Finding Miss McFarland Page 19

  Racing across the room to the wardrobe, she hastily dressed. Without even bothering to brush her hair or don a sash, she raced out the door and down the stairs. Sadly, it wasn’t Griffin she saw waiting in the foyer.

  “Father?” Her heart shattered all over again. Tears flowed freely from her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “I might ask the same of you,” he said, setting his silver-tipped cane and top hat on a bench by the door. When he looked up at her, his face hardened. “Why are you crying?”

  Her face hardened as well. He was the last person she wanted to see. Everything was his fault, after all. “You’ve doomed Bree and me to a life without love. You only care about money, and that’s why Mother left.”

  “That’s what you might think, but I won’t hear it,” he said, raising his voice for the first time in so long that she was taken aback. “Don’t you realize that I’ve done everything to prove that I didn’t need her money? I’ve so much wealth in land and trade that it makes her fortune a mere pebble in a quarry.”

  Money. She hated that her life had revolved around it. “Then why did you heap so much on me, making me a laughingstock amongst the ton?”

  “That was never my intention. I didn’t know any other way! That is what fathers do. I wanted to show them all that I didn’t care a whit for what they said about me or my reasons for marrying your mother. She, on the other hand, cared too much,” he said on an exhale that seemed to extinguish his anger. “Not only that, but I wanted them to see you, not the tragedy. So, I gave them something to gossip about. And I wanted to give you the chance to find someone worthy of you.”

  She blinked. Was this conversation actually happening . . . and with her father? Gil McFarland sounded as if he cared. It sounded as if he’d been listening all these years.

  Then his face turned ruddy again, as if in warning. “And if you think for a moment that I didn’t know about your idiotic scheme to marry a pauper, then you’ve underestimated me and the depths of my temper. I’ll have that blasted Montwood wetting his trousers in three seconds.”

  Oh yes. It really was her father. “You came all this way because you thought I ran away with Montwood?”

  “Buckley keeps me apprised of all your associations.”

  Buckley! All this time, she thought she had his devoted loyalty. “Where is the devious little scamp?” Then again, perhaps looking out for her was his way of being the most loyal.

  “He fell asleep in the carriage.”

  “You let him ride in the carriage with you?” She grinned. “Who knew my father’s heart was full of syllabub?”

  “Never mind all that,” he blustered and made an impatient gesture for her to give him the daughterly embrace he expected. “If you didn’t come here to run away with Montwood, then why are you here?”

  “Because”—she took a breath—“I needed to figure out what I really wanted.”

  “And have you?”

  After pecking him on the cheek, she nodded.

  He shook his head. “A little more than a week away from London gave you the answer, yet over a year away hasn’t helped your mother.”

  “I know what might help her.” Delaney recalled something Mrs. Shaw had said. “Give her fortune back. If it means nothing to you, then you have to prove it.”

  “But if she has her own fortune to do with as she pleases”—he swallowed—“then I could lose her forever.”

  It seemed that the fear of one’s heart being broken ran in the family. “Do you truly have her now?”

  As the words left Delaney’s lips, a sudden sense of urgency filled her. What had she done to prove herself to Griffin? To prove to him that she would go any distance for his love? She knew what she wanted. So why was she standing here when Griffin Croft might be leaving Scotland at this very moment?

  Delaney couldn’t risk letting him get away. “Father, I have to go.”

  “What do you mean?” He frowned, turning blustery again. “I just arrived.”

  “There isn’t time to explain.” Before her father could argue, she rushed through the open door. Mrs. Shaw had been right—Delaney needed to go to Griffin. He’d come all this way for her. Now, it was time for her to prove how much she loved him.

  She only hoped she wasn’t too late.

  Hurrying down the hill as fast her feet would take her, Delaney stopped short when she saw a figure emerge. Her breath escaped in a rush. There he was—Griffin Croft—striding up the hill and stirring the fog at his feet.

