His Wicked Wish (9 page)

How absurd.

Madelyn Swann was a fortune hunter. The chit had agreed to his demands because she craved the status of a lady and all its attendant luxuries. What lowborn female would not? No doubt her mind must be preoccupied with daydreams of fancy balls and an extravagant wardrobe, of lording her newly elevated place over those of lesser rank.

She would not,
she could not,
say no.

Could she?

Her lips parted. Her voice rang out clearly. “I will.”

Nate released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His heart was thudding against his ribs. He hadn't truly been afraid of her refusal. It was just that her cantankerous nature made her unpredictable.

On the instructions of the minister, they turned face-to-face and repeated their vows, first Nate and then her.
For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part …

What rot. Neither of them had any intention of honoring such a pledge. They might be wed in the eyes of the law, and he certainly meant to exercise his conjugal rights, but otherwise their union might as well be a business contract.

He would use her for revenge. She would use him for his wealth and position. All the rest of this ritual was pure claptrap.

When the minister prompted him to produce a ring, Nate realized that he'd never thought to purchase one. “There is none,” he hissed. “Get on with it.”

For a moment it looked as though the fusty old fellow would put a halt to the entire ceremony. But Nate stared him down.

The cleric cleared his throat. “‘Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder … I now pronounce ye man and wife.'”

Madelyn's blue eyes lifted to Nate in cool disdain. She clearly intended to maintain a wall between them. To keep him at arm's length as she'd done the evening of the auction.

Her aloofness irked him. Madelyn was his wife now. He wouldn't allow her to dictate the terms of their marriage. She needed to learn who was in charge.

Pulling her against his body, Nate bent his head and subjected her to a deep kiss. Her lips parted as if to protest, and he seized the opportunity to slide his tongue inside her mouth. She was warm, soft, delectable. As he moved his hands down her slender back, his blood heated. At the auction, she had disguised her feminine curves beneath a mountain of padding. He wouldn't allow such a crime ever again.

Madelyn stood rigidly for a moment; then with a little purr of pleasure she arched on tiptoes to return his kiss. Her fingers threaded into his hair and she melted against him.
Yes.
She lusted for him as much as he did for her.

Tonight, he would take her to his bed. Such a beautiful actress must have had a harem of lovers. She would be well versed in the art of lovemaking. She likely knew a host of ways to please a man. He couldn't wait to discover them—and to teach her some of his own.

Though revenge was the primary purpose of this marriage, bedding her would be a satisfying bonus. They would have a few months in which to enjoy each other's bodies. By then, he no doubt would tire of her carping and be ready to depart England for good, leaving his inappropriate wife as a thorn in his father's side. And with luck, Nate would have planted a son in her. Gilmore would be especially irate at the earldom's bloodline being diluted …

The minister loudly cleared his throat.

Nate reluctantly drew back. To his satisfaction, Madelyn looked dazed, her lips reddened. A blush tinted her cheeks; she must have realized the spectacle they'd made in front of the rector and the witnesses. He felt not a particle of regret. She belonged to him now.

His wife. Lady Rowley.

The name caused a twist in his gut. Viscount Rowley had been David's courtesy title. Throughout their childhood, his elder brother had been addressed as such by the servants. David had deserved the honor, for he had been the good son: proper, kind, well behaved.

Nate couldn't shake the guilty sense that he'd somehow stolen the title. He loathed having the noble distinction thrust upon him. He'd far rather have his brother alive and well.

As he gave Madelyn his arm and they proceeded into the vestry to sign the register, he took a deep, revitalizing breath. It was better to concentrate on his revenge than to dwell on regrets. His plan had been set into motion. Within the hour, he would face the Earl of Gilmore for the first time in ten years.

Today, Nate would not be the scorned second son. Today, he was the heir. And today, he had the perfect weapon of retaliation in his highly unsuitable bride.

