The Reluctant Marquess (3 page)

“But please allow me to make a demand of my own,” she said, putting out a hand as he leant over her.

He straightened. “And what is that?”

“I need time to get to know you, before we … consummate the marriage.”

He frowned. “How much time?”

She touched her mouth with her fingers. “It’s hard to say. When we get to know each other better.”

“I am nothing but a gentleman. I bow to your wishes.” He made her an elaborate bow. When he raised his head, she saw something in his eyes. Was it a flicker of frustration?

“Why do you ask me to call you Robert?” She sought to change the subject and lighten the mood a little. “Don’t ladies call their husbands by their title or surname?”

His gaze returned to her mouth. “Perhaps I like to hear you say it, and see your lips form my name.”

It was the first flirtatious thing he’d said, and it sent a thrill racing through her. Sure that he was teasing her again, she said, “Robert,” to see what would happen. With another question on her lips, he caught her to him and silenced her with a kiss.

His lips felt cool and soft, sliding across hers. His arm tightened around her. She felt engulfed by him and had to admit she liked it. Her breath caught and her whole body felt odd. How extraordinary it was, how natural and intimate. She enjoyed the smell of him, musk, leather and male. She’d never been clasped in a man’s arms. It was not a peck like her father might have given her, but a deeply probing kiss which stirred in her body unfamiliar and very pleasant feelings, a yearning low in her stomach and a strange tension in her thighs; even her nipples tingled. When he pulled away, she almost staggered and reached out to him. Dropping her hands to her sides, she tried to gain some measure of calm acceptance, as if this was an everyday occurrence, while hoping he would kiss her again.

Apparently he didn’t feel the need for it, or the desire, for he merely smiled and turned away to untie the horses. She glanced shyly at him from under the brim of her hat as he gave her a leg up into the saddle. He seemed absorbed in his own thoughts as he mounted and reined in alongside her. They rode back to the castle, with Charity reliving the feeling of his arms around her and his mouth on hers. She had wanted to gain his respect, to make him understand that he could not take everything he wanted from her, but she already regretted making such a demand. If she’d known how much she’d enjoyed him kissing her, she might not have said it.

But to take it back now would not only make her seem foolish, it would give him carte blanche to do with her what he wanted. And while that caused her to suffer a shiver of anticipation, it might not be wise.

“We’ll have to arrange for a new wardrobe of clothes for you,” he said glancing over at her attire. “A marchioness cannot appear in society looking poverty-stricken. I would be viewed poorly by the ton.”

“Not to mention my embarrassment, my lord,” Charity said, stinging tears forming in her eyes. She was right. He was angry with her. Well, now she was angry with him. She was glad she’d refused him his rights.

He turned to look at her. “I don’t mean to offend you, Charity. Surely you must agree.”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Exactly. Let’s give these horses a gallop.”

The gallop was exactly what they both needed. He rode ahead on his strong stallion and she was left to admire how well he appeared in the saddle. His seat was truly admirable. She wondered in how many things did he excel. Random thoughts wandered from the playing of an instrument to his prowess in the bedchamber and heated her face. She was glad of the fresh cooling sea breeze as she approached the bridge where Robert waited for her.

A gabble rose from the ducks and swans crowding beneath the willow fronds on the river. When she joined him again, she said, “Where will home be?”

He tipped back his hat with a finger. “Do you know I haven’t given it much thought? I don’t wish to live here, do you?”

Delighted to be asked, she said, “I don’t mind where I live.”

But not alone. “I love it here, are the other choices as charming?”

He looked relieved. “You may choose between here and Hertfordshire if you wish. The house there is far more comfortable. I shall spend most of my time in London. You are welcome to enjoy the Season there as I’ve said.”

He had said it as an afterthought and he’d rather she didn’t.

Charity clenched her jaw, longing to give him a crushing set-down. “Perhaps I’ll live in Italy,” she said, tossing her head, and was pleased when he swivelled to stare at her.

“Italy?” he queried, drawing his mount alongside hers.

“If I’m to spend most of my time alone, I fancy Italy shall suit my needs splendidly. I believe it has a pleasant climate, and the people are warm. The men especially.” She urged her horse ahead of him and left him to mull over what she had said, relishing the surprised glance he had cast her.

The next day, Robert departed for Doctors Commons, planning to return with the special license in about a sennight. She was left to ponder if he enjoyed escaping back to London and what he would do whilst there.

“Why, thank you, James. I believe you know what I want before I do.” Charity smiled at the footman who had hurried to fetch her hat and shawl as she came down the stairs.

