Horrified to realize Lord Avenbury knew she was there, Marigold emerged reluctantly from hiding.
“I trust the spectacle just past wasn’t too indelicate for you?”
“Er, no, my lord.”
“Lord Toby can certainly thank his lucky stars for your presence, for otherwise I would certainly not have let him off so lightly.”
She didn’t know what to say.
There was a fallen tree nearby, and he went to lean back against it, still looking at her. “Why did you come here?”
“I don’t really know.” Still clutching her shawl close, she went to join him. “Where are your seconds, Lord Avenbury? And why is there no surgeon?”
“I saw no reason to bother with such niceties.”
“If Lord Toby’s shot had found a mark in your elegant hide, such niceties could have saved your life!” She was appalled by his attitude.
“My elegant hide? What a charming turn of phrase.”
“I chose it because to my mind taking part in a duel without seconds or a surgeon shows an intelligence so limited that it verges on the bovine.”
“Ouch,” he replied, grinning. “My, what a tongue you have, madam.”
“I don’t think it funny, sir,” she said tersely.
“So I notice.”
“Nor should you, considering you might have just been killed.”
“Come now, that’s rather an exaggeration,” he murmured.
“Is it?”
“Of course it is. Be sensible, Shrike’s shot was so wide of the mark that I doubt he even managed to hit the oak tree!”
Annoyance stung through her. “Be sensible? Sir, I am not the one who just foolishly brushed with death.” Her tone was now very tart indeed.
He was still amused. “I find your spirit most refreshing, Mrs. Arnold.”
“And I find your cavalier tendencies irritating in the extreme.”
“You don’t hold men in much estimation, do you?” he said after a moment.
“You sex has done very little to endear itself to me,” she answered, smoothing trembling hands upon the folds of her lilac skirts, for in spite of her defiant sallies, she had been deeply upset by what had so nearly happened. Instead of being able to mock her like this, he could have been lying dead on the grass.
He noticed the gesture. “You’re too fainthearted, Mrs. Arnold,” he said gently.
“And you’re too careless of your own safety!” she replied angrily.
Suddenly he seized one of her hands, and held it tightly. “Why did you really come here?” he asked.
Surprised by his action, she tugged her hand away. “I’ve already told you I don’t know, and right now I wish I hadn’t.”
“I’ll warrant that last is true, since I fancy your transport has departed without you.”
She lowered her eyes. She’d forgotten the wretched trap. How was she going to get back to the Spread Eagle?
“Rest easy, for I am more than happy to convey you,” Lord Avenbury said, almost as if he’d heard her thoughts. Then he paused. “Do you believe in destiny, Mrs. Arnold?”
“Destiny?” The change of subject made her look up in surprise.
“That our whole lives are written in the stars?”
“No, I believe we are responsible for our own fate,” she replied, thinking that if anyone was nearly the author of his ultimate fate, he was.
He searched her face. “Is that truly what you believe?”
She wondered what lay behind his questions. “Yes, it is. Why do you ask?”
“Because you intrigue me greatly, Mrs. Arnold.”
“Lady Fernborough would not appreciate such an admission,” she replied, moving to get up, but his hand shot out to restrain her. “Tell me something else, Mrs. Arnold. What would you have felt if Shrike had killed me?”
“I would have thought it a stupid waste.”
“Of a noble soul?” He laughed.
“Noble? How would I know whether or not you are noble? You may have championed my cause last night, and risked your life in defense of my honor here this morning, but what I have heard of you otherwise does not suggest you are someone who could be truly described as noble.”
His eyes were compelling. “Do I detect the wagging of a puritan finger, Mrs. Arnold?” he asked softly.
She didn’t reply.
“And what if I were to similarly judge you? To me you seem a damsel in distress, and that is indeed what you would have me believe, but the Arnold family undoubtedly hold a very different opinion. Should I believe them?”
“Oh, I do not doubt that you will ultimately take their side, Lord Avenbury,” she answered, thinking of Alauda.
“Don’t presume you know me, Mrs. Arnold, for I promise you do not.”
She met his gaze. “I do not need to know you, sir, I have only to remember that you are Lady Fernborough’s lover.”
“Possibly, but you are the one I am asking to be my wife,” he replied quietly.
The proposal caught her so completely off guard that she stepped hastily from the tree trunk as if it had suddenly burned her. “I—I beg your pardon?” she gasped, facing him.
“Become Lady Avenbury, and all your problems will be solved.”
“Sir, I think Lord Toby’s shot must have found a mark of sorts after all. Either that, or you are possessed of an addled brain!” she said.
He straightened as well. Before she knew it, his left arm had suddenly shot around her waist, and his right hand was to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I am in earnest, Mrs. Arnold.”
The warmth of his fingers stirred senses she had tried to forget, as did the masculine scent of costmary on his clothes. She could have rebuked him for his forwardness, and pulled away quite easily, but she didn’t.
He looked deep into her wide green eyes. “Become my wife, and your worries will be at an end. You will lack for nothing, and your son will be amply provided for. I will also instruct my lawyer to make every possible investigation regarding the false will. If Falk Arnold’s villainy can be exposed, it will be.”
She managed to overcome the spell he’d suddenly cast over her. “But why? What possible reason could you have for helping me so much?” she cried, pulling away at last. “Is it simply that you wish to goad Lady Fernborough?”