*   *   *

Maddy tried not to gawk as they stepped out of the carriage in front of Gilmore House. It had been daunting enough to ride in the luxurious vehicle with its plush cushions and gilt fittings when she was accustomed to ancient hackney cabs. She cast a glance upward at the columned marble façade and wondered for the umpteenth time why she'd been foolish enough to embroil herself in such a mad scheme.

Lord Rowley barked an order to the driver to take the coach around to the mews. He looked strikingly handsome in the white cravat and forest-green coat, a tall black hat on his head, his long dark hair tied back in a queue. She wondered why he favored the old-fashioned style. Yet it suited him. It made him look dangerous and distinctive, quite unlike any other gentleman she'd ever met.

He was her husband now.

A quake of unreality turned her knees to jelly. Maddy felt as if she were acting out a play, that at any moment the curtains would swing shut and she would walk back to her cluttered dressing room at the theater. It was difficult to believe that only two days ago, she had been preparing for the auction and planning to choose a temporary lover.

Now, she was married. To a powerful peer who craved revenge on his father.

Dear God. What had she done?

Lord Rowley turned to her and offered his arm. His face was taut, his jaw set. For a moment she couldn't move. He was wholly unlike the charming man of two evenings ago, chuckling at her curses and uttering jests of his own. During the half-hour ride from the chapel near the Strand, he had been largely silent. He'd sat staring out the window, his fingers tapping impatiently on the velvet cushion. Now that he had entrapped her, he clearly no longer felt the need to sweet-talk her or to flash his dimpled smiles.

Maddy rather regretted that. As much as he'd irked her at their first meeting, she had enjoyed sparring with him. He had made her feel warm and alive. Not filled with cold misgivings.

“Take my arm,” he ordered in an undertone. “Lest you trip on your skirts walking up the stairs.”

“Wouldn't that suit your purpose?” she taunted, while curling her fingers around the hard crook of his sleeve. “For me to make an embarrassing spectacle of myself?”

“Not if you land on your face and bloody your nose. I shan't give Gilmore any reason to accuse me of mistreating you.”

The Earl of Gilmore. How sad that Lord Rowley referred to his sire in such a chilly manner. Maddy's father had always been “Papa” to her, a man who'd deserved her love and respect.

As they proceeded up the wide stone steps, Lord Rowley continued in a low growl, “Once we're inside, you're to play the crass, prattling fishwife. It's imperative that you stay in character at all times.”

“That oughtn't be a problem. After all, it
is
my true character. Isn't that why you chose me, my lord?”

He scowled at her as if suspicious of her sarcasm. “The more tactless blunders you commit, the better. And you're to babble, too.”

“Babble?”

“Yes. Gilmore has a particular loathing for chatterboxes.”

Well, that was fine by her, Maddy thought. She'd had experience in playing a variety of roles, and today she didn't even have to memorize a script. She could just pretend to be the loudmouthed vixen and behave accordingly. Provoking his father's disgust ought to be simple enough.

Yet a coil of nerves squeezed her stomach. Events were proceeding far too quickly. If only she could have a day or two in which to settle into her new life and adjust to the novelty of being a married lady. If only she didn't have to face this dreadful scene on the very afternoon of her wedding …

As they reached the portico, she stopped just short of the massive white door. “Lord Rowley, wait. What if your father isn't at home? Have you sent word ahead?”

He glowered down at her, and the sunlight illuminated the gold specks in his green eyes. “He's here. Lady Milford assured me of that. And you had better call me Nate. Gilmore must be deceived into believing we're madly in love.”

Nate. It didn't quite suit him. It was too small, too ordinary for an aggressive, self-important nobleman like him. “I'll call you Nathan. And if you continue to glare at me like that,
you'll
be the one to ruin this ruse. You'll spoil the image of the blissful bridegroom.”

A grin suddenly tilted his mouth, lightening his stark expression and causing his dimples to deepen attractively. Bending his head closer, he murmured, “I'll play the blissful bridegroom, to be sure. Especially in our bedchamber tonight.”

