The Unwilling Miss Watkin Read online

  He eyed her for a moment, head cocked, then straightened and nodded as if he believed her as well. “Thank you for that. You cannot know what it means to me that you would offer your trust, particularly under these circumstances. I promise you, this time I will not betray you.”

  “I shall hold you to that promise,” she threatened.

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss against her bare knuckles that set her heart to pounding anew. “You must do more than hold me to a promise, Eloise. You must hold me to your heart.”

  She gazed at his solemn face. “Is that truly what you want, Jareth?”

  “It is. Is that not what you ask of me?”

  Was it? Was that what she truly wanted, that Jareth would fall in love with her and want only to hold her close? Revenge had indeed paled, but she was still unsure as to what emotion had taken its place. “In truth, I do not know what to ask of you. And if it were love, could you give it?”

  He kissed her hand again, lingering over the caress. It was only a short distance to raise his head and meet her lips. Though his kiss was gentle, she felt desire building inside her.

  When he broke off, his gaze was dark with emotion. “For you, yes, I could give my love, and gladly. I barely slept last night thinking how you would react when the gossip reached you. I have never felt so afraid.”

  “You, afraid? You have escaped censure too many times to dread it now.”

  “It wasn’t censure that I feared,” he assured her. “I could not stand the thought of losing you.”

  His words were exactly what her heart needed to hear. Why did her brain keep protesting that she should not believe him?

  “I was a fool to walk away before,” he continued. “You will not rid yourself of me so easily this time.”

  “I pray that is true, Jareth,” she managed. “Now you had better go. I must calm Cleo’s feathers.”

  He kept her hand. “Not until you tell me when I may see you again.”

  She shook her head at his tone. This was the spoiled Jareth she remembered. Still, if he was true in his devotion, she should not punish him by absenting herself. “Tonight. I have vouchers for Almack’s.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Then I shall see you at Almack’s.” Rising, he bowed. She inclined her head and watched him stride from the room.

  Given her emotional state that morning, she half expected her determination to leave with him. Yet it only seemed to grow as she went in search of Cleo. It took some effort to convince her friend that she did not intend to repeat the mistakes of her past. But the more Cleo protested, the firmer grew Eloise’s resolve. With it grew her conviction of Jareth’s innocence.

  It was no different at Almack’s that evening. The gossip about the event spread from one knot of people to another as if blown by the wind of fluttering fans. She heard three versions of the story before she reached the dance floor with Lord Nathaniel, who had begged to be her first partner. In all of them, Jareth was the villain.

  “You seem quiet tonight, Miss Watkin,” the young viscount observed as they stood out in the dance. “I hope this pernicious gossip does not distress you.”

  “It has nothing to do with me, my lord,” she replied calmly. Her gaze continued roaming the room, searching for a tall, platinum-haired gentleman. Until she knew he was here, she could not relax. She was a little surprised Lord Nathaniel saw her as calm.

  “How very glad I am to hear that you are not concerned,” Nathaniel continued. “I had begun to fear Mr. Darby had ensnared you in his web as well.”

  Jareth entered Almack’s, and the evening changed. The very air seemed to sparkle with a new clarity. He wore his deep blue velvet, but somehow she thought he stood taller, filled the double-breasted coat more fully. He quite eclipsed poor Lord Nathaniel in his durable brown coat and breeches. She took a deep breath. “Oh, no, my lord,” she assured the viscount as they took hands to return to the dance, “I would not allow myself to me ensnared so easily.”

  “Not even by me?” he asked tentatively.

  Eloise smiled. “Ah, but you have better sense than to offer for me, my lord. Haven’t you proved that time and again?”

  He looked as if he would argue with her, but the dance ended and Jareth stepped to her side.

  Lord Nathaniel frowned, but bowed. “Mr. Darby, I am surprised to see you here.”

  Jareth returned his bow. “With every lovely lady in London under this roof, where else would I be?”

