Edith Layton (2 page)

She agreed to give him her hand, though she was sure her father would change his mind, or the man himself would say or do something to end it, or let her do so.

That had not happened. Time flew by. Their engagement was as short as their acquaintance. She couldn’t back out, so she found reasons to go on. At least she’d no longer be an object of pity or scorn. She’d been spoiled since birth, but as a married woman she’d have more freedom than she’d ever known. That wasn’t what she’d wanted, but if love wasn’t possible, freedom would do. It was certainly better than the ignominy of dwindling into spinsterhood, her mother ashamed, her father disappointed.

Now Annabelle slid an appraising glance at her new husband. He passed scrutiny, as always. A
man of average height, well formed, fit and trim. She could have wished he were taller, but she found no fault with the rest of his appearance.

Viscount Pelham was always clean and well dressed. He was not unhandsome. His looks were masculine rather than classic, saved from severity by the slight curl in his brown hair, which even cropping couldn’t prevent. He had clear skin, if a bit too bronzed for fashion, but he’d been a sailor, and she supposed that accounted for it. His features were even, the most attractive being his remarkably fine eyes, the color of rain washed with blue. Sometimes when he was bored they looked glacial, but when he gazed at her they were a twilight hue. A scar, from some childhood incident, she supposed, sliced from the bottom of his well-shaped lower lip down to his square chin. Annabelle reminded herself to ask him sometime how he had acquired the wound. She’d been too disconcerted by their sudden engagement to discuss personal matters. For his part, she supposed he’d been disinterested in her reaction to his looks, much less his history.

Theirs was not, after all, a love match.

A shadow fell over her, and she remembered her role. The bride looked up to see a giant blond man looking down at her, a smile on his lips, sadness in his gaze. She responded by raising her chin. Lieutenant Eric Ford had once been inter
ested in her, but she believed that had only been to divert her interest from his friend Raphael Dalton. Still, she might have tested that interest. But he had no title, and she had no heart anymore. Besides, it would have required guile and patience, and she had no more resources.

So she agreed with her mother and obliged her father. If she had to wed, it might as well be to better herself. Her new husband had looks too, if less spectacular ones. And he was a viscount.

“Lady Pelham,” the blond giant said softly, “I wish you great happiness and a long life together.”

“Lieutenant Ford,” she answered, “I thank you.”

“And you, Miles,” he said with more energy as he spoke to her groom, his smile becoming real and warm, “you lucky rogue. Trust you to snare the prize, wherever you go.”

The groom sketched a bow. “Thank you, Eric. I’m honored you could come today to share my bliss.”

“Share? Ho!” Eric laughed. “‘Envy’ and ‘begrudge’ is a much better reading of my emotions.”

“As ever,” Miles said lightly, with a wave of one hand.

Then the two men laughed together.

The bride raised an eyebrow. Obviously these two were friends. It was Eric who answered her silent question. “Miles and I met at school. Then again at…our various occupations for His Majesty during the late wars. Though your hus
band went off to sea and I was in the army, there were times when our paths overlapped.”

Miles sighed. “And one would think my vision should have been good enough to have seen him coming a mile off.”

The huge blond man laughed and gave him a buffet on the shoulder. The blow looked powerful enough to budge a boulder, but it didn’t so much as sway the groom.

Miles smiled. “Saw that coming, though. So it’s a date, then? Gentleman Jackson’s, when I return from my honeymoon. We’ll see who can rock whom, shall we?”

Eric put up both hands in surrender. “Hardly. I don’t want to widow your bride so soon.”

Annabelle tried to keep smiling. She owed her new husband no allegiance, but seeing him belittled shamed them both.

“Because,” Eric went on, “titled or not, you’d be hauled off for murder, then topped at Marble Arch for killing me. A silken noose works just as well as the hemp they use for us commoners. And then where would your poor widow be?” Annabelle looked confused. “Oh, I’ve the reach and the power,” Eric assured her. “But your husband’s like a terrier—fierce, light on his feet, and devious as the devil, you know.”

