Beauty and the Duke (11 page)

“He and your father had been in contact for some time before your father died,” Joseph said. “Sedgwick
has made substantial donations to the university in Edinburgh. Yes, I had talked to him about the possibility of his sponsorship.”

“Even thinking him a wife murderer? Please spare me the sanctimonious drivel. All of you. You’ve lost your right to pass judgment on me. You more than anyone, Joseph.”

“My
right
? We’ve known each other years. I don’t have to be an expert to know the difference between seeking someone’s patronage and marrying him. I care about what happens to you. I care about
you
. You cannot possibly think you would be happy with the man.”

“And if you
truly
cared an iota about me, you would
not
have wed Amelia.”

The words were out before she could stop them, and she would have given anything to take them back. Her gaze flew to her friend. “Oh, Lord.” Shaking her head, she pressed the heel of her hand to her temple. “I…I’m sorry. I should not have said that. I did not mean it that—”

“Are you with
him
because of some latent, unresolved anger you have toward
me
?” Joseph asked as he came to stand in front of her. “Good God. Is that why you are marrying him?”

She stared up into his handsome face, his hair sweeping his brow like a troubadour of old, and saw the man with whom she’d thought to spend her life. Until he’d met Amelia and married her instead.

Until Erik had come back into her life and changed everything. Until she had put on the ring.

“Christine…” His voice lowered. “What would you have any of us say to you?” He swept his arm across the room. “Tell us.”

“I would…” Tears burned in the back of her eyes.
The fight suddenly went out of her. “You and Amelia will soon be on your way to Perth. I wanted that position. You know I did. But I am happy that you will be making a showing for the museum. You have
all
made decisions about our futures. I’m only asking that you let me now make mine.”

She waited for someone to say something. Even Aunt Sophie remained silent, sitting on the settee beneath the window. Christine was suddenly exhausted and feeling entirely too isolated, unsure of herself and worried about the meaning of Aunt Sophie’s silence. Of everyone in the entire world, Sophie’s approval meant everything.

Her uncle rose and, with an oath, stomped from the room.

Joseph paused before her before he walked out of the room. “I wish you well, Chrissie. I really do.”

The words hurt her more than anything else he could have said. Because they felt empty. Like a great tomb that should have been filled with gold only to be discovered empty upon excavation. She wondered how she could have ever thought she might have been in love with him. He lacked fortitude, the kind needed to claw one’s way up a cliff. Joseph would let go and fall. Amelia rose and hesitated in front of Christine, tears in her eyes.

“Joseph’s Perth expedition has been postponed indefinitely,” she said. “He would have told you himself this afternoon.”

Christine’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t understand.”

“We went by Lord Bingham’s home this morning. Joseph wanted to let him know he was ready to assemble his team as soon as such a meeting could be arranged. The expedition lost another one of its lead
archeologists, this time to some French team in Greece. All hush-hush. Supposedly a big find is about to be announced. Everyone wants to be part of the group that unearths the next discovery. Perth is no longer of interest to the museum.”

Christine felt her chest grow heavy. He had wanted Perth so badly and she hurt for him. “I’m sorry, Amelia.”

But Amelia was already walking past Christine and out of the room.

Gordy chuckled. “You do realize, no one in this family will ever speak to you again. No more invitations to Christmas reunions. Your name will be stricken from the Sommerses’ family bible.” He chuckled as he lumbered past her to the door. “You’ve even rendered Aunt Sophie speechless.” He lowered his voice. “I thought only a bottle of bourbon did us that service.”

Christine strode past him to the front door and opened it for him. “Good-bye, Gordy. And do watch your step. The stairs are wet. I should hate for you to fall and break your neck.”

He swept her a bow. “May you rest in peace, too,
coz.
”

After slamming the door behind her cousin, Christine returned to the dining room to find Aunt Sophie had not moved. “I do not know if I should rejoice or weep at the turn of events this day,” she said.

Christine could not bear her aunt’s disapproval. At the very least, she hoped for neutrality. “Lord Sedgwick is not as people paint him,” Christine said.

