Never Fall for Your Fiancee
- Автор: Heath Virginia
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: St. Martin's Publishing Group
- Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
Электронная книга - «Never Fall for Your Fiancee». Краткое содержание книги:
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Virginia Heath's fun characters and situations will have you laughing out loud! Don't miss this wonderful read! - Sabrina Jeffries, *New York Times* bestselling author**
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The first in a new historical rom-com series, a handsome earl hires a fake fiancée to keep his matchmaking mother at bay, but hilarity ensues when love threatens to complicate everything.**
Of course he had never courted a single lady!
The one thing he hadn’t inherited from his wayward ancestors was his blasted conscience—a grave burden that had certainly never plagued either his father or his grandfather, and very probably nary a great-great-grandfather before that. Therefore, Hugh flirted shamelessly with certain women, and they flirted shamelessly back. That wasn’t courting, it was a dance. One both parties knew would end in the bedroom but would never stray further than that. “When I told you I wasn’t the marrying kind, I meant it. I am fairly certain I am not capable of falling in love—or not completely, at any rate.” And suddenly, because of her, that flaw depressed him.
He saw her disbelieving expression and decided to clarify the point rather than hear her inevitable counterarguments. “That elusive, all-consuming, selfless feeling poets and hopeless romantics like my mother go on and on about simply isn’t in my arsenal of human emotions. It is a defect in my bloodline.”
She stared at him, and he realized he had once again said too much. “Oh, Hugh—have you considered you simply might not have met the right woman? You are far too thoughtful and nice to be incapable of love.”
“‘Nice’?” She had inadvertently given him the way out. He scowled with mock affront. “That is the second time I’ve been called ‘nice’ today, and frankly I am outraged by it! ‘Nice’ is such a nondescript and uninspiring word. Wallpaper is nice. As is a new hat which looks exactly like the old one. Are you sure you didn’t mean ‘debonair’? Charming? Irresistible? There is a dictionary full of adjectives far more suited to me than ‘nice.’”
“Well, you are nice. You are also irritating and far too confident for your own good. And secretive. I’ve always suspected there was more to you than meets the eye, but every time I try to take a peek beneath the surface, you batten down the hatches and brush away my questions with charm.”
“See—you admit it! I am charming. I shall take that compliment as a replacement for the insipid ‘nice’ you just foisted upon me.”
“There you go again … deflecting, leaving me to once again wonder why you feel the need to immediately deflect. What are you hiding?”
“Absolutely nothing.” He opened his arms, wishing he wasn’t a carbon copy of his father. “This is me.”
“You are a conundrum, Hugh Standish.”
“Now, I do like that word. ‘Conundrum’ suggests a man of mystery. I hear the ladies love a man of mystery.”
“Deflecting again.”
“Always.” He shrugged, trying to ignore the constant, nagging emptiness this conversation had highlighted. As much as he wasn’t looking forward to her leaving, because he knew already she would leave a temporary void in his life, there was no point dwelling on it. Because ultimately, he wouldn’t. Just as soon as another willing woman came along to distract him, he would be distracted. That was the Standish way—damn it. A fait accompli. “If my mother is unconvinced by our betrothal, it’s probably just as well we will finally end this charade tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Was that disappointment he saw swirling in her stormy eyes? “So soon?”
“I think it’s for the best, don’t you?” He willed her to disagree. To make him revise the sudden plan. “The longer we draw it all out, the more holes she will find in our story.”
“I suppose…”
“It is actually the main thing I came to talk to you about tonight.” He had needed to say goodbye as quickly and as cleanly as possible. “Let us get through tomorrow and then sometime around midnight, Payne will come and fetch you, so make sure you’ve packed a bag, and you will leave with Giles in his carriage.” Just saying it aloud made him miserable. Empty. Lonely. “I will dispatch your sisters, your belongings, and Lucretia in my carriage early the following morning, and you will rendezvous at a coaching inn midway between here and London.”
She digested it all for several moments, staring at her hands in her lap, before she finally nodded. “Yes … I suppose it does make sense.”
Then her lovely eyes lifted to his, and he saw something else there. Something that looked a great deal like a sadness that mirrored his. He quashed the urge to go to her. “It is just so quick … so sudden. I wasn’t expecting it all to end so abruptly.”
“It’s for the best.” Hugh stood, fearing if he didn’t escape promptly, he might do something he would regret. Something wholly stupid and dangerous—like postponing the elopement to spend more time with her, something the persistent voice in his head was screaming at him to consider. “I shall have more of the details tomorrow. In the meantime, I think your lack of devotion for me against my absolute devotedness gives our tragic tale of heartbreak more credence, don’t you? After all, who would choose a rakish earl over the more rakish heir to a dukedom? It probably couldn’t hurt to cast the odd longing gaze at Giles tomorrow.” Which would be utter torture to witness.
“Yes … I shall try to appear intrigued by him.”
“Don’t try too hard.” Not what he should have said at all. “Giles’s head is quite big enough already.” There was nothing else to say, despite there being so much still unsaid. “Thank you for hearing me out.”
She walked alongside him to the door, but before he could open it, she touched his arm. It was an innocent and gentle brush, but like all her touches, one so potent he felt it burn through the thin sleeve of his shirt and sear itself onto his soul.
“Thank you, Hugh. For everything. These last few days have been … rather lovely. I shall always look back at my time here fondly.”
He nodded, feeling oddly emotional, then gripped the door handle. It was time to sever their unexpected acquaintance. “Good night, Minerva.”
“Good night, Hugh.” She looked sad. So sad. As was he. It was ridiculous, really, when they barely knew each other, but he already knew he would miss her. He wouldn’t have to fake that emotion for his mother. “And thank you for coming to talk to me. I’ve never been able to sleep on an argument. I am glad we get to part as friends.”
Friends.
As insipid a word as “nice” if ever there was one. “Me too. And because we are friends—please know if you ever need help, I will always be there. You know where to find me.” Leaving an open door was easier than a goodbye, because this goodbye hurt too much, even though he knew already this proud, vexing, and stubborn woman would never use it.
“More proof you are exceedingly nice. In fact, you are the nicest man I have ever met.”
If only …
Hugh made a face of disgust as he was expected to, depressingly shallow and unworthy to the last. He had one foot out the door when he turned and did something very stupid. Possibly the most stupid thing he had ever done in his thirty-two years on earth. He listened to the screaming voice in his head, gave in to temptation, and kissed her.
Chapter Thirteen
His lips were soft. His touch achingly gentle as he cupped her cheek. Yet the emotion both conjured was as intense as it was unexpected. As his mouth brushed over hers, his free hand sought hers at her side. That touch, too, felt profound, their laced fingers an acknowledgment of the strength of their feelings in a way no mere embrace ever could be, but also an admission that they both knew that whatever this was between them was never meant to be.
Neither of them hurried to increase the contact. The moment was too special for that. Instead, they strung the poignant kiss out, marveling at its intensity while mourning the cause of it.
Goodbye.
So final, yet …
Minerva sighed against his mouth, then melted against him, needing to deepen it, needing to feel his body against hers just this once before she had to let him go. Slowly, she traced her fingers over his face, searing it onto her memory for all the empty years to come. Then, because it was necessary, she did the same with his shoulders, then his arms and chest, while his hands toyed with her hair.