Just Wicked Enough (5 page)

No, her solution wasn’t an option.

“I’m not in the mood to seek an annulment.”

“Then you accept the revised terms of the agreement?”

What other choice did he have? He wasn’t in the habit of forcing women to welcome his attentions, and he couldn’t risk causing her unhappiness. Rose, damn him, had been very explicit in the terms he’d laid out regarding the settlement. His daughter, first and foremost, must always be happy.

Michael nodded brusquely. “I do.”

“Good night, then. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She popped another chocolate into her mouth, and he almost hoped she’d choke on it.

Kate almost choked on the chocolate. Her throat was knotted so tightly with tension she couldn’t swallow. As soon as he’d stormed from the room and slammed the door in his wake, she spit out the confection and took several deep calming breaths until she began to relax.

She’d almost ruined everything by laughing out loud at the incredulity expressed in his voice regarding her opinion of Lord Bertram. He did very much resemble a toad with protruding eyes and lips that looked as though they’d been stung by a swarm of bees. But for all his unattractive appearances, he was indeed kind. Not that Kate had ever entertained taking him as a husband. Still he was an example her own husband could follow, although she suspected he wouldn’t welcome any further suggestions from her.

He’d been livid before departing her company.

Although she’d achieved her end result, keeping him from her bed, it hadn’t gone at all as she’d planned. Perhaps she should have let him bed her, let him discover her secret, but she had no idea how it would affect him. And the truth was, while she’d blithely suggested annulment, she wasn’t quite certain she wanted one.

She would be more independent here under his roof than she’d be under her parents’. She and Falconridge could work out an agreeable arrangement. In time, as their affection for each other grew, then she could allow him into her bed knowing he would forgive her sins. And she would give him an heir eventually. They had plenty of time. She was only twenty after all.

On the other hand, his reaction had confirmed that his
only
interest in her was the money. He’d offered no words of undying love, no words of deepest desire. He’d shown no disappointment that she wasn’t willing to be bedded. He’d not tried to convince her that within his arms she’d find bliss. She was the means to two ends: the obliteration of his debt quickly followed by further spending and the obtainment of an heir.

She’d known that of course, but still the reality of it was painful to admit. He cared only for his own needs, not hers. Not once did he ask her what she wanted, not once did he inquire as to the key to her happiness. She required time for her heart to heal. She needed to be more than coins jingling in his pockets. While she’d spoken of love, she didn’t truly expect to ever again acquire it, but she thought they could develop affection for each other, could at least come to care for each other’s happiness. They simply needed a little bit of time to come to know each other.

The slamming of another door rang out. The door to his bedchamber?

She heard the harsh beat of feet guided by fury making their way down the stairs. She rose, not certain what she planned to do, but her curiosity—

Another thundering bang from below.

She hurried to the window, drew back the drapery, and glanced down in time to see her husband sweeping down the path toward the street, his cloak billowing out behind him in a rather ominous way, as he disappeared into the fog-shrouded night. Her imagination fueled by far too many novels conjured up unflattering scenarios regarding his plans.

Was he off to find a woman to sate his lust?

Was he off to drink himself into oblivion?

Was he off to vent his anger on some unsuspecting soul?

Lord, she knew nothing at all about his temperament, about what harm he might be capable of inflicting.

She’d watched his knuckles turning white as he’d gripped the bedpost, and she couldn’t help but believe he’d been imagining that thick wood was actually her slender neck.

Her father had never been prone to violence, and she’d been incredibly sheltered. Wisely, her father had put safeguards in place to ensure the marquess never brutalized her, but a man could exact his revenge in any number of ways that didn’t involve physical violence.

Leaving her alone and lonely was one of them.

But then she’d been lonely ever since her mother had torn Wesley from her life. And now he was married, forever lost to her. And so she’d married expediently, partly for some sort of twisted revenge. What a misguided sense of retribution that decision was turning out to be.

The marquess had so few books on his shelves. Was the man even literate? They’d sat in the library for an hour reading, and not once did he turn a page. She could think of little worse than living with a man who did not value books.

All right. Something was far worse. Living with a man who held no affection for her whatsoever.

Wesley had been the first and only man who had truly wanted
her
. It was Jenny the men fawned over, Jenny the men wanted. Kate had always protected her heart by burying her nose in her books and pretending it didn’t matter that she wasn’t the Rose daughter unattached men favored.

