Brighter Than the Sun Page 5

  “Very well, then,” he said. “I think we are making quite a fair-minded deal. I marry you, and you get your money. You marry me, and I get my money.”

  Ellie blinked. “I hadn't really thought of it that way, but yes, that's about the sum of it.”

  “Good. Have we a bargain?”

  Ellie swallowed, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that she had just sold her soul to the devil. As the earl had just pointed out, marriage was forever, and she had known this man but two days. She shut her eyes for a moment, then nodded.

  “Excellent.” Charles beamed as he rose to his feet, holding on to the arm of his chair while he steadied his cane. “We must seal our bargain in a more festive manner.”

  “Champagne?” Ellie asked, ready to kick herself for sounding so hopeful. She'd always wanted to know what it tasted like.

  “A good idea,” he murmured, crossing over to the sofa where she sat. “I'm sure I have some on the premises. But I was thinking of something a little different.”

  “Different?”

  “More intimate.”

  She stopped breathing.

  He sat next to her. “A kiss, I think, would be appropriate.”

  “Oh,” Ellie said quickly and loudly. “That's not necessary.” And just in case he missed her point, she gave her head a broad shake.

  He caught her chin in a light but firm grasp. “Au contraire, my wife, I think it is very necessary.”

  “I'm not your—”

  “You will be.”

  She had no argument for that.

  “We should make sure that we suit, don't you think?” He leaned closer.

  “I'm certain we will. We don't need—”

  He halved the distance between them. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk a lot?”

  “Oh, all the time,” she said, desperate to do anything, say anything to keep him from kissing her. “In fact—”

  “And at the most inopportune times, too.” He shook his head in a sweetly scolding manner.

  “Well, I don't really have such an ideal sense of timing. Just look at—”

  “Hush.”

  And he said it with such soft authority that she did. Or perhaps it might have been the smoldering look in his eyes. No one had ever smoldered over Eleanor Lyndon before. It was beyond startling.

  His lips brushed against hers, and a sharp tingle shot up and down her spine as his hand moved to her neck. “Oh, my goodness,” she whispered.

  He chuckled. “You talk when you kiss, too.”

  “Oh.” She looked up anxiously. “I'm not supposed to?”

  He started laughing so hard that he had to pull away from her and sit back. “Actually,” he said as soon as he was able, “I find it rather endearing. As long as you're being complimentary.”

  “Oh,” she said again.

  “Shall we give it another go?” he asked.

  Ellie rather thought that she'd used up all of her protests with the previous kiss. Besides, now that she'd tried it once, she was a bit more curious. She gave her head a tiny nod.

  His eyes flashed with something very male and possessive, and his mouth touched her lips once again. This kiss was just as gentle as the previous one, but so, so much deeper. His tongue feathered along the line of her lips until she parted them with a sigh. Then he moved in, exploring her mouth with lazy confidence.

  Ellie gave herself up to the moment, sinking into his hard frame. He was warm and strong, and there was something thrilling about the way his hands pressed against her back. She felt branded, burned, as if she'd somehow been marked as his.

  His passion grew fierce…and scary. Ellie had never kissed a man before, but she could tell that he was an expert at this. She had no idea what to do, and he knew too much, and…She stiffened, suddenly overwhelmed. This wasn't right. She didn't know him, and—

  Charles pulled away, sensing her withdrawal. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  Ellie tried to remind herself how to breathe, and when she finally found her voice again, she said, “You've done this before, haven't you?” Then she closed her eyes for a moment and muttered, “What am I saying? Of course you have.”

  He nodded, shaking with silent laughter. “Is there a problem with that?”

  “I'm not certain. I have this feeling I'm some sort of…” Her words trailed off.

  “Some sort of what?”

  “Prize.”

  “Well, you certainly are that,” Charles said, his tone clearly marking his statement as a compliment.

