Barbara Metzger (30 page)

Athena could feel his arousal beneath her, and wanted to feel it closer, wanted, finally, to know what it all meant. He groaned louder when she wriggled closer still, trying to join her need to his.

His hands were on her back, her ribs, anything he could reach with her on top of him, but that was not enough, so he rolled over, pulling her with him onto their sides, so he could touch her breasts, unfasten the tapes of her gown, rip open his waistcoat and pull up his shirt to feel her skin against his. Now they were almost as close as a man and a woman could be with most of their clothes on, and closer than they should be, before the wedding. But there would be a wedding, soon, as soon as possible. So he was not entirely beyond the pale, although he was almost beyond reasoning. One tiny corner of his mind reminded him that there would be a wedding night, too, with a real bed. His beautiful, inexperienced, but eager bride deserved more than a quick tumble—Lud knew it was going to be quick, at the rate they were going—on the floor where anyone could walk in. He set her further away, pulled down his shirt, and pulled up her gown. Tugging her skirts down over her shapely legs might have been the hardest thing—no, not by half. “Oh,
Lord,
” he moaned, “I think I am going to die.”

“Not before signing those marriage settlements, you won’t,” Athena’s uncle said from the doorway.

*

This was not going to be a long engagement, not if Ian or Captain Beecham had anything to say about it. Tomorrow was not soon enough.

Rensdale had little to say, still babbling after his concussion, but the physician assured Athena that it was a temporary condition. Her half-brother was almost back to his normal dull-witted self already.

Ian’s mother wanted a huge wedding, a spectacle worthy of a Marden. She wanted St. George’s in Hanover Square, not some hole-in-corner affair in their own drawing room. No one should be able to label them cheap, embarrassed at the choice of bride, or in a hurry.

“But we are in a hurry, Mother.”

“So I heard from the captain. Such ungoverned passion is unbecoming in an earl.” She scowled her disapproval at Ian, then turned her frown on a blushing Athena. “And unseemly in a countess.”

“I meant that Rensdale needs to go home to his enceinte wife.”

“He is in no condition to travel, as you well know. I should think such an injury would take months to heal. Yes, two months. Of course one with my delicate constitution would need longer.”

“His wife would have the infant without him at that rate.”

“No matter. He has already done his part. Your father was not present for either of my lying-ins. Speaking of which, your father and I were affianced for a full year.”

“A year? That is preposterous.”

“Furthermore, it would be far too fatiguing for me to make all the plans in less than two months. Why, the invitations alone take days to write out and deliver.”

As if she had ever stirred herself to plan a family dinner party, much less a wedding breakfast. “We do not need an elaborate affair, and my staff can handle all the details. And Doro and Athena will help.”

“Very well. A month.”

“Two days. That’s why I got the special license.”

Athena cleared her throat to get the attention of the earl and his mother. “Forgive me, my lady, but I do not wish to be gawked at in a crowded church, or entertain a horde of strangers here. Neither can I bear to suffer more fittings for an extravagant wedding ensemble that I do not need. My new gowns are almost ready, and so are both of my brothers.” Athena was ready, too, ready to pursue those unseemly passions she had glimpsed before her uncle arrived. The fact that Ian wanted her so badly—tomorrow—made her blood sing, slightly off-key, but with great enthusiasm. “And, my lord, not even your capable household should be asked to provide a wedding cake on a day’s notice.

“One week is a good compromise,” she concluded. When the countess moaned over the impropriety, and the earl started to curse, Athena put her foot down. She had to begin as she meant to go on, and that meant not being torn apart or trampled between these two strong characters. They’d swallow her whole if she let them, the way her sister-in-law had tried to. She raised her chin. “One week, and that is final. After all, whose wedding is it, anyway?”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Why do women cry at weddings? It’s the groom who should be crying.

—Anonymous

Men cannot recognize Joy unless she’s wearing a rumpled bed sheet.

—Mrs. Anonymous

Lady Marden looked at Miss Renslow with new respect. Ian, close to his betrothed on the sofa as if she might run away if he let go of her hand, said, “My lady goddess is as wise as the Greek Athena. And I told you she had bottom.” He leaned over and kissed Athena on the cheek, whispering, “And a very nice bottom it is, too.”