And then Wesley had come into her life, and she’d known the splendor of love. He’d written her poems, brought her flowers. Almost from the start, he’d coerced her affection to life by never shying away from sharing his own feelings. They’d arranged secret trysts. He’d whispered sweet words of longing in her ear. He’d won her heart over in such a short time.

But her mother had declared him a fortune hunter and his love false. But she was wrong. With all her heart, Kate knew her mother was wrong.

Now she was free of her mother, but shackled to Falconridge. A man who truly did want her only for her money. But Falconridge came with a title, while Wesley had not. Amazing how the direction of her life was influenced by an accident of birth.

Not once had Falconridge spoken sweet words. Not once had he even bothered to lead her to believe she—and not money—had been his reason for asking for her hand.

Kate longed for a man who cared about the yearnings of her heart.

“She is insisting I earn her love.”

Standing within Hawkhurst’s library, Michael downed the whiskey from the glass like a civilized man when all he truly wanted was to drain every drop from the bottle. He looked at his rumpled host and didn’t want to contemplate that he might have taken his friend from something other than sleep.

“I must confess from the outset, when you told me you had devised a plan to acquire an heiress with little or no effort, that I had doubts you would meet with success,” Hawkhurst said.

“So you’re saying her insistence is a just punishment?”

“I’m saying I’m not surprised the arrangement isn’t turning out to be as effortless as you anticipated.”

Michael dropped into a nearby chair and sat facing his friend. “How do I do it? How do I make her look at me the way your duchess looks at you?”

Hawkhurst seemed surprised. “How does Louisa look at me?”

“As though you are her entire world.” He averted his eyes from the duke’s self-satisfied smile, ignoring the way his friend’s gaze had shot to the doors that would lead to the stairs that would lead him back to his wife. Michael could well imagine the duchess was going to find herself aroused from slumber if she wasn’t already awake, awaiting her husband’s return. Michael, on the other hand, had never held a woman’s heart, not even his mother’s. Certainly no woman had ever anticipated his arrival, his return to her side. He wasn’t particularly proud of the fact he found himself envying Hawkhurst.

“Honestly, Falconridge, I believe you underestimate your ability to earn her affection. After all, I like you well enough.”

With disgust, Michael shifted his gaze back to Hawkhurst. “Hmm, so I should take her drinking, gambling, and whoring?”

Hawkhurst grinned. “It’s not merely the things we do together. We have a bond, a history. I trust you.”

“What’s my favorite color?”

Hawkhurst blinked several times. “Pardon?”

“She says I should know her favorite color. If I cared for her at all, I would know it. I’ve known you for thirty years, and haven’t a clue regarding your favorite color. Devil take her! I’ve never heard of anything so ludicrous in all my life. I may very well have married a mad woman.”

And wasn’t that jolly well marvelous to contemplate: that he might find himself dealing with another lunatic.

“Women do have a tendency to look at the world slightly differently than we do,” Hawkhurst confirmed.

“So what am I to do?”

“What you should have done from the beginning: court her.”

“I’d hoped to avoid that tedious process.”

“At least you go into it knowing you’ve gained the prize.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve never had much success with gaining a woman’s favor. I bought my mistress all sorts of baubles and yet she left. What do women want?”

“Perhaps we should bring Louisa into the conversation.”

“No, God, no. It’s humbling enough discussing it with you.”

“But she served as Kate’s chaperone for a while. Lived with her, observed her. Surely, she’d know the girl’s favorite color.”

Kate Rose Tremayne’s favorite color?

Louisa Selwyn, the new Duchess of Hawkhurst, stared at their guest, while trying to decipher the purpose of his question. Her husband had returned to their bedchamber to announce Falconridge was in need of some assistance, and she needed to dress posthaste—although she hadn’t. She’d taken her sweet time, tormenting him with the reminder of what he’d abandoned, as she slipped back into her nightgown and wrapper. She’d taken some satisfaction in the low curses he’d thrown at his friend, the way he’d gripped the door handle to prevent himself from crossing the room to her—which surely would have resulted in their delay in returning to their guest—and the ardent kiss he’d delivered, filled with the promise of passion to be shared once they dispatched with their midnight caller.

Now her husband stood leaning against the mantel, seemingly amused by Falconridge’s discomfiture, while Louisa sat across from his friend.

“Her favorite color?” she repeated.

“Yes.” Falconridge leaned forward expectantly, as though she held the solution to ending the world’s troubles.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but I haven’t a clue.”

He flung himself back in the chair with such force that it scraped across the floor. “You were my last hope,” he grumbled.

“May I inquire as to why it’s such an important thing to know?”

