Secrets of a Wedding Night (3 page)

Who did that woman think she was? Lily, the dowager Countess of Merrill. Bah. She’d gained that title after a month-long marriage. She had nerve. She’d baited him—acting as if she didn’t write that blasted pamphlet—and in the end, had mocked him.

Infuriating.

And to make matters worse, since he’d last seen her, he’d somehow managed to forget what a striking beauty she was. When she’d finally deigned to grace him with her presence, he’d been taken aback … very well,
captivated,
by her walnut-brown hair, violet-blue eyes that slanted up slightly at the corners, her dark fringes of lashes, alabaster skin with a hint of pink at the cheeks, and lips that practically begged to be kissed. A blasted incomparable beauty.

Clearly, he’d also forgotten she was such a shrew.

No wonder. Beauties often proved more trouble than they were worth.

Devon made his way into the park, nudging Sampson into a gallop. He passed the Serpentine and a field replete with daisies, before coming to a halt in a clearing that contained a mix of servants and his best friend, Jordan Holloway, the Earl of Ashbourne.

Feet braced, Jordan stood about twenty yards from a large canvas bull’s-eye and held a bow and arrow in his grasp. With sure hands, he released the bow. The arrow shot through the air, hitting the canvas with a thud. It shivered perfectly in the center of the mark. A footman rushed to retrieve it.

“Well done,” Devon called.

Jordan glanced up. “There you are, Colton,” he replied. “I thought you were lost.” Jordan took his time adjusting the leather straps of his gloves.

Devon dismounted and tossed Sampson’s reins to a nearby groom. He tugged on his own gloves. “Hardly. I merely spent too much time on a fool’s errand this afternoon.”

The corner of Jordan’s lip curved up in a mocking grin. “Ah, yes. So, was the poor little widow as charming as you expected?”

Devon snorted. “Poor little widow … More like a well-dressed viper. That woman is utterly mad.”

The footman returned with the arrow, and with the canvas clear, Jordan took another shot. His aim was nearly perfect again. “You cannot entirely blame her, Colton. After all, Merrill had to have been thirty years older than she.”

Devon pulled an arrow from a quiver propped against a nearby tree and took up his own bow. “Frankly, I would have thought more like forty years older.” He squinted at the target.

“And she was what? Seventeen? It’s no wonder she wrote so eloquently on the ills of the modern marriage.” Jordan laughed and shook his head.

Devon released the bow. The arrow zipped to tremble unfailingly just left of the center of the bull’s-eye. “She
chose
Merrill,” he ground out. “It’s difficult enough convincing a young woman she won’t be pounced upon and attacked, without that mad countess filling her head with a lot of nonsense.”

“Nice shot.” Jordan whistled. “Now that I think on it, didn’t you court the girl back when she made her debut?”

Devon scoffed. “There was no
courting
Lily. She was after one thing and one thing only. Money. Any interest she showed in anyone else was merely a form of amusement to her. The earl had the deepest pockets.”

Devon’s eyes remained on the target, but for a moment he was catapulted back through time to a ballroom and the sight of a remarkable beauty standing across from him, beckoning like some siren from the sea. He’d fallen for her. Hard. And she’d led him on a merry chase. A fruitless chase. All the while, she’d been planning to accept Merrill’s suit. His hands tightened on the bow.

Lily’s words from earlier echoed in Devon’s brain.
“You’ll just have to find another young woman to lure with empty promises.”
What the hell had she meant by that? She was the one who had lured him with empty promises, damn it. She’d twisted everything. Just like a woman.

Gone was the girl with the sparkling eyes, the lilting laughter, and sweet tenderness he’d once thought could save him. Gone was the young lady who had appeared to look beyond the callous assumptions of Society. And in her place was a jaded she-devil. A mocking widow with a rapier for a tongue. But he’d be damned before he let her affect him.

Jordan hefted his bow in his hands and took aim again. “She’s always been a beauty. It’s no wonder you were interested.”

His words shook Devon from his reverie. He was no longer the twenty-six-year-old who had followed Lily around as though he were just out of the schoolroom. No, he was a man now and when he’d considered marriage this time, he’d made the decision with his head, not his idiotic heart. He eyed his friend carefully. “Interested? Yes. Serious? No. All I want from that woman now is for her to dine upon her words.”

