The Ugly Duckling Debutante

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Never had she felt so nervous, not even when faced with rejection by her own parents or the ton. What if he left her at the altar? Worse, what if he rejected her and said no? She tried to keep her smile steady but began wavering when he leaned his head down to hers. Was he going to whisper that he couldn’t go through with it?

  Her fears ceased when she felt his warm lips caress her cheek, and he whispered into her ear so only she could hear, “You are beautiful.”

  It was all the confirmation she needed. Eyes pooling with tears, she listened to him proclaim his life-long vows, noticing that he too was getting choked up over the whole affair. She surprised even herself when her voice rang free and clear during her own. The priest pronounced them married and introduced them. It finally hit Sara that she was a countess now—how odd she hadn’t thought of it this whole time. People had mentioned it before, of course, but she never dreamed she would be addressed as anything other than Lady Sai. She was now Countess of Renwick. It was enough to make her giddy with delight, to share a name with the man she so madly loved. Now if he would only share a fraction of his heart.

  They ran to the carriage amidst cheers from the crowd and pulled away toward Fenton House.

  “Come here,” Nicholas ordered hoarsely, pulling her body onto his own. He wasted no time in showering her with kisses. Sara was having trouble breathing. It was almost too much to take in. This burning passion for Nicholas matched with an inconceivable joy.

  Had they really just married? She wanted to pinch herself, but now that she was facing the reality of her situation, she wanted nothing more than to live in the dream presented before her.

  Nicholas had foolishly married her because of his honor, but in his kiss was much more than honor. There was passion, and, dare she think it, love?

  She laughed softly as he pulled her into his lap on his side of the carriage. “So Lady Renwick,” he crooned into the nape of her neck. “Was it perfect?”

  Sara wanted to pout and cross her arms, to show him she wasn’t the happiest person in the world to be in his arms, but she really was. She couldn't conceal it. And thoughts of her parents who weren’t actually her parents, that she had been lied to all her life, and that the person she was falling in love with promised her he would never give her his heart, would have to wait. Right now, this moment was all that mattered, and life couldn’t get any better.

  She sighed and kissed him wantonly across his mouth. “Nicholas Renwick, I do believe we are married.”

  He smiled, seeming to forget about his earlier question, and hungrily possessed her mouth again, as if the world would end that very second if he didn’t kiss her until breath came in ragged and muffled gasps.

  “Nicholas.”

  “Say my name again,” he moaned huskily into her ear.

  “Nicholas,” she said, this time more insistently. “We’re almost there.” He reluctantly pulled away from her face and groaned. Was it her imagination, or did she see something smoldering behind his gaze?

  “You’re absolutely right. I have no idea what came over me.” He winked at her and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

  Through the fog of her own desire, she felt their carriage rumble to a stop in front of Fenton House. The timing had been impeccable. Was it wrong for her to want to stay in that carriage with her husband forever? Her heart ached with the memory of his claim to both woo her and persuade her to annul the marriage within the first year. The more time she spent with him, the more kisses they shared, the more she wanted to hang on and never let go, but would he ever feel the same way about her?

  He kissed her hand softly and led her up the stairs into the massive home. When they reached the door, he turned with a slow smile spreading across his darkly handsome face. “We’ll smile, shake hands, eat heartily, and then… you’re mine.”

  Sara turned what she imagined to be an unattractive shade of red as her face felt like it was getting hotter by the minute. Nicholas laughed and ushered her into the great hall. 'You’re mine'? Really? The possessive tone in his voice did odd things to her stomach making her feel even more excited about that night. She tried to still her hammering heart but found it useless. For every time her husband glanced her way, he sent her another of his alluring smiles, reminding her of the impending promise he had made. He meant it, she could tell. There was always a hint of amusement behind Nicholas’s eyes, but this time she saw only amusement masked by sheer passion. What in the world had she gotten herself into?

  ***

  Nicholas tried to calm himself. He nearly burst when Lady Fenton went on and on about the fish and how delightful it was to have such a wonderful French cook at Fenton House. "Really, Lord Renwick, you should endeavor to employ a French chef as soon as possible," she raved. She seemed appalled that anyone would choose to put off such an important matter. Insanity must reign in a house which refused to employ someone with such delicate tastes as her own French master.

  Just as Nicholas felt he could take no more, he heard Sara laugh, and the all too familiar smoldering in his body began anew. At first it was like a small flame, easily dealt with after a few stolen kisses. But something had changed during that carriage ride; it suddenly occurred to him he was, in fact, kissing his wife—his wife! The thought nearly set him to laughing right there in the middle of the carriage. Of course, it would have upset Sara, and that was the last thing on this earth he wanted to do. However, at the top of his list was pleasing her beyond measure.