“It’s important to her that I know. It’s a riddle she has set before me, and until I solve it”—he cleared his throat—“it is simply important I solve it. Your husband thought you might have the answer since you lived with her for a spell. Since you don’t, allow me to ask you this: how might I earn her favor?”

Ah, now she was beginning to understand Hawk’s amused expression. She did know Kate well enough to know she’d not settle for less than love; and if Louisa were a wagering woman, she’d wager Falconridge was just now learning the truth of his wife’s obstinacy and facing the consequences.

“Well, she loves to read. Perhaps a book—”

“I am presently without funds.”

“Oh, I see. Well, you could pick some flowers from the garden.”

“I don’t see that action as being of any consequence. She can go into the garden and enjoy all the flowers she wishes.”

“Your selecting the ones you think she would enjoy would be the gift.”

He shook his head, obviously failing to grasp her point.

“You could take her rowing on the Thames.”

He grimaced.

“You could read her poetry.”

He looked as though he might be ill.

“Take her on a walk, talk with her. Be kind.”

He released a deep breath and came to his feet. “This is accomplishing nothing. I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep.”

“You told me once that you’d been accused of having too much pride. Perhaps, for her, you simply need to swallow it.”

“Your Grace, please don’t take offense at my impatience, but it is unconscionably late, my wedding night, and I am here seeking counsel. How much pride do you think remains to me? Again, my apologies for interrupting your evening. I shall see myself out.”

He strode from the room as though the hounds of hell nipped at his heels. When he closed the door behind him, Louisa rose and went to her husband, relishing the swiftness with which he drew her near. “He’s quite miserable, isn’t he?” she asked.

“Afraid so.”

“And you find his suffering humorous?”

“Not at all, but I must confess to being entertained by his attempts at finding quick solutions to complicated problems.”

“Why do I have the feeling your words contain hidden meaning, perhaps insult?”

He lifted her into his arms. “Women, my love, are not easily understood and he wishes to understand them easily.”

“We are not that difficult to comprehend.”

He began carrying her toward their bedchamber. “Louisa, my darling, you have no clue how hard it is for a man to understand a woman’s mind.”

“L
avender.”

Kate looked up from her buttered eggs with tomatoes to stare at her husband who sat at the far end of the ridiculously lengthy table. Eight chairs lined either side of it, as though he frequently hosted breakfast parties. He’d already been eating when she’d waltzed into the breakfast room in her lavender day dress. He had, of course, come to his feet and waited while she took her time selecting the items for her plate. He’d not spoken a word until the butler had pulled out her chair and she’d taken her place.

“You’re guessing again,” she said tersely.

“Did I guess correctly?”

“No.”

He gave her a disgruntled look, rattled his newspaper, and returned to reading whatever article had snagged his attention.

“What news are you reading about?”

“A couple of footpads have taken to robbing people at gunpoint. They shot a fellow recently.”

“Why does anyone do that?”

He gave her a sharp look as though he didn’t understand the concept of conversation before turning his attention fully back to his paper. Kate looked over at the butler who stood smartly nearby, as though there was more than the single footman to oversee. She would need to see about increasing staff immediately. “Beginning tomorrow morning, I’d like a newspaper set out for me as well.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of Falconridge lowering his paper. The butler’s eyes shifted to his master, and she thought she saw Falconridge nod before the butler shifted his attention back to her. “My pleasure, my lady.”

“In the future, you need not look to my husband for approval of my requests.” She smiled sweetly at Falconridge. “Isn’t that so?”

“Bexhall meant no disrespect. It’s simply that we’ve never had a marchioness who read the newspaper over breakfast.”

“How else can I keep up with the affairs of the world?”

“The gossip?”

“The business.”

He seemed surprised she’d care about world affairs. She could see him debating internally whether or not to give up the enjoyment of his morning paper, so she might have an opportunity to read it before he was finished with it. It irritated her that he had to consider it at all.

“You left the house last night,” she said.

Lowering the newspaper completely, he gave her a cool look of disdain. “I don’t believe the settlement agreement included the necessity for me to keep you apprised of all my comings and goings.”

“I would think, considering the fact we will be meeting with your man of business this morning to discuss monies owed, that you would do all within your power to avoid earning my displeasure.”

Even from this distance, she could see his jaw tightening, his eyes hardening even further. She thought he could cut diamonds with that stare, but strangely, she wasn’t intimidated. Her father had, with a mere signature, given her power she’d never before possessed. She wouldn’t have said anything at all about her husband’s late-night adventure if she hadn’t worried herself silly that he’d sought another’s bed. She would have a faithful husband, by God, if nothing else.

