Once Upon an Irritatingly Magical Kiss by Bree Wolf

Chapter Six

Without Hesitation

Long before Thorne stepped into Lord Pemberton’s townhouse, he knew what was to come. With each step, more whispers drifted to his ears, and he could almost feel the other guests’ stares like little pinpricks on the back of his head. Indeed, they barely tried to hide their shock and outrage at his presence. Of course, they did not need to. They were the top of society, looking down on all those they considered beneath them, him included. No one ever held them accountable for their deeds nor sought to correct them for their conduct. As far as they were concerned, they were portraying appropriate manners.

As far as Thorne was concerned, they were being rude.

Nevertheless, Thorne was determined not to respond. He held his head high, an appropriately polite smile upon his face, and entered the drawing room. His gaze swept over the many guests, and he ignored their pointed stares as best as he could before he retreated to one side of the room, a vantage position from where he could overlook most of the goings-on. While he was being watched by everyone else, he himself continued to observe the people he had come here to see today.

Indeed, the Wicked Whickertons—as the ton had come to call them—were a rather unusual family; however, Thorne could not say that he disapproved. Quite on the contrary!

While Lord and Lady Whickerton were conversing with their daughter and new son-in-law, the Marquess of Pemberton, the other five siblings were mingling with friends and acquaintances around the room as well as in the gardens, Thorne supposed. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the dowager countess snoozing in an armchair, the eldest Whickerton sister never far from her side. The youngest, a redhead, was standing by the windows, her gaze fixed on a flock of birds crossing the light blue sky, their calls echoing indoors.

Where was she?

A tempting tingle snaked down the back of his neck, and Thorne turned around, his gaze falling on his golden-haired fury, Lady Christina.

She had yet to take notice of his presence as she stood with none other than Miss Mortensen—of course!—in a corner of the drawing room. Had they only just entered? Or had he truly overlooked her before?

Thorne doubted it.

His pulse quickened as he looked at her. She was beautiful—there was no doubt about it! Still, what captivated his attention were neither her golden tresses nor the enticing curves of her figure. Indeed, Thorne found himself trying to catch her eyes, trying to make her look at him and see him. Those deep blue eyes often flashed with sparks, some speaking of joy and exuberance while others—particularly when she was looking at him—revealed annoyance, fury even. She loathed him; that much was clear.

And it bothered him.

It bothered him a lot.

On some level, of course, he could understand why she felt about him the way she did. She was clearly protective of her friend. For some unknown reason, Miss Mortensen seemed all but terrified of him. Never had he raised his voice to her or spoken unkindly in her presence; her eyes, though, never quite dared to meet his, and she seemed pale whenever he stepped into a room. Thorne was mightily tempted to address the issue; however, he gathered that it would once again show poor manners and most likely send her into retreat once more, leaving him without answers yet again.

Perhaps Lady Christina would be more forthcoming. Indeed, she had not struck him as someone who would hold back. Her directness and unflinching approach had been impressive to watch. He had enjoyed their conversation the other day, and it had lingered upon his mind far longer than he had anticipated.

All the Whickerton siblings seemed rather dauntless and unflinching in their approach to the world. While some, like the newly married sister, Lady Pemberton, seemed to be of a quieter disposition, she still did not strike him as one who would ever bow her head. Neither did the eldest daughter, who constantly hovered around her grandmother. Although she remained in the shadows, her watchful eyes saw more than he supposed others ever suspected. She seemed quite assured of herself, conversing easily with others, her chin raised and her eyes never fearful.

It was a family with great respect for each individual member. Thorne could see it in the way the parents’ eyes constantly swept the room as though needing to assure themselves that all their children were well and accounted for. The six siblings often seemed to drift toward one another, never straying far from each other’s side, always aware when one was leaving or in need of counsel or comfort.

Thorne had to admit observing them made him yearn. It made him remember what was lacking in his life. It made him wish his parents and brothers and sisters had lived. It made him wish he had had a chance to get to know them beyond the few years they had shared.

His gaze moved back to Lady Christina, and as though she could feel him looking at her, her head turned in that moment and those flashing blue eyes looked into his.

