A Kiss to Spark a Scandal - Chapter 7

‘Have you seen Peter?’ After frantically hunting for her fiancé for ten minutes, Dorothea relented and approached the acerbic Lord Toby, who had been positively glaring at her since she had made her grand entrance on her father’s arm.

‘He hasn’t jilted you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Peter isn’t the jilting ladies type.’ Toby took a long swig of the champagne in his glass, scowling. ‘He’s all about honour and duty and doing the right thing.’

‘I asked if you had seen him.’ She was in no mood for his usual rudeness. ‘And I take it you haven’t.’ She turned to march away and Lord Toby caught her arm.

‘Do you love him, Dorothea? Because if you don’t…’

‘There you are!’ Peter strode towards them, looking every bit as sun-kissed and handsome as her mother had said, yet she was apparently immune to all those charms. He retrieved her arm from his friend’s grasp while shooting him an odd look and kissed the back of her hand. ‘You look lovely—and see.’ He pointed to his waistcoat. ‘We are the perfect match.’

‘About that…’ She winced, not wanting to have this conversation but knowing that it was imperative when both of their future happiness was at stake. ‘Can we talk outside?’

‘Of course you are the perfect match!’ Lord Toby practically snarled this despite slurring as the last drops of his champagne sloshed out of his glass. ‘Your parents have decreed it, promised you to each other since birth, so how could it possibly be otherwise!’

‘You are drunk, Toby.’ Peter’s voice was clipped. ‘You should go. Home.’

‘And miss the engagement of the century?’ He was shooting daggers at Peter now, which made a change when they were normally aimed at her. ‘The love match of the century! Oh, I wouldn’t miss this mockery of an engagement for the world!’

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ The master of ceremonies called for quiet. ‘Kindly charge your glasses, for in ten minutes we shall be toasting the happy couple.’

Ten minutes! ‘Peter—please!’ Dorothea tried to drag him towards the terrace. ‘We really do need to talk!’

‘Yes, of course…’ He followed for a moment, then stopped dead, his gaze fixed on Toby, who was recharging his glass. ‘Let me pour him into a carriage first and I shall meet you on the terrace.’

He left her stranded to see to his friend, and as well-wishers surged towards her to congratulate her on making probably the biggest mistake of her life, Dorothea rushed out onto the terrace alone. Hugging herself tight despite the temperature being perfectly pleasant.

What a mess!

What a hideous mess!

Why on earth had she allowed things to go this far without having an honest conversation with Peter? A conversation which might have fixed things—one way or another—weeks ago.

‘Dot!’ She practically jumped out of her skin at the sound of Freddie’s voice coming from the darkened lawn. ‘We need to talk!’

He emerged from behind a shrub several yards away, all windswept and interesting, still dressed for travelling rather than dancing. ‘I thought you had gone!’ But oh, how relieved she was that he hadn’t! The urge to throw herself into his arms and cling on for dear life overwhelming.

‘I had… I got all the way to Chelsea before I had to turn around.’ He was striding towards her, his expression frantic. Urgent. Angry. Desperate.

Determined.

‘I knew I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t give it one last try. I have things to say. Things I have to say. And I promise you that I am going to cause the scene to end all scenes and thoroughly ruin your party unless you do me the courtesy of listening!’ He took her hand, and her heart and soul rejoiced at the contact. ‘So, follow me!’

He marched them towards the back of the garden into the darkness, his long legs eating up the ground so fast she had to run to keep up. When they reached her mother’s favourite little bench amongst the rose bushes, he sat her on it and began to pace before her. He stopped briefly to jab his finger in the air.

‘Marrying Peter is a mistake!’ That said, he paced some more, his hands gesticulating wildly as he spoke. ‘You do not love him, Dot! You are only marrying him because your parents want you to, and frankly that is the most ridiculous reason for marrying as any I can think of! Because marriage is for life, Dot!’

He stopped pacing again, his fists clenched. ‘For life!’

Then he was off again. ‘And you deserve to spend eternity with a man who adores you, not one who tolerates you and who you tolerate back. One who cannot stop thinking about you! One who loves you with a burning passion that makes absolutely no sense beyond the fact that it makes perfect sense! One who you love and desire back with every fibre of your soul!’

When he stopped this time, the intense emotion in his unwavering gaze staggered her. ‘If that man is Peter—genuinely Peter—then I shall stand aside, and we will never speak of this again. You can marry him with my blessing because I want you to be happy.’ He swallowed. Hard. Then edged towards her to take her hand, staring at it in wonder as if his body experienced the same sublime jolt of contact that hers did. ‘But if he isn’t, then as God is my witness, I am going to do whatever it takes to try to win you for myself.’

His stormy blue eyes stared deep into hers, begging for the truth. ‘Do you love him, Dorothea?’

‘There are two hundred people inside about to toast our engagement.’ She was thoroughly trapped. By timing. By circumstances. By duty. ‘The banns are being read in the morning…’ The ramifications of it all, the futility of it all, brought tears to her eyes. ‘Peter and our parents are expecting…’

He placed a finger on her lips, then used it to tenderly trace them before he pressed his mouth to hers softly.

Briefly.

But still her heart sang.

Soared.

‘Do you love him, Dorothea?’

She shook her head, her voice cracking. ‘No.’

Freddie sagged in relief, his fingers gently brushing her cheek, more vulnerable than she had ever thought possible. ‘And do you love me?’

‘I…’ The distant voice of reason in her head warned her this was madness. Utter, reckless, potentially scandalous madness, but the hypnotic pull of his gaze and his presence overwhelmed her. Drew her like a moth to a flame. Overruled the voice, all common sense and all reason. Without thinking, her mouth edged towards his. Her arm snaked around his neck. Her fingers wove their way into his hair as she spoke the undeniable truth. ‘I do.’

‘Dorothea!’ She jumped at Peter’s bellow. ‘What the blazes is going on here?’