  But then again, this marriage was after all a farce was it not? If he took that part of her, there would be no way for her to gain an annulment, then again, she could still get one, but it would kill whatever part of Nicholas’s heart he had left. Was it possible for two people to share passion but not give to one another part of their hearts and souls? The sound of Sara’s rich laugh jolted him from his thoughts, and he decided he didn’t care. Blast it all! he thought as Lady Fenton inclined her head to him.

  “Did you not hear me, Lord Renwick?” she asked coyly.

  No, of course he didn’t hear her because in that same moment his eyes had been drawn to the curve of Sara’s body under her dress. He was too busy fantasizing about what his hand would feel like running down Sara’s bare back when his cousin had made the unfortunate mistake of addressing him.

  He cleared his throat. “Of course, Lady Fenton.”

  “Interesting,” she said putting her napkin down on her lap. “I thought you, of all people, would be upset to hear that Sir Belverd died last night.”

  “What!?” he exclaimed, raising his voice higher than he intended.

  “I’m only proving a point. He’s fine, I’m sure. I knew you weren’t listening; it’s easy to read your true thoughts since you’ve been wearing them shamelessly on your sleeve for the past hour. Go. Take my niece and have your celebration.”

  He licked his lips and took a breath to say something, but for the first time in his life—well, that was a lie… for the second, third, fourth—he had easily lost track. He didn’t care if the whole of London watched him whisk his wife away, and whisk he did, even though propriety demanded they stay at the breakfast for at least another hour. They said their goodbyes. He hardly noticed Lady Fenton’s amused smile as he rushed Sara into the carriage.

  “My turn,” he whispered in her ear and lifted her into the carriage. Her face burned an innocent but beautiful crimson as she averted her eyes from his.

  It was with great restraint Nicholas sat opposite his wife during the carriage ride to his house, and if he was being brutally honest with himself—which he had endeavored to be over the past few weeks—he was a bit frightened about overpowering her with his lustful tendencies. The air in the carriage seemed to choke him while he thought about all of the events about to take place.

  Yes, he had the reputation of a rake, but people must know most reputations were hardly built on stable fact. Nicholas had taken a few mistresses over the years, but for the most part, it had been easy. He hadn’t loved any but
one, and considering how badly that relationship ended, he hadn’t been inclined to enter into one since. All in all, he felt like a boy on his first date. How was he to act? What was he to do? On the outside he appeared much the confident doting husband, but his insides felt like jelly. He wanted every moment spent with Sara to be perfect for her.

  Could a reformed rake forget himself and think only of his wife's pleasure? The thought had been haunting him the entire ride back. If Sara was nervous, she didn’t show it. She chattered about the weather, the flowers, the scenery, so much gibberish, in fact, Nicholas was faintly reminded of Lady Fenton.

  Then it hit him. She was petrified. Only when Sara was truly out of her element did she jabber on as if the world would crash down around them without her every spoken word to keep it holding firm in place. The thought comforted him more than he realized, and when they pulled up to his house, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

  He had said he would woo, and woo he would. First, she needed to see all the changes he made to her room, the room that would be adjoining his own. He took a slight gamble in hopes she would one day join him in his room, and maybe, just maybe she would forget about his inability to give her his heart and stay with him anyway. A man could dream, and he was holding onto that dream for dear life.

  What does one do with one's wife when he knows she could at any time annul their marriage? At least he was needed, he told himself. Without him she would have no fortune, no money of her own. At least he could help her take care of her family and offer her enough funds to secure her finances. He hadn’t noticed how skinny and haggard she must have appeared at their first meeting. Although beautiful then, now she looked extraordinary. London had been good to her, which was odd; usually the country was good for Londoners.

  Chapter Seventeen

  His wife stifled a yawn and put her hand lazily into Nicholas’s as she disembarked the carriage. It felt as if they had done nothing all day except get in and out of the blasted thing; he was ready to be done. In fact, he was ready to lock her away in his house—actually, his bedroom sounded even better. He smiled tensely at his butler, who merely rolled his eyes. Nicholas really did need to find better help, or at least help which would try to conceal their always-condescending opinions. His butler had, in fact, been around for nearly all Nicholas's life. Giles had to be close to eighty years old. He was more of a grandfather figure than Nicholas wanted to admit, so he easily saw through the young earl's cool façade with a single glance. Nicholas raised an eyebrow back as a challenge; but his butler simply chuckled and walked away.

  “Where is the rest of the staff?” Sara whispered next to him.

  “I dismissed them early today. I wanted to serve you, not have you be served by those who serve me.” He hoped for her to get the point. Tonight wasn’t about him; it was about her.

  She looked somewhat panicked, which he hoped had more to do with nerves and less to do with being alone with him. He gently led her up the staircase and into the chambers, though it was early in the afternoon. Her small hand trembled on his arm, and she probably assumed he wanted to take her right now. She was in for a great surprise if she believed that to be the case.

