The Prince's Bride (10 page)

“Should I?”

“Most certainly. Rand.” She lowered her voice confidentially. “I have been through the castle and while it is, on one hand, quite impressive and extremely interesting, it’s also staffed by a mere handful of servants, far too few for a building of this size, and it has obviously seen better days. I’d wager the roof leaks, doesn’t it?”

“Only when it rains.”

“I suspected as much.” A thought occurred to her and she sat up straighter. “I say, this is your uncle’s home, though, isn’t it? Not yours?”

“Yes?” The word was cautious.

“Then surely you have another home somewhere? Where your mother lives when she’s not traveling”— Jocelyn’s eyes widened with realization—“which does take money and—”

Rand held up a hand to quiet her. “My mother has a small inheritance that funds her travels. And yes, I do have a residence elsewhere, rooms in London and a modest house in the country.”

“How modest?” she said hopefully, envisioning a nice-sized but not ostentatious country house.

“Very modest.”

“Oh well.” The country house shrank to a small cottage. She shrugged. “That’s that then.”

Rand narrowed his eyes. “I’m surprised that you don’t sound more disappointed.”

“So am I.” She laughed. “It’s really no worse than I expected.” She considered him thoughtfully. “And what of you, Rand? What did you expect?”

“What do you mean?”

“You married me to protect me. Out of a sense of honor and responsibility. Quite admirable, I admit,” she added quickly. “But surely, when you considered marriage, when you thought about the type of woman you wanted as a wife, I was not the first person to come to mind.”

“Perhaps not,” he said carefully. “Admittedly, I had not planned on marriage at this particular time.”

“What did you want in a wife?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A good dowry, of course.” He flashed her a grin. “But then you have that.”

“You will have to speak to my brother when he returns,” she murmured. Until now, she hadn’t given her dowry a thought. It was substantial, although Jocelyn wasn’t certain of exactly what it entailed. After all, she hadn’t planned on marrying this season. She pushed aside a twinge of irritation that her dowry would be the first thing Rand mentioned. Still, she of all people could scarcely fault him for considering the financial aspects of marriage.

“But that was not a prime consideration.” Rand got to his feet, strolled to the sideboard, and grabbed the open bottle of wine. “I suppose when I thought about the woman I would one day marry, most of all, I wanted someone with a fair amount of intelligence.”

“How very odd of you.” She stood, picked up her glass, and held it out to him. “Most men I’ve met aren’t the tiniest bit interested in a woman’s mind.”

“I gather you speak from your vast experience.” He refilled her goblet. “This was your first season, was it not?”

“It was a very long season and nearly at an end,” she said loftily. “Besides, you needn’t be overly intelligent to recognize what is right before your nose.” She sipped her wine and studied her husband. “In spite of your claim that you value intelligence in a mate, tell me, Rand, the first time you meet a woman, are you thinking about her mind?”

“Admittedly I might not—”

“And when you ask her to dance”—she stepped closer—“or brush a kiss across the back of her hand in that well-practiced way you have, are you considering how witty and clever she might be?”

He stared down at her with a smile of amusement. “You consider the way I kiss a lady’s hand to be well practiced?”

“Isn’t it?”

“I prefer to think of it as a natural gift.”

“Call it what you wish. It’s scarcely relevant at the moment.” She pointed her glass at him. “And you, my lord, are evading the subject.”

“If I am it’s because your questions are entirely unfair. You’re talking in generalities. Every woman is different and therefore my reaction to every woman is different.”

“All right then, let’s be specific. When you met me was it my clever repartee that you noticed first or the low cut of my gown?”

He choked on his wine and she hid a smile of satisfaction.

“Well?”

“I should say it was your bold manner,” he said smoothly, recovering nicely.

She raised a brow.

“Very well. The first thing I noticed about you”—he eyed her over the rim of his glass—“was your response to my quieting your scream.”

“And would you have quieted me in the same manner if I had been as ugly as a troll?”

He hesitated.

“Aha.” Triumph rang in her voice. “I thought so.”

“On the contrary, it was necessary and I would have done much the very same thing had you been as ugly as a troll. Or even uglier.” His eyes flashed wickedly. “I just wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much.”

“But you enjoyed it because I’m pretty.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Very pretty.”

