The Wedding Affair Page 8

  Perhaps most importantly, her daughter was still young enough that Charlotte would never have to know what her mother had done to secure her future.

  “Yes,” Olivia said steadily. “I meant it.”

  For an instant, the world seemed to hang in the balance.

  “Good,” the duke said. “Then we have some bargaining to do, my lady.”

  ***

  She was pale, Simon thought, and though she was plainly determined, she didn’t look excited at the prospect of making love with him. She looked more as if she was waiting to have a tooth extracted.

  Even a fool could see the marriage bed had not been a place of pleasure for her, and Simon was anything but a fool. He felt his blood stir at the thought of being her first lover, at least in the real sense of the word. The one who would introduce her to all the pleasures of illicit lovemaking. He would slowly enjoy every inch of her and, at the same time, show her how to pleasure herself as well as him.

  As a trysting place, the isolated corner of her garden held only a few advantages. There was an interesting patch of moss, dappled with sunlight under the overhanging branches of an old oak tree, that might be soft enough for a makeshift bed.

  But she had not yet committed herself beyond the point of retreat. The idea of tossing her down on the moss, inviting though it was, would have to wait. This filly was skittish. She would need to be coaxed, gentled to his touch.

  And in any case, he reminded himself, that wasn’t what he really wanted from Lady Reyne. At least, it wasn’t all he wanted.

  She was looking at him warily, as if she could read the turmoil inside him, and he could feel her begin to withdraw.

  “Bargaining,” he said again, and watched the hazel of her eyes grow darker. His voice felt rough, and he deliberately masked the passionate edge—for only a foolish man would spook the lady before she was entirely his. “I am prepared to be generous to get what I want. Would you like two bracelets, my lady? One for each wrist?”

  She wet her lips.

  She couldn’t have meant the gesture to be seductive, for it simply wasn’t in her. Not yet, at any rate. Still, the sight of the slick pink tip of her tongue sent desire jolting through him, and he heard himself say, “Shall we seal the bargain with a kiss?”

  “We haven’t made a bargain yet,” she said warily. “Why are you willing to pay more than I asked for?”

  “Because,” Simon said, “I want more than you offered.”

  He watched the play of emotions on her lovely face and wondered what sort of depravity she was imagining. Nothing too perverted, he suspected, for she was still innocent. What fun it would be to discover and fulfill her fantasies…

  But it was time for plain speaking.

  “For the next week,” he said firmly, “until my sister’s wedding is safely past and the last guests leave Halstead, I want to court you.”

  Five

  With Andrew Carlisle added to the group, the bridesmaids no longer dawdled and drooped. Not that his presence made any real difference to Kate, for he behaved exactly as a gentleman could be expected to—strolling along between two of the well-born young women, flirting gently with all of them, and rarely deigning to notice the help.

  Nevertheless, even the occasional glance or smile in her direction made him as annoying as a speck of granite in Kate’s shoe—too small to make a fuss over, too large to ignore.

  One of the bridesmaids asked Andrew about Lord Winchester. “My father said he’s hanging out for a bride. Is it true?”

  Another of the girls sniffed. “Not if he has sons, Horatia. Weren’t you listening?”

  Andrew seemed to bite back a smile. “He was widowed some time ago, but he married again last winter. That is why—” He broke off. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Miss Horatia.”

  Kate wondered what he had started to say instead. That is why… How would Andrew have finished that sentence, if he hadn’t thought better of it?

  She was relieved when they reached Halstead and she could retreat, if only for a few moments, to the cool and peaceful bedchamber she’d been assigned. The duchess had insisted Kate have a room all to herself, located in the main part of the house and not the distant wing where companions and other not-quite-servants were usually housed. Mostly, Kate suspected, the duchess’s order arose because she wanted Kate to be always available to her, not from a particular concern for Kate’s comfort. Nevertheless, Kate was grateful for the quiet.

