The Viscount and the Virgin (11 page)

But the husband hunters had come out in droves the moment he had arrived in town, anyway. He had been appalled by all the posturing and simpering, the sly yet cut throat competition between girls who pre tended to be friends with each other.

Nothing he did ever managed to shake them off. The more obnoxious he made himself, the more obsequious everyone became.

Except Midge. She had detested that fop, the version of Viscount Mildenhall he had created, almost as much as he did.

Well, everyone would call her Viscountess Mildenhall from now on, but he could not see the acquisition of a title changing her one little bit. Just as, he suddenly saw, nothing had ever managed to dent Hal Carlow's sense of the ridiculous, not even his recent promotion to major.

Just because he had suddenly acquired a title, it did
not mean he had to strive to be some thing he was not. Today she had called him Monty. No, she called Monty back to life. He had barked out orders, Rick had snapped to attention, and he and Hal had experienced a moment of perfect camaraderie.

Gaining a title was only like getting a promotion of sorts. He was the same man inside that he had always been.

It felt as though a weight rolled off his shoulders as he made the decision to take a leaf out of Midge's book. He was going to stay true to himself, and to hell with everyone else's expectations!

Thank God he had run into Rick Bredon! And that he had, against all the odds, managed to get Midge to the altar.

It was only as he handed her into his carriage and he noted the dejected slump to her shoulders, that the massive discrepancy between their attitudes towards this marriage hit him all over again.

‘This has not been the wedding day you must have wanted,' he acknowledged, climbing in and sitting next to her. ‘But it can only get better from here on in, I promise.'

She had not wanted to marry him; he accepted that now. She had gone through with what she saw as her duty to her family. And she had done so with her head held high.

Damn, but he was going to make sure she never regretted marrying him! And he was going to start by wiping all thought of that other man right out of her head. He took her chin in his hand, put his arm round her shoulder, and declared, ‘I am going to kiss you now. And this time, you will not slap my face. Or bite me.
Unless,' he mused, ‘it is like this.' And he sucked her lower lip into his mouth and nibbled at it.

She gave a shocked gasp, giving him the opportunity to thrust his tongue into her mouth.

She did not struggle. On the contrary, after only a brief moment of tension, she melted under his determined seduction like butter on a summer's day.

He knew he had not imagined her response to his kisses out on Lady Carteret's terrace! If he had not been in such a foul mood, if he had not insulted her…

He groaned, and tugged her onto his lap. There was a loud ripping noise. He glanced down to see that his boot was still firmly planted on a portion of material that had come away from the hem of her gown. He tensed.

Most women, he knew, would have berated him for his clumsiness. Midge only sighed as she assessed the damage, before tilting her face towards him again.

‘I will buy you another,' he vowed swiftly, taking ruthless advantage of the last interlude of privacy they were likely to get before night fall.

 

Midge sank down onto the chair before the dressing table and stared in shock at her reflection. No wonder Monty had suggested she ought to go upstairs and freshen up before greeting their guests. She looked the complete antithesis of what a Society bride should be. Her hair was all over the place, her gloves were beyond redemption, and she was going to have to take off the beautiful dress her aunt had somehow managed to conjure up for this day. As for her bouquet: it was no more than a memory. It had already been coming apart before it got crushed between them as he had pulled her onto his lap. And when he had lifted her out of the carriage
and set her on her feet, she had been too stunned from those few minutes of untrammelled passion to do more than blink up at him as the broken stems and crushed blooms rained down to the pavement.

Pansy had taken one look at her and run straight to the pile of trunks at the foot of her bed, bless her.

‘It was not all my fault,' she began to explain, but Pansy was too busy pulling out dresses to determine which was the least creased, to pay attention.

The maid probably would not believe that a man as fastidious about his own appearance would have so casually reduced her to this state anyway, not when she had come home with her things in like condition so many times before.