“She doesn’t,” Miles said gently. “Now get you gone, Eric. My lady and I have hordes to greet. We’ll see this fractious fellow again later,” he told
Annabelle. “For now we must do the pretty here, and then at our wedding party. We will see you there?” he asked his friend.

Eric clapped his hand to his chest. “Without fail,” he said, and strode away.

“Don’t look so surprised. I’ve been away, but I know a great many people here,” Miles told his bride quietly before he gave his attention to the next guest.

Except me, she thought with wry resignation before she put her smile back on and turned to accept more congratulations on this, her wedding day.

“That was superb!” Annabelle’s mother said with immense satisfaction as she eyed the wreckage of her ballroom later that night after the last guests had left. “The best wedding party London has seen in years, if I say so myself! Unusual to host both a wedding breakfast and a ball, but I shouldn’t be surprised to see it done everywhere from now on.”

The banks of flowers that had lined the ballroom were wilted and sagging, their petals strewn everywhere. The floors were littered with the detritus of a successful party: grains of snuff and remnants of feathers were ground underfoot. Bits of fallen food and smears from squashed cakes, liquid spills and scuff marks from hundreds of slippers and boots marred the polished wood. It would take the staff days to buff it out, almost as
long as it would take to scrape off the drippings from the myriad candles in chandeliers and sconces that now flickered fitfully as they burned down to their sockets.

“Well done,” her husband agreed.

“Thank you,” their new son-in-law said, bowing. “It was everything and more than I expected. Your festivities certainly showed the world this was a welcome match. My mother was delighted. She left early only because she was unaccustomed to the lateness of the hour and the noise. My sister and brother were forced to leave with her or they’d be here still. You’ve done us proud, and I thank you.”

“It was everything I could have wished,” Annabelle said, and looked toward the doorway. She hesitated. It felt odd to say good night and leave this house. That was why she was still there. Most couples raced off to their honeymoons; she and her new husband had lingered until the last guests left. She’d told Miles she wanted to enjoy every moment of her wedding party. He’d honored her wishes. She ought to be content, but still it felt odd, if only because she’d had to ask someone else permission for something she wanted to do. That hadn’t happened in years.

But now he was still talking to her father, and so Annabelle didn’t have to leave yet.

“I am so pleased,” her mother told her in a conspiratorial whisper. “His mama, for all her past,
acts the lady now, and is immensely grateful to us. The brother and sister will do. I’ll take the chit in hand, see if I don’t get her married off wonderfully too. What a splendid idea. It will give me something to do.”

“Oh? So I’m in retirement now?” Annabelle asked, with a smile to show she was joking.

“Why, of course,” her mother said. “You’re married.”

“I’m married, not dead, Mama,” Annabelle said with a touch of asperity.

“I only meant that you can go to parties by yourself now if you wish, but as you’ll likely be increasing any time now, that will stop soon.” Her mother looked up to see her husband and son-in-law patiently waiting for them. “Oh dear, is it really time to say good night?”

“Unless you want to offer me more lobster,” Miles said, and before she could call to one of the weary waiters who were cleaning up, added, “I’m joking. I’ve no room for another bite.”

Miles and Annabelle walked out to the hall, and then to the door.

“Good night, good-bye,” Lord and Lady Wylde called after the newlywed couple as their coach pulled away.

“Good-bye,” Annabelle whispered, looking back at them and the brightly lit house. Then she turned to look resolutely ahead, into the dark.

A
nnabelle sat back in the darkened carriage. She’d really gone and done it. She was on her way to a new life. It hardly seemed possible.

“We’ll stay at my town house tonight,” Miles mused as the coach moved through the darkened streets. “Then we’ll pass a few weeks at a lodge in Devon that came with the estate. It’s a charming place, with a lake, a waterfall, gardens, and most of all, blessed solitude. A perfect spot to get to know each other better.”