  The moment he saw her, he smiled, and she knew that he’d forgiven her. She knew that she never should have let her fears speak for her. Instead, she should have let her heart speak all along.

  Not hesitating, she ran straight into his arms.

  He held her tightly and smoothed the hair from her face. “I never should have told you to leave. I know you’re frightened,” he said with kisses over her brow, down her nose, and across her cheeks. “I should have reassured you, told you that you never need to fear for the safety of your heart.”

  “I know. I should have trusted you all along. The truth is, the only one I didn’t trust was myself,” she admitted. “I have been known to make rash decisions, after all. And yet, you were the only one I carefully plotted to steer clear of. If that wasn’t an admission of love from the first moment, then I don’t know what could be.”

  He captured her lips, branding her forever.

  “Mr. Croft!” her father bellowed from the top of the hill. “You’d better have plans to marry my daughter, or you’ll find yourself in a sorry state.”

  “We are already married,” Delaney called over her shoulder. Then she turned back to Griffin and lifted her gaze. “Would you care for a walk to the nearest blacksmith, Mr. Croft?”

  This time, she didn’t mind his arrogant grin one bit.

  “It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Croft.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to my editor, Chelsey Emmelhainz, for your uncanny ability to spot plot holes, for helping me keep track of the series details, and especially for the smiley faces in the margins.

  Thank you to the entire Avon Impulse team for your hard work. And a special thanks to Emily Homonoff for your organizational skills and cheerful e-mails.

  Thank you to my family and friends for laughing with me, just when I need it most. And thank you to my readers for all your support.

  Don’t miss the other Wallflower Weddings!

  Keep reading for excerpts from

  DARING MISS DANVERS

  and

  WINNING MISS WAKEFIELD

  Now available from Avon Impulse!

  An Excerpt from

  DARING MISS DANVERS

  Oliver Goswick, Viscount Rathburn, needs money, but only marriage to a proper miss will release his inheritance. There’s just one solution: a mock courtship with a trusted friend. Miss Emma Danvers knows nothing good can come of Rathburn’s scheme. Still, entranced by the inexplicable hammering he causes in her heart, she agrees to play his betrothed despite her heart’s warning: it’s all fun and games . . . until someone falls in love!

  “Shall we shake hands to seal our bargain?”

  Not wanting to appear as if she lacked confidence, Emma thrust out her hand and straightened her shoulders.

  Rathburn chuckled, the sound low enough and near enough that she could feel it vibrating in her ears more than she could hear it. His amused gaze teased her before it traveled down her neck, over the curve of her shoulder, and down the length of her arm. He took her gloveless hand. His flesh was warm and callused in places that made it impossible to ignore the unapologetic maleness of him.

  She should have known this couldn’t be a simple handshake, not with him. He wasn’t like anyone else. So why should this be any different?

  He looked down at their joined hands, turning hers this way and that, seeing the contrast, no doubt. His was large and tanned, his nails clean but short, leaving the very tips of his fingers exposed. Hers was small and
slender, her skin creamy, her nails delicately rounded as was proper. Yet when she looked at her hand covered by his, she felt anything but proper.

  She tried to pull away, but he kept it and moved a step closer.

  “I know a better way,” he murmured and before she knew his intention, he tilted up her chin and bent his head.

  His mouth brushed hers in a very brief kiss. So brief, in fact, she almost didn’t get a sense that it had occurred at all. Almost.

  However, she did get an impression of his lips. They were warm and softer than they appeared, but that was not to say they were soft. No, they were the perfect combination of softness while remaining firm. In addition, the flavor he left behind was intriguing. Not sweet like liquor or salty like toothpowder, but something in between, something . . . spicy. Pleasantly herbaceous, like a combination of pepper and rosemary with a mysterious flavor underneath that reminded her . . . of the first sip of steaming chocolate on a chilly morning. The flavor of it warmed her through. She licked her lips to be certain, but made the mistake of looking up at him.