  She splashed cool water over her face, sponged the dust off her black dress, tidied her hair, and within a few minutes was as ready as she’d ever be to return to her duties. Though the young ladies who had shared her walk would no doubt take much longer to refresh themselves, a half-dozen others had not gone all the way to the village, and by now the duchess would likely be impatient for Kate to take over.

  At any rate, Kate told herself, she wouldn’t have to concern herself with Andrew Carlisle for the moment, for he had excused himself at the door to take his horse around to the stables. “He’s a dear old friend,” he’d told the bridesmaids, “and I prefer to see to his care myself.”

  The bridesmaids had giggled all the way up the stairs about how odd Mr. Carlisle was to consider himself friends with his horse. Kate thought the comment had been a reasonably tactful way for Andrew to get away from the clingy females. No doubt when he finally did return to the house, he would vanish into one of the masculine bastions and not be seen again until dinner.

  Which was just fine with her.

  As Kate reached the foot of the stairs, Mrs. Greeley stepped out of the shadows. “Miss Blakely, I have no choice. I must move you out of the green room to accommodate another guest. I’ll have one of the maids take your things over to the east wing instead.”

  So much for Kate’s cool and peaceful bedroom, her sanctuary, her retreat. She hadn’t even spent a single night there. “The east wing?”

  “You’ll be closer to the bridesmaids if they need you,” Mrs. Greeley offered hopefully.

  Kate laughed and went on to the drawing room, which seemed remarkably full of people.

  Lady Stone, who occupied the most comfortable chair, and Colonel Sir Tristan Huffington, with his shoulder propped against the marble mantelpiece, were sniping at each other—but there was nothing new about that. A cluster of bridesmaids occupied a corner as they whispered together. They’d bear watching, Kate thought. And near the duchess was Penny, on a settee next to her husband. Her spine was absolutely upright as their boarding school instructors had taught, but she was making what sounded like random answers to the duchess’s comments.

  The duchess looked exasperated, and as her gaze fell on Kate, relief gleamed in her eyes. “Come here, my dear,” she said smoothly. “I understand you know Miss… I mean, the countess… from your time together at school. You must have much to speak of.” She stood up briskly and shook out her skirts. “And I—”

  At the door, the butler cleared his throat. “Your Grace, Mr. Blakely requests a few moments with you and Lady Daphne.”

  “Mr. Blakely?” The duchess blinked as if expecting to see a ghost standing behind the butler.

  “The new vicar is a cousin of my father’s, ma’am. He arrived yesterday.”

  “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten there was a relationship. No doubt he wants to talk about the wedding, but what a horridly inconvenient time to call… Put him in the small morning room, Greeley. I’ll be there in a moment. Goodness knows where Lady Daphne is.”

  “She went up to change her dress after our walk, I believe. Would you like me to ask her to come down?” Kate’s offer was halfhearted; she could imagine how Daphne would react to being hurried along for the vicar’s convenience.

  “Yes, please,” the duchess said briskly. “And perhaps on your way, you’ll show Lady Townsend to the blue suite at the top of the stairs so she can rest and refresh herself. Mrs. Greeley seems to have gone missing.”

  Penny got to her feet with obvious relief, and Kate led her out. For a mome
nt, she had forgotten the vicar entirely, but as they left the drawing room, Kate saw that though the butler was attempting to show Mr. Blakely into the morning room, the vicar was taking his time and admiring the grandeur of Halstead.

  “What a remarkable staircase,” he said. “The way it branches and hangs in midair without visible support! And the colors of the room.”

  I wonder if he’s warming up his voice for the duchess, Kate thought. He sounded as if he thought his throat were a musical instrument and he was testing his range.

  “Her Grace is to be complimented on her taste—Miss Blakely?”

  Now Kate knew he’d practiced his slow, sonorous voice, for when he was startled, his tone skated upward into a nasal-sounding tenor.

