Patricia Rice (4 page)

Light poured down the aisle as the cathedral doors opened. Heads turned and whispered murmurs rose to a noisy wave of sound. Christina followed their stares to the entrance.

Standing in the doorway, the Duke of Sommersville threw a long shadow down the aisle. Sunlight burnished his thick, gold-brown hair. Christina wondered if he’d disdained the formality of powder for a reason, but she dismissed the question to admire his formidable presence. A crisp jabot of expensive lace spilled over his elegant silver velvet coat and black vest. He wore silver breeches tailored to his trim, athletic figure, and Christina could hear a whisper of female sighs fill the air as he strode forward, his hat flattened under his arm.

She narrowed her eyes at his stiff gait. She had seen Harry dance with grace, climb trees without effort, and lounge carelessly at card tables. She had seen him both sober and foxed. She had never seen him walk as if he had a poker up his rump. If he was practicing to be the stiffest, grandest duke in the kingdom, he was succeeding.

Her sister Leila and her Aunt Stella were lying in wait for him at the front of the church. Before his eyes could adjust to the cathedral’s dim interior, they adorned him with the black cape and rowan crown as befitted a Malcolm wedding. Then they spirited him up to Christina.

Harry looked so very noble in his severe garb that Christina was half afraid to say a word. His eyes didn’t dance when they met hers but looked stern as he conceded to her family’s ministrations. He’d been fairly warned by her father, so he could not complain of the odd goings-on. By wearing the black vest, he’d even come prepared for it. The cape looked like a natural part of his ensemble.

He was still a stranger, a man instead of the laughing boy she remembered. Was that a line of dull blue in his aura? It was too blurred by brown to tell. Brown was a very bad sign, or maybe it simply meant he was confused.

“Half London is waiting,” he said as if he could read her thoughts. He offered his arm once her mother had fastened his cloak with its gold pin. “You cannot cry off now.”

“I’m not a coward.” Straightening her shoulders, she took his arm, noticing that Harry made the unusual cape look regal. He only needed a scepter to complete the image.

“Only a child lacks fear,” he murmured without looking at her. “Grow up and admit that the future is terrifying.”

She didn’t want to grow up. She liked her life just as it was—with nothing to fear on the horizon.

At some unseen signal, the organ bellowed a loud note. Harry grimaced as if in great pain, then stiffened his spine even straighter.

The moment had arrived. She could either run away or refuse to believe that her life would change once they married. Setting her chin, she chose the latter and clung to his arm when he started around the room, as befit a Malcolm wedding.

“You’re foxed,” she whispered as he dragged her with him.

Harry did not cast her a glance. “Not now,” he gritted between clenched teeth.

Christina pondered that response as her youngest sisters and cousins scattered flower petals before them. Did he mean “not now” as in “now is not the time, so shut the hell up”? Or did he mean he was no longer foxed, just suffering from the aftereffects? And why would he feel the need to overindulge anyway? Did he dread this marriage as much as she?

Before she could follow the path of her inquiries to their logical conclusion, Harry halted her before the altar where the bishop waited.

It was early spring and there had been no time to fetch hothouse trees to provide the forest background preferred by Malcolm tradition. Instead, the bishop stood before a table of palms and orchids carried from town conservatories. Sporting its first spring leaves, a rowan tree in a pot represented the forest.

Christina watched Harry with curiosity as the titters and talk carried on behind them, but he listened intently to the solemn words the bishop spoke, oblivious to the mockery of their peers. Despite the harshness of his demeanor, Harry seemed earnest in accepting the Malcolm oath to “love, honor, and take this woman in equality.”

Christina swallowed a gulp of relief and hoped that she was right in believing that beneath the mask of stern and proper duke lurked the intelligent, understanding Harry she knew.

She simply had to keep remembering that through the wedding breakfast to follow and the night to come.

At the bishop’s command, Harry produced a diamond and pearl ring in an antique setting that must have belonged to his mother. The light filtering through the rose window caught the facets of the gems, sending dancing rainbows across her hand.

His grasp was as warm and strong as his voice. A thrill of anticipation filled her, giving her the courage to repeat her oath firmly. She held Harry’s gaze even though his changing hues frightened her. He was hers, for now and forever. She smiled in delight at that thought.