He nodded toward the butler, then the footman. “You’re both dismissed to see to your other duties.”

Both men bowed and left without saying a word.

“I thought it was acceptable to speak in front of servants,” Kate said.

“I’m not accustomed to doing so when the matters are of a personal nature.”

“So last night—”

“I paid a visit to the Duke and Duchess of Hawkhurst.”

“It was hardly an appropriate hour for calling.”

“Hawkhurst’s friendship is not governed by the hour hand on a clock. I sought his counsel in an attempt to understand your demands. Ask your former chaperone if you doubt I spoke with him.”

“I don’t doubt you.” She looked back at her eggs, having lost all appetite. It wasn’t like her to be small and petty. Jenny was right. She shouldn’t have agreed to this marriage. It was bringing out the worst in her. She shifted her gaze to the single red rose resting beside her plate. It had been there when she’d arrived. “Is the rose from you?”

“The duchess suggested I give you a flower as a way to earn your affection, which I suppose makes the gesture meaningless.”

“Not entirely, no.” She couldn’t fault him with trying and she respected that he was a man who wouldn’t take credit that belonged to another. Yet based upon his reputation, his exceptional good looks, and the prestige of his title, she was somewhat surprised that he didn’t have the art of wooing women down to an art. Why did he find her demands so baffling that he’d need to seek counsel?

She glanced up, surprised by the tautness of his features. Did he ever laugh or smile? Strangely she had no memory of him ever doing either in her presence. Surely she’d not married a glum and broody sort. “If I may be so bold, I’m not certain it’s a wise course to seek advice from a man who sought to gain my sister’s hand in marriage by ruining her reputation.”

“Rather you think I should follow Lord Bertram’s preference for boring conversation.”

“He enjoys discussing the arts—literature, painting—”

“Conversation about the arts is equal to discourse on lovemaking. No words can do either justice. I find both must be
experienced
to be fully appreciated.”

Grateful he’d dismissed the servants, she felt the heat warm her cheeks. She should have known he’d work what he’d been denied last night into the conversation, although she couldn’t admit to being too scandalized. As a matter of fact, she was rather intrigued by his comment. “Perhaps our experiencing the arts together will lead to us experiencing other things in time.”

“In time…” he fairly growled.

“I don’t mean to be difficult, but I always longed for something more in a marriage than convenience. You’re quite right that I should have voiced my objections to my parents, but as much as you desired money, I desired freedom. For as long as I can remember, every aspect of my life has been my mother’s dictate. What I was to wear, where I was to go, how I was to behave. And almost always I was the good daughter, because not being the good daughter brought even harsher, and more painful, punishments. I cannot give myself to a stranger. I simply can’t. It would be torturous to be intimate with someone for whom I have no affection.” She lifted the rose and sniffed the delicate fragrance. “I think you’ll find I’m not too terribly difficult to please, but I do want to be pleased. Surely when you approached my father and asked for my hand in marriage, your request was spurred by more than simply receiving money. You must have seen the potential for a pleasing relationship between us.”

“I expected you to be more biddable.”

She lifted her gaze to him and smiled. “You vastly underestimated American women if you expected that. I’m asking only for a bit of time and patience, an opportunity to come to know each other.”

“If that would please you, then I shall abide by your wishes.”

She broadened her smile. “There, you see? I believe we’re making great progress. That wasn’t too difficult was it?”

“Quite honestly?”

She nodded.

“For me, it was hell.”

She felt her stomach lurch as he came to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to arrange some things before my man of business, Mr. Giddens, arrives.”

He strode toward her, folding the newspaper as he came, set it down with a
thwump
beside her plate, and walked from the room without another word. She didn’t know whether to take the rose
and
the newspaper as a beginning or their conversation as an ending to what might have evolved into an agreeable arrangement.

Michael could scarcely signify that he’d interpreted his wife’s comments during breakfast correctly. She wanted a sensitive buffoon who routinely engaged in conversations about art, emotions, and sentiments? She wanted them to sit around and…
talk?

He’d made a ghastly mistake, and if he weren’t standing at the window, listening intently as Kate discussed matters with Mr. Giddens, he might have taken her up on her suggestion from the night before that they get an annulment. But dear Lord, before the day was over all his London debts would be cleared. He couldn’t very well turn his back on that achievement.