Jordan’s shout of laughter echoed through the nearby trees. “So, the merry widow didn’t agree to write a retraction, did she? Why does that not surprise me? Take heart. It’s not as if she can stop marriage for all time, though God knows I wouldn’t object if she did. A hideous matter, marriage, nothing good can come of it.”

Devon grunted. “Yes. Well. I’m not as fortunate as you, Ashbourne. I have no siblings. You’re the closest thing to a brother I’ll ever have. I must produce a legitimate heir.”

The truth was, the two of them had often been mistaken for brothers. Both were tall with similar muscular builds. Jordan’s hair was more of a dark brown, not Devon’s black, and Jordan’s eyes were gray, but they’d been told on more than one occasion what striking figures they cut together.

Jordan clapped him on the back. “I do thank my brothers for being born every time I see them. But as to your predicament, why you insist upon letting everyone in town think you’re destitute when you have more money than I do, for God’s sake, eludes me. You’ve been gambling in the back alleys for years and won a bloody indecent fortune doing it, yet you act as if you’ve never played a game of cards in your life when you’re in the clubs of St. James.”

Jordan motioned to a second footman to pour him a drink and the servant hurried to a small table perched on the grass between two trees. He poured two glasses of brandy and returned to hand them to the two men.

Devon took his first sip and tried not to think about the brandy he’d had earlier, or who had served it to him. “I’ll give no one the satisfaction of judging me based on how much money they think I have. I’ll never forget how my father was treated when he was penniless. Everyone is pleased to assume I live on an indecent amount of credit, and I’ve no intention of disabusing them of that notion.”

Jordan took a sip of his own drink. “Have it your way. Surely Miss Templeton’s mother will convince the girl to come to her senses. Though I’m sure she’d do so much more quickly if she knew her intended fiancé was as rich as Croesus in addition to holding one of the most esteemed titles in the country.”

“That’s just it, Ashbourne.” Devon’s voice was tight. “I don’t want a wife who is obsessed with the size of my pockets. I want a wife who wants to marry
me
. I cannot hide my title, but I can damn well hide my fortune.”

Jordan sipped his drink. “Fine. What’s your next move, then, now that Lady Merrill has refused to write a retraction?”

“She will write a retraction all right,” Devon promised. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. Damn it. His frustration wasn’t even about Miss Templeton, or the retraction. He’d known that from the moment he’d seen Lily again. In truth, he’d been nothing but relieved when his fiancée had cried off. Miss Templeton’s family was rich, but he’d never been entirely sure she hadn’t wanted him for his title alone. And blast it all, Lily was right. The fact that Miss Templeton had allowed some silly pamphlet to scare her off just proved she was unsuitable.

No, it wasn’t about Miss Templeton at all. It was Lily he couldn’t take. She’d nearly destroyed him once. He refused to allow her to do it again.

Jordan propped his bow against the nearest tree. “What do you intend to do? Write the retraction for her and sign her name?” He paused, quirking a brow. “You know? That’s not a half bad idea.” He took another drink.

Devon shook his head. “No, damn it. I intend to bed her.”

Jordan spit the brandy. “The devil you say!”

“I was angry. I couldn’t think of anything else to threaten her with.”

Slapping his open palm against his chest, Jordan wheezed. “You mean you
told
her you intend to bed her?”

A single nod this time.

“Well, well, well. This just went from interesting to fascinating. What, pray tell, did she reply?” Jordan leaned back against the tree, still cradling the drink in his hand.

Devon shrugged. “I didn’t give her a chance to say anything.”

“I daresay, this shall be the most diverting sport in all of London this Season,” Jordan replied.

Devon raked a hand through his hair again. “This is not about sport. This is about proving that woman wrong and keeping her from interfering in my personal life.”

“I’d say it’s more than personal if you intend to bed her.” Jordan chuckled.

Devon rolled his eyes.

“And it won’t be easy,” Jordan continued. “Seems you’ve made a contest out of bedding a woman who’s being courted by nearly every eligible bachelor in town. They say she’s spurned them all.”

Devon snorted. “Oh, I know all too well how she can lead a man on. I was duped by her once. I will not make the same mistake again.”