“Ten years is a long time to be away from a man and still think you know him. He may be more like the portrait that has been painted of him than you know. What did he offer you, dear?”

Christine shook her head, but no longer able to stand,
she dropped into the seat beside her aunt. Aunt Sophie withdrew the cloth in which Christine had wrapped Becca’s fossil. “This perhaps?”

Her heart gave a start. The amber light in the room seemed to embalm the tooth with sinister life. Erik had left the fossils in her lab. Christine did not bother to deny the truth as she took the fossil from Aunt Sophie. “He has found a beast on Sedgwick land.”

“That explains why he contacted your father last year. Does Sedgwick know that
you
are C. A. Sommers?”

Christine wiped the corners of her eyes. “C. A. Sommers?” she said facetiously, “the infamous dragon hunter?” The malicious term the elite academia had labeled her father. “No, he does not. It wouldn’t matter if he did learn I am C. A. Sommers. Though he might begin to care if people started laughing at him because they believed his wife was a loon.”

“Your papa believed in you, Christine. Don’t disgrace his sacrifice for you by mocking yourself. He would not have wanted that from you. ”

“Papa died a laughingstock because of me, Aunt Sophie.”

That beast-bird theory had never been her father’s, but hers. After her discovery of similar skeletal remains off the Isle of Wight, it had been her initial hypothesis that the ancient creature held similar skeletal makeup to modern-day feathered creatures. Dinosaurs could be the ancestors of birds, a theory that Papa took to the Royal Society scholars, only to be scorned.

He’d believed in her enough to go out on the proverbial limb for Christine. And paid for it with his professional reputation. Even though the book won an award, he still died the butt of all the jokes among his true peers.

“Lord Sedgwick is not just any man, Christine.”

“I want this discovery, Aunt Sophie.”
I need this.

“Nothing like
sticking
it in the eye of authority,” Aunt Sophie said with gusto. “And what does Sedgwick want from you?” At Christine’s embarrassed flush, Aunt Sophie nodded sagely. “I see. The proverbial heir,” she said consideringly. “Then love has nothing to do with your decision or his.”

“We will be business partners, Aunt Sophie. Nothing more.” She scrubbed the heel of her hand against her cheek. “My decision is made. I hope I can count on your support.”

Christine finally rose and left the room. Once in her room, she slammed shut the door. She washed and dressed for bed early. For some reason, having been walking an emotional tightrope all day, she just let herself fall off. Face-first.

But strangely, it was not her argument with her wretched uncle or cousin or with Joseph, or Amelia’s parting words, or even Aunt Sophie’s lack of approval, that found her still awake at midnight when Beast deigned to leave his place on the windowsill and join her in bed.

Erik kept her awake. Erik, who made her heart race. Erik, who remained in her thoughts long after the time she should be sleeping peacefully—as he had from the moment she had first seen him climb down from the carriage at the museum gala. Erik, who promised her more than she dared dream possible.

Her hand pausing in the act of petting Beast, she splayed her fingers in the cat’s fur where moonlight warmed the silver wishing band on her finger. With a groan, she turned onto her back and placed her forearm across her brow, aware that her own foolishness was driving her thoughts, reassuring herself that there were no such things as magical unseen forces that held
the power to control a person’s destiny. There were no such things as real dragons either, even though she was about to embark on a hunt to find one. No fairy tales either, even though she was about to go to Scotland and live in a castle.

Yet, the only thing she feared more than waking up tomorrow and discovering today had been one huge cosmic joke was that
Erik
would be the one to awaken first. Or worse.

The ring really
was
magic.

T
he steamer packet carrying Christine and her small entourage approached Kirkcaldy, where she would meet the Scottish laird who was now her husband. He had gone on ahead of her while she’d remained in London these past weeks to finish her affairs.

A sudden gust of wind swept the deck and struck her full in the face. A storm off Holly Island had sent most of the passengers on the
Excalibur
to their cabins before dinner, but not her. With gloved fingers, she clasped her cloak as she huddled within its folds. As a blast from the stack bellowed their approach, she peered from beneath her hood across the dreary landscape, her eyes straining to see the Leith & Hamburg dock.