She was correct in her assessment. She wasn’t being terribly difficult. He’d just never met a woman who seemed quite so determined to have her way. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t certain he’d ever met a woman who knew what she wanted beyond fancy hats and expensive baubles. He’d certainly never known a woman who looked as comfortable sitting behind a large desk as his wife did. Sitting at a delicate writing desk while penning letters—certainly. But looking over ledgers and statements? Occasionally making marks, adding up sums?

If it weren’t for the fact it was his personal affairs she was periodically raising eyebrows over, he might have never turned his attention back to the garden.

Sitting at the desk in her husband’s study, with Mr. Giddens sitting in front of her and producing from his satchel a set of statements of monies owed from one merchant after another, Kate was very much aware of her husband’s brooding silence as he stood in front of the window, gazing out on the lawn. If she’d discovered anything during their morning conversation, it was that he was an incredibly private person and not prone to revealing much about himself at all. She could well imagine how difficult it was to have his personal affairs reviewed by his wife, to have her approve which merchants would be paid and which wouldn’t. Not that she had any intention of not paying any of his debts. It was unfair to withhold payment from anyone who had possessed the idiocy to continue to extend credit to a man who had, in many cases, not paid a cent in over five years. She knew merchants tended to make exceptions for the aristocracy, but still, how did they pay their own bills?

As she carefully reviewed her husband’s expenditures, she couldn’t help but think they weren’t excessive. But then excessive was relative. She was, after all, accustomed to purchasing twenty thousand dollars worth of clothing in a single year.

She was familiar with the names of the shops that catered to women’s needs: exquisite gowns, fans, gloves, hats…

“Your mother seems to have rather expensive tastes.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Falconridge’s back stiffening. “Those items were for my mistress,” he ground out.

Mr. Giddens cleared his throat.

Kate, on the other hand, wanted to clear the room. He had a mistress. Now doubts and anger assailed her. Even if he had gone to Hawkhurst’s last night, he could have dropped in on his mistress afterward. She didn’t want to think of him crawling between the sheets with another woman.

“I will approve payment of these items, of course, as they were made before I came into your life. However, you will need to make other arrangements where your mistress is concerned.”

He looked over his shoulder and glared at her. “You have no worries there. She left me weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

He seemed as surprised by her words as she was. They’d popped out before she’d had a chance to stop them, guilt at her considerable relief no doubt spurring her on to show some compassion for his loss. She straightened her shoulders. “I know how difficult it is to be cast aside.”

“It wasn’t personal, it was business. I could no longer afford the trinkets she required in order to ser vice me.”

She flinched. Did he view all bedding as being cold, meticulous…business? Is that the reason he was able to come so brazenly to her bedchamber, even though they barely knew each other? To be ser viced?

She released whatever bit of guilt that had been nagging at her because she had sent him away. After Wesley’s tender lovemaking, she had no desire—nor would she tolerate—being treated as though she were an object to be used for his carnal desires. Not when she had a few of her own.

“Are you being deliberately crude?” she asked tartly.

“You expressed your sorrow at her leaving as though you thought she meant something to me, as though you thought I might have suffered some emotional pain at her moving on. I assure you, madam, I saw her leaving as little more than an inconvenience.”

She almost asked, “Why, then, did you say she left
you
rather than just saying she left?”

But she held her tongue because Mr. Giddens cleared his throat again, and she sensed her husband would deny any suffering simply because it was a matter of pride. Dear Lord, but he was almost too proud, too stoic, too distant. What was he trying to protect?

She was taken aback by the thought. Why had she deduced that he was trying to protect anything at all? More importantly, why was she suddenly so intrigued by him?

Granted he was handsome beyond measure, but he was so damned mysterious, seemingly constantly on guard for fear he might reveal something he didn’t wish her to know.

With effort, she turned her attention back to the boring debts rather than scrutinizing her fascinating husband further. She could study him all she wanted, but she doubted that would be enough to reveal anything of any significance where he was concerned.

Before the meeting, she’d changed into a rather plain blue dress that buttoned all the way to her chin, because she thought it gave her a no-nonsense appearance, and she wanted Mr. Giddens to take her and her status in this household seriously. She’d also wanted to see if her husband would blurt out, “blue” upon first seeing her.

He hadn’t. He’d barely turned from the window when she’d entered the room.

She didn’t know why it tickled her that he was trying to guess her favorite color. Especially since she knew it wasn’t the key to getting into her bed. She’d merely used it as an example to demonstrate how little they knew of each other. He seemed to have taken it as a challenge. Discover her favorite color, leap into her bed.

No, she’d learned the hard way not to be that easy.