He waited for her reaction. She gave him none. A trip to the Continent would have suited her better. They did need to get to know each other better, but the place sounded like a dead bore.

“Then,” he went on, “I thought we’d go on to
Hollyfields, my uncle’s estate, now my family seat. It’s very grand. You’ll like it there, I think.”

He told her about his new home, Annabelle listening with half an ear. For a certainty, she’d visit it. She didn’t intend to spend the rest of her life there, though. She’d loved living at her family estate when she was young, but then she’d had her parents, her pets, and her friends. That was a long time ago. She’d die of loneliness in the countryside now. London was her home.

His town house was near the park, only streets from her parents’ home, so they arrived there in no time. She was very glad of it. It wasn’t that she was weary—she was used to social gatherings and even later nights—but there was so much to think about. She wanted to be alone.

His house was spacious and well appointed. She’d visited it before. Odd though, Annabelle thought, as a servant helped her off with her cloak in the front hall, that she didn’t know which room she’d call her own. Her whole situation was odd, she supposed. Her life had been aimed at getting married, yet now that she was, she realized she’d never contemplated life beyond her wedding. Not with this man, at least.

Well, she guessed they’d rub on well enough. He was amiable. And he’d wanted her. It diminished him a bit in her eyes, since a chase was always more interesting than capturing a man with a bat of an eyelash. But there were worse things
than having a comfortable husband. And who knew what fascinating flirtations lay in her future? Her spirits rose. It would only be coquetry, of course. She did have morals. But a few interesting flirts would spice up what looked to be an increasingly tepid life.

“I expect you’re weary,” her new husband said. “Unless, of course, you’d care for anything? Most of my staff have been given the evening off, but I know my way around the kitchens.”

“No, thank you, I need nothing now.”

He nodded, offered her his arm, and led her up the stair. When they reached the top, he paused in the corridor in front of a door. “The bathing room,” he said with a smile. “I’m very proud of our plumbing. We get hot water on the second floor. I detest going to bed in all my dirt, although tonight it would only be stray grains of rice and a petal or two. I’ve arranged for a bath to be waiting for me elsewhere, and so invite you to use my sumptuous one. If there’s anything else you need, send to me,” he said, bowed, and left her.

She was vastly relieved. Glib as she was, she wasn’t in the mood for conversation, and a hot bath sounded wonderful.

It was. Her own maid had come with her as part of her dowry, and if it weren’t for the luxury and novelty of the well-appointed bathing room, Annabelle could have imagined she was still at home.

Her mood improved even more when she saw her room—a big airy chamber with long windows covered by soft draperies. The furniture looked new, in the latest Egyptian style, delicate, gilded, made of light wood. The lamplight showed fine Turkey carpets, a wardrobe, a desk, and an enormous bed piled with coverlets. A half-opened door led to a well-furnished dressing room. Everything was in shades of gold, blue, and rose.

Annabelle dismissed her maid, shed her robe, and slipped a night shift over her head. She stepped up into the high bed and sighed as she sank into the plump feather mattress. Not so bad, after all, this marriage business. She had a grand new house, freedom, and peace of mind.

She’d forgotten to blow out all the lamps, as one still burned. But she was too comfortable to move. She closed her eyes—and opened them when she heard the door open.

Her new husband ambled into the room and closed the door behind him. His hair was dewed with droplets of water, and he wore a long dressing gown. As he approached the bed he began to draw the sash and shrug the dressing gown off.

Annabelle sat bolt upright. “What are you doing?”

“Going to bed. With my wife,” he added blandly.

“I had not thought…I didn’t think…You surprise me, sir,” she managed, because, after all,
of course he had the right, but she hadn’t imagined he’d want intimacy so soon.

“Now, why should you be surprised?” he asked, pausing by the bedside.

“You don’t know me! That is to say, we don’t know each other.”

“Indeed?” he said, looking at her with interest. “But we are married, are we not?”