Her breath lodged in her throat. For one heart-pounding moment, Maddy thought he meant to kiss her again. Right here on the porch, in front of all the fancy carriages and posh passersby on the street. His passionate embrace in church had caught her by surprise. She had not expected the shockingly wonderful assault of his mouth, the intense rush of heat, or her irresistible impulse to kiss him back.

I can assure you, Miss Swann, this marriage will be consummated. I've every intention of making love to you. Thoroughly and completely.

A pleasurable shiver tingled over her skin as she remembered his promise to her on the night of the auction. Having never lain with a man, she had only a rudimentary knowledge of what would transpire between them tonight. Pondering it made her both edgy and eager. In the darkened privacy of their bedchamber, they would cuddle under the covers while he kissed her again. His hands would rove over her nightdress and then delve beneath it …

The abrupt click of an opening door interrupted the immodest fantasy. Her cheeks burning, she jerked her gaze away from Lord Rowley. No,
Nathan
. She had to train herself to address him by his first name.

A barrel-chested older man in black tails stood in the doorway, one sparse eyebrow raised in inquiry. His aura of cool hauteur vanished as a smile creased his jowly features and lit up his brown eyes. “Master Nathan! Can it truly be you, returned home at last?” The man paused a fraction, then corrected himself with a servile bow. “Forgive me, my lord. I spoke out of turn.”

Grinning, Nathan clapped the man on the shoulder. “It's been a devil of a long time, Shawshank. But I should have known you'd still be here on duty.”

“No rocking chair for me or Mrs. Shawshank just yet—though his lordship
has
hired a new cook from Paris.” The servant's gaze flicked to Maddy as if to puzzle out her identity. “Pray, come inside at once, my lord.”

Shawshank must be the butler, Maddy surmised, as Lord Rowley—Nathan—placed his hand at the small of her back and urged her to precede him into the house. The warm pressure of his touch felt unbearably intimate. As if he were branding her as his own.

Of course, he was making his claim on her perfectly clear to the servant. The charade had commenced. The thought caused a quivery sensation in the pit of her belly.

Then she forgot all else as they entered a magnificent foyer. The spacious room soared upward for three stories to a domed ceiling that was painted with cherubs and angels frolicking among clouds. An enormous crystal chandelier glinted in the late afternoon sunlight. The pale green walls displayed a selection of portraits and landscapes in gilded frames, along with several busts on pedestals. In the center of the hall, a marble staircase curved up to the next floor, the stone banister continuing along an upper balcony on either side.

Maddy had passed many grand houses in her time in London. But never before had she actually set foot inside one. Lord—
Nathan
had said they would be living here at Gilmore House.

Once again, that peculiar dreamlike state enveloped her. She couldn't imagine calling this splendid dwelling her home. It seemed more like a palace occupied by kings and queens and nobles.

She
was now a member of the upper crust, Maddy reminded herself. Yet she felt like an intruder. A part of her wanted to flee out the door and return to the familiarity of the theater.

Nathan removed his hat and handed it to a footman, along with his gloves. “Do give him your cloak, darling,” he said to Maddy. To the butler, he added, “I'm afraid you'll have to be patient with Lady Rowley. She isn't familiar with the ways of a noble house.”

The butler's eyes widened on Maddy. Clearly, he'd just realized she was Nathan's wife. “Er … felicitations, my lord.”

Lady Rowley.
She mulled over the new name while unfastening the frog loop at her throat. It seemed to belong to another person, someone far loftier than herself, or perhaps a character in a play. But, of course, that was the point. She was here to perform a role.

And there was no time like the present to begin.

She tossed her cloak to the footman. Then she turned to the butler and seized his gloved hand, pumping it up and down. “May I say, 'tis a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shawshank. I hope we can become fast friends.”

His jowly face turned crimson. Especially when his gaze dipped to the scandalous cut of her bodice. The servant recovered swiftly, his expression reverting to stoic politeness. “Thank you, my lady. Might I take your bonnet as well?”

She untied the ribbons beneath her chin and pitched the hat to him. “Certainly, sir. But have a care not to crush the cherries. They cost me a pretty penny!”