Thorne felt it like a punch to the gut. That moment when they connected, when she was seeing him. Her eyes shot daggers, of course, but they were looking at him.

Him.

And no one else.

Thorne offered her a little smile, and it seemed to rile her even further. Behind her, Miss Mortensen seemed paler than before, her eyes darting to him and then quickly away again, never quite lingering. Words were exchanged between the two young women before the youngest Whickerton sister appeared, her red hair bouncing on her shoulders, as she turned to see what her sister was glaring at.

Her eyes came to fall upon him for a moment, and Thorne saw the corners of her mouth curl upward. Clearly, she did not share Lady Christina’s aversion to him.

The three conversed amongst themselves as Thorne continued to watch, delighting in each and every loathing glare Lady Christina cast his way. He could not help but think that she did not despise him nearly as much as she wanted to. There was something in those blue eyes of hers that whispered of other emotions, emotions she desperately wanted to hold in check. Indeed, he could not help but think that on some level she, too, was enjoying this rather unexpected connection between them.

It was precisely what had brought Thorne here today.

A moment later, the youngest Whickerton sister pulled Miss Mortensen away and the two of them stepped out into the gardens. Lady Christina remained behind, but only for a moment before she cast him another menacing glare and then turned on her heel and disappeared out into the corridor. Thorne could not be certain where it led; however, he was certain he needed to follow.

Willing his feet to remain still for another few heartbeats, his gaze fixed upon the arched doorway through which Lady Christina had disappeared. Thorne then moved forward, feeling his heart quicken inside his chest with anticipation.

Always had he known what he wanted. Always had he been one quick to realize his ambitions and desires. And always had he been one to pursue them with single-minded purpose, never hesitating, never questioning.

The corridor lay deserted, and with each step he took forward, the voices at his back began to dim. His gaze swept over the many doors lining the walls on each side, and he wondered how to proceed when suddenly his gaze caught movement up ahead.

The door opened, and he could hear voices. He was yet too far away to make out what they were saying; however, he was certain that one of the voices belonged to Lady Christina.

In the next moment, the dowager countess stepped out into the corridor, paused for a moment, more mumbled words leaving her lips, before she chuckled and then closed the door. She turned down the corridor and her gaze fell upon him.

For a heartbeat or two, the elderly woman simply looked at him, something curious and determined in her gaze. Then she moved toward him, her right hand leaning on her cane; nevertheless, she moved with surprising agility. “Mr. Sharpe, I presume.” Something almost wicked twinkled in her pale eyes as she regarded him.

Thorne chuckled. “You presume right, my lady.” As though she did not know! His gaze moved down the corridor and came to linger upon the door she had closed behind her.

“These events can be somewhat tiring,” she told him, casting a glance over her shoulder. “If you are in need of a temporary retreat, I would suggest the library. It is a most peaceful place.” A devilish grin came to her face. “It might be precisely what you’re looking for.” Her brows rose in what seemed like a daring challenge before she nodded to him and then began to continue making her way back toward the drawing room. Her hobbled steps made him wonder which of the impressions he had gained reflected the truth.

“Are you certain?” Thorne asked by the time she had almost reached the end of the corridor. “I know that…doubts can be a hard thing to live with.”

The dowager countess turned to look back at him. “Truer words have never been spoken,” she said to him, her eyes now thoughtful. “However, doubts can be had for more than one reason. The choice is yours as it will be hers.”

“As it was yours?”

The dowager countess nodded. “As it was mine, and I never once regretted it.”

Thorne smiled at her. “Never?”

She shook her head. “Never.” Then she turned and slowly walked away.

Inhaling a deep breath, Thorne marched down the corridor toward the door she had closed behind her earlier. He hesitated for a moment, thinking that perhaps it would be wise to think things through more thoroughly. Nonetheless, deep down, Thorne knew what he wanted.

He had known since the first moment he had seen her. He had never expected to feel anything remotely like what he felt, yet it did not alter the truth, did it?

A smile came to his face as he reached for the handle and then pushed the door open.

Indeed, he knew his choice, and he would not hesitate.