But another thought occurred to him. The threat of seduction may have been impetuous, but it would give Devon the perfect opportunity to finally seek his revenge against Lily Andrews. He would shame her. Make her want him and then toss her aside. She rejected him cruelly five years ago. This time,
he
would be the one to reject
her
.

“It’s absolutely perfect,” Jordan said. “These days, you’re known for your rakishness while Lady Merrill is known for her disdain of men. The game is under way, and two more perfectly matched opponents there could not be.”

Devon finished his drink in one hefty swallow. “It’s not a contest.” He handed his glass to the timid footman, grabbed up his bow, and hefted it to his shoulder. “But if it were … make no mistake as to who the victor would be.”

“Not to worry. My money’s on you, Colton.” Jordan’s eyebrow shot up. “Speaking of contests, when is your next appointment in the Rookery?”

The Rookery
. Devon released the bow and the arrow zinged through the air. It missed the target entirely and landed in the soft grass behind the trees. “The day after tomorrow,” he answered under his breath, lowering his arm. “Thank God I’m almost finished. Once that damned promise has been fulfilled, I’ll never set foot in that detestable part of town again.”

CHAPTER 3

Sweets from Viscount Barton, a poem from Sir Berry, and more vases full of lilies than one could easily count, but not so much as a bud or a sweet from the Marquis of Colton. Lily made her way past the gifts crowded together on the table by her front door. Leo trotted near her feet. She paused to sort through the silver tray full of calling cards one more time.

She wrinkled her nose. No doubt that rogue wouldn’t bother with flowers or calling cards. Why, she wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up shirtless on her front stoop. She smiled. Despite the fact that she might actually enjoy that, perhaps it was a bit too bold, even for the despicable Colton. But it still rankled that he’d announced his intent to seduce her and hadn’t so much as sent one trinket.

She’d acted like a complete and utter shrew to him, she knew. But something about his cold confidence brought out the worst in her. That and the fact that she refused to show weakness in front of the man who had decimated her heart.

“He’s not doing a very good job,” a young female voice piped from behind the vases near the end of the hallway.

Lily jumped. Clutching her chest, she slowed her breathing again and gave her younger sister her most formidable stare. “Annie! You gave me such a fright. Get out here this minute.”

Annie emerged from behind the table, a proud smile on her pretty, eighteen-year-old face. Her dark brown curls bobbed about her cheeks. “Well, he isn’t,” Annie insisted with a firm nod. She bent down to scratch Leo behind the ears. If there was anyone besides Lily the dog was devoted to, it was Annie. Just like Lily, the girl had a way about her with animals, always helping them and rescuing them. Over the years the house had turned into a sort of menagerie of Annie’s pets.

Lily dropped the cards to the tray and yanked her hand away. “Who is not doing a very good job at what?”

“Why, Lord Colton isn’t doing a very good job at seducing you. That is the word, isn’t it?” Annie whispered the last sentence, her dark eyes growing huge.

“Shh! Don’t let anyone hear you say such a thing.” Lily glanced over her shoulder to see if either of the servants was about. Thankfully, Evans was asleep in the chair next to the front door and Mary was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, Evans and Mary have heard worse, I’m sure,” Annie retorted. “Besides, they would never repeat it.”

Annie was right. The two loyal servants had been with the sisters since they were children. When their parents had died without a shilling to their name, the sisters’ third cousin, Percy, had tossed out both servants with no references. Lily, already a widow at the time, had taken them in. She might not have had much money herself, but she couldn’t allow her friends to suffer.

Now, Evans proudly served as butler of Lily’s dubious household, despite his penchant to nod off, and Mary was a lady’s maid with an unfortunate and pronounced memory problem. Despite their faults, both servants would do anything to help their mistresses. Their loyalty was unfailing.

Annie kicked at the parquet flooring with her slippered foot. “I don’t even know what ‘seduce’ means. And how many times must I ask you to call me Anne? I’m not Annie any longer. I’m all grown-up, about to have my come-out. Old enough for you to tell me what ‘seduce’ means.” She batted her eyelashes at Lily.

Lily couldn’t help but smile as she watched her sister. Annie was a bit taller than Lily. She had the same dark hair, but her eyes were dark, too, the color their mother’s had been. Lily had inherited their father’s violet ones. Annie was lovely and seemed to be growing lovelier by the day.