Cheryl Holt (37 page)

“I’m already bored with you.” Groaning in disgust, he jerked away and flopped onto his back. “That didn’t take long.”

The statement frightened her. She couldn’t have him changing his mind or getting cold feet. He had the income to rescue her from her current circumstance, and he couldn’t discard her. She wouldn’t tolerate any rejection.

“You can’t be
bored
,” she contended. “I’ve done what you’ve demanded of me. Every time!”

“With too much sass, for my money.”

“Well, if you weren’t such an absolute boor, I wouldn’t have to keep reminding you of it.”

“What a spoiled, arrogant little shrew you are.” He came up on his elbow and studied her, then sighed. “Oh, well, I can put up with a lot to obtain what I want.”

“What is it that you
want
?”

He didn’t answer, but climbed off the bed and walked across the room.

“What are you doing?”

“Unlocking the door.”

“Why?”

“Our moment of
discovery
has arrived.”

Her pulse pounded with excitement. “Then we’ll have to marry.”

“Yes.”

“We won’t have any choice.”

“No, and we’ve fornicated sufficiently that I can insist you’re pregnant.”

Glancing down at her flat stomach, she envisioned it swollen and bloated. She’d never considered that they could create a babe, hadn’t fathomed that it was a possibility. “I could have a baby?”

He was ignoring her. “If you’re increasing, the old bat can’t refuse the match. I’ll bet we can have it accomplished in the next two or three days.” He brushed his hands together in anticipation.

Suddenly worried, she barked, “I might have a . . . a . . . child?”

“Of course. That’s the plan.” She was so aghast that he added, “You can’t presume I’ve philandered because I’m
fond
of you.”

“But I can’t have a baby! I hate children!”

“So we’ll hire a few nannies. It isn’t as if we won’t be able to afford them.” He shrugged and clambered onto the bed to stretch out beside her, nude and anxious for someone to stroll in unexpectedly. He untied her feet, then toiled at the bindings on her wrists.

“How many trust funds do you have?” he inquired. “What are the terms? Have you been apprised of how much cash we’ll be allotted immediately after the wedding?”

“My trust funds?”

“Does any property come with your inheritances? I hope there’s an acceptable house in London, so that we won’t have to be bothered with buying one.”

“A house? In London?” She sounded like a dolt, repeating his questions, but the word
baby
kept screaming through her head, and she could focus on no other topic.

“Ah, London,” he mused. “How I’m eager to go.”

“But I don’t want to live in London,” she protested. “My mother is in London. I want to stay here in Salisbury.”

“As if I’d remain in this godforsaken place. Especially after your fortune is ceded to me.” Gleeful, he lay on the pillows and laced his fingers behind his neck, staring at the ceiling. “My exile is about to end! Oh, how I’ll rub my brother’s nose in it!”

“Rub his
nose
in what? What are you blathering about?”

“So how much do you imagine will be distributed straightaway as a lump sum? How are the dispersals scheduled? Monthly? Quarterly? Annually?”

“What dispersals?”

“Your trusts! Your trusts! The assets in your dowry! How much will we receive?”

“I don’t have a dowry.”

“Yes you do. Your da was a damned earl.”

“My father was destitute. He had nothing.”

Shocked, he froze. “What did you say?”

“He died penniless.”

“You’re claiming he didn’t leave you a farthing?”

“No.”

“What about Lady Olivia’s father? Your stepfather? He must have left you
something
.”

“He was beggared, too. That’s why we’re here. My mother is praying that Lord Salisbury will bail us out of our penury.”

Looking frantic, he lurched away. There was a peculiar air about him that had her squirming.

“Tell me that you’re joking. Please!”

“As if I’d lie about my finances. I’m so glad we’re to be wed, so that I can be with you and do what I want.”

Appalled, gaping in astonishment, he frowned, then he leapt to the floor.

“Oh, Jesus!” he wailed. “Oh, Jesus Christ Almighty! Where the hell are my clothes?”

He was fumbling around, stumbling, and muttering curses. Her wrist was still cinched to the bed, and she struggled to her knees and fussed with the knot. Eventually, she was free, but as she was inebriated, she snuggled onto the mattress rather than stand up.