Though he had looked far less flam boy ant than usual, today, now she came to think of it. Even more soberly dressed than he had been on the night they had met at the theatre.

Pansy, having made her selection, bustled up to her and un but toned the back of her gown, while Midge pulled off her soiled gloves.

Changing into a clean gown was the least of her worries. Once Pansy had made her look respectable again, she was going to have to go down stairs and face all those guests, having just turned what should have been a solemn and sacred occasion into some thing resembling a farce.

She disappeared under layers of satin and lace as Pansy pulled the ruined gown over her head, and emerged with scarlet cheeks. When she thought of the way Viscount Mildenhall had practically frog-marched her down the aisle!

Though, to give him credit, he had hung on to his
temper until then. In fact, he had been surprisingly sympathetic to her, all things considered. He had not automatically sided with her uncle over the question of Stephen. He had even sent Rick to investigate. And he had promised they would discuss it all later.

Once the wedding break fast was over.

Her stomach did a little somersault at the prospect of being alone with him again. The episode in the coach had been such a staggering surprise. She had never experienced anything like it!

Except—she frowned as Pansy stood her up to lace her into her fresh gown—for a few fleeting moments during their tussle on Lady Carteret's terrace.

As Pansy pushed her down onto the stool again and set about her rioting curls with a hair brush, she wondered if he had been at tempting to…not punish her. Discipline her, perhaps? He had given her some kind of warning about her behaviour before he had begun to ravish her mouth, but for the life of her she could not remember exactly what he had said.

Though he had definitely been trying to punish and humiliate her at Lady Carteret's. It was only some perversity in her nature that had made her revel in such rough treatment.

In far less time than Midge would have liked, Pansy was pushing her out of her bedroom. She dawdled down the stairs and paused on the thresh old of the ballroom, where the guests were already milling about.

Bedworth took a breath, as though to announce her. She grabbed his arm, saying, ‘Oh, please don't!' Everyone would turn and stare at her again, and she would have to walk in alone, when she knew she ought to have
been there, at her husband's side, to receive them correctly when they had first arrived.

Her uncle was pacing up and down the end of the room where the tables were laid out, his expression thunderous as he glanced down at the pocket watch he held in his hand.

Frantically, she searched the room for a friendly face.

She saw Nick by the fire place, talking to Lord Keddinton. As she had been leaving the church earlier, Lord Ked din ton had managed to express, with one supercilious lift of an eyebrow, that he had expected nothing else from such a hoyden. It was just as well she had never got round to asking him to help her find employment. She would always have reflected badly upon his judgement of character.

Though she could not blame Nick for making the most of the opportunity to approach the great man. Everyone knew the vast extent of Lord Keddinton's influence. And Nick had no chance of ever securing a more powerful patron.

No, she would keep well away from them both for now.

The Veryan girls were standing in a corner, heads together, looking very pleased with them selves. They were probably discussing the way she had managed to make even her triumph in snaring the most eligible bachelor in town into a spectacle that would be gossiped and sniggered about for days.

There was no sign of Viscount Stanegate or his wife, she noted with disappointment. She had particularly wanted to speak to William Wardale's daughter. She had meant to make a point of smiling at her during the
ceremony, but of course she had been in no fit state to smile about anything by the time Monty dragged her down the aisle.

At last, her eyes came to rest on Rick, who was standing talking to Lady Verity's other brother, Hal Carlow, and her heart gave a little lurch. The one person, above all others, she had wished to attend her wedding ceremony had not been there!

‘Rick,' she said, the other occupants of the room fading into in significance.

He had been deep in conversation with Major Carlow, but at the sound of his name on her lips he raised his head and came striding towards her, his face creased with concern.

‘I am sorry, Midge,' he said, taking both her hands in his. ‘The fellow disappeared completely. Crawled back under whatever stone he had been hiding under, I expect.'