The sandy-haired man bowed as a flush of pleasure coloured his cheeks. People were so nice in this part of the country. Hoping to delay things a little, Charity had suggested to Robert that they might have the banns read in the local church. He explained they would also have to be read in her parish and the whole thing would take far too long.

In Robert’s absence, Charity investigated the castle. The library was her favourite room; it smelled of old tomes and made her think of her home in Oxfordshire. She spent many hours there, reading by the fire with Felix stretched out beside her.

The panelled Great Hall was so big and empty it echoed with the sound of her footsteps. It had a high buttressed ceiling and was large enough for the grandest ball with a minstrel gallery for an orchestra, and she could imagine ladies and gentlemen performing a country dance. Perhaps one day they would again as hers and Robert’s guests. The thought sent an anxious shudder through her. There were so many bedchambers she couldn’t count them, most furnished in heavy mahogany. Her chamber was one of the best, although Robert’s was larger.

Would she join him there? Another anxious shudder followed the first. The breakfast room was another favourite, a sunny room overlooking the sea. Leaving the rounded walls of the castle shaped like the petals of a rose, she ventured farther along a balustraded walk, finding it led to the formal gardens to the north of the castle. Clipped yew hedges bordered the path.

Bees buzzed among the roses along the sun-warmed stone walls. She turned back before she reached the majestic trees of the deer park, promising she would investigate further on horseback.

As the days passed, her wanderings led her back to the foreshore. She began collecting interesting pieces of driftwood that took her fancy and soon had quite a collection. It might have been the clement weather, but she began to feel at home here. On her first day alone, the cook had sent the kitchen maid to enquire if there was anything special she fancied for her dinner. She thought it kind when she wasn’t yet the mistress of the house, and sent Rebecca with praise for the meal, saying his lobster in cream sauce was a triumph. Encouraged by her praise, each subsequent meal had outshone the last. The footman, James, danced attendance on her, quite spoiling her and yet knowing when not to intrude on her thoughts. She must tell Robert what a treasure he was.

Robert arrived back in Curzon Street, and after a change of clothes rushed out again. It was close to ten of the clock, and he’d left his friends after dinner. They were planning to visit White’s to join the gambling tables, and later to be entertained by opera dancers.

The maid opened the door for him and he entered Anastasia’s boudoir where she sat at her mirror.

He rested his hand on his mistress’s slender shoulder. She was applying a patch to her cheek. “You are going out?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t expect you to be back in London for some time, Robert.”

“I know.” He eased himself into an uncomfortable chair with spindly gilt legs. “I’m here in London to obtain a special license.”

Her eyes met his in the mirror. “You are marrying her then.”

“I have little choice in the matter. It’s what my uncle wished.”

“But your uncle has died.” She shrugged. “What is she like?”

“An unaffected country girl.”

“How gauche.”

“Gauche? No, I wouldn’t say that.” He found Charity rather refreshing but felt it imprudent to say so.

Anastasia rose from the chair, revealing a naked thigh. Robert stood too studying her flowing fair hair and graceful, slender body, barely covered by a silk wrap. He marveled again at her likeness to his first love, Millicent Burrowdale.

She placed a hand on his chest and moved it downwards. “But is she pretty?”

He scowled. “I don’t intend to discuss my future wife with you.”

Her hand reached its destination, and his manhood jumped under her practiced fingers. “Pooh. Can she do what I can do, for you?”

“I very much doubt it.” Robert picked her up in his arms and laid her on the bed. “We shall go on much as we did before, shan’t we?”

She watched him strip away her robe and bend to kiss a breast. “If you wish it.”

“Oh, I do. I do wish it.”

Robert had been gone almost two weeks when Charity wandered over to the water’s edge accompanied by Felix, who had become her loyal companion. She stood with her gown whipping around her, watching a majestic tall ship far out to sea. The dog gave a bark and took off at a run, and she turned to see Robert crossing the rocks towards her. Her ribs constricted, and a flush of heat rose to her face at the sight of him. He had come to find her, still wearing his grey greatcoat, striding out in fawn breeches and black boots. He swept off his cocked hat. He was just as handsome as she remembered. As she took in every detail of him, a lock of hair blew across her face. She tucked it behind an ear with trembling fingers and wondered again if she could make him a good wife.

“I thought you were my faithful escort, Felix,” she remonstrated when the dog returned to dance around her legs. It gave her time to regain her composure. “I believe your friendship to be false.” Felix barked and joyfully returned to his master, gaining his attention.