  “Posting for the Continent?” Lord Nathaniel suggested, but when Jareth coldly raised a brow, he hastily amended. “I understand you are sorely missed there.”

  “Alas, I sincerely doubt that,” Jareth replied. “My talents are rarely appreciated, unlike Miss Watkin’s. I vow you held every eye in the room, madam.”

  Eloise felt herself dimple. “You are too kind, sir.”

  “Ah, but Mr. Darby is correct, Miss Watkin,” Lord Nathaniel put in. “No lady can hold a candle to you.”

  “You will turn my head with your compliments, my lord. Besides, if I possess any skills, they are a result of my partner.” She smiled kindly into his boyish face.

  “Nonsense, Miss Watkin,” Jareth protested as Lord Nathaniel colored with obvious pleasure. “You make even his lordship here look gifted. May I request that you do the same for me?”

  “I believe,” Lord Nathaniel said firmly, “that Miss Watkin had expressed a desire to sit out this next set. Is that not so, my dear?”

  His hand was on her elbow. Lord Nathaniel, turning possessive? A shame he had waited so long to decide he wanted her. But then, she did not think he had ever stood a chance against her feelings for Jareth. She stepped away from him even as the music started. “You must have misunderstood me, my lord. I can certainly spare Mr. Darby a dance.”

  Jareth’s smile was welcoming as he swept her into his arms and out onto the floor.

  Of course it had to be a waltz. So close, she was all the more aware of the blue of his gaze, the sweet curve of his lips, and power in the arms that held her.

  “He was right to try to keep you away from me, Eloise,” Jareth murmured after they had danced in silence for a time. “I am beginning to see that I have never been worthy of you.”

  “Such humility, Mr. Darby,” she teased. “Be careful or I shall begin to believe you all too reformed.”

  “I have yet to pass your final test,” he reminded her. “What more proof can I give you?”

  “I have yet to decide.”

  “What, madam, has that fertile mind of yours at last run out of ways to humble me? Perhaps I should speak to your father.”

  She knew him too well to think him serious. “La, Mr. Darby,” she said with a laugh, “why would you do such a thing? What will people say?”

  His gaze darkened. “I care nothing for what people say. The only opinion that matters is yours, Eloise.”

  When she gazed up at him, surprised, he continued. “I was only half in jest just now. With your permission, I should like to call on your father.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  She actually halted, staring at him while the other couples maneuvered around them with frowns of annoyance or wide-eyed looks of curiosity. Jareth used the excuse to bring her closer, hand and hip encouraging her to continue waltzing with him. As always, the touch of her body against his was sweet. She must have felt it as well, for she pulled herself back to a reasonable distance.

  “Have I truly stunned you?” he asked quietly as they moved together. “Surely you know my feelings for you.”

  “I am certain I could not begin to fathom your feelings, Mr. Darby,” she replied. He could feel her resistance, the way she leaned back to keep herself as far from him as possible. Indeed, his arms were stretched to maintain a hand on her back and fingers.

  “I have been rather pointed in my attentions,” he reminded her gently. “But if you like, I can say the pretty words. I am a little surprised you would want them said here, in front of all Almack’s.”


  She shook her head. “Surely you know by now that words will not sway me.”

  Now it was his turn to hesitate. Luckily, the dance was ending, and he was able to turn the gaff into a bow of sorts. “Then I have lost? You refuse forgiveness?”

  “Forgiveness?” She stepped further away from him, but her face was a study of sadness. “Is that all you ask of me?”

  “No, I want your love.”

  Her eyes widened, but Jareth was all too aware of other eyes. They were the objects of every stare in the room. He bowed again. “We cannot talk here. May I see you home?”

  “In a dark, enclosed space?” She shook her head. “No indeed. I learn some lessons well, my lord.”

  He blew out his breath in frustration. “Help me, Eloise. I don’t know how to reach you.”

  She glanced about as if realizing the gossip they were causing. “It is late, but the night is warm. Perhaps we should walk.”

  Though that was an equal violation of the rules he had laid down at Comfort House, he knew better than to argue. He nodded and escorted her to get her things.