“Some would say exquisite.”

“It’s a natural gift.” She grinned and he laughed. “Emma was the artistic one, Marianne the dreamer, Becky the hoyden, but I have always been the pretty one.

“It takes a bit of effort to be the pretty one, you know. You must be ever aware of dress and manner. And natural gift or not, one finds it necessary to practice the fluttering of a fan.” She fluttered her fingers as if she held a fan. “The artful tilt of the head.” She tilted her head and gazed up at him. “The flirtatious yet not too inviting smile.” She cast him her best enticing smile, the very one guaranteed to make men forget their own names.

“It seems to me it takes rather a lot of effort to be the pretty one,” he said mildly.

“Indeed it does.”

“And you have perfected it to a fine art.” He raised his glass in a toast.

She returned the salute. “Indeed I have. And all to one purpose.”

“Making a good match.”

“Exactly.”

“Pity to have gone through all that trouble to end up with a mere viscount.

“It is ironic, isn’t it. Aunt Louella would appreciate it. She does so love irony. However”—Jocelyn trailed her fingers along the edge of the table—“it may well be for the best.”

“As your new husband, I find that rather encouraging.”

“It’s not always easy to be the pretty one. The one expected to make an excellent match because, frankly, nothing else is expected of you.”

“You were well on your way to doing just that until circumstances intervened.”

“Yes, I was. But...” Just how much could she confide in this man? Her husband? She’d never told another soul, not even Becky. And she did want him to think better of her. “Lately, I had begun to wonder if there shouldn’t be more to life than fine gowns and eager suitors and grand parties.” She shot him a pointed glance. “Mind you, I quite enjoy fine gowns and eager suitors and grand parties.”

“No doubt.”

“It was what I had always wanted, always dreamed of. Yet it had all begun to feel rather insignificant and somewhat pointless.” She sipped at her wine and widened her eyes in feigned innocence. “I was beginning to fear I wasn’t nearly as shallow as I—and everyone else—believed.”

He laughed. “It must have been something of a shock.”

“You’re teasing me again, but yes it was extremely surprising. I had waited all my life for a season in London with the express purpose of being acclaimed a diamond of the first water. Of being the toast of the season and, eventually, making a brilliant match. And the first part, at any rate, did indeed happen.

“It simply wasn’t as satisfying as I’d expected.” She studied him curiously. “Odd, don’t you think?”

“Not at all.” Rand shrugged. “The problem might well be that you
do
think, even if no one credits you for it. I know I had not particularly expected it.”

“I do hope you’re not disappointed.”

“Not at all. It seems I may be the one who has inadvertently made a brilliant match. Beauty and brains. I could scarce want for more.”

Nor could I.
The thought flashed in her head. Perhaps, just as she’d said, it was indeed all for the best. Rand was an honorable man. Regardless of his less than lofty title or the minimal size of his fortune and every other thing she’d always thought necessary for a secure future, perhaps this was a man a woman could depend on. A man she could depend on.

“Pardon me, Your Lordship, my lady.” Ivy stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, a murderous look in her eye. “If you don’t mind my saying, Cook won’t be pleased to know she’s ready to send in the rest of the meal and you two ain’t hardly touched what’s already here.”

“We can’t have that,” Rand said in a serious manner that belied the twinkle in his eye. He stepped to Jocelyn’s chair and held it out for her.

“It would be unforgivable.” Jocelyn returned to her chair and allowed him to seat her, ignoring the accidental brush of his fingers on her shoulder and the delightful shiver that raced through her at his touch.

They turned their attention first to the remainder of their soup and next to the succulent roast of beef Ivy presented. They ate dutifully and drank rather a lot and laughed more than Jocelyn would have thought possible.

And they talked. About all manner of things. He was impressively well read. And while she had never been particularly interested in books, she was surprised to find the schooling offered through the years from her aunt and her older sisters had well prepared her for intelligent discussion. It was something of a delightful shock to discover she could hold her own with him.

Jocelyn had never talked to a man like this before. Without pretension or artifice. Without concern as to whether she said too much or too little. With more attention paid to the substance of her comments rather than the delivery.

