Once Upon a Time in Bath (The Brides of Bath #7) - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,62

comments made by your sister Abby, there’s another matter we must discuss before we can set a wedding date.”

He raised a brow.

“Your mistress.”

“That blasted Abby!”

They stood in the grass as she took both his hands. “My dearest Forrester, I’ve known about your Mrs. P for some time.”

“That blasted Bath Chronicle!”

She nodded.

He bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. “That woman is history. As soon as you did me the honor of consenting to become my wife, I broke it off with her.” He drew a breath. “Because you are to be my wife I will speak of something I would not normally discuss.” He drew another breath. “My father kept mistresses. I did not approve. My mother was a wonderful woman, a devoted wife. She deserved my father’s complete fidelity.” He took her hands and kissed them. “I vow to you I will be a faithful husband.”

She could ask for nothing more than the words he’d said to her today.

She had thought to ask him when he’d learned she was considered an heiress, but she didn’t want to hear the truth.

For she already knew it.

* * *

When they returned to her house, Appleton joined her in the library where he helped her on the invitations to Friday night’s salon. “You’ve been so helpful in assisting me with the list of invitees and providing their addresses,” she said. “You don’t have to stay. I can finish them and have them delivered this afternoon.”

“I’ll stay.” Was it a weakness to admit he enjoyed being with her? There was also another matter they must decide.

It had already been more than two weeks since that damned Wolf had acquired his gambling debts. He had less than two weeks in which to get the money to save the house and keep that man from trying to marry Annie. Appleton needed to marry Dot soon. Her father had already agreed to present him the dowry upon their marriage.

“I’m desperate to marry you.” He moved closer and pressed whispery kisses on the silky skin of her neck as he murmured. “I’m hungry to make you my wife.” He emitted a low groan. “In every way.”

She set down her pen and looked up at him with those big chocolaty eyes, and he thought he’d never seen a more desirable woman. When her hand stroked his thigh, he thought he could go mad with desire. “I must get a special license,” he ground out.

Tracing sultry circles on his thigh, she nodded. “You can set the date,” she said breathlessly.

He snatched her hand and kissed it. Otherwise he might have tried to ravish her on the floor of her father’s library. He did not know what had gotten into him. No woman had ever aroused him as she did. “Then we’ll marry before the week’s out, my beloved.”

With those words, he stood. By God, he was going to find a clergyman and get a special license immediately.

Chapter 17

Judging from the attendance, Dot would say her salon was a great success. Every person she had invited came. Once they had all arrived, Forrester took her hand and went to stand in front of the fireplace, the focal point at which the drawing room.

After he thanked everyone for coming, he made an announcement: “My dear Miss Pankhurst and I wish to tell those of you who have gathered here tonight that we’re to marry on Wednesday morning in Bath Cathedral, and all of you . . .” Forrester scanned the assemblage, “my closest friends, are invited.”

His comment was met with broad smiles, and Mrs. James Blankenship, who’d managed to seat herself next to Mr. Pankhurst, even clapped her hands to demonstrate her hearty approval.

“One other announcement: after tonight’s discussions, whist tables will be set up for all who desire to play. Now,” he said, “I’m going to step aside and allow our hostess to introduce our first speaker.”

Dot had decided that even though she’d been told Melvin Steffington was the shyer of the two scholars, she would have him go first. Her reasoning was that his topic of a Roman philosopher/orator would be less appealing than Jonathan Blankenship speaking on contemporary matters of politics. Having Jonathan go last would extend the discussions to enable all attendees who desired to further address the topic.

“It is my honor tonight,” she began, “to present our first speaker whose newest work is a translation of some of Cicero’s more obscure letters.” She eyed Melvin, who looked so much like Sir