“My reasons are my own, but believe me, I have nothing to lose.”
“That is no answer, and you know it.”
“Very well, perhaps it is simply that for once I wish to do something completely honorable.”
She was mystified. “You see me as a salve to your conscience?”
He smiled. “Don’t look for unnecessary answers, Mrs. Arnold. All you need be concerned with is whether or not you intend to look this gift horse in the mouth. Well, do you?”
“You really mean it, don’t you?” It was a statement, rather than a question.
“Mrs. Arnold, I am not in the habit of proposing marriage willy-nilly, indeed this is the first time I have ever done so.”
“But I don’t even know your first name!”
He released her. “That is easily remedied. My name is Rowan, and I’m the thirteenth Lord Avenbury.”
Marigold stared at him. Rowan? Merlin’s riding accident had been caused by a robin flying from a rowan tree; and the robin had brought her a rowan leaf, and a marigold flower.... Suddenly her conviction about being in control of one’s own destiny didn’t seem quite as certain.
He looked quizzically at her. “Is something wrong?”
“Er, no, of course not.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. Now, may I know your name?”
“It’s Marigold.”
He smiled. “Marigold?” he repeated.
She colored again. “I know it’s a foolish name, but—”
“I didn’t say it was foolish,” he interrupted quickly. “On the contrary, I find it quite charming. So, we are now fully introduced. The only other things you need to know about me are that I am wealthy, and completely at liberty to offer marriage. Oh, and that I would regard it as an honor to protect you and your son.”
“Society would regard such a match as scandalous. The Arnolds have branded me a kept woman who has a son out of wedlock. Even supposing some people believe I really was married to Merlin, can you imagine with what shocked disapproval they would regard so hasty a second union?”
“Chitter chatter is of no concern to me, nor should it be of concern to you. All you should consider is your son, and if you marry me, he will be amply provided for. Go your own way, and he will not.” Rowan paused, then added. “But before making your final decision, be warned that it will not be a marriage in name only. If you enter my life, you enter my bed as well.”
Hot embarrassment rushed into her cheeks. “You are very direct, my lord.”
He smiled, putting his fingertips briefly to her hair, which shone like spun copper in the translucent morning light. “I’m of a mind to enjoy your favors, Marigold.” He gave a low laugh. “Just think, we would be a flower and a tree against all those Arnold birds.”
Suspicion lingered. Was it a trick? He was Alauda’s lover, so surely he had some ulterior motive for making such a dazzling offer! “But would you really be against them?” she asked.
“Yes, Marigold, I would.”
“But, Alauda ...”
“Alauda has nothing to do with this.”
“Are you sure?”
“I have already said so.” Rowan held her eyes. “I know that for Perry’s sake you wish to accept, and yet you hesitate. Why? Is it because you shrink from attentions you may find disagreeable? If so, let me assure you that my demands for your favors will cease before the end of this month.”
It was such a very odd thing to say that she looked curiously at him. “What do you mean?”
“You will find out soon enough, so I will not bore you with the details.”
His refusal to explain made her draw back from the edge. “I—I need time to consider ...”
“Time is the one thing I cannot allow, Marigold. You must answer me now, or forfeit your chance. After all, I may sleep on the matter and wake up of a different mind.”
“Which statement reduces this whole thing to the farce I suspected all along, sir,” she replied angrily,
“If it appears farcical, I apologize, because believe me, I am serious. So what is your answer? Will you honor me with your hand? For your son’s sake I advise you to think carefully before you decline.”
She tried to read his eyes. What manner of man was he? Another Merlin? Or someone with whom she could at least come close to being happy? Her head warned against the former, but her heart leaned toward the latter.
“The seconds are ticking away, Marigold,” he pressed softly.
The robin fluttered down to the grass only yards away from them, and sang a little song. Marigold once again threw caution to the winds. “I accept, Lord Avenbury,” she answered, hardly able to believe any of this was happening. The robin flew away, but his song echoed joyously around the grove.
Rowan smiled, “A sensible reply.”
“Or a completely lunatic one,” she observed. She must have taken leave of her senses! She’d known him for a few hours, and yet had agreed to marry him! What else could she be but moonstruck? Then an obvious question belatedly struck her. “When do you wish this, er, contract to be solemnized?”
“How very formal you are.”
“I don’t know how else to be, sir.”
“That will soon be rectified. As I said before, time is the one thing I cannot allow, so I intend the marriage to take place in a few days.”
“Why won’t you explain more? What will happen before the end of the month?”
Instead of answering, he suddenly drew her closer, and put his lips to hers. It was the sort of kiss to melt her soul, for it was lingering, teasing, sensuous, and filled with sweet promise. A warm ache began to seep deliciously through her; it was the ache of desire, and all her willpower was required to prevent her from slipping her arms around him and returning it in a way that was not at all demure.
He relaxed his hold, and stepped back. “There, Marigold, we have sealed our betrothal with a kiss,” he said softly.
Her senses were in chaos, and she avoided his eyes in case he realized the sort of response he had aroused in her. A sudden breath of wind rustled through the Druid Oak, and her gaze was drawn toward it. She saw the golden mistletoe swaying on the jagged branch.