“My uncle believed animals were never false.” He rose from patting the dog, a smile lighting his blue eyes. “What have you there?” Was he pleased to see her too?

She held out a piece of flotsam from some sunken ship.

“Nature has wrought a work of art. It has the look of a horse jumping a fence or some such, do you see?”

“Perhaps.”

He took the wood from her and turned it in his long fingers.

Charity’s stomach churned as she watched him. Her constant concern was would he honour her wishes and refrain from making love to her on their wedding night? Apart from their first kiss, he hadn’t revealed an urgent desire to touch her again, but then they’d spent very little time together.

He handed the driftwood back. “We’ll travel up to London straight after the wedding.”

“So soon?”

He chucked her under the chin and laughed. “Is that a pout? Don’t you wish to go to London?”

“Of course I do, but it’s just so lovely here.” She waved her hand.

“Don’t you love the sea? Your uncle has accrued an excellent library of books. And I enjoy walking through the gardens, they are laid out magnificently. Have you ridden through the deer park? There’s quite a showing of bluebells under the trees. And the servants are so nice.”

He looked at her brows raised. “Are they?” He laughed again. “I’ve never heard a house and its servants praised quite like that before.”

She knew he teased her, but his laugh made her feel warm and special, perhaps because he did it so rarely. She wished they might stay here a little longer and get to know each other without the distractions of London. If they could laugh a little more, perhaps they’d come to know each other, maybe even like each other. She held the driftwood tight against her chest and bit her lip. She’d learned much about London from friends of her parents returning from that busy metropolis.

Its smart, cruel people with their precise manners and exquisite modes of dress awaited her. She would rather go to war in that ship on the horizon.

Chapter Three

The wedding took place in the grey stone parish church. Their words, in the almost empty building, echoed around the vaulted ceiling, disturbing a flock of wood pigeons nesting in the rafters. There were only the parson, two witnesses, and the bride and groom, but a small group of curious villagers waited outside. Charity wished they could have given the people more of a show. She wore her best gown, a cream silk chemise dress with a narrow sash. Apart from the neck ruffle, it was a little plain. Rebecca had convinced her to wear her hair loose under a straw hat trimmed with wild primrose and lily of the valley. Perhaps in sympathy with her, the groom had dressed soberly for the occasion in a brown silk coat, cream embroidered waistcoat over a crisp white shirt, white cravat and fawn breeches. There were no velvets or laces and his hair was unpowered. He had pinned a nosegay of yellow flowers to his coat, as a knight might do for his lady, and she thought him very elegant.

He complimented her on her outfit, saying what a delightful rustic picture she made, like a true country miss. It was not quite what she wished to hear. But she would let nothing detract from this special day. Her heart beat fast as he gazed into her eyes and said the words that would tie them together, come what may until death.

“I give thee my troth,” she answered solemnly, gazing into his face and, she suspected, a little in love with him. She searched for some sign he felt the same but found nothing more than courtesy and acquiescence. It made the true meaning of the day seem unreal to her. Was she really married? She desperately wanted him to love her, if he didn’t already.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” Robert slipped his signet ring bearing the St Malin coat of arms on her finger, saying it would suffice until he could retrieve the family jewels from the London bank. It felt loose, and she panicked at the thought of losing it.

After paying the parson enough money to make his eyes bulge, Robert proved as good as his word, for they departed for London straight after the ceremony, sparing only a little time for her to change into a travelling gown. Pulled by four matched greys, the well-sprung carriage travelled fast.

“I hope Felix doesn’t miss us too much,” she said as she glanced out the window. They were passing through Helston and the smell of hops wafted in on the breeze from the Blue Anchor.

“I trust James will look after him.”

“But if the dog continues to pine?”

“Then James will let me know. I promised my uncle I’d take good care of him.”

“Felix loves you.”

He looked surprised and pleased. “Do you think so?”

“I’m sure of it.”

She was to be closeted with her new husband for the best part of three days, and the prospect seemed daunting. She asked him to tell her more of London society, and he obliged. He made it sound thrilling and completely unnerving. Why couldn’t the wedding have been held in London with all the fanfare a man of his stature deserved? If he was ashamed of the less than brilliant match he’d made, why take her there at all? He might tuck her away in the country if he chose. She snuck a peak at his fine profile, and wanted to ask him if he was happy. But she was afraid of the answer for she often detected some underlying sadness in him. Her gown billowed out taking up far too much space in the carriage. Even through the yards of fabric, she felt sure his knee touched hers. Every touch was electric, like some unspoken message of what was to come.

“Shall I meet your family in London?”

