Love Me True Page 9
When the door opened again, Clarry turned, expecting to see her future mother-in-law. She gaped and then fell back in the chair again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Justin strode up the steps of Staplehurst Hall flanked by his brother and his pregnant sister-in-law. He needed their support today. Despite the pain Clarry might feel over Tristan’s presence, he wanted his brother to stand up with him.
Brinkley let him in, a relieved smile pasted on the old butler’s face. “Welcome home, Lord Justin. The other gentlemen are waiting in the library until the ladies are ready.”
“Thank you.’ He turned for the library, conscious of Tristan kissing his wife farewell behind his back. Pain tightened his chest. A morning spent with the newlyweds had proved uncomfortable. Their obvious affection—a knife twisting in his heart.
“Justin, my boy, you look dreadful.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Justin took the brandy offered but nursed the glass rather than drank it. His head pounded bad enough as it was. He glanced around and found Roddy standing somewhat away from everyone else. He crossed the room to join him. “I lost track of you last night.”
Roddy’s hand shook as he lowered his glass. “Not surprising. You hit the amber pretty hard last night. I’m surprised you can stand.”
Justin gestured toward his brother. “Tristan is hard to ignore when he pours ice cold water over your head.”
“Remind me never to spend time with your brother.” His eyes narrowed. “Were you reluctant to marry today?’
“No. No of course not. I just drank to much last night. Clarry’s dowry is worth any shackle about my leg.”
Roddy peered at him oddly. “She is something, isn’t she?”
Justin’s head cleared. “You were introduced?”
Roddy winced. “Let us just say I had the opportunity to introduce myself earlier today. A decision I’m regretting. She is not quite what I expected for you but congratulations. You will have an interesting marriage.”
“Thank you.” What the hell had happened while he’d been gone? He glanced toward the door wondering if he could seek Clarry out before the ceremony to be sure she was still here and not upset. Who knew what Roddy would have said if they were truly alone.
“Oh, and the wager is paid in full.”
Justin’s vision turned red as he snapped his attention back to Roddy. “You have my journal?”
“No. She said it was lost. Did she lie to me and put me through hell for her own amusement?”
Justin’s fingers curled into a fist. “What happened this morning?”
“Steady there, old boy. You’ll burst your head with all that hot headedness.” Roddy looked left and right as he backed himself into a corner. “Luscious as she is, nothing happened. But you’d do well to stay on her good side.”
Justin uncurled his fingers suddenly, aware that Tristan had hold of his arm. “If you touched one hair on her head I’ll disembowel you where you stand.”
“Justin,” Tristan warned. “Lower your voice. There are other people in the room. Your future father in law for one.”
Justin forced himself to relax. Roddy had promised that nothing had happened and he was many things but not a liar. “Perhaps you should recall a sudden appointment, Roddy. I don’t think I’d care for your presence at my wedding after all.”
Roddy nodded, but his mouth twisted with bitterness. “As you wish.” He bowed then hurried for the door. When he had disappeared from sight, Justin glanced at his brother.
Tristan raised one brow. “What was that about, Jus? I hope to god I misheard.”
“I need to see Clarry. Can you find mother and arrange it?” Justin scraped his hand through his hair, and tried not to groan aloud.
His brother nodded and headed off. When he returned to the outside hall and cocked his head, Justin slipped from the room unnoticed and headed to the room Tristan indicated. The door shut with a soft thud behind his back.
Her dark head popped around the back of a chair. “There you are. I was beginning to worry.”
“Clarry.” He hurried forward and fell to his knees, taking in the stunning gown she’d be wearing for the wedding with a bare glance. “What happened with Roddy?”
Her button nose crinkled up in distaste. “I repaid the debt, but not in the way he wanted. As I understood the terms of your bet, I had to either hand over your journal or be intimate with him.” Her hand rose, holding out his journal. “I couldn’t let him embarrass you. This is too private for public consumption.”
Justin took the journal from her but his heart pounded. “They were just words, Clarry. You are more important than a book.”
“Not when those beautiful words are about a man’s love for a woman. You are a wonderful poet, Justin. I have treasured that book since it came into my keeping.”
When she raised his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles, Justin quaked. “I wrote about you. I’ve loved you so long. But I never told you because you loved Tristan instead.”
“Who?” Her face twisted in confusion. “I’ve only loved one man in my entire life, Justin Greene, and he’s kneeling at my feet this very minute.”
Justin scowled. “You didn’t love me before.”
“Hmm, you are right about that. I’ve been mulling over my behavior all night and this morning and I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t love Lord Ramsbury at all. I would never want to kiss him. Or share his bed. And I spent the whole night worrying about you. Where you were? What you were doing? Why you were not in my bed making love to me? All those questions kept me awake last night. I missed you dreadfully and I was so afraid you wouldn’t come to marry me this morning.”