“Yes, but we’re scarcely well acquainted, even so.”

He put his head to one side. “Time to remedy that, I’d think.”

He was so mild, so logical, so peaceful that she relaxed. This wasn’t a man in the throes of any kind of lust. He simply didn’t understand. “But we are, in many respects, strangers,” she explained.

“Yes. And so, soon we won’t be,” he said gently.

Her hand flew to her neck to cover her chest where her shift didn’t. “I’d think there’d be plenty of time to…start that.”

She knew about lovemaking, of course, had been aware she’d have to submit sooner or later. But this man had been so quiet and disarming, she’d believed that intimate relations with him, like her eventual death, would take place in some unspecified future she didn’t have to worry about yet.

“You are ill?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Frightened?” he persisted.

“Definitely not!” she said.

“Revolted by the thought of my touch?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“But not longing for it,” he said on a sigh. “Well, then, we’ll see what we can do about that.” He plucked up the coverlet.

“You want me to long for you?” she gasped. “You mean to treat me like a…prostitute?”

He blinked. “Of course not. My dear Annabelle, you’re quite mistaken. One doesn’t care what prostitutes think. That’s why they’re so popular. I do care about how you react to my lovemaking, though. Look,” he said, with a smile that held true amusement, “if we put this off you’ll become so anxious you’ll startle at every sound. Just think, every time I make a move toward you, you’ll bolt, wondering, Is this the moment, does he mean to begin now? Come, we’re husband and wife. You’re very lovely, you can’t be that surprised…” He hesitated, one hand on the sash of his dressing gown.

His eyes grew thoughtful. “Or is it that you thought I wouldn’t be interested? Have I been that mannerly? I’d have thought you’d have seen it in my eyes—but you weren’t looking, were you? A convenient marriage isn’t necessarily a barren one, and I’m not just speaking of getting children. Sharing pleasure can be part of the arrangement. Even if it weren’t, I won’t have an unwilling bed partner. I thought at your age…” He saw her ex
pression and changed what he was going to say. “But if reluctance to bed your husband is why you haven’t married before this, you really ought to have told me.”

“That isn’t why I haven’t married!” she said quickly.

“But you aren’t willing?”

“I thought to know you better before we proceeded.”

“Given the progress we’ve made toward that end so far, that isn’t likely in the near future. Unless we proceed, of course. I’m quite looking forward to it.”

She bit her lower lip.

He paused. “I’m not unreasonable. It may be that this was a mistake, after all. If so, something may yet be done to end this marriage—if it’s done before we begin it, in a physical sense.”

She gasped. Was he threatening her? Annulment or divorce proceedings were rare and scandalous, beyond any vile thing the gossips had ever said about her. “No! I’m willing,” she said breathlessly. “It’s just that I hadn’t expected—I don’t know what I had expected. But I’m ready. What is it you want me to do?”

He sighed again. He perched on the edge of the bed and touched her face with his fingertips. “This,” he said, almost to himself, “is going to be a long night.”

Annabelle’s eyes flew wide.

She was beautiful when she was horrified, Miles thought with wry appreciation of his bride’s expression. His sense of humor was aroused, along with another vastly interested part. She sat rigidly in bed, her rapid breathing making her lovely breasts rise and fall, her eyes so wide he could see their blue gleam even in the dimmed light. She really was a spectacular-looking woman, he thought again.

He was tempted to bend to her, terrifying her even more, and then shock her by merely kissing the tip of her delightful little nose before leaving her alone for the night.

Three things made him hesitate. The first was that he was fairly sure that it would be a disastrous way to begin this marriage.

His bride wasn’t an innocent miss. She was a grown woman, who, if rumor could be believed—or even only half believed—had been head over her pretty heels in love with another man, or three. So she couldn’t be ignorant of what he intended. If anything, he’d counted on her being eager, frustrated after years of abortive lovemaking, because he doubted she’d ever completed the act. He was almost certain she was still a virgin. After all, she knew how the rules of society were played, and even more to the point, the men with whom her name had been linked were men of honor. If one of them had dallied with her, he’d have married her, and that would have been the end of that.
Undoubtedly, if there’d been any extensive lovemaking, and she’d been as eager to wed as gossip had it, she’d have used that for a reason to have been legally married long before this.