Several conveyances lined the wharf, apparently awaiting the packet’s arrival. Her gaze landed on a dark carriage parked a short distance from the dock. A pair of figures stood beside it. She straightened as she recognized Erik’s solicitor, Mr. Attenborough, and her husband. Erik wore a greatcoat and hat that cast a shadow over much of his upper face. He stood unmoving, like some medieval laird, much in accord with the storm clouds churning behind him.

She had not seen him since his departure from London. He had not written except to say he had arrived at Sedgwick. The note had been brief, formal in tone, utterly aristocratic, as if his arriving in Scotland had somehow transformed him back to the way he had been before coming to London.

Christine’s mind spun backward and her memory filled with the recent events that had changed her life. A month ago, almost to the day, just after nine o’clock in the morning, beneath a trellis of lilacs outside St. Jude’s Cathedral, Reverend Simms had joined Christine Alana Sommers forever to Erik James Edward Boughton, the twelfth duke of Sedgwick. Erik’s sister served as maid of honor. He had worn an elegantly cut gray morning jacket, silk waistcoat and trousers, a stark contrast to her bright blue satin gown. She had entwined tiny white rosebuds into her hair, which seemed fitting for her wedding day.

With the breeze stirring the leaves of the large oak tree branches above where they stood, their hands clasped between them, they faced each other and spoke their vows. She promised to love and to honor him through sickness and in health until death they did part. His eyes dark and unreadable upon hers, he repeated the same vows and slid a gold band on her left index finger.

After Reverend Simms pronounced them man and wife, Erik bent and brushed his mouth across hers. “You owe me for this,
leannanan
.” His velvet whisper mingled with her breath as his hand curved around her nape. “I must be the only groom in the history of Christendom to be wed in a cemetery.”

She elected not to point out that they weren’t exactly
in
the cemetery. Or that this close to the cemetery was an apt place for a marriage bought with gold.

Or that the cemetery was the only place she could think to be closest to her father.

Let her new husband be irked, she’d thought at the time. After what his solicitors had put her through for a week, for once, something would be on her terms. She realized her temperament deflected her own culpability. “The lilacs are in bloom,” she told him.

“Lilacs hold nothing to you as a bride, Christine.” His voice gently warmed as if he understood a part of her heart. “If your father were alive he would agree.”

Whether it was his words, the smell of lilac lingering in the air, or the break in the clouds that suddenly filled her with warmth, she didn’t know, but the knot around her stomach loosened.

Then just that quickly, with the slant of his lips across hers, the world vanished.

‘Twas no chaste kiss he gave her, befitting a proper English gentleman, but an impassioned one, exactly what she expected from a Scotsman. The sheer primitiveness in that assault warned her to retreat and take stock of his actions. But she did neither. Instead, she rose on her toes, deepening the kiss. She kissed him just as she had that first night in the carriage, hot and urgent.

He slowly lifted his head. Their eyes met, searched.

Reason had told her to pull away on that fateful morning, but she could not disregard the underlying tension between them, nor ignore its source.

The ceremony, for all its significance to her future, had lasted a mere ten minutes. In truth, the words had been nothing more than a formality, a public declaration of their union. In fact, she’d belonged to Erik Boughton since the moment she signed and blotted her signature on the last of the thick sheaf of papers and official documents his many solicitors brought out to
her in the days before their wedding, thus assuring him that she would be standing before him when the day of their joining arrived.

Among the
heretofores
and
moreovers
, the documents proclaimed that she would receive five thousand a year for the rest of her life and Sommershorn Abbey would remain hers. Her future husband had made her wealthy beyond her wildest dreams, giving her enough to keep the school open for her lifetime. In return, while Christine worked diligently to find the source of the bones he’d brought to her, she was to remain at Sedgwick Castle until she produced an heir. The devil had bought her soul, and she had willingly sold it to him like so much real estate in his portfolio.