Justin gulped over the hard lump forming in his throat. Clarry’s confession was more than he’d ever hoped to hear. “You missed me?”
Clarry smiled, leaned forward and kissed him. He dropped the journal to the floor and curled his fingers about her skull, careful not to disturb her beautifully arranged hair. When she drew back her expression was dreamy. “You ruined me for anyone else.”
As much as he tried, he couldn’t stop his eyes from misting over at her confession. He closed them and kissed Clarry again, drinking in her desire and the beginning’s of a love he’d only dreamed about.
Clarry threaded her fingers through his hair and held him close. “Are their any more wagers waiting for me on the other side of the wedding ceremony, Justin?”
“No. I promise there’s not.” He sat back on his heels. “I need to know what happened this morning between you and Roddy.”
Her face scrunched up again. “It wasn’t pleasant. He surprised me in my bedchamber.”
Justin curled his hands into fists, quite prepared to leave Clarry and pound the scoundrel into pulp. Clarry cupped his face between his hands. “I demanded something of my own in the bargain, Justin. I demanded to know he was free of disease. The idea of it seemed to offend him but he dropped his pants and I—I laughed.”
Justin leaned back. “You laughed at Roddy’s privates.”
“I couldn’t help it. I was so anxious but he had this tattoo of a woman’s name beside it and I lost my head. He seemed offended by my laughter and he left.”
“I should be furious with you for that.”
“Mama said it had been a risky move but it worked nonetheless and he never touched me.”
“Mama?”
Clarry smiled impishly. “The duchess has insisted I call her by a less formal name. We’ve settled on mama instead of mother.”
Mother and Clarry had buried the hatchet while his back was turned. Dear God.
Clarry laughed suddenly at his expression. “Isn’t it better this way, Justin?”
“Yes, its better, but—”
“Have I made too big a mess of everything for you to be comfortable again? I had thought you would be pleased that the distressing matters were dealt with swiftly.”
When Clarry bit her lower lip, stopping the wobble that had begun,
he leaned in to kiss her uncertainty away. He loved this impulsive woman so much that he’d probably go mad without her. It didn’t matter that she’d managed to solve his problem and stun him within a few short minutes. He’d come to grow used to the sensation eventually.
A knock sounded on the door. “Justin,” his mother called. “It’s eleven. The vicar and our guests are assembled in the drawing room.”
He ran his hands along Clarry’s legs, hearing the hitch to her breathing as his thumbs traced a path along the inside of her thighs. The look she gave him, so full of longing scorched him. “The vicar is waiting, my love.”
Her fingers curled over his and squeezed. “We shouldn’t keep such an important man waiting.”
No they shouldn’t. But they both wanted to.
Justin stood, tugged Clarry to her feet and held out his arm. “Shall we?”
When her arm curled about his Justin drew her to the door and along the hall towards the drawing room. Although he’d expected Mr. Wheaton to be waiting for Clarry, the woman standing alone surprised him.
Clarry leaned into his arm. “Mama summoned my mother for the wedding. She’s going to watch from here so Father doesn’t see her and raise a fuss.”
So this was Clarry’s long lost mother. The other woman seemed tired, but she smiled at them warmly. Justin smiled, too, but she didn’t approach. She lingered beside the wall, casting furtive glances along the hall toward the drawing room. Clarry touched his arm. “We should hurry along now before Father loses his patience and comes looking for us.”
At Clarry’s urging they approached the drawing room door together and just inside the threshold, Justin relinquished her to Mr. Wheaton. He took two paces away before he turned back. “Clarry, how did you get my journal?”
The impish smile she cast beyond his left shoulder startled him. “Why from the duchess, of course. Her Grace gave it to me months ago and said the poet would appeal to me.”
Justin glanced at his mother, and back at Clarry. “Did she now?”
Clarry leaned closer to whisper, “Is she always right?”
Justin pressed his lips to Clarry’s again. “I am beyond relieved that she is, Mrs. Greene.”
Clarry’s eyes sparkled. “I’m not Mrs. Greene yet. But give me a minute or two and you’ll never be rid of me.”
“Sounds perfect to me.” Justin turned and caught the guests craning their necks to hear every word. He didn’t care in the least. He had a woman who loved him. She truly did.
THE END
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About the Author
Bestselling historical author Heather Boyd believes every character she creates deserves their own happily-ever-after, no matter how much trouble she puts them through. With that goal in mind, she weaves sizzling English set love stories that push the boundaries of regency era propriety to keep readers enthralled until the wee hours of the morning. Brimming with new ideas, she frequently wishes she could type as fast as she conjures new storylines. While writing full time north of Sydney, Australia, Heather collects dust bunnies in all corners of the house and does her best to wrangle her testosterone-fuelled family into submission.
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