  “What are you doing here?” He sounded scandalized. “A young woman in mourning, visiting a house full of wedding festivities! I am shocked—”

  Before Kate could defend herself, the duchess spoke from behind her. “Mr. Blakely!” Her voice held the crack of a whip. “Your cousin has graciously put aside her personal loss to assist me during this busy time, and I don’t know what I would do without her. Surely her willingness to give service to others in their time of need is an expression not of frivolity but of true Christian charity!”

  The vicar’s Adam’s apple pumped as he swallowed hard. Kate could see him reassessing his position with this potentially valuable patron.

  “Of course, Your Grace. I spoke in haste, thinking only of what others—those of less pure mind—might think to see her here. But if you approve—well, no one could object.”

  Over his bowed head, the duchess winked at Kate, who gave a quick tug to Penny and started up the stairs.

  The vicar went on, “I admire my cousin for her most virtuous of motives. I am happy to confide in you, Your Grace, that I plan to quickly make her my wife.”

  Penny’s eyes went wide. Kate smothered a groan as she looked back over her shoulder to see how the duchess might react to the pronouncement.

  And saw Andrew Carlisle lounging in the shadow of the front door.

  Well, what of it? she asked herself crossly. What Kate chose to do with her life was nothing at all to him. And Andrew Carlisle was nothing at all to her.

  ***

  Kate’s groan pulled Penelope back to the moment. During the entire time that she’d sat in the drawing room—which could have been no more than a quarter hour, though it had felt like an age—Penelope had been in a sort of fog, afraid she might fling herself at the duchess’s feet and beg for her help. Exactly what sort of help, Penelope wasn’t certain.

  But the vicar’s pronouncement—that she could deal with. “You don’t sound very happy about it, Kate. Are you going to marry him?”

  Kate didn’t answer directly. “I don’t suppose you want to hire a companion, Penny? You and I have always gotten along well. I could wind skeins of needlepoint yarn for you or keep you company on long walks.”

  “Then you’re not betrothed? I must own I’m glad, as he hardly seems a fit match for you.” Penelope felt herself color, for surely the same could be said of her own husband.

  Kate pushed open a door. “This is the blue suite. You have your choice of rooms, I suppose, though this is the more feminine of the two. I suspect…” She opened a cupboard. “Yes, your things have already been unpacked.”

  “Already? The duchess has very efficient housemaids.”

  “And you have very few possessions,” Kate said. She sounded curious.

  The bedroom was spacious, with a high ceiling and two huge windows overlooking the drive and park at the front of the house. A pair of upholstered chairs were drawn up near the fireplace, and Penelope tried to focus on them. But she could not ignore the enormous bed with its tall posts, puffy mattress, and deep blue silk hangings.

  If things had gone just a tiny bit differently…

  They’re newlyweds, the elderly lady had said—and for just an instant the duchess had looked at Penelope as if seeking confirmation.

  If at that moment Penelope had simply smiled happily, laid her head against her husband’s shoulder, and looked up at him adoringly… then they would be sharing this room. And as of tonight, everything would change.

  But she had done nothing of the sort. Though she had felt a tinge of regret for letting an opportunity slip away, she could not deny the wave of relief that had followed. She knew she hadn’t imagined the way the earl’s body had gone rigid at the very idea of sharing her bedroom—and she was glad not to have to face his wrath, as she surely would have done had she manipulated him into such a public display.

  “Are you all right, Penny?” Kate walked across to the washstand. “Shall I ring for a maid to bring you hot water? This pitcher is barely warm.”

  “A cool rinse will be refreshing. We had a long drive, and I think I’ll rest for a while.” She took off her hat and set it atop a cabinet. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be fetching Lady Daphne?”

  Kate made a face. “She’s not going to want to be fetched—but yes, I must go and make the effort. Perhaps we can talk later? I want to hear all about your wedding.”

  Penelope did not settle down to rest, however. As soon as Kate was gone, she began to explore the room. Her meager wardrobe occupied less than a tenth of the cupboard Kate had opened, and two more cabinets stood entirely empty. But the cupboards and dressing table—even the huge, high bed—did not call to Penelope. She couldn’t keep herself from looking at the door on the far side of the room, and she was drawn to look beyond.