Athena’s ears turned pink, but she was growing used to her new fiancé’s suggestive remarks. In fact, she was looking forward to them. What a great relief to know he wanted her, and how much power that knowledge gave her. She used some of that authority now to state that the captain would give her away, Lady Dorothy, if she was willing, would be her witness and attendant, and Mr. Carswell could be Ian’s groomsman. Mr. Wiggs could conduct the short service. Ian dropped her hand. “Wiggy? The man is a sanctimonious sapskull, a rejected suitor, and you do not like him!”

“But he is an excellent teacher, and I know of no other London clergy. Wiggy—that is, Mr. Wiggs—is a friend of my family’s, and I believe we owe him the courtesy of asking him to officiate and give his blessings.”

*

She did not get to ask the Reverend Mr. Wiggs for two days, although she sent a message to the hotel where he was staying.

When he finally arrived at Maddox House for Troy’s lessons, Mr. Wiggs went
tut, tut
over Lord Rensdale’s condition, the sorry state of morals in the city where a man could not walk down the street without being accosted, and the depth of Athena’s new gown’s décolletage when she entered her older brother’s sickroom. He tutted worse, almost sputtering, when she asked him to conduct her marriage ceremony at Maddox House at the end of the week.

“No, no. She cannot marry Marden now,” Wiggs said to her brother, as if Athena were not two feet away.

“’Course she can. He has a special license. No need to call the banns.”

Wiggs started pacing. “But he is not fit for her.”

“The earl seems fit to me. Works at it, don’t you know.”

Wiggs went as far as the hearth, then the window, and back to the hearth. “I mean his morals. They are not suitable for a young lady of gentle breeding.”

“What’s that? And stand still, dash it. There are two of you when you skitter about.”

One of Wiggy was enough for Athena, who was sorry she did not let Lady Marden ask the bishop to officiate.

“I do not believe his lordship’s morals are any concern of yours, Mr. Wiggs. I am the one marrying him.”

“Humph. But you are an innocent miss. You need to be guided by older, wiser heads. After all, what do you know of rakes and reprobates?”

Enough to know they kissed very well. “Enough to decide for myself that Lord Marden and I shall suit.”

“
Tut, tut,
you cannot know the depths of depravity if you think that.”

“I think that you, sir, are no one to be speaking of morality. Where have you been these past few days, I wonder. You were not at your hotel.”

Wiggs
humphed
and
hawed,
then finally fabricated, “I was about the Lord’s business.”

“You were at the lord’s love nest, in fact, in Kensington.”

“Gads,” her brother put in, “the clunch is right. You cannot marry that loose screw, Marden. Not if he and Wiggs…”

“Do not be more foolish than your concussion warrants, Spartacus. Ian was here, Mr. Wiggs was there, with Lady Paige.”

“Lady Paige, eh? No wonder we haven’t seen hide nor hair of the man for days.”

Wiggs was scraping his hands together in a washing motion. “She is his mistress, not mine. I was, ah, offering her counsel to mend her ways.”

“Probably can’t afford her, anyway, from what I hear,” Rensdale told Athena. She pinched his arm.

“The lady
was
Lord Marden’s companion. He was kind enough to offer her safe haven in her distress until she makes other arrangements.”

What Athena was too much the lady to say was that Lady Paige was looking for a new protector. The woman had quickly realized that a parson with no parish could not fix her finances or her ill fame. She was not about to support Wiggs, not on her life.

While Lady Paige had enticements aplenty, Wiggs discovered, influence with the archbishop was not one of them. Nor was generosity. The woman was not going to part with a single one of her jewels, especially not after the poor showing Wiggs had made in Kensington. She said she hoped he was better at preaching than pleasuring a lady, and sent him off, looking for a fortune and a woman who would not know any better.

That woman—his Miss Renslow―seemed to be far more knowledgeable than she had been, and Wiggs did not like it. He began to chide her immodesty when Rensdale said, “Scruples aside, you wrote to me yourself saying that Attie had to get married posthaste.”

Wiggs slicked back his hair from its center part and squared his narrow, sloping shoulders. “I shall marry her.” He ignored Athena’s gasp and continued: “I always intended to, you know. You and I and Lady Rensdale spoke of it before we left for London. You as near as promised the young lady to me. I believe I have a legal claim to her hand in marriage.”