  Lady Hastings neatly intercepted them. Her head was high, her carriage militant. Before she could even open her mouth, however, Eloise held up a hand.

  “No more, Cleo,” she ordered. “Mr. Darby is going to see me home. I assure you I am the master of my emotions.”

  Something in Eloise’s eyes must have assured her, for the little marchioness nodded. “Let me only walk you to the door for propriety’s sake.”

  Eloise agreed. Jareth could not argue, but he felt the marchioness’ gaze on him all the way down the stairs to the street.

  Outside, Eloise instructed her coachman to follow behind them, then took Jareth’s arm to start up the street. He smiled at the thin coachman, who merely stared at him stoically.

  The night was indeed warm as they set out. But, like the gaze of the coachman on his back, the smells of a humid city in summer were hardly conducive to romance. The night seemed to be conducive to little else either, for the street was nearly deserted in all directions. Beside him, Eloise was no more welcoming than their surroundings. The only sound was the swish of her skirts, the creak of the carriage, and the steady plod of horses’ hooves.

  “I somehow had another image of the moment in which I would offer for you,” Jareth said. “But I’m game if you are.”

  “There is no need to offer for me,” Eloise replied. “I did not put that as a condition to prove your reformation.”

  “Nor is it one,” Jareth assured her. “I wish to offer, Eloise. I love you.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Really?”

  He turned to look at her and met the longing in those green eyes. “Really, truly, madly. I am utterly devoted. But that should come as no surprise. You are intelligent, charming, beautiful, and caring. It is not surprising that I fell in love. Only that I did not fall sooner.”

  She looked away as if she still could not bring herself to believe him. “Perhaps it is only your desire to settle down that motivates you,” she maintained, pace steady. “Knowing me years ago makes you think you could love me.”

  He frowned. “Why do you seek to argue it away? I was under the impression you would welcome my suit.”

  She stiffened. “Do I appear so desperate?”

  “Must you be desperate to love me?” he countered.

  When she bit her lip, he sighed. “Forgive me, Eloise. Once more I seem to have done you a disservice. I appear to be incapable of understanding you. Let me help you into the coach so you can go home.”

  A bitter laugh bubbled up. “So, once again, Mr. Darby gives up.”

  “Is this your final test, then?” he demanded. “Am I to persevere through whatever barriers you erect?”

  “And if I said yes, would you?”

  “If I knew that in the end, I would win your heart, gladly. But something tells me you hold your heart deeply. Has nothing I’ve done proved to you my intentions toward you are honorable this time?”

  He wasn’t sure she would answer the question. Indeed, she was silent for a few moments as if considering it herself. “You want to speak to my father,” she finally said. “That in itself tells me you are serious. And I find that thought suddenly terrifying.”

  “Why?”

  She scowled. “Because you can hurt me again, Jareth, more deeply and fully than ever you could before.”

  “I promise you I have no desire to hurt you again. I never wanted to hurt you the first time.”

  “Yet you did. I don’t know if I have the courage to give you that power over me again.”

  “So you would settle for a passionless marriage to Lord Nathaniel rather than what we might share.”

  As soon as he spoke he knew he should have been silent. Her feelings for Lord Nathaniel or lack thereof had no purpose in this discussion.

  She rounded on him, as he had expected. “Leave Lord Nathaniel out of this.”

  “I would,” he replied, “except it strikes me that he is an example of how you have tried to put up a wall between us. Have you not noticed that you chose to encourage a gentleman who was my exact opposite?”

  She raised a brow. “Because he is reliable and stable, do you mean?”

  Much as he would have liked to argue, he couldn’t. “Oh, I will grant you I am far less stable then his lordship. With Lord Nathaniel, you need never fear that your husband would surprise you in the garden and sweep you off into a bower to kiss you senseless. You can rest assured he will not bring you your favorite flower simply because it pleases him. Indeed, he will likely not remember your favorite flower or even think to ask.”