  Tentatively, she turned the handle and peeked into another blue bedroom, almost the twin of her own. If anything, the bed was even larger, draped with silk in a slightly darker shade of blue—or did the color seem different only because the drapes were closed here and the light was dimmer?

  There was no evidence of occupation except for a pitcher on the washstand that felt warm against her hand. She tiptoed across the carpet and opened a cabinet. Several coats, a pile of shirts, a heap of neckcloths… Somehow, she thought, the earl’s valet had fit a great deal more into a small portmanteau than Etta had managed. Even though his manservant had been left behind to come with Etta and the baggage wagon, the earl would have no difficulty in turning himself out well. But then, he never did look anything other than cool and elegant.

  Penelope could feel her hair, relieved of the weight of her hat, springing into random curls that must stick out in all directions.

  The door leading into the main hallway creaked open and Penelope tensed—too nervous to run. The earl came in very quietly, and she turned to face him, biting her lip and waiting.

  He glanced around the room, perhaps making certain there was no servant to overhear.

  “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, ma’am?”

  Why had she come to his bedroom? And having been discovered there, why hadn’t she simply apologized and retreated?

  Because you want to change things, Penelope reminded herself. “I thought perhaps we could talk about… our situation.”

  “Now? And here?”

  “Why not? In London, you’re never at home. On the drive, Mr. Carlisle was riding alongside. Here, there are no maids or valets to interrupt unless we call for them.”

  Without a word he took off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair. His cravat was next; he tossed it atop the coat, but it slid off to pool on the floor. He unfastened the band at the neck of his shirt. His fingers were long and strong and supple, and though Penelope was a good five feet away, she could almost feel the warmth of his fingertips brushing against the smooth linen as though it had been her skin.

  He glanced at her. “Don’t let me stop you. You were saying?”

  Penelope looked away. “I’ve been thinking about your letter, my lord. The one to my father. It seems to me that he did not absolutely reject your request.” And I wish you would tell me what that request was, she wanted to add.

  He paused, fingers clasped on the next button. “His refusal seemed quite
definite to me.”

  “But it wasn’t. Not really. He said he wouldn’t agree at this time. But surely he meant if you meet his terms…”

  “I would call them demands.”

  “Perhaps.” Penelope took a deep breath. “At any rate, we both know what he wants. It’s been three months, my lord, since the wedding. It seems to me it is time to take the next step.”

  The earl didn’t answer. Slowly, he stripped off his shirt.

  Penelope’s mouth went dry at the sight of so much bare skin. His chest was unexpectedly broad, and under the light furring of hair, she could see each muscle so clearly defined and distinct that she would be able to draw him from memory. Her heart was pounding.

  He laid the shirt aside and came to stand directly in front of her. She had been even closer to him, of course, on their wedding day—but this was different. He seemed so much bigger than she’d realized, and that bare chest was so much warmer… What would it be like to be pressed against him? Under him?

  She shivered a little.

  He moved past her to the washstand, poured warm water from the pitcher into the basin, and bent to splash his face.

  Penelope watched the muscles flex in his back and arms. Then, feeling as if she was only half-awake, she reached for a towel to hold out for him.

  He looked at her over the edge of the linen square. “I must beg your pardon. I did not realize how strongly your father has pressured you for an heir until yesterday when he visited in Berkeley Square, and even then I did not comprehend how concerned you are about providing one in order to satisfy him.” He blotted his face and folded the towel.

  The careful way he matched up the corners told Penelope exactly how tightly he was controlling himself, for she couldn’t imagine him caring whether a towel was neat or not.

  “You must not disturb yourself over the matter,” he went on. “Mr. Weiss cannot cut off your allowance, for my solicitors saw to that in the marriage contracts.”

  She took a moment to find her voice. “That’s not…”