‘Rick! How can you be so unkind? If that man is Stephen…'

‘Ah, yes,
if
,' he said sharply. ‘Look, Midge, don't you think it more likely that somebody just wanted to spoil your wedding day? And paid some passing stranger to pose as…well…Stephen Hebden? You snatching Monty out from under them all will have put quite a few noses out of joint, I daresay…'

Midge's mind flew back to the malicious smiles upon the faces of the Veryan girls. And the way they had always managed to make her look ridiculous. And she wondered if Rick could be right.

‘I thought…' She shook her head. ‘He knew so many things…I couldn't see how he could have known them if he wasn't…'

But Major Carlow, who had sauntered over, was looking at her with an expression it was hard to fathom.

‘Did I hear a'right? It was Stephen Hebden trying to gain entry to the church just now?'

‘Yes,' said Midge, at exactly the same moment Rick said, ‘No! Fellow claiming to be Stephen Hebden. But Stephen died years ago—'

‘Only wish to God he had!' rapped Major Carlow. Then, pulling himself up short, ‘Beg pardon, my lady, but I have had some experience of his tactics, and I think it only fair to warn you…' He petered out, just a second before she became aware Monty had joined them in the doorway.

‘Having to beg my lady's pardon already, Hal? And you not five minutes in the house, you unmitigated scoundrel!'

Major Carlow smiled, but not with the same insouciance she had seen in him earlier.

The three men then indulged in a few moments of jovially insulting one another, the way her three step-brothers had used to do. As she listened, she felt Monty's arm slide round her waist. She knew she ought to have made some protest, but she couldn't summon the will power to pretend she was not down right glad of his physical support. She had never felt so plain and gauche as she did standing there in the first gown to come out of her trunk, in the shadow of two officers in dress uniform and the most handsome man in the world.

She wondered, with a little pang of hurt, if this was why Viscount Mildenhall had dressed so plainly today. Because he did not want to outshine his fubsy little bride.

It was kind of him, if so. For she was sure he would
much rather be wearing some thing that showed off his physique, like the major's snugly fitting uniform.

As though Monty had sensed she was feeling left out, he squeezed her waist a little more firmly, before saying, ‘Come, then. Let us put on our Society faces, and go and greet our other guests properly.'

‘Before we do,' she said, ‘may I ask, that is,' she could feel her cheeks going red as she looked up into Major Carlow's face. ‘I notice that Viscount Stanegate and his wife have not arrived. I do hope…'

‘Nell's not feeling quite the thing, so Marcus took her home, thank God,' he said. ‘Hate to think how upset she would have been had she heard that Gypsy trouble maker was hanging about the church.'

Midge blinked up at him in surprise, but before she could ask exactly what he had meant by that cryptic statement, Monty was dragging her away.

‘No more of that now, please,' he murmured into her ear as he steered her towards the first knot of wedding guests. ‘I will find out what he meant, discreetly, and we can discuss it later. For now, we have a job to do.'

He startled her by dropping a swift kiss on her cheek. ‘Pretending to be respectable pillars of Society.'

She felt both the words and the deed like a blow, an unnecessary reminder that he thought her very far from respectable!

Later, she vowed, when he discussed all the items on his agenda, she was going to bring up the matter of his erroneous opinion of her!

He seemed unaware of her simmering resentment as he guided her through the room, charming one group of guests after another. He kept his arm round her waist,
holding her close to his side as though he could not bear to be parted from her by so much as an inch!

But by the time they sat down to dine, the whole atmosphere had lightened considerably. The banquet her aunt had arranged was truly magnificent, the waiting staff smoothly efficient, and conversation around the table was soon flowing as freely as the copious quantities of champagne her uncle had supplied.

It could not have gone off better.

Even Midge managed not to knock anything over or spill anything down her gown.

When it was time to leave, her aunt, who was looking much less fraught after the amount of champagne she had imbibed, came to bid her farewell.

‘Well, I must say, you have married a man with great presence of mind. The way he handled our guests, as though he saw nothing untoward in that Disgraceful Scene outside the church…'