A flock of white doves flew into the air the instant the last syllable fell from her tongue. Laughter and curses followed, but Christina clung to the power of Harry’s unwavering gaze.

In anticipation of Harry’s kiss, she didn’t hear the bishop pronounce them man and wife. She only knew the moment Harry dipped his head so the heat of his mouth seared hers, sealing their vows into eternity.

Another explosion of doves toppled candles and palms and sent guests shrieking into the aisles.

In the confusion, Harry pulled her closer and parted her lips with his tongue.

Christina’s kiss not only stole Harry’s breath away, it drove his hangover headache out of his skull. Had it not been for the escalating confusion behind them and the bishop’s peremptory cough in front, he would have idled longer, exploring her eager sweetness, basking in the one bright promise in his future.

He tasted enthusiasm and awe on her lips. It had been a long time since a woman had kissed him like that. Wooing Christina into his bed suddenly took precedence over all his woes.

With reluctance, he released her to face the congregation and the chaos caused by the frightened doves. Splendidly coiffed matrons ducked and shrieked. Gentlemen still half-foxed from last night’s celebrations stumbled about in ragged attempts to capture the offending birds, doing more harm than good. Harry sighed. At least this would be the last of the Malcolm madness. Now they could get on with their lives together.

Christina watched him warily, as if waiting for him to pitch a fit. She’d have a long wait before she caught him losing his temper or his dignity. This was her wedding, and if this was what she wanted, he would not sour it for her. She was his wife and helpmate, future mother of his children, and for this, he owed her a great deal of respect. By marrying him, she put herself completely in his care, and he took his responsibility seriously.

He prayed she wouldn’t be the final burden that broke his back.

Offering his arm, he led her through the crowd rushing into the aisle in their haste to escape the usual result of a flight of deranged birds.

“Has your family considered holding these ceremonies in the park?” he inquired politely, dodging an opportunistic merchant who thought to make the best of Harry’s public appearance. “The birds would have a wider territory for their depredations.”

“We prefer the park, but the law now requires a church. Civilization is much of the reason our traditions and abilities fall by the wayside.”

Christina stopped to kiss the cheek of a handsome lad who handed her a wedding gift. The boy had the look of an Ives about him, so Harry assumed it was one of her brothers-in-law, apparently one of the bastard younger ones.

“An odd time for a wedding gift,” he murmured, shoving his way through the milling crowd, praying she didn’t realize half of them were his creditors and not just idle bystanders.

“David does things in his own time.”

To Harry’s relief, Christina did no more than glance at the gift as he assisted her into the waiting carriage outside the church.

He’d heard rumors that Christina and one of the younger Ives were sweet on each other, but until now, he hadn’t concerned himself with the gossip. The appearance of the Ives brothers at their wedding warned that it wouldn’t just be Christina’s family she could fall back on should he fail her. Her sisters had married into a family as formidable as her own. Ives men would all be down his throat if he did not make his new wife happy.

Harry tugged at his uncomfortable cravat before climbing into the carriage and signaling the driver to move on.

He’d borrowed the rig from the marquess since he owned none of his own. A sedan chair hadn’t seemed appropriate for his bride. He hoped the estate still possessed a carriage or two so he would not shame Christina by forcing her to walk everywhere.

Now that he had the right, Harry contemplated removing the cape that hid Christina’s delectable form. Previously unwilling to be caught in the trap of marriage, he’d avoided lustful thoughts about his intended, but now seemed an appropriate moment to engage in them. The gap between her cape and her bodice offered a teasing glimpse of bare breasts and the shadow between. He knew she was slender. How much of their fullness was enhanced by stays?

“Has a fancy for you, does he?” he asked, following his earlier concern rather than behave like a sex-starved schoolboy.

Christina looked startled. “David? A fancy for me? I cannot imagine it. He is only a few years older than I.”

“You know how gossip is,” Harry said off-handedly, although that particular bit of gossip had gnawed his insides. “Your sisters and cousin married Ives. They all looked for you to do the same.”