She would have found it all more appalling than it was if she had not been a willing party to it.

He’d had to return to his estate. They had both agreed beforehand that while they spoke the vows at St. Jude, their marriage would begin in Scotland. They planned for her to remain a few weeks to finish her affairs at Sommershorn Abbey and then join him. Christine knew he was allowing her time to adjust, and she’d been glad for the reprieve.

As the ship nudged closer to the quay, Christine became aware of the rumble of the engines vibrating the deck beneath her feet. Over the sound of the wooden paddle-wheel churning through the white-capped water, she could hear the captain shouting orders to his crew.

Christine had already shipped most of her belongings on the 450-mile journey north two weeks ago, along with poor Beast, who had protested loudly at being stuffed into a wicker cage to suffer the indignity of traveling like luggage, even if he did have his own staff to care for him. Christine had filled her other trunks with
her father’s journals and her manuscripts. Crates of important petrified bones had also gone to Scotland. Everything else in her laboratory at Sommershorn Abbey she had donated to the British museum. She had only a single trunk in her cabin.

No one had come to the docks to see her off. Amelia still had not forgiven Christine for what she had blurted that night at the dining table. As for Joseph, Christine was sorry he lost his bid to go to Perth, but she could not let herself worry about his plight, any more than she should worry that Lord Bingham would never find anyone to replace her at the museum in time for his next grand opening. Or that her family had warned her that if she committed this folly, they would never speak to her again. Only Aunt Sophie had stood beside her this past month.

For the entire journey, Aunt Sophie and Mrs. Samuels had been hibernating beneath blankets with seven other trunks in the chamber that adjoined Christine’s.

Christine turned to look around the deck to see if her aunt had come out yet, only to find her sitting on the wooden bench in front of the pilothouse watching her intently.

Christine joined her and took her hands into her own. “How long have you been out here in the cold?”

“Long enough to wonder how I ever allowed you to talk me into coming with you.” Aunt Sophie sobered and looked toward the dock, where Erik stood next to the carriage. “And I say the time for second thoughts is past. It is about time you finally took it upon yourself to seize the moment. Though bugger me, I still don’t understand how it all came about.”

“Aunt
Sophie!
”

She patted Christine’s hands and looked Christine in
the eyes. “No grandniece of mine who marries a cursed Scotsman had better go to the marriage bed with doubts in her mind, dear.”

Christine caught herself before she lowered her gaze. Aunt Sophie was right, of course, and an unaccountable fierce sense of determination settled within her, lifting her precipitously sliding resolve. “Thank you. What would I do without your staid counsel?”

She sniffed. “You’ve been disowned by the family, dear. Who else do you have to counsel you on these things?”

Christine peered into her aunt’s warm eyes. Surely, who needed a mam when she’d had Aunt Sophie’s love her whole life? “I love you, Aunt Sophie.”

“I know you do, dear. I have practically raised you as my own, after all. Now help me stand so I can fetch Mrs. Samuels out from beneath the blankets. I cannot feel my toes and I am looking forward to riding in your husband’s warm coach.”

Erik’s solicitor, a short, stout fellow with white mutton-chop whiskers and wearing a woolen suit, met Christine first, on the dock as passengers from the steamer crowded past them. Mr. Attenborough had been the one to arrange all of her travel accommodations from London and she took a moment to thank him.

“We apologize for the rain,” he said and bowed. “Unfortunately, even his grace can’t control the weather.”

Finding Mr. Attenborough’s comment amusing, Christine glanced at her husband directing those offloading Aunt Sophie’s trunks from the steamer to a nearby conveyance. “I hope our arrival has not been too inconvenient. A storm delayed us. We are late in arriving.”

“We have been in Kirkcaldy since last night. With the condition of the roads, Lord Sedgwick was adamant that he be here when the packet arrived.”

Again, Christine found her gaze wandering to Erik. Then Attenborough began talking. Her trunks would follow in another coach. Yes, Christine’s belongings—and her cat—arrived at Sedgwick a week ago. No, chilly weather was not uncommon in June. “His grace has placed warm bricks beneath the seats for your comfort.”