Virgin or no, she had to be sophisticated after so many years on the town. So she’d think a hesitant groom a poor specimen, and that impression would last long into their marriage.

The second reason was that it was his bed, and this was his bedchamber.

The third was that she was so damned beautiful.

He liked dark ladies; he’d been dazzled when he’d first seen this one. That was nothing to how he felt when he’d walked into his room just now. He’d seen her dressed in magnificent gowns of gold cloth, azure silks, blue satins, and gossamer gauze. She was even more alluring to him tonight, sitting in his bed, clad as she was in a plain white nightrail. Because now he knew she was his.

He knew her body well. Women’s fashions made sure of that. She was petite, but perfect in her dimensions. Her breasts were high and shapely. Whenever she’d danced with him, it had taken all his resolve not to stare at the curved valley between them and wonder if her skin would taste as cool and sweet as it looked. She was lean, but had rounded hips. He’d always noted her trim little derriere and found it enchanting. Her face was famous, but it was that delicious mouth
that never stopped tempting him. He was fascinated by it, the way the short upper lip over the fuller lower one seemed to make her mouth beg for long, involved kisses.

He hadn’t pressed her for them during their brief courtship. It wasn’t a love match, after all. Openly lusting for her would have made their arrangement look as if he’d wanted her only for his sexual convenience, and not a marriage for their mutual benefit. But there was no question that convenience had mattered to him.

He’d needed a wife, and quickly, but he had other needs as well. Being married to a woman he desired was an important reason it was Annabelle and not another well-born lady there tonight. It was true he’d married because he’d had to, but he didn’t want to keep mistresses for the rest of his life.

She was clever and witty, very up to snuff. She must know what being a wife entailed. He’d been content to wait until she could have no objections to his physical attentions. That was now.

He bent closer—and heard her gasp. He pulled back, struck by several terrible notions. He’d thought her coolness toward him part of her general affect. What if it was specific? Could she have mistaken the reason for his politeness and thought him less than masculine? Or had he been wrong on several counts? Had she been forced to marry him? By her father—or her own anatomy—
or, rather, the consequences of being too free with that anatomy?

Neither thought appealed. Nor did the sudden unsettling notion that it might simply be that she didn’t like to be touched. Had that been the reason she’d never married; was she the sort of woman who preferred to be worshipped, and to worship, from afar?

“Annabelle,” he said slowly, “is there anything I should know?”

“Like what?’ she asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

“Is it me? The idea of making love to me? Or the idea of making love to anyone? Damme,” he muttered when she just stared at him, “are you a virgin, my dear?”

She nodded.

He relaxed. Unless there was some impending miraculous birth, he was spared at least one dire possibility. It wasn’t that he especially looked forward to bedding a virgin; in fact he’d heard initiating a female was more trouble than it was worth. But at least his wife had played fair and wasn’t carrying anyone else’s child. He resolved to go on. He had to know where the difficulty lay. Besides, everything had to have a beginning, and he definitely wanted lovemaking to be a part of this marriage.

“Do you dislike the thought of physical intimacy?”

“No, or I wouldn’t have married, would I?” she snapped, looking edgy and defiant.

“Do I repel you?”

“I said you did not,” she said with some of her old asperity.

“Is there someone else?” he asked more gently.

She looked down at the bedcovers. “No. Nothing like that. It’s only that you startled me. You were disinterested in the past. Or so it seemed. I mean, I didn’t think it would be a priority with you. And so I wasn’t quite ready.”

“Oh well,” he said with relief as he shucked off his dressing gown, “that’s something I can do something about.”

She closed her eyes.