  He was staring at her lips, his brow furrowed.

  The fireflies vanished from his eyes as his dark pupils expanded. The fingers that were curled beneath her chin spread out and stole around to the base of her neck. He lowered his head again, but this time he did not simply brush his lips over hers. Instead, he tasted her, flicking his tongue over the same path hers had taken.

  A small, foreign sound purred in her throat. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Kissing Rathburn was wrong on so many levels. They weren’t truly engaged. In fact, they were acquaintances only through her brother. They could barely stand each other. The door to the study was closed—highly improper. Her parents or one of the servants could walk in any minute. She should be pushing him away, not encouraging him by parting her lips and allowing his tongue entrance. She should not curl her hands over his shoulders or discover that there was no padding in his coat. And she most definitely should not be on the verge of leaning into him—

  There was a knock at the door. They split apart with a sudden jump, but the sound had come from the hall. Someone was at the front of the house.

  She looked at Rathburn, watching the buttons of his waistcoat move up and down as he caught his breath. When he looked away from the door and back to her, she could see the dampness of their kiss on his lips. Her kiss.

  He grinned and waggled his brows as if they were two criminals who’d made a lucky escape. “Not quite as buttoned up as I thought.” He licked his lips, ignoring her look of disapproval. “Mmm . . . jasmine tea. And sweet too. I would have thought you’d prefer a more sedate China black with lemon. Then again, I never would have thought such a proper miss would have such a lush, tempting mouth either.”

  She pressed her lips together to blot away the remains of their kiss. “Have you no shame? It’s bad enough that it happened. Must you speak of it?”

  He chuckled and stroked the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip as his gaze dipped, again, to her mouth. “You’re right, of course. This will have to be our secret. After all, what would happen if my grandmother discovered that beneath a façade of modesty and decorum lived a warm-blooded temptress with the taste of sweet jasmine on her lips?”

  An Excerpt from

  WINNING MISS WAKEFIELD

  When her betrothed suddenly announces his plans to marry another, Merribeth Wakefield knows only a bold move will bring him back and restore her tattered reputation: She must take a lesson in seduction from a master of the art. But when the dark and brooding rake, Lord Knightswold, takes her under his wing, her education quickly goes from theory to hands-on knowledge, and her heart is given a crash course in true desire!

  “Now, give back my handkerchief,” Lord Knightswold said, holding out his hand as he returned to her side. “You’re the sort to keep it as a memento. I cannot bear the thought of my handkerchief being worshipped by a forlorn miss by moonlight or tucked away with mawkish reverence beneath a pillow.”

  The portrait he painted was so laughable that she smiled, heedless of exposing her flaw. “You flatter yourself. Here.” She dropped it into his hand as she swept past him, prepared to leave. “I have no desire to touch it a moment longer. I will leave you to your pretense of sociability.”

  “’Tis no pretense. I have kept good company this evening.” Either the brandy had gone to her head, impairing her hearing, or he actually sounded sincere.

  She paused and rested her hands on the carved rosewood filigree edging the top of the sofa. “Much to my own folly. I never should have listened to Lady Eve Sterling. It was her lark that sent me here.”

  He feigned surprise. “Oh? How so?”

  If it weren’t for the brandy, she would have left by now. Merribeth rarely had patience for such games, and she knew his question was part of a game he must have concocted with Eve. However, his company had turned out to be exactly the diversion she’d needed, and she was willing to linger. “She claimed to have forgotten her reticule and sent me here to fetch it—no doubt wanting me to find you.”

  He looked at her as if confused.

  “I’ve no mind to explain it to you. After all, you were abetting her plot, lying in wait, here on this very sofa.” She brushed her fingers over the smooth fabric, thinking of him lying there in the dark. “Not that I blame you. Lady Eve is difficult to say no to. However, I will conceal the truth from her, and we can carry on as if her plan had come to fruition. It would hardly have served its purpose anyway.”