His wife tilted her lovely head in that curious manner of hers, studied him for a moment, then smiled. “Why, Harry, I believe you are the tiniest bit jealous. Did you think me so faithless as to run off with someone else?”

“Of course not,” he said, oddly reassured by her words despite his attempt to be blasé. “I did not think you meant to marry at all.”

“Malcolms always marry,” she said carelessly. “It’s probably a family curse.” She glanced out the window as the carriage rolled past his home on the first leg of the square. “Why are all those shopkeepers hanging about your house these days? Have your father’s duties already descended upon you?”

His creditors were watching the carriage pull up across the park at the home of Lord and Lady Hampton. With the money from the sale of his coin collection, he’d paid off all those who had hung about yesterday. Apparently the word had gone ’round and another set wished to try their luck today. He hoped Luke found some way to lure them back to the kitchens where they belonged. Or drove them away entirely.

“The estate is a very complicated affair.” Brushing off her question, Harry stepped from the carriage and offered his hand to assist her out.

Inside the dim church, Harry had scarcely had time to appreciate his bride’s beauty. Out here on one of London’s sunnier days, she glowed brighter than daylight in her yellow gown. She threw back her cape to reveal enough lace to pay his meals for a year, but the cascade of white had the desired effect of drawing his gaze to her breasts.

She belonged outdoors. Her flawless skin possessed a creamy sheen that ripened like sweet apricots in the sun. Gold glinted in her unbound hair, and her eyes reflected the blue skies above when she raised her head to look at him. She was tall enough in her heeled shoes to meet his eyes. Her waist was as slender and supple as any willow reed.

Harry had the inexplicable urge to dance her through the street, swing her about in joy, and cavort like a boy to show how happy she made him.

But dukes didn’t dance in the streets like madmen.

Or attract the attention of creditors.

He hustled her up the stairs into her parents’ home, through the lines of servants waiting to welcome the guests for the wedding breakfast. The day ahead stretched long before they’d be allowed to make their escape.

Normally, Harry enjoyed company. He liked flirting with the ladies, discussing the latest political situation with his peers, exchanging jests with his friends.

But his entire world had turned inside out with the deaths of his father and brother. He missed their presence at what should be a celebratory occasion.

He had to be the Duke of Sommersville and speak intelligently with Christina’s father and his wealthy cronies in case he had need of their assistance, while he watched from afar as Christina flitted from guest to guest, laughing and teasing.

Instead of arguing with his host as he might once have done, Harry remained noncommittal on the Tory views that the marquess and his peers thought he would adopt now that he’d become a landowner.

Leaving the others to argue affairs of state, Lord Hampton took him aside to complete the business that constituted an aristocratic marriage. “I’ve arranged for Christina’s dowry to be deposited with your banker this morning,” the marquess assured Harry. “If you wish, I can have the arranged amount sent to this Carthage person.”

Harry bowed his head to hide his shame. “Thank you, sir. I’d like to keep my communication with the man to a minimum.”

“You’re certain you’ll have no trouble paying the balance?” Hampton demanded. “Should you lose both dowry and estate, I won’t leave my daughter destitute. I’ll bring her home at once.”

Harry had no certainty of anything at all. He had to believe the land would keep them once matters were in order. If he were fool enough to lose his inheritance, then he deserved to lose Christina as well. “There should be no difficulty, sir. It’s prime acreage. You have not married your daughter to a beggar.”

The marquess nodded approval and returned to the political argument, leaving Harry to fend for himself.

He set himself to learning the names of all of Christina’s sisters and cousins and her notorious Ives in-laws. He gritted his teeth at the ease with which all the big, dark, handsome men teased his duchess. Dunstan Ives attempted to draw him into a discussion of farming, but Harry knew as much about agriculture as Dunstan knew about Roman ruins.

His own friends had toddled off to bed after observing the ceremony. He had a vague recollection of having made a preposterous wager with Chumley. What the devil had got into him to challenge him in such a manner?

“My mother says we may leave once we’ve greeted all the guests,” Christina murmured, coming up to take his arm. “I’m sure we’ve spoken with half of London. Might we leave now? I had an appointment I would keep this afternoon.”

