The Devil Who Tamed Her (22 page)

I
T WAS THE KIND OF
bad behavior Ophelia had indulged in when she was growing up—speaking words hastily, being too stubborn or too hurt to take them back before it was too late, and suffering the regret afterward that never went away. There was more than just regret this time, however. Much more.

She was married to Raphael Locke, Viscount Lynnfield, in the narrow foyer of a magistrate’s house, the special license his father had given him to use at his discretion making their marriage possible, with only Lady Cade and Mary Reid there to witness it. The rest of the Cade guests had been too shocked to come along, but Lady Cade had jumped at the chance. It would be the icing on the cake, the premier event of the Season, and she’d be able to tell it all, right down to the
I do
’s.

It certainly wasn’t how Ophelia had imagined her wedding. She’d fantasized many times walking down the aisle in a grand church, wearing a magnificent wedding gown, the seats filled with smiling ladies glad to see her exit the marriage mart, and frowning gentlemen, her many admirers bemoaning that they hadn’t won her. It was in fact quite tawdry, a rushed civil service, nothing grand about it. The magistrate’s mother was even snoring in the next room! Which was the reason why they weren’t invited into the parlor to speak their vows. If they
were
vows.

Maybe they were only promising to get married at a later date. She was so dazed that she couldn’t think coherently or focus for long on what was really being said. But if it was quite final, the only bright side to it that Ophelia could grasp to her bosom was that her father wasn’t there to gloat because he was getting exactly what
he
wanted.

Nervous and confused, Mary chatted nonstop about nothing pertinent to the situation while they drove Lady Cade back to her home. The newlyweds said not a word to each other, though as if they were on their way to some minor affair, they did join in the conversation, but strictly for Lady Cade’s benefit. At least Rafe did. Ophelia had to be nudged to contribute, just as she’d had to be prompted for each word during the ceremony. Somewhere in the mire of her shock she grasped that it was necessary for her to play along. Putting on a good show, as it were. When the news broke in the morning, Lady Cade would be able to say the ceremony had been rushed, yes, and certainly wasn’t suited to a duke’s son, but how romantic that the couple couldn’t wait. Such impatience!

Silence prevailed after they’d returned Lady Cade to her residence. But it was only a few short blocks to the Reid household. However, Rafe wasn’t just dropping Mary off there. He also ushered Ophelia out of his coach.

“Now you live with it,” he said tersely before he slammed the door and his coach drove away.

There was no snow or ice on the walkway, but Ophelia was frozen in place nonetheless. One shock after another, but this last one was too much. Having married her, why had Rafe returned her to her parents? Or were they married? She hadn’t really listened to anything the magistrate had said.

Mary put an arm around her waist as they both stood there watching the viscount’s coach disappear into the distance. “I don’t understand what just happened,” Mary said in her own confusion. “If your father hadn’t assured me you would be marrying that man, I never would have let him rush you off to that magistrate’s house. What could you have been thinking, Pheli, to agree to that?”

Agree? Had she? By goading Rafe into it and taking the credit for rumors she hadn’t started, yes, she supposed that could have been unspoken agreement. By promising him she’d take his bachelorhood away to make him suffer, yes, that too was an obvious sign of compliance. But she certainly hadn’t counted on such immediate results or this particular reaction from him. Actually, she hadn’t simply thought any further than trying to hurt him just as he’d hurt her.

“Am I really married, Mama?” she asked in a small voice, still staring in a daze down the empty street. “Or was that just a preliminary process of some sort that we needed to take care of before an actual wedding could take place? Like an official promise to get married that required witnesses and putting it in writing?”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that.” Mary frowned.

“Maybe only duke’s sons are required—?”

“Let’s get out of the cold.” Mary turned Ophelia toward the house. “And, no, there was nothing preliminary about what happened tonight. The only oddity was that you were married the same day the marriage was decided upon, but then I’m not surprised the Lockes would have a special license lying around for emergencies. You know, it’s the little things like that, the special privileges of the very highest echelon of society that have always annoyed your father so much, because he doesn’t have the connections to acquire the same.”

“Then he should have married into that echelon himself, instead of pushing me up the social ladder,” Ophelia mumbled to herself.