“Do be silent!” she snarled, as he located his pants. “I can’t abide your whining.”

“Damn . . . damn . . . double damn . . .”

He wasn’t paying attention to his pipe, so she took it and sneaked a bit of pleasure while he was distracted. “Why are you so upset? Everything will work out fine.”

“Not bloody likely.”

“What do you mean?”

“I
mean
that I don’t have a penny to my name. I thought
you
did.”

“No.” Giggling, she fell onto her back. “I’m poor as a church mouse.”

“Gad! I’m a fool! I have to get out of here! What if I’m caught with you? Aah!”

She tried to grasp the significance of his panic, but she was confused, intoxicated, and thus mentally muddled. If he was broke, and she was, too, how could they marry? He couldn’t be indigent!

He was landed gentry, with a fancy residence, a jaunty carriage, and a dapper wardrobe. Whenever they met, he plied her with brandy, opium, and other delicious treasures. He had scads of money, she was convinced of it; yet he was complaining. Who was he to gripe?

She
was the one who’d been ruined, and she was ready for what would come next, prepared to wed him
so that she could escape her tedious existence in town.

She wanted her independence, as well as the depravity and vice with which he tempted her, and she wasn’t about to have him renege, not when her affairs were arranged, not when she’d taken herself to a condition of no return, to where Margaret would have to accede to whatever stipulations Penny leveled upon her.

“Listen, you!” She sat up and kicked the covers away, her breasts bared to the cool room. Freddy was beside the bed, naked but for a foot stuck in his trouser leg, his shirt clutched to his groin and shielding his privates.

Hah! As if she hadn’t seen it before! As if he could hide that shriveled worm from her!

Harried footsteps reverberated in the hall, winging in their direction. Bracing, they both halted. Would the person stop or pass by?

Whoever was there tarried, then the knob was spun. The door began to open. Wide. Wider.

Freddy was stiff with fear and alarm, while she chortled and reposed, arraying her body so that she would be decadently sprawled for the pitiful sod about to enter.

Cunningly, she smiled. Her destiny had arrived. Just in the nick of time.

Like a convict at the gallows, Edward faced the vicar. He hadn’t heeded the words droning out of the minister’s mouth, but the ritual had to be nearing the end.

How many more ways could a man say
I do
and
I will
?

For Olivia’s sake, he was trying to be glad. This was her wedding day, and she was very young, and he wanted it to be special for her. Even though he’d rather find himself shackled and tortured in a medieval castle than where he was, he’d resolved not to let her know how he was dreading the ordeal.

He wasn’t such a cad that he’d spoil it for her. Despite how much he abhorred the marital trap into which he’d fallen, he wouldn’t have his displeasure showing.

There were two dozen guests, and he could feel their curious eyes cutting into his back. After the festivities, many of them would dash to London, so that they could parley over the details.

The sole story he wanted circulating about town was that Olivia had been a beautiful bride, himself a doting husband, and the wedding a huge success.

Throughout the ceremony, she’d been clutching his arm, and he persisted in holding her hand. Her skin was icy cold, and she was trembling. She looked fragile, delicate, but brittle, too, as if the slightest sound or movement might cause her to shatter into a thousand pieces,
and he truly felt that if he released her, she might crumple to the floor.

His tight grip was the only thing keeping her vertical.

She wasn’t any happier about their nuptials than he was, and she was also hiding any negative reaction, and he cherished her for it. He loathed scandal and gossip and would hate to have their union start off mired in them. They would have sufficient difficulties, without having to weather the innuendo and slander of high society.

Hoping to impart his support, he squeezed her fingers.

They would survive the horrid day. Just as they would survive the coming weeks and months, and he sighed. What a wretched statement about the remainder of his life! His marriage yawned like a black vault of doom, ready to suck him into an abyss of tedium and despair.

Out in the hall, activity erupted. Brisk footsteps were hastening toward the decorated salon where they stood. Employees lined the corridor and, as the strides converged on them, a fierce buzzing commenced.