  “In you go.” He opened the door to her chamber and smiled when he heard her gasp of approval.

  “Is this mine?” she asked breathlessly. She paced around the room excitedly, gazing through the large window and picking up delicate flowers off the bed.

  “It’s all yours. I wanted you to have a room of your own, where you felt special.” He was mentally patting himself on the back until he saw the glimmer of disappointment in her eyes. He panicked. “But, if you follow me you’ll see what else I have in store for you.”

  He sounded like a bloody tour guide; he wanted to throw a drink in his own face for his obvious display of nerves.

  “The rooms adjoin, so mine is just through here.” He led her into his masculine bed chamber. While her chamber was filled with beautiful earth tone colors which he hoped would remind her of the country, his chamber was arrayed in blues and blacks, enough to make any bachelor want to set up camp and never leave again.

  She smiled. “It suits you.”

  “I’m assuming you mean that as a compliment?” He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed.

  She shrugged her shoulders, leaving him in more suspense than he would have liked to admit.

  “Are you hungry, Sara?”

  Sara bit her lip and avoided his eyes. “I’m embarrassed to say yes, but so many people were talking to me during the breakfast I hardly had time to eat anything at all.”

  He had figured as much. Granted, Nicholas hadn’t eaten for entirely different reasons. He was so busy lusting after his wife, he actually paid no heed to anyone, which Lady Fenton had proudly pointed out. “I’ve packed us a picnic,” he said, taking her hand.

  “Really?” She brightened up immediately. Heavens above, if that was all it took, he would pack a picnic every day.

  “Really,” he confirmed, kissing her hand. “If you’ll just follow me, Lady Renwick, we’ll see if all is ready for us outside.”

  “Outside?” she asked warily.

  “Would you rather stay indoors?” He stopped in his tracks. Why was this woman, whom he had thought he knew, suddenly such a stranger?

  “Um no, no. That’s quite fine. Let’s go outside.” She brushed past him, leaving him staring after her as if someone he didn’t recognize as being his wife. Marriage must do some odd things to women’s nerves.

  Normally conversation flowed easily between the two of them, but now it was like pulling teeth. Was she that reserved? He thought she accepted him for what and who he was; now he wasn’t so sure. Why was it that once he was committed to someone, the doubt multiplied rather than diminished? Nicholas shook his head and led her outside to his lavish garden; remembering her love of wildflowers he took her to the field where a basket was already set up.

  She ran to it, which was so incredibly like her that it made him chuckle. In seconds, her shoes were off and flying through the air. Her hair, once done in ornate fashion, was hanging all the way down to her shoulders. She looked like a magical fairy princess. And for some reason he didn’t feel like the savior in the story, but the one being saved. He was the black knight stealing the young innocent bride. He needed to restrain himself; he must restrain himself.

  Reminding himself of the many reasons for restraint, the walk to meet up with Sara was slow and steady. It was difficult to wipe the silly grin off his face as he watched his personal fairy princess dance in the wildflowers. What would it feel like to be so free? Sitting on the blanket covering the long flowers, he sighed. The colors of white, pink, and purple made Sara’s dress look even more spectacular. He waited a few minutes until she joined him, breathless.

  She pulled a flower out of her hair. “This is perfect.”

  “I thought you might like it,” he said warmly. “Why don’t we have some lunch and take a nap? I know it’s been a long day for you already.”

  Disappointment flashed in her eyes again, but she quickly turned away and lifted a loaf of bread from the basket. What had he done wrong? If she only knew how challenging it was for him just to stay on his side of the blanket. He would never understand women.

  They broke the bread and dipped it in oil. “I was half-starved,” Sara murmured. She lay across the blanket seductively. The curve of hips glistened in the afternoon sun. Nicholas tried to speak, but the bread felt solid in his throat. He choked and reached for something to drink.

  “Are you all right?” She sat up suddenly.

  “Perfect,” he answered, voice raspy. “Something just caught in my throat.” His gaze burned into the inviting angle of her body. God was surely punishing him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sara could do nothing more except throw herself at her new husband. What more did he want? Weren’t they to be married like a real married couple? Did he no longer desire her in that way? She had been so excited ab
out the carriage ride because he kissed her so passionately, now he seemed to be paying more attention to his wine than to her. If he didn’t slow down he would pass out on her before the sun even went down, unless that was his goal all along.

  She took her hair down, knowing he loved to see it flow freely around her shoulders She had even done her best to lie across the blanket in a way that brought special attention to the curve of her body; instead he looked away as if angry.

  “Nicholas?” she asked coyly.

  His gaze was brooding at best; he actually looked upset rather than excited to be sharing a picnic with her.

  “Yes?” His eyes darted back to the food.

  “Do you think we could take a nap out on the field rather than inside?” She scooted closer to him, allowing her scent to permeate the tight bubble he had around his person.