a couple of paces towards the door. “Will that not endanger my reputation even further?”
“You will hear him out,” Mr. Gaywood ground out without looking at her. He hurried to the door as if he was afraid she would protest further. He abandoned both courtesy and rank as he strode through the door just as Archie’s father reached it. The duke did not seem to mind though but simply followed the other man. Algernon Gaywood was the last to exit. He sent his sister a long meaningful look that Archie was not certain how to interpret. What Cecilia’s close-knit brows and thin lips meant was not clear to him either, except of course that it was a show of great displeasure.
As the door clicked shut behind Algernon Gaywood Archie turned towards Cecilia. He inhaled deeply, hoping that he would see new reasons for them to marry that he had not already given her previously in the private parlor.
***
Cecilia crossed her arms more firmly over her chest. There was nothing that Archie could say that would make her want to marry him. In the few hours she had spent alone in her room before her father and Algernon showed up, she had concocted a plan: She would go to America and start a new life for herself there. Surely her ruined reputation would not travel with her all the way across the Atlantic. She should be able to find a suitable husband there; the season in Boston or New York could not possibly be as soul crushing as that of London.
Archie had not moved or spoken in the about thirty seconds that they had spent alone together. She was curious what his expression was but did not dare look at him. Where he had been handsome before, he was downright lethal in his present attire without a cravat, his shirt open to reveal too much skin around his neck and even some of his chest. The few glimpses she had allowed herself had made her fingers want to brush over it and bury her nose there to figure out whether it was at his neck his enticing scent of bergamot originated. Then she would trace her lips over that skin. Revel in the softness of it...
The thought made heat pool in areas of her body that certainly should not be associated with Archie. No, Lord Archibald, that was how she would think of him from now on. There could be nothing between them. A man of his reputation could never be happy with being tied to one woman and especially not to her.
“Now speak, Lord Archibald,” she demanded to distract herself from the way the thought of him never wanting to marry was making her breathing shallow and her chest feel too tight. “What new reasons are you going to state that will somehow convince me to marry you?”
Lord Archibald did not speak at once. Cecilia refused to turn in his direction and explore his face to have any notion of what went on inside him. She had no idea why he felt that he needed to act gentlemanly now all of a sudden when it had clearly not been his habit previously. Could he not see that a marriage would make both of them miserable? He would lose the freedom he loved, and she would forever have to compromise and try to act as if she did not know that he was with other women.
“I don’t have any other arguments to persuade you,” Lord Archibald told her in a tone of voice she could not decipher. There was no trace of defeat or anger in his words, although she would have thought that one of those emotions would be most dominant in his mind. It seemed as if he was simply stating it.
After having surveyed the floor in front of her to figure out whether she could find any meaning to his words, she had to turn and look at him. He was standing casually with his hands down his side, putting more weight onto one leg than the other, which made him stand a bit lopsided. His face was calm, his ocean blue eyes resting on her. Cecilia’s eyes quickly dipped to the v of his chest that was exposed by the shirt, then she returned her gaze to his and tried to force herself not to flush although she was not exactly sure that she succeeded.
When she met his gaze again, there was a trace of mirth and she noticed how one side of his mouth had started to quirk up.
“I have no other arguments than this.”
Before Cecilia had time to think, he strode to stand right in front of her, embracing her, crutches and all, and then he lowered his head to find her lips.
It was a feather light kiss, just his warm and soft lips brushing hers. She ached for him to press his lips more firmly against hers at the same time as she knew she should pull away from him. She could have at least tried; he was both larger and stronger than her, meaning that if he truly wanted to kiss her against her wish, he could, but she did not even test it.
Instead, she felt her body lean into his as she let go of the crutches to be closer to him. They fell to the floor with a clatter, but she was too preoccupied that she was engulfed in his scent of bergamot to care. His lips kept kissing her own ever so lightly, driving her mad with the need to have him kiss her properly, firmly, passionately. Her own lips molded after his in an attempt to coax him into deepening the kiss.
If anything, it only made his kisses lighter, softer. Damnation, she wanted to groan with frustration. She felt his smile under her lips and became aware that he was doing it on purpose, that he was teasing her. She drew back from him, her gaze on his full lips as she spoke:
“As arguments go, I find that to be a rather weak one, Lord Archibald.” She would have loved it if she could have delivered that line in her normal tone of voice and not light and breathy as it was now.
He chuckled, which made her gaze snap from his lips to his eyes, but she had no time to discern the look there since he pressed her to him, his lips landing on hers again, but this time definitely not gently.
Her lips were crushed to his and she could not help but return the scorching kiss. The softness of his lips and the force of his kiss made her want to rub her bosom over his firm chest and grind her hips against his. It took all of her restraint to not do so. She did not even allow her arms to wrap around him and embrace him properly but simply held on to the sides of his waistcoat.
“Open your mouth,” Archie demanded, and she did even though part of her still protested, still shouted at her to deny him this.
When she tentatively opened her mouth, his tongue thrust into it, meeting hers. What was even more shocking was that she did not hesitate to make her own tongue meet his. Their tongues danced and explored back and forth between their mouths in a way that made her forget everything else around her.
Archie ran his hands down her back to cup her bottom and she pressed wantonly against him, not caring for anything but his touch. But all too quickly, he stopped and pulled away from her. Cecilia let out a frustrated sound deep in her throat and tried to haul him back to her. But he easily stepped out of her grasp, only pausing to make certain that she was able to stand on her own.
“Was that a good enough argument?” he asked and he was so smug and cocky that she wanted to hit him.
At the same time, she could not imagine never doing it again. Never knowing what it meant to be truly his. Even though her mind still protested that she would end up heartbroken, she felt her head nod. She was still too caught up in the kiss to even speak.