  “Do you remember?” she challenged.

  “Certainly I remember. I remember the day we walked in the fields behind the manor and you told me all about yourself. Your favorite color is purple, your favorite food a cinnamon apple crumble only your father’s cook can make, and your favorite flowers are painted daisies, in armfuls of red, orange, and pink.”

  She shook her head in what he hoped was reluctant admiration. “You’re right. I cannot imagine how you remembered all that.”

  He stopped her. “I remember many things about you, Eloise. The way your hair smells like lilacs. The way your laugh rises and falls like a brook in a spring freshet. The way your body feels like---”

  “That is enough,” she cut in, and even in the dim light he could see she was blushing. “You have proven your memory is exceptional.”

  “And yours is selective. You remember how much I hurt you. Do you remember how much I cared about you? Perhaps I should remind you.”

  Ignoring the coachman just behind her and heedless of what any passersby might think, he gathered her in his arms. Though a part of him demanded that he claim what he knew to be his, he kept the kiss gentle. With his hands and his lips, he coaxed her into remembering how good they could be together, how right it felt to touch and be touched. She was stiff for a moment, then he felt her melting, giving as much as he gave, warming his heart as well as his body.

  A deep cough interrupted him, and he raised his head to eye the servant behind him. In the light from the lanterns on either side of the coach, the coachman’s frown was almost apologetic.

  “Do you need my assistance, Miss Watkin?” he asked gruffly.

  Eloise seemed to recall herself as well. “No, thank you, Mr. Butters. Mr. Darby was just saying goodbye.”

  She was dismissing him, but he felt cause for hope. Jareth bowed. “As you will, madam. But only for tonight. We have much to discuss.”

  “Perhaps we do,” she allowed. She turned to the coach, and he opened the door and helped her in. Shutting the door, he waved the coachman on. He stood on the pavement until the sound of hooves faded in the distance.

  She had built a wall around herself. It had never been clearer to him than tonight. He had to find a way to break through. Final test or not, he fully intended to win her heart.

  As he walked to White’s, he marveled at his determi
nation. He had planned many a campaign to win a lady, but never had it been her heart he sought. Indeed, he prided himself on leaving hearts alone, his and theirs. Of course, that same pride had more than once been his undoing.

  Because of it, he saw now, he had walked away from Eloise once. Because of it, he had fled to the Continent rather than face the stories being told of him and Lady Hendricks. Pride had even now kept him from living under his brother’s roof. Surely it was a sign of how much he loved Eloise that that pride did not motivate him in seeking her hand.

  He smiled to himself. Justinian was right. Love was no match for the cursed Darby pride. A shame he could not have learned that earlier.

  

  The next morning found him at the Watkin town house. He had to tell the butler his intentions twice before the fellow consented to take his card in to Lord Watkin. It was only retribution, he supposed, for the way he had shoved past the fellow in his hurry to reach Eloise the day before. Jareth cooled his heels for ten long minutes before the butler returned to escort him to his lordship’s richly paneled private study.

  As Jareth entered, he was struck again by how little Eloise’s father resembled her. Where she was a sculpture’s ideal of curves, Lord Watkin was built on thin, spare lines. Where she dressed in the latest stare of fashion and shades that suited her dramatic coloring, he chose a plain suit of brown several shades darker than his thinning hair. Where she was tall for a woman, he was short for a man. Her green eyes glowed with warmth; his blue eyes were cool and calculating. The only feature they seemed to share was their alabaster skin. He found it far more charming on Eloise.

  Lord Watkin returned his bow and motioned him to a chair before the polished wood desk. “Mr. Darby, a pleasure to meet you,” he said in a calm, quiet voice. “How might I be of assistance?”

  “In truth it is not your assistance I need,” Jareth replied. He had thought to move more slowly to the topic, but formality of the room and the gentleman before him seemed to brook no roundaboutation. He squared his shoulders. “I would like your permission to ask your daughter for her hand in marriage. But I suspect you will not give it to me.”