Mary heard her and smiled. “That
was
his intention, dear—until he fell in love with me.”

She glanced at her mother. She’d never actually heard that about her father before. He gave up his own aspirations for Mary? That would have been quite romantic of him—except he hadn’t really given them up, he’d just switched them to his daughter instead.

Mary sighed as they removed their wraps in the foyer. “So much for the grand wedding I’ve always dreamed of arranging for you. When it really sinks in, I’m going to be quite disappointed I’m sure.”

Guilt now for that, added to everything else Ophelia was feeling. But entertaining was Mary’s forte, her sole purpose, as it were, and the wedding for her only daughter could have been her crowning achievement. But not now. She’d had no part in it other than to be present.

“I’m sorry,” Ophelia said.

“Don’t be, dear. It certainly wasn’t your fault that your young man was so impatient. I could see it on your face, that you were as surprised as the rest of us. If anything, I blame the special license. If you have something like that sitting in your pocket, you’re tempted to use it.”

The guilt got worse, forcing the words out of Ophelia. “You have the wrong impression about what occurred, Mama. There was nothing romantic about it.”

Mary’s frown returned. “What are you saying?”

“You haven’t wondered yet why he left me here with you, instead of taking me home with him?”

“Well, of course I have. I did sense some anger from him, which he was trying admirably to hide. But I’m sure there’s a good reason.”

“Oh, there is, a very good reason. It’s because he didn’t want to marry me at all, any more than I wanted to marry him. My anger goaded him into it, though that wouldn’t have done it alone, not without the rumors circulating about us.”

All Mary heard and addressed was “You really didn’t want to marry him?”

“Well, I would have wanted to if Papa hadn’t been insisting on it, and if Rafe and I had found the right reasons to. We came close to finding them, but—it just wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”

“But do you love him?”

There was that question again, and all she could say was “I really don’t know. I’ve never felt so comfortable with a man before, where I don’t feel I have to guard my every word, nor have I gotten so angry with a man before for that matter, or—it’s all extremes, what he makes me feel. I’ve had some wonderful experiences with him that I’ll never forget. He brings out the child in me, and the girl, and the woman. He certainly taps all of my emotions, not just a few of them.”

“Oh my” was all Mary said, as if Ophelia had given her a definitive yes or no, rather than a complicated jumble of thoughts.

“Why are you two home so early?” Sherman asked, appearing at the top of the stairs. “And standing there chitchatting in the foyer?”

“Oh, good God,” Mary whispered to Ophelia. “It’s only just dawned on me that Sherman missed your wedding. He’s going to be furious!”

That’s one bright note out of a disastrous day, Ophelia thought.

R
APHAEL TURNED OFF THE LAMP
beside the reading chair in his bedroom, leaving only the dim orange glow from the dying fire to flicker about the room. The bottle of rum was close at hand. He would have preferred brandy, but his study was dark when he’d gone in there to grab an armful of bottles, and he had encountered only two. One he knocked on the floor and couldn’t find, the other he’d taken up to his room. He’d take a light with him when he went down later to find out what had happened to the rest of the liquor in his well-stocked bar. One, even two bottles, just wasn’t going to be enough tonight.

He’d married Ophelia Reid—good God, she was Ophelia Locke now. He was out of his bloody mind.

He could have gotten out of it, had only needed to make it publicly known that they were at unreconcilable odds. Would anyone who knew her doubt it? Hell no. But at the back of his mind had been the ridiculous notion that marriage to her could be good, so good he’d think he was the luckiest man alive. But it had been a foolish notion. What it could be like wasn’t going to be a reality. What it would be like was going to be his worst nightmare.

He thought about telling his housekeeper to prepare for a lady of the house, then took another drink instead. He’d be damned if he’d bring that shrew into his home. She was
not
going to know that he still wanted her. She was
not
going to know that he had to fight to keep his hands off her. If he didn’t see her, he could keep those urges to himself. And where was it written, after all, that he had to live with the wife he’d married? If her parents wouldn’t keep her, he’d find somewhere else to deposit her, but it wouldn’t be with him.

He’d never lacked for coin. The title that had come to him that was usually passed along to the firstborn early came with a large estate, and many entailed properties that earned a steady income. To teach responsibility early was the family tradition. So before he was a man, he was his own man.