The candles in the elaborate, old-fashioned candelabra on the table burned low. Jocelyn reluctantly noted the lateness of the hour. It was obviously past time to retire. Whatever that entailed. Jocelyn wasn’t at all sure she wanted to know.

She drew a deep breath and stood. “Well, it has been a long day and ...

“Indeed.” Rand got to his feet quickly. “And tiring as well.”

“Then I shall be going.” She inched toward the archway leading to the stairs. “To my rooms. To
our
rooms.”

“Quite right.” His brow furrowed. “Our rooms.”

“Are you”—she swallowed hard—“coming?”

“You know”—his expression brightened—“I do believe I should like a brisk ride before bed. Would you care to join me?”

She stared at him. “It’s dark.”

“Oh, I’m certain there’s plenty of moonlight or starlight. I’ve always enjoyed riding at night.”

“Do you? It sounds rather ...” At once she realized exactly what he was trying to do and relief swept through her. Was he as nervous about what came next between them as she? She nodded eagerly. “It sounds delightful.”

“Then that’s what I shall do then.”

“Wonderful. And I shall”—she moved toward the exit—“go to ... that is to say ... retire.” She turned and tried not to race for the stairs. Tried to keep her steps measured and relaxed. As if her pulse were not racing and her heart was not beating wildly in her chest. As if she were not at once terrified he would change his mind and be no more than a step behind her. And just as terrified that he would not.

Jocelyn pulled her wrapper more tightly around her and paced her bedchamber,
their
bedchamber. What exactly would happen when Rand joined her for the night? She had no doubt he would indeed join her. What she didn’t know was precisely what he would expect when he did.

She glanced at the bed. It was immense, impressive, a remnant of another time. Dark wooden posts spiraled upward from each corner. Heavy brocade hangings draped from top rails. A more fanciful imagination would have likened it to the den of some giant, lurking threat. A creature of some sort. A dragon or other monstrous beast. Ready to devour. To consume. Pulsing with erotic menace.

She blinked hard to clear the image. The bed once again was nothing more than a bed. And no more daunting than any other piece of furniture one would use for ...

She pushed the thought from her mind and with it the accompanying vivid images of entwined bodies and low murmurings of intimate secrets and ...

She wrapped her arms around herself and paced faster. There was no need to be nervous about this. Hah. There was every reason to be nervous about this. She’d never been a bride before. Never had a wedding night. Never shared a marriage bed. Never experienced anything more than a kiss.

The bed drew her gaze like an irresistible force. Did it have to be so big? So overwhelming. Why, it quite dominated the room. A huge, looming portent of doom. The site of her demise. The place of her inevitable downfall.

And surely it was the flickering candlelight and her poor vision that made the covers undulate like that?

Perhaps she could avoid Rand altogether. Put off this—she cringed at the very thought of the word—
consummation.
Her husband was not a beast. He would never force her, take her, against her will. In truth, he was, well, rather surprisingly wonderful. With his dark, mysterious eyes that made her insides melt. And the square set of those broad, muscled shoulders that proclaimed confidence and power with every step he took. And the way he laughed and the way he listened.

And the way he looked at her. As if she wasn’t merely the woman he had to marry but the woman he wanted.

The woman he wanted.

A
delightful warmth washed through her at the idea. He was her husband and he did have certain rights and . . .

And why not?

The thought stopped her in her tracks. Certainly she was a bit apprehensive, but then wasn’t every bride? And when she considered it, in a completely honest way, weren’t her feelings right now as much excitement as dread? As much anticipation as unease? Perhaps ... more?

She looked at the bed once more. Odd. It no longer seemed threatening but, well, inviting. Even tempting. Possibly ... seductive.

And when Rand returned ... what?

She stepped to the wardrobe and found her spectacles where she’d discreetly hidden them. She slipped them on, then moved to the window, sank onto the seat and stared out into the dark night. The glasses were of little help but at least at the window she would hear the approach of his horse. Her gaze drifted upward and her breath caught.

The sky was alight with a hundred, no, a thousand stars. Bright, tiny points of pure magic. She’d never seen stars before and had never imagined the sheer glory of the heavens.

She leaned against the window frame and stared up into the night sky. It was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. Unexpected and enchanting and perfect.

And she couldn’t help but wonder what else of enchantment the night might hold.