Lord Rensdale clutched his skull, claiming a headache. “Need my rest, don’t you know.”

“I know,” Athena said, pinching him again, “that you had no right to bestow my hand anywhere.” She turned to face Wiggs. “My uncle Barnaby is my guardian, not Rensdale. I am sorry if you were misled, but I believe things were made plain between us that we would not suit.”

Wiggs started to make sounds that belonged more in a pigeon coop than a pulpit.

Seeing the man squirm, Rensdale grew braver. “’Sides, if I had to choose between a minister with empty pockets and an earl with five houses and six kinds of fortune, which one do you think I’d pick? Think on it, man. I am the one with the cracked skull, not you.”

“That is irrelevant,” Athena told them both. “I am promised to Lord Marden, by my own choice, and with my guardian’s blessings.” And with Uncle Barnaby’s threats to ship her to the Antipodes if she did not go through with the wedding. “I shall not renege on my promise to the earl. He is an honorable man who keeps his word, and I can be no less honorable.”

“Honorable? What about the duel and your brother’s injury? He lied to you about that!”

Rensdale made a rude noise. “Only a cabbagehead would have believed that claptrap about a target shoot.”

Athena had believed it. Her younger brother had confirmed it.

Wiggs took a deep breath, his mouth puckered as if he were about to expel a grape seed. “I regret to say,” he said with no regret whatsoever, “that the duel was over Lady Paige.”

“Pshaw. Duels are always over some woman or other, unless a fellow’s been caught marking the deck. And then he’s doing it to support some ladybird, most likely. Paige fled, didn’t he? None of it was Marden’s fault.”

“No fault?” Wiggs was shaking, he was so upset, or so disappointed. “No fault when he was fighting over a married woman? And this is the man you would let your sister marry?”

“Hmm.
Attie, he’s got a point. What do you think?”

She thought the handful of guests had already accepted, the cake was baked and awaiting decoration, the small orchestra hired. She thought she might be sick. “I’ll speak to Troy.”

* * *

Troy admitted going out to watch the duel the groom Alfie had mentioned. He didn’t tell her, because he knew she’d be mad. He didn’t know all the particulars, he swore, and had no memory of the final few minutes before he fell off his horse. He did know that Marden was the best of good fellows, and would never act dishonorably.

That had to be enough for Athena. She was too busy to fall into a panic.

Lady Marden was too fatigued to be of much assistance, but she did insist that her nearest and dearest friends—all twenty-five of them—be invited to the wedding breakfast, which was to be served late in the day. Lady Dorothy was solving some crisis at the orphanage, with Mr. Carswell’s help, and swore she knew nothing of weddings and receptions anyway.

The staff was more than competent, but many of the decisions fell on Athena’s slender, inexperienced shoulders. She did not want to commit any social gaffes, but neither did she wish to run to the earl with every question about precedence at the dining table or if his second cousin Spencer could share Rensdale’s suite. Athena wanted Ian to think she was capable, mature, a suitable countess. She was none of those things, of course, but she could pretend for the rest of the week. Then it would be too late for him to cry off.

Ian had no intentions of backing out of the wedding, and no intentions of suffering through the rest of the week like a child at the sweetshop’s window, looking at what he could not have. So he stayed away from his bride as much as possible, plotting the wedding night while
she planned the wedding. He knew which one mattered more.

Meanwhile, he tried to use up some of the restless energy of enforced abstinence by sparring and fencing and trying out the paces of his new pair of chestnuts. He also attended several bachelor parties in his honor, hosted by those friends he had not battered, beaten, or bested at some feat of manliness. Ladies of the night were available at the parties, but he was not even tempted, waiting for the day when he could claim his own lady.

He was righteous, he was noble, he was frustrated as hell.

*

Maddox House might have been an infirmary, rather than the site of a wedding. One of the bride’s brothers was in a wheelchair, crutches beside him. The other was being held up by Marden’s valet and still seeing double. Her uncle was missing a limb, and the best man had a black eye, from connecting with Ian’s punishing right fist at Gentleman Jackson’s that morning.