The London town house was one of those properties. He hadn’t had to buy it, but he’d spared no expense decorating it to his taste. It was a man’s house, made comfortable for a bachelor. It wasn’t suitable for a woman, especially that woman, who’d no doubt wreck it for spite just as she did everything else for spite. He liked the house. He didn’t want it ruined. He downed another glass of rum.

He was vaguely aware that his thoughts were beginning to turn incoherent. He’d been hoping the alcohol would give him a little peace before he had to face the realities of the morning, but it wasn’t working yet. He downed another glass of rum.

His marriage was going to be on every tongue come morning. News of that sort would travel fast. He had no idea how he was going to deal with congratulations—or condolences, for that matter. He should jot off a note to his father, but he was afraid it would be illegible now. Tomorrow.

He began to feel bad about leaving Ophelia with her parents, though. That sort of spite was foreign to him. But it had been such a perfect payback. Force them to marry for spite, would she? Then he could deny her the one thing she
really
wanted, to get out from under her father’s thumb. Priceless—but a little too spiteful for him.

He wouldn’t make her stay there, not for long. But he wasn’t going to bring her to his home. Hell no. He’d find her some place where she could practice her spiteful ways to her heart’s content and he wouldn’t have to know about it. They were
not
going to live under the same roof when he couldn’t trust a single word out of her mouth.

God, he couldn’t believe how adept she was at deception. He’d really believed she’d changed, that her regrets were real, that she’d told the truth. He’d even thought she’d conquered her worst tendencies, but it was all lies. And there was no way he could continually live with that, when he wouldn’t be able to trust a single word she ever said.

“I ran home the moment I heard. Congratulations!”

He glanced up to see his sister grinning as she poked her head around the door. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Congratulate me. You can mourn with me if you like. Just don’t look so bloody cheerful, thank you.”

“You’re foxed.” She walked into the room.

“Good guess! Two points for you!”

“
Really
foxed. Why? And where is she?” Amanda looked in particular toward his bed.

“You won’t find her in there,” he mumbled. “But if you thought she was in here, why the deuce didn’t you knock before barging in?”

“I never barge in,” she disagreed in a huff.

“You just did.”

“No, I didn’t. I knocked and knocked and knocked first, and when you didn’t answer, I figured you must be sleeping, but on the chance you weren’t, I just had to know so I could share my delight with…you…” She slowed down because of his scowl. “I shouldn’t be delighted?”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“But I
like
her.”

“You didn’t before.”

“That was before she and I had such a nice talk.”

He snorted. “Don’t believe a word she says, Mandy. She’s a consummate liar, a practiced deceiver, a superb actress. She’ll have you believing the sun is shining when you know bloody well it isn’t. And how the devil did you find out so soon?”

“Some chap burst into the main room of the party I was attending and simply shouted it into the room. Then he was bombarded with questions and admitted he had been at the Cades’ where you announced you were leaving immediately to get leg-shackled to Ophelia, and that even Lady Cade went along to witness it. Of course everyone then turned their eyes accusingly on me because I hadn’t even dropped a hint that it was to happen soon. Quite embarrassing, you know, but I forgive you because I was so delighted to…very well, not delighted a’tall. There. Happy?”

“Do I look happy?”

She was frowning now as she sat on the arm of his chair. “What happened? Did something prevent you from marrying her?”

“No,” he said in self-disgust. “I could have prevented it if I wasn’t so furious, but I was, and I didn’t.” He knew that sounded odd, started to clarify what he meant, but lost the train of his thoughts and gave up. Instead he said, “A word of warning, m’dear. Don’t ever ever make a monumental decision about your life when you’re in a rage.”

“I thought you liked her. You raved about the ‘new’ her. I even met the ‘new’ her and had to agree with you. She was more than just changed, it was like she was a completely new person.”

“Lies. The woman I liked doesn’t even exist. She was a fraud.”

Amanda raised a brow at him. “You’re sure about that? We’re talking about the woman who found out about the bet, remember? The one who would want your head for it. You just called her a superb actress, didn’t you? Maybe this woman is the fraud.”