Christine turned and awaited her aunt and Mrs. Samuels’s descent from the steamer deck. “They are in need of warmth, if you will, sir.”

“Attenborough will see them to the coach.” Erik was suddenly standing in front of her, blocking the cold wind with his body.

For just a terrible heart-stopping moment, as Christine turned and looked up at him, it was as if part of her mind stepped out of time. She was a wife now. Loath to admit that on more than one occasion she had wondered what it would feel like to be married, she now realized she had no idea how wives should behave with their husbands. Especially this particular husband, a man many considered a bastard, in the liberal sense, not the literal, and who by most accounts had been responsible for the death of his second wife.

Oh, for God’s sake
, she silently berated herself, suddenly overwhelmed by the ebb and flow of apprehension.

“Thank you, your grace,” she said.

His eyes darkened at the formality. Then he looked over her shoulder as Aunt Sophie and Mrs. Samuels approached. “I trust you had a pleasant journey, my lady?” he asked.

“I barely survived with my fingers and toes intact,
young man,” Aunt Sophie said stiffly. “Next time, I will take my chances on the road.”

Erik smiled with sudden charm, his change of manner striking for a man who held himself apart from the world. “As unpleasant as it is arriving by sea, I guarantee the inquisition had nothing on the tortures you would endure traveling nine days on these roads, my lady,” he humbly chided.

Not one to fall prey to charm, Aunt Sophie merely sniffed, but Christine had glimpsed the subtle warming in her aunt’s eyes before Erik directed Attenborough to take Lady Sophia and her maid to the coach.

“You left your sister and daughter alone at Sedgwick?” Christine asked, casting about for something neutral to say. After all, she had not seen him in a month, and he did not seem in a hurry to follow Aunt Sophie to the coach.

He looked amused. “If you call being left with sixty-five servants, a butler, housekeeper and nurse ‘alone,’ then yes. They are utterly and completely alone.”

The corners of her mouth lifted.

“Is that actually a smile I just glimpsed, Christine?”

She restrained the urge to look away, restless to get to the heart of her disquietude. “To be honest, we have agreed to enter into a partnership, yet, there is much about this matter between us with which I am apprehensive.”

“That is the case with most marriages.”

“Perhaps. But since this is my first, you will grant that I do not have your experience. I will admit to a certain degree of atypical trepidation. You will forgive me, if I do not yet
feel
married.”

He fairly choked. When he recovered, he yanked down the rim of his bowler and considered her with mirth warming his sherry eyes. “It is my intent to give
you a wedding night when we are alone to enjoy such. Unless you
want
me to consummate our marriage in full view of my liverymen and everyone watching from the streets. Your eagerness warms my heart, love.”

“That is not what I meant.” Christine thrust down a feeling of pique, only because she realized he read her mind with the intuition of a mystic. “Truly, your conceit is appalling, Erik.”

Grinning, he opened his pocket watch. “We’ll be stopping in a few hours at a quaint inn for the night north of Kennoway.” He looked up at the sky. “If the weather holds that long.”

“Perhaps you should command it to do so, my laird.”

The inn was exactly as Erik had said. Quaint.

But it was more, Christine thought, as he handed her out of the carriage three hours after leaving the dock, and she gazed up at the beautiful Tudor relic, a throwback to a world where monarchs ruled their subordinates with iron fists, and an errant subject was as likely to be beheaded as he was to have his wife ravished by the reigning lord. Looking up at Erik as he issued instructions to the footmen who descended from the inn, she realized how easily he could fit the role of monarch.

After instructing Mr. Attenborough to help Aunt Sophie and Mrs. Samuels inside, Erik rested his hand absently at the small of her back and guided her forward. Night had fallen darkly upon them and they’d just arrived ahead of the storm that had been threatening all afternoon. The wind caught the hood of her cloak. Holding her head down, she let Erik whisk her into the inn. A gust of wind and rain slammed the door behind them.