His lips firmed. “I don’t spend time with my family.” Charity’s eyes widened. “Why ever not?”

He leaned forward and flicked her cheek with a gentle finger. “You ask too many questions.”

“If you supplied me with answers, I’d stop,” she said in a teasing tone. His amused blue eyes studied her.

“I have reason to doubt it.”

They spent their wedding night at a coaching inn in Honiton where Robert had engaged a private parlor and two bedchambers. The small, stuffy room with its riotous crimson-striped wallpaper was crammed with furniture. A fire had been lit despite the evening being warm. Charity’s cheeks burned, and she watched Robert from beneath her lashes as he sliced the sirloin of beef roast. He placed several portions on her plate, but she could hardly eat a bite and sat watching him tuck into the meal. Obviously his emotions weren’t overset by the occasion, she thought, annoyed. But she knew it to be entirely unreasonable to accuse him of having too good an appetite.

“You must be tired,” he said, after she tried to suppress a yawn. “A little.”

She eased her stiff shoulders. She’d been tense since this all began. And now her pulse thumped that he might wish to bed her. She tamped down a thrill that travelled up her backbone and was suddenly very much awake.

“Go to bed, Charity. A lot has happened today, and we have a long day tomorrow.” He raised a brow. “I don’t want you exhausted or sick by the time we reach London.”

She frowned and rose from table. He had managed to make it sound as if he was more concerned with how she looked than her health. “Very well. Goodnight, Robert.”

Perhaps she was overtired from sitting beside Robert for hours and suffering that nervous heavy sensation in her stomach. It was ever-present when he was near. She couldn’t sleep. She pounded her pillow and thought about Robert in the next room. She tried to imagine how he looked. Did he sleep in a nightshirt? Naked? Suddenly her imagination took the suggestion and ran wild with it. Now there was no likelihood of her sleeping.

She tossed over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. A man’s body was a complete mystery to her. How would his skin feel? It looked so smooth. By nightfall, his chin was shadowed in dark hair, and when he ran his hand over it, it rasped. She curled her fingers. It must be bristly to the touch. She liked his big hands. What would it be like to have him touch her in those special places? She tucked her hands between her legs and shivered. She didn’t understand herself. Didn’t she need time to get to know him? Here she was wishing he’d put his arm around her in the carriage. She tried to convince herself that her nerves, since her parents’ accident was her reason for wanting his embrace.

However, a silent voice whispered she was fooling herself.

It was very late. Outside in the corridor, the floor creaked like a series of footsteps. This old inn was haunted, she was sure of it. She didn’t like being alone, it would be better to have Robert here. In her bed, there was room enough for two.

The next day was much like the last. She talked about her family to fill the silence as the countryside flashed past. How her father had been able to quote whole passages from all of Shakespeare’s plays, and how his oratories in the village hall were always warmly applauded. “He taught a group of village players to perform a Shakespearean play every summer.”

“It might have been more pertinent to run his estate efficiently,” Robert said in a dry tone.

She frowned. “Not everyone is good at that.” She moved to the corner of the carriage.

“No.” Robert sighed. “My uncle was interested in progress.” He shrugged. “But not the actual running of his own estates and businesses. He preferred someone else to take care of that while he read about the latest poetry, philosophy and scientific discoveries.”

“Can you run a large estate?” she asked curiously.

His eyes widened. “I haven’t had to, but I intend to try.” He gave her an apologetic grin, perhaps realizing he’d hurt her feelings. “Maybe I will be, for philosophy seems rather pointless to me and I’m not keen on reciting iambic pentameter either.”

“No? Not even a little from Romeo and Juliet?” she asked hopefully. He laughed and shook his head.

She spent another night alone feeling as if all her nerve endings had come alive. It was well past midnight when she heard creaking on the stairs and footsteps pause outside her room. She lay ramrod straight in the bed. Hearing no more, her heart pounding, she rose and hurried to the door and leant against it, listening. A further scrape and a cough sounded very close. Footsteps shuffled away and she opened the door a crack.

She thought she saw a ghostly white shape loom at the end of the corridor, but it might have been the bright moonlight.

Fear sent her scuttling to Robert’s door. She tapped and called his name softly. She just wanted reassurance, then she would return to her own bed. He didn’t answer. The hairs stirring on the back of her neck, she boldly turned the handle and opened the door. The room was lit by moonlight, and the bed stood empty.

Charity put her hand to her mouth. Where was he? Not with that chamber maid who made cow eyes at him, she hoped.

It must have been him she heard. Feeling foolish she returned to her room and climbed back into bed.