  But Ellie didn't take it as such. She didn't like to think of herself as an object to be won, and she particularly didn't like the fact that Billington made her head spin so fast that when he kissed her she lost all sense of reason. She stepped quickly away from him and sat down in the chair he'd recently occupied. It was still warm from his body, and she could swear she could smell him, and—

  She gave her head a little shake. What on earth had that kiss done to her brain? Her thoughts were skipping along with no sensible direction. She wasn't sure that she liked herself this way, all breathless and silly. Steeling herself, she looked up.

  Charles raised his brows. “I can see you have something important to tell me.”

  Ellie frowned. Was she that transparent? “Yes,” she said. “About that kiss…”

  “I would be more than happy to talk about that kiss,” he said, and she wasn't certain if he was laughing or merely smiling or—

  She was doing it again. Losing her train of thought. This was dangerous. “It can't happen again,” she blurted out.

  “Is that so?” he drawled.

  “If I'm going to marry you—”

  “You already agreed to do so,” he said, his voice sounding very dangerous.

  “I realize that, and I'm not one to break my word.” Ellie swallowed, realizing that that was exactly what she was threatening to do. “But I cannot marry you unless I have your agreement that we…that we…”

  “That we not consummate the marriage?” he finished for her flatly.

  “Yes!” she said with a relieved rush of air. “Yes, that's it exactly.”

  “Out of the question.”

  “It wouldn't be forever,” Ellie said quickly. “Just until I'm used to…marriage.”

  “Marriage? Or me?”

  “Both.”

  He was quiet for a full minute.

  “I'm not asking much,” Ellie finally said, desperate to break the silence. “I don't want a lavish allowance. I don't need jewels or dresses—”

  “You need dresses,” he cut in.

  “All right,” she agreed, thinking that it would be awfully nice to wear something that wasn't brown. “I do need dresses, but really, nothing more.”

  He leveled a hard stare in her direction. “I need more.”

  She gulped. “And you shall have it. Just not right away.”

  He tapped his fingertips together. It was a mannerism that had already become uniquely his in her mind. “Very well,” he said, “I agree. Provided that you grant me a boon as well.”

  “Anything. Well, almost anything.”

  “I assume that you mean to let me know when you are ready to make our marriage a true one.”

  “Er…yes,” Ellie said. She hadn't really thought about it. It was hard to think about anything when he was sitting across from her, staring at her so intently.

  “First of all, I must insist that your participation in the marital act is not unreasonably withheld.”

  Ellie's eyes narrowed. “I say, you haven't studied the law, have you? This sounds terribly legal.”

  “A man in my position must beget an heir, Miss Lyndon. It would be foolish of me to enter into such an agreement without your assurance that our abstinence would not be a permanent state of affairs.”

  “Of course,” she said quietly, trying to ignore the unexpectedly sad feeling in her heart. She'd thought that she might have aroused a deeper passion in him. She should have known better. He had other reas
ons for kissing her. “I—I will not make you wait forever.”

  “Good. And now for the second part of my stipulation.”

  Ellie didn't like the look in his eyes.

  He leaned forward. “I reserve the right to try to convince you otherwise.”

  “I don't catch your meaning.”

  “No? Come here.”

  She shook her head. “I don't think that is a very good idea.”

  “Come here, Eleanor.”

  His use of her given name shocked her. She hadn't given him permission to do so—and yet, she had agreed to marry him, so she supposed she shouldn't quibble.

  “Eleanor,” he said again, clearly growing impatient with her wool-gathering. When she didn't respond yet again, he reached out, grasped her hand, and yanked her over a mahogany table and back into his lap.

  “Lord Billing—”

  His hand covered her mouth as his lips found her ear. “When I said I reserved the right to try to convince you otherwise,” he whispered, “I meant this.”

  He kissed her again, and Ellie lost all power to think. Abruptly, he cut the kiss off, leaving her shaking. He smiled. “Fair enough?”

  “I…ah…”

  He seemed to enjoy her befuddlement. “It's the only way I'm going to agree to your request.”

