The Wedding Affair (12 page)

“Are you all right, Penny?” Kate walked across to the washstand. “Shall I ring for a maid to bring you hot water? This pitcher is barely warm.”

“A cool rinse will be refreshing. We had a long drive, and I think I’ll rest for a while.” She took off her hat and set it atop a cabinet. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be fetching Lady Daphne?”

Kate made a face. “She’s not going to want to be fetched—but yes, I must go and make the effort. Perhaps we can talk later? I want to hear all about your wedding.”

Penelope did not settle down to rest, however. As soon as Kate was gone, she began to explore the room. Her meager wardrobe occupied less than a tenth of the cupboard Kate had opened, and two more cabinets stood entirely empty. But the cupboards and dressing table—even the huge, high bed—did not call to Penelope. She couldn’t keep herself from looking at the door on the far side of the room, and she was drawn to look beyond.

Tentatively, she turned the handle and peeked into another blue bedroom, almost the twin of her own. If anything, the bed was even larger, draped with silk in a slightly darker shade of blue—or did the color seem different only because the drapes were closed here and the light was dimmer?

There was no evidence of occupation except for a pitcher on the washstand that felt warm against her hand. She tiptoed across the carpet and opened a cabinet. Several coats, a pile of shirts, a heap of neckcloths… Somehow, she thought, the earl’s valet had fit a great deal more into a small portmanteau than Etta had managed. Even though his manservant had been left behind to come with Etta and the baggage wagon, the earl would have no difficulty in turning himself out well. But then, he never did look anything other than cool and elegant.

Penelope could feel her hair, relieved of the weight of her hat, springing into random curls that must stick out in all directions.

The door leading into the main hallway creaked open and Penelope tensed—too nervous to run. The earl came in very quietly, and she turned to face him, biting her lip and waiting.

He glanced around the room, perhaps making certain there was no servant to overhear.

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit, ma’am?”

Why
had
she come to his bedroom? And having been discovered there, why hadn’t she simply apologized and retreated?

Because you want to change things
, Penelope reminded herself. “I thought perhaps we could talk about… our situation.”

“Now? And here?”

“Why not? In London, you’re never at home. On the drive, Mr. Carlisle was riding alongside. Here, there are no maids or valets to interrupt unless we call for them.”

Without a word he took off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair. His cravat was next; he tossed it atop the coat, but it slid off to pool on the floor. He unfastened the band at the neck of his shirt. His fingers were long and strong and supple, and though Penelope was a good five feet away, she could almost feel the warmth of his fingertips brushing against the smooth linen as though it had been her skin.

He glanced at her. “Don’t let me stop you. You were saying?”

Penelope looked away. “I’ve been thinking about your letter, my lord. The one to my father. It seems to me that he did not absolutely reject your request.”
And I wish you would tell me what that request was
, she wanted to add.

He paused, fingers clasped on the next button. “His refusal seemed quite definite to me.”

“But it wasn’t. Not really. He said he wouldn’t agree
at this time
. But surely he meant if you meet his terms…”

“I would call them
demands
.”

“Perhaps.” Penelope took a deep breath. “At any rate, we both know what he wants. It’s been three months, my lord, since the wedding. It seems to me it is time to take the next step.”

The earl didn’t answer. Slowly, he stripped off his shirt.

Penelope’s mouth went dry at the sight of so much bare skin. His chest was unexpectedly broad, and under the light furring of hair, she could see each muscle so clearly defined and distinct that she would be able to draw him from memory. Her heart was pounding.

He laid the shirt aside and came to stand directly in front of her. She had been even closer to him, of course, on their wedding day—but this was different. He seemed so much bigger than she’d realized, and that bare chest was so much warmer… What would it be like to be pressed against him? Under him?

She shivered a little.

He moved past her to the washstand, poured warm water from the pitcher into the basin, and bent to splash his face.

Penelope watched the muscles flex in his back and arms. Then, feeling as if she was only half-awake, she reached for a towel to hold out for him.

He looked at her over the edge of the linen square. “I must beg your pardon. I did not realize how strongly your father has pressured you for an heir until yesterday when he visited in Berkeley Square, and even then I did not comprehend how concerned you are about providing one in order to satisfy him.” He blotted his face and folded the towel.

The careful way he matched up the corners told Penelope exactly how tightly he was controlling himself, for she couldn’t imagine him caring whether a towel was neat or not.

“You must not disturb yourself over the matter,” he went on. “Mr. Weiss cannot cut off your allowance, for my solicitors saw to that in the marriage contracts.”

She took a moment to find her voice. “That’s not…”

“I understand it is not money but fear of disappointing your father that worries you most.” He laid the damp towel aside. “But there is no need for these desperate maneuvers. I have no intention of claiming my husbandly rights.”

Desperate? He thought she was desperate? And he was letting her down easily, as gently as was possible in these horrid circumstances.

She kept her back straight as she turned to walk out of the room.

“Penelope,” he said softly. “I am sorry.”

“So am I, my lord.” She didn’t look back. “So am I.”

***

“Court me?” Olivia’s words came out as nothing more than a squeak, so she had to try again. “What do you mean,
court me
?”

The duke shrugged. “What everyone means, I suppose, when they use the phrase in speaking of an unmarried man and a widow. You must have noticed the bridesmaids in the village today, circling around me like a troop of Dianas on the hunt.”

“That would have been difficult to miss.”