Robert strode up and down the cobbled courtyard in the cool air, his cheroot glowing in the dark. Being cramped in a carriage all day long didn’t suit his constitution. He grudgingly admitted that Charity’s lightness of spirit and her ability to cut through to the core of things made her company more pleasant than he expected. But he still felt thoroughly put out by what had been foisted on him. He yawned, hoping that stretching his legs would tire him. It was surprisingly difficult to sleep with the knowledge that his new wife was in bed a few steps away over the corridor. He should just go right in there and put this nonsense to an end. Deflower an unwilling virgin in an inn? What if she cried? She didn’t even have her maid to assist her.

Robert shook his head, stamped out the cheroot and made his way back to his room. Life would be more peaceful if he bowed to her wishes. He eased his tight shoulders. Providing her demands were within reason.

Charity rose feeling tired having managed only a few hours sleep. Might Robert have lain awake too and thought of her?

She rather doubted it, for she found him looking fresh and eager to get home. Within hours they had reached the outskirts of the great metropolis. Misty fields where cows grazed were replaced by grim slums then streets of houses in a grey landscape. Rain slapped the carriage windows and black soot belched into the skies over London. The noise astonished her, from hawkers to barrow boys, to the general hubbub of a big city. Charity wrinkled her nose. The air was filled with the smell of wet horses and worse. Filthy water rushed down the open drains. A lady emptied a chamber pot from her window, and a man walking below jumped back and shook his fist at her.

A coach and six passed them on its way out of London, its heavy wheels splashing through the puddles, slopping putrid water and sending pedestrians scattering. The streets were busy with peddlers shouting their wares and crowded shops selling all manner of things from oranges to birds in cages. There were ragged beggars on every corner and some were children which tore at her heart. Prostitutes too who gave Robert the eye when the carriage pulled up in the busy city traffic. The streets became cleaner, the houses more respectable. They drove along past a wide expanse of parkland, called Hyde Park and Robert pointed out Rotten Row where aristocrats and the gentry exercised their horses. The houses here were finer and well-dressed people crossed the street, paying the street sweeper to clear a path for them.

“Where are we?” Charity asked rubbing at the misty window.

“This is Mayfair,” Robert said leaning close. “So called from the annual fair in the days of Edward I.”

“It seems very nice,” she murmured, aware of his breath warm on her nape.

The carriage passed a grand mansion and turned into Curzon Street. They passed a chapel and a market, and pulled up in front of a white house of three-stories. A tall wall separated it from the buildings next door, and it had a wide front garden. Two liveried footmen rushed to open the door.

Charity stood on the pavement feeling her cramped limbs unbend. She gazed up at the house wide-eyed. Four elongated statues of Greek Goddesses adorned giant Doric columns, which appeared to hold up the upper-story.

Smiling, Robert offered her his arm. “Shall we go inside?”

The St Malin residence was as different from the castle in Cornwall as the sun to the moon. Inside was just as impressive as its exterior. Robert led her into the vestibule with its soaring ceiling. A gracious staircase rose to the upper floors from the black and white checkerboard floor. The formidable butler, Hove, welcomed her formally without a smile, and took her cloak and bonnet. She thanked him and followed Robert up the stairs to the first floor. Everywhere she looked stood superior-looking servants in their gold and blue livery.

Robert bowed to her at the door to her chamber. She peered in at the lofty, elaborately furnished room, hung with rose damask. A four-poster bed large enough for an entire family barely filled a corner.

“Charity?”

“Yes?” She turned back, hoping he’d decided to come in with her. Even if just to keep her company a while, for the grand chamber was distinctly unwelcoming for all its grandeur. It made her feel rather small and insignificant.

His brows lowered. “Don’t keep thanking the servants. You’re a marchioness now, remember.”

Disappointed, she tilted her chin. “I like to thank people; they don’t seem to mind it.”

“They are not your friends, Charity,” he said in an exasperated tone. “They are here to serve you.”

“I’ll try, Robert. But I must do what comes naturally to me.” She watched as he continued down the passage and sighed. He shrugged his shoulders as though his coat was too tight. Everything she did and said seemed to annoy him.

He had explained that there was no time to waste. A wardrobe must be made for her immediately and a proper ladies maid to be found. He’d arranged for an aunt to call and take her shopping for clothes. And after an elaborate luncheon she was too nervous to do justice to, Robert left her in the care of his aunt and departed for his club. Charity understood that he would not wish to take part in such a venture, but she couldn’t help feeling he’d deserted her on their first day in London. Might he not have taken her around and shown her the sights?