  She nodded jerkily. After all, how often was he actually going to want to kiss her? Stumbling, she rose to her feet. “I had best be getting home.”

  “Indeed.” Charles looked out the window. The weather had cleared, but the sun was beginning to set. “As for the rest of the particulars of our bargain, we can work them out as we go along.”

  Ellie's mouth opened slightly in surprise. “Particulars?”

  “I assumed a woman of your sensibilities would want her duties spelled out.”

  “You will have ‘duties’ as well, I presume.”

  Charles's mouth turned up into an ironic half-smile. “But of course.”

  “Good.”

  He took her arm and walked her to the door. “I shall have a carriage bring you home and fetch you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” she gasped.

  “I haven't much time to dawdle.”

  “Don't we need a license?”

  “I have one. I need only to fill in your name.”

  “Can you do that?” she gasped. “Is that legal?”

  “One can do quite a bit if one knows the right people.”

  “But I will need to prepare. To pack.”To find something to wear, she added silently. She had nothing suitable for marrying an earl.

  “Very well,” he said briskly, “the day after tomorrow.”

  “Too soon.” Ellie planted her hands on her hips in an attempt to look firm.

  He crossed his arms. “Three days hence, and that is my final offer.”

  “I believe we have a bargain, my lord,” Ellie said with a smile. She had spent the last five years clandestinely wheeling and dealing on the 'change. Words like final offer were comfortable and familiar. Much more so than marriage.

  “Very well, but if I must wait three days I shall demand something in return.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “It isn't very gentlemanly to agree to a bargain and then attach further terms.”

  “I believe that is exactly what you did as pertains to the consummation of our marriage.”

  Her face colored. “Very well. What precisely is this boon you demand?”

  “It is most benign, I assure you. Merely an afternoon in your company. After all, we are courting, aren't we?”

  “I suppose one could call it—”

  “Tomorrow,” he interrupted. “I shall pick you up promptly at one o'clock.”

  Ellie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  A few minutes later a carriage was brought around, and Charles watched as a footman helped her up. He leaned on his cane, absently flexing his ankle. The bloody injury had better heal quickly; it looked as if he might have to chase his wife around the house.

  He stood on the front steps for several minutes after the carriage disappeared from view, watching as the sun hung on the horizon and painted the sky.

  Her hair, he suddenly thought. Eleanor's hair was the exact color of the sun at his favorite time of day.

  His heart filled with unexpected joy, and he smiled.

  Chapter 4

  By the time Ellie arrived home that evening, she was a bundle of nerves. It was one thing to agree to this crazy scheme of marriage to Billington. It was quite another to calmly face her stern and domineering father and inform him of her plans.

  As her luck would have it, Mrs. Foxglove had returned, presumably to tell the reverend what an evil, ungrateful daughter he had. Ellie waited patiently throughout Mrs. F.'s tirade until she boomed, “Your daughter”—here she stabbed a stubby finger in Ellie's direction—“will have to mend her ways. I don't know how I will be able to live in peace with her in my house, but—”

  “You won't have to,” Ellie interrupted.

  Mrs. Foxglove's head swung around, her eyes blinking furiously. “I beg your pardon.”

  “You won't have to live with me,” Ellie repeated. “I'm leaving the day after tomorrow.”

  “And where do you think you're going?” Mr. Lyndon demanded.

  “I'm getting married.”

  That was certainly a conversation stopper.

  Ellie filled the silence with: “In three days. I am getting married in three days.”

  Mrs. Foxglove recovered her normally extensive powers of speech and said, “Don't be ridiculous. I happen to know you have no suitors.”

  Ellie allowed herself a small smile. “I fear you are incorrect.”

  Mr. Lyndon cut in with, “Would you care to tell us the name of this suitor?”

  “I'm surprised you didn't notice his carriage when I arrived home this evening. He is the Earl of Billington.”