  He moved toward her, his broad shoulders outlined by the distant torch light filtering in through the window behind him. “Refresh my memory then. What was it I was supposed to do whilst in her employ?”

  She blushed again. Was he going to make her say the words aloud? No gentleman would.

  So, of course, he would. She decided to get it over with as quickly as possible. “She professed that a kiss from a rake could instill confidence and mend a broken heart.”

  He stopped, impeded by the sofa between them. His brow lifted in curiosity. “Have you a broken heart in need of mending?”

  The deep murmur of his voice, the heated intensity in his gaze, and quite possibly the brandy all worked against her better sense and sent those tingles dancing in a pagan circle again.

  Oh, yes, she thought as she looked up at him. Yes, Lord Knightswold. Mend my broken heart.

  However, her mouth intervened. “I don’t believe so.” She gasped at the realization. “I should, you know. After five years, my heart should be in shreds. Shouldn’t it?”

  He turned before she could read his expression and then sat down on the sofa, affording her a view of the top of his head. “I know nothing of broken hearts or their mending.”

  “Pity,” she said, distracted by the dark silken locks that accidentally brushed her fingers. “Neither do I.”

  However accidental the touch of his hair had been, now her fingers threaded through the fine strands with untamed curiosity and blatant disregard for propriety.

  Lord Knightswold let his head fall back, permitting—perhaps even encouraging—her to continue. She did, without thought to right, wrong, who he was, or who she was supposed to be. Running both hands through his hair, massaging his scalp, she watched his eyes drift closed.

  Then, Merribeth Wakefield did something she never intended to do.

  She kissed a rake.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  VIVIENNE LORRET loves romance novels, her pink laptop, her husband, and her two teenage sons (not necessarily in that order . . . but there are days). Transforming copious amounts of tea into words, she is the author of “Tempting Mr. Weatherstone” in Avon Impulse’s Christmas anthology Five Golden Rings and the Wallflower Wedding Series. For more on her upcoming novels, visit her at www.vivlorret.net.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  BY VIVIENNE LORRET

  Finding Miss McFarland

  Winning
Miss Wakefield

  Daring Miss Danvers

  “Tempting Mr. Weatherstone” in Five Golden Rings: A Christmas Collection

  Give in to your impulses . . .

  Read on for a sneak peek at three brand-new

  e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.

  Available now wherever e-books are sold.

  FULL EXPOSURE

  BOOK ONE: INDEPENDENCE FALLS

  By Sara Jane Stone

  PERSONAL TARGET

  AN ELITE OPS NOVEL

  By Kay Thomas

  SINFUL REWARDS 1

  A BILLIONAIRES AND BIKERS NOVELLA

  By Cynthia Sax

  An Excerpt from

  FULL EXPOSURE

  Book One: Independence Falls

  by Sara Jane Stone

  The first book in a hot new series from contemporary romance writer Sara Jane Stone. When Georgia begins work as a nanny for her brother’s best friend, she knows she can’t have him, but his pull is too strong, and she feels sparks igniting.

  Georgia Trulane walked into the kitchen wearing a purple bikini, hoping and praying for a reaction from the man she’d known practically forever. Seated at the kitchen table, Eric Moore, her brother’s best friend, now her boss since she’d taken over the care of his adopted nephew until he found another live-in nanny, studied his laptop as if it held the keys to the world’s greatest mysteries. Unless the answers were listed between items b and c on a spreadsheet about Oregon timber harvesting, the screen was not of earth-shattering importance. It certainly did not merit his full attention when she was wearing an itsy-bitsy string bikini.

  “Nate is asleep,” she said.

  Look up. Please, look up.

  Eric nodded, his gaze fixed to the screen. Why couldn’t he look at her with that unwavering intensity? He’d snuck glances. There had been moments when she’d turned from preparing his nephew’s lunch and caught him looking at her, really looking, as if he wanted to memorize the curve of her neck or the way her jeans fit. But he quickly turned away.