“With days to get through before the wedding, I do not intend to be harried into leaving my home simply because schoolgirls are taking aim at my title with every arrow at their disposal. Neither am I willing to run the risk that one of them might succeed in compromising herself into requiring an offer of marriage.”

“I doubt that would be possible without assistance from you.”

He snorted. “Then you know very little about the matter. I have been pursued by every debutante who has come on the marriage market—and her mama—for the past five years.”

“Not because of your modesty, I warrant,” Olivia said under her breath.

“Thus there are few tricks I am unfamiliar with. But twelve of these chits will be ever present in my home for a week to come. Add in the fact that my mother shows every sign of turning a blind eye to their antics, and one of them might slip under my guard in any of a hundred possible ways.”

“And you, sir, would be dished. Married before you even had a chance to figure out what had happened. But if the problem is the bridesmaids, I don’t see why you want to court me.”

“I should have said, of course, I wish to
pretend
to court you.”

“But of course. That goes without saying.” Olivia started to laugh. “You really are in a pickle, Your Grace, if you think courting
me
is going to discourage those girls. They’d never believe you were serious about someone like me. I’ve not even completed my mourning period.”

“They don’t have to admire you,” he said. “Only find you a formidable enough challenge to make them turn to easier prey.”

“That’s comforting,” Olivia muttered.

“I am well known to prefer women with more depth and experience than any schoolroom miss possesses. And I have already started to supply the easier prey as well by calling on all my friends to join me at Halstead for the wedding.”

“I can’t imagine they’ll thank you for turning them into targets.”

“I have warned the unmarried ones of the risks. But with an adequate number of males on the ground this week, the bridesmaids’ attention will be split. With luck, we’ll all come out the other side without being leg-shackled.”

“There’s a flaw in your logic, of course. After you spend a week courting me, what happens when the wedding is over and you don’t need me as cover anymore?”

“Then you will jilt me. Coldly, heartlessly, and publicly.”

“And quite stupidly as well,” she pointed out, “for no woman with sense would even contemplate jilting a duke once she’d captured him. You’d do better to carry out the jilting yourself, you know. It makes no sense for
me
to be the one to back out of a betrothal.”

The duke said coolly, “Because jilting me would ruin your reputation, you mean? And being my mistress wouldn’t?”

He had a point there, Olivia had to admit. “If I were your mistress, no one would know anything about it. But if you court me openly, and then I break off the connection—”

“Why should the reaction concern you? Are you worried about how you’ll be received next Season in London?”

Olivia had no intention of appearing in London again until Charlotte’s first Season, if then. But there was no reason to invite speculation by saying so.

“If you’re suggesting I should give you provocation, ma’am…”

“Oh, that should present no problem,” Olivia muttered. “Just watching you draw breath in your usual arrogant fashion would be provocation enough for me to cancel a wedding. But I see you are determined to think you’re right, so I won’t argue the matter any further.”

“Then we are in accord?”

“Not just yet. For me to agree to carry off this charade—jilting and all—you’ll have to make it worth my while.”

“Of course you will keep the gifts I give you.”

“How perfectly paltry of you, Your Grace. You know quite well an unmarried woman isn’t allowed to accept anything of substance from her betrothed.”

“She can accept a ring. You wouldn’t be able to keep the Somervale ring, of course—”

“Yes, I imagine your mother would have something to say about
that
.”

“But we could say you preferred a diamond instead.”

Olivia shook her head. “No matter how nice the ring, it’s nothing against the worth of a duchess’s coronet. So if you’re going to be able to trust me to do as you wish, instead of holding you to your supposed promise of marriage—”

“As if you could force me into it.” He stood.

Not because he was insulted, Olivia thought, but because he couldn’t abide the rough chair anymore. “You’re afraid of a pack of schoolgirls, but not of me?”

“The schoolgirls have innocence on their side, and society protects them because of it.”

“Or at least they have the appearance of innocence, which is nearly the same thing.”

“While you, my lady—forgive me—have an aura of scandal. When a lady vanishes from her husband’s house only days after his funeral is held…”

“…a thoughtful gentleman would conclude there is a reason. But perhaps I should not expect so much of
you
, Your Grace. How did you happen to hear of that?”

“One of the guests already at Halstead is something of a gossip. When I asked if anyone knew of a Lord Reyne, Colonel Sir Tristan Huffington was happy to enlighten me. Your late husband was much older than you, with pockets sadly to let. When he died, you promptly removed yourself from his ramshackle house, and no one knew where you had gone.”

Olivia’s lips felt stiff. “The colonel is well-informed.”

“Since I am aware of your history, you must realize how foolish threats are.”

“Still, you’d be wise to pay me so well that I’d prefer to have the money instead of being stuck with you—even considering the coronet.”

“
Three
diamond bracelets?”

“Don’t be silly. I only have two arms. I’d prefer money, anyway—or better yet, some kind of continuing payment.”

“That sounds uncomfortably like blackmail.”

“Not at all, for I would never trust you to continue the payments once the bargain was finished. I can’t recall what it’s called when a servant is pensioned off. No doubt you know.”

“You mean an annuity?”

“Yes, exactly. That would do nicely. You may fund an annuity for me. Then I can be independent, and you can forget all about me once I’ve jilted you. And you needn’t think I’m planning to rob you, Your Grace. I suspect my idea of a large sum is far different than yours. It will cost you less to buy me off than it would to support one of Daphne’s friends for a year. That much is certain.”