  “Billington?” the reverend repeated in disbelief.

  “Billington?” Mrs. Foxglove screeched, clearly unable to decide whether she should be delighted by her imminent connection to the aristocracy, or furious with Ellie for having the audacity to perform such a coup on her own.

  “Billington,” Ellie said firmly. “I believe we will suit very nicely. Now, if you will both excuse me, I have to pack.”

  She made it halfway to her room before she heard her father call out her name. When she turned around, she saw him brush off Mrs. Foxglove's grasping hand and make his way to her side.

  “Eleanor,” he said. His face was pale, and the creases around his eyes were deeper than usual.

  “Yes, Papa?”

  “I—I know I made a terrible muck of things with your sister. I would—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I would be honored if you would allow me to perform the ceremony on Thursday.”

  Ellie found herself blinking back tears. Her father was proud, and such an admission and request could only be wrenched from deep within his heart. “I don't know what the earl has planned, but I would be honored if you would perform the ceremony.” She placed her hand on her father's. “It would mean a great deal to me.”

  The reverend nodded, and Ellie noticed that there were tears in his eyes. On impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and gave him a small peck on the cheek. It had been a long time since she had done that. Too long, she realized, and vowed that she would somehow make her marriage work. When she had a family of her own, her children would not be afraid to tell their parents what they felt. She just hoped that Billington thought the same way.

  Charles soon realized that he had forgotten to ask Ellie for her address, but it wasn't difficult to find the residence of Bellfield's vicar. He knocked on the door promptly at one o'clock and was surprised when the door was opened not by Ellie, not by her father, but by a plump, dark-haired woman who immediately squealed, “You must be the earrrrrrrrrrrl.”

  “I suppose I must.”

  “I cannot tell you how honored and delighted we are to have you join our humble little f
amily.”

  Charles looked about, wondering if he was at the wrong cottage. This creature couldn't possibly be related to Ellie. The woman reached for his arm, but he was saved by a sound coming from across the room that could only be described as a barely suppressed groan.

  Ellie. Thank God.

  “Mrs. Foxglove,” she said, her voice laced with irritation. She quickly made her way across the room.

  Ah, Mrs. Foxglove. This must be the reverend's dreaded fiancée.

  “Here comes my darling daughter now,” Mrs. Foxglove said, turning toward Ellie with open arms.

  Ellie dodged the older lady with an artful sidestep. “Mrs. Foxglove is my future stepmother,” she said pointedly. “She spends a great deal of time here.”

  Charles bit back a smile, thinking that Ellie was going to grind her teeth to powder if she kept glowering at Mrs. Foxglove that way.

  Mrs. Foxglove turned to Charles and said, “Dear Eleanor's mother passed on many years ago. I am delighted to be as a mother to her.”

  Charles looked at Ellie. She looked ready to spit.

  “My curricle is waiting just outside,” he said softly. “I thought we might make a picnic in the meadow. Perhaps we should—”

  “I have a miniature of my mother,” Ellie said, looking at Mrs. Foxglove even though her words were ostensibly directed at Charles. “In case you'd like to see what she looked like.”

  “That would be lovely,” he replied. “And then perhaps we should be on our way.”

  “You must wait for the reverend,” Mrs. Foxglove said as Ellie crossed the room and took a small painting off of a shelf. “He will be most sore if he misses you.”

  Charles was actually rather surprised that Mr. Lyndon had not been present. Lord knew if he had a daughter planning to marry at the drop of a hat, he'd want to have a look at the potential groom.

  Charles allowed himself a small, private smile at the thought of having a daughter. Parenthood seemed such a foreign thing.

  “My father will be here when we return,” Ellie said. She turned to Charles and added, “He is out visiting parishioners. He is often detained.”

  Mrs. Foxglove looked as if she wanted to say something, but she was stopped by Ellie, who brushed rudely by her, holding out a miniature painting. “This is my mother,” she told Charles.