Startled, Harry glanced down at his flushed and glowing new wife. She’d changed from her pale yellow morning gown to a modest blue traveling gown that concealed every delectable bit of her from head to toe. They both recognized their marriage as one of convenience, a uniting of two powerful families. He shouldn’t expect her to look at him with joy and expectation of the night and the life to come.

But he did, confound it. He wanted her to be eagerly asking him to take her to his home and to his bed. She’d all but stolen his breath from his lungs with that kiss this morning. She was the inexperienced one. Shouldn’t she show some shyness or curiosity instead of treating this day as just another? She looked as if she were ready to run off to explore a new gravesite and leave him to his own devices.

He didn’t want to be left to his own devices, he realized. He wanted her by his side as he braved the disaster that was his new future. He would like to have
one
delight to look forward to in the days ahead.

Of course, once his new duchess discovered he was bankrupt and could lose everything he owned, she might not be quite the delight he anticipated. And what would she make of the monstrous home to which he must take her?

Glancing out the window at the square crowded with carriages and sedan chairs and gawking passersby, Harry tried to discern if his doorstep was clear of creditors. From this angle, a tree blocked his view, and there were too many people about to be certain.

“At some point, we must leave for Sommersville,” he told Christina. He couldn’t ignore the dire state of his father’s affairs much longer.

“To Sommersville? Honestly? You’ll take me to the country?” Looking excited, Christina glanced about the crowded room, apparently searching for her family. She practically bounced beside him as she found her mother.

Surprised that he’d stirred her interest, Harry studied her eager expression. “Of course. Did you think I’d lock you in an attic?”

“No, but you never go to the country. You and my father are much alike, always talking politics, and the session will be starting soon. I thought you would wish to attend now that you’re a lord.”

He would like nothing more than to stay and take his place in government, but he wouldn’t have lands left if he didn’t return to the country. He didn’t think there were any landless dukes in the kingdom, and he had no desire to be the first.

“And you don’t wish to stay and attend the parties as a duchess?” he inquired, knowing as soon as the words left his mouth what her answer would be. He was a great galumphing fool. He’d married a
Malcolm
. They did not think like the rest of the world, and Christina in particular had a taste for the idiosyncratic. She watched for
brownies
while attending state balls.

“I have been to parties,” she said with a moue of distaste. “I have been every year for these last five years. I would much rather be somewhere new, doing something adventurous. Does Sommersville have ghosts? Might I bring my horse? I haven’t been riding in ever so long.”

“I suppose I might arrange for a carriage in the morning,” Harry said. “The stables are large, so you may bring as many horses as you like.”

Waiting for her mother to disengage from her conversation, Christina glanced out the window Harry had been staring out of earlier. His town house awaited just across the square. He’d want to take her there, to a place just like her father’s, turn her into a proper wife just like her mother. She didn’t know how to reconcile herself to the life he expected of her now that he was a duke.

“Why wait until morning?” she exclaimed, caught up in the appeal of escaping town before Harry remembered his tedious duties here. “Let us take our horses and be gone now!”

She didn’t know if she could trust Harry not to expect a marriage night, but if they rode all the way to Sussex… Surely he would not expect anything of her after so exhausting a journey. And perhaps she’d find some sign of her old Harry once he left society.

“I can’t let you ride that distance,” he said, horrified.

The old Harry would have chortled and agreed. The new, responsible Harry rightly asserted his ducal dismay at so unseemly a journey.

“We can stop at an inn along the way.” She knew the suggestion would catch his very male attention, and it did. The gleam in his eye gave him away even if the brightening hues of his aura hadn’t. She wouldn’t disabuse him of his lustful notions just yet. If he thought her the kind of silly gudgeon who would fall for his male charm, then more fool he.

She was aware that a husband had a legal right to demand anything he wished of his wife. That Harry had agreed not to exercise those rights immediately didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. In fact, she rather liked the fantasy of him trying.

He glanced again at the throng beyond the window. His aura darkened, but she noted an intriguing spike of white that could mean any of a number of things. Given Harry’s character, she thought it might be a protective streak. But who was he protecting from what?

He studied the full skirt of her travel gown. “Can you ride in that?”