He couldn’t fathom who would disrupt the affair, and he kept his attention fixed on the vicar.

“Father, stop!” a man pleaded from the rear of the room. “We need to talk before you proceed any further.”

Scowling, he froze, flustered by the interruption. Was he imagining this? Had the chain of catastrophes left him daft? Was he so off balance that he couldn’t distinguish reality from dreams?

The voice had to be Phillip’s. It couldn’t have been another’s. Phillip had referred to him as
father
. Out loud. In front of the assembled company. Yet Phillip was in the city, searching for employment, having abandoned Edward to his lonely fate.

The voice came again. “Father!”

Olivia stiffened. Vicar Summers ceased his prattle.
Others had heard the commotion, too. Someone—Phillip?—was behind him and calling out. He wasn’t hallucinating, and at having been publicly claimed by his son, he suffered an amazing wave of exhilaration.

He and Olivia twirled around together, hands still joined. She blanched, growing so pale that he was afraid she might faint, and he clasped her even more firmly.

“Phillip?” Though he could observe his son perfectly well, he couldn’t process the sight. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in London.”

Phillip approached, strutting between the chairs that had been arranged by Margaret. No one had missed his use of the title
father
, and guests were bending and straining to view every aspect of the lurid encounter.

So much for quelling any gossip!

Edward’s heart swelled. Phillip appeared so dashing, so handsome. Confident and poised, he was dressed for traveling, in tan breeches and a brown jacket, and once they were toe to toe, there could be no doubt as to the relationship between them.

Among the Quality, rumors had abounded that he’d sired a bastard child or two, but he’d never acknowledged or denied the scuttlebutt.

Well, the guessing was certainly over!

“My most humble apologies, Lady Olivia,” Phillip said. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

Olivia stared at the floor. “It’s quite all right,” she mumbled. “I’m sure you have a very good reason.”

“Father,” he repeated, “may we speak privately?”

The vicar cleared his throat. “Lord Salisbury . . . umm . . . should I continue?”

“Put your book away,” Edward ordered. “For now.”

The command stirred the audience to a frenzy of whispering, and it expanded when Winnie entered, a
child on either side of her. Both of them were girls, and they were dirty, unkempt, and wearing clothes that were little more than rags.

“Helen!” Olivia breathed. “What on earth . . . ?”

Her anguished gaze locked with Phillip’s, in a heated exchange that Edward didn’t understand, then, shocking everyone, she fled the makeshift altar and rushed to her niece. Kneeling down, hugging her, she mourned over Helen’s chopped hair, and she massaged Helen’s arms and legs, as if checking for injuries.

In a sort of reverie, he beheld the touching tableau, wondering what was occurring. Events seemed to be happening in slow motion, as if they were swimming through water. He studied Winnie, who looked determined and furious, and assessed him in return.

“Winnie . . .” he couldn’t help murmuring, and his longing was pathetically apparent.

He’d planned that if he ever saw her again, he would be too angry to be civil, but he’d been fooling himself. At knowing she was safe, and in his home, where he thought she belonged, he felt a surge of joy sweep through him.

“Edward,” she greeted, imploring him, “listen to what Phillip has to say.”

“What is the meaning of this outrage?” Margaret leapt to her feet and gestured to the butler who was leaned against the back wall and gawking along with the rest of the crowd. “We’re in the middle of a wedding. See to your duties! Evict these interlopers!”

The butler straightened, and tugged on his coat, torn by what should be the appropriate behavior, but Edward forestalled him with a brisk shake of his head. He scanned the gathering, which now included a gaggle of curious servants peeking in from the hall.

“Would all of you excuse us?”

The housekeeper was experienced with handling any
social situation, and she jumped into action, going to a door that led out to the verandah. In anticipation of the conclusion of the ceremony, the food had been laid out.

The woman had deduced the obvious—that there would be no
conclusion
—and that the guests might as well dig in to the repast. She began guiding people outside.

The butler opened the opposite door, to another parlor, and Edward herded the involved family members into it. Winnie gave the two girls to a housemaid, with instructions to feed them while the grown-ups consulted.