Much Ado About You

by Eloisa James

“No!” she said.

  “If I were a horse, would I win the race?” he asked, looking at her intently.

  For a second she tried to look at him as a Thoroughbred. He would be a hugely muscled one, ready to kick a rival, edgy, faster than anyone else…a winner.

  “You would win,” she said with utter positiveness. “I expect you always win, don’t you?”

  “Often.” He was looking down at her hand again. “The problem with winning is that I win because I don’t care very much.”

  “About winning?”

  His right shoulder moved: almost a shrug, not quite. “Precisely. I never allow myself to care very deeply for any particular exchange of goods. I learned years ago that the key to winning is to feel no emotion at losing.”

  “Goodness,” Tess said faintly.

  “I am telling you this, Tess, because I want to be absolutely honest with you. I am not suited for marriage, in truth. I like you enormously. But I do not seem—by nature—to have a capacity for deep feeling.”

  “I am not—” But she couldn’t find the words. “I shall make no demands,” she said.

  He smiled, and there was a laughing devil in his eyes. “I shall make demands,” he said, scooping up her hands and bringing them to his mouth. “I shall make demands, Tess.”

  She was a virgin. She’d never been married, as he pointed out. But she recognized the naked longing in his voice as surely as any minister would point to a cloven hoof in his own parlor. She could feel a blush that started in her chest and turned her cheeks pink.

  He didn’t wait for an answer. His kiss was swift and savage, a kiss that demanded everything she had to give. And like all of Lucius’s kisses, it told her much: there was a proprietorial claim there that made her head spin and her knees tremble, so that she leaned toward him, her fingers pulling his head closer to her.

  He was the one who pulled back. He was breathing hard. “Are you certain that you will make no demands of me, Tess?” he whispered to her, his voice deeper than she’d ever heard it before.

  It was a new Tess he was looking at. A Tess who was clearly not going to be merely a proper, modest wife.

  Even as he watched, her lips curled into a smile that would grace a courtesan. She reached out a hand and put one unsteady finger on his lips. “I might make a few demands of my own,” she said.

  Lucius’s heart sang at the note in her voice, at the pure desire in her eyes.

  “Thank God Mayne was kind enough to provide a bishop so that we could marry immediately,” he said rather hoarsely.

  “Indeed,” she said.

  So he kissed her again.

  Chapter

  26

  The rest of the morning passed in something of a dream. Griselda, poor Griselda, appeared in tears, announcing her intention to leave immediately. She was dissuaded by Rafe, who pointed out that the girls still needed chaperoning.

  “I simply can’t believe that my own brother would do such a despicable thing,” she wailed, wringing her hands. “He’s never done—” But then she seemed to remember some other egregious action of Mayne’s and closed her mouth. “You’re better off without him,” she told Tess. “Though he’s my brother, and I love him, I tell you this—he’s not behaved like himself for some time now. I thought you were the cure, my dear, but…”

  “He must find his own cure,” Tess said gently. Excitement was pumping through her body, making her feel light-headed, almost dizzy, as if her ears were roaring, as if the blood was rushing about her body twice as fast as was normal. Every few moments she would look up and catch Lucius’s eye, and heat would wash over her body.

  Annabel was grinning like a simpleton and kept drifting by and whispering in her ear, “I knew it; I simply knew it; oh, I am so intelligent!”

  The bishop, horrified by his nephew’s behavior, agreed to marry them by special license, promptly scratching out Mayne’s name and writing in Lucius Felton.

  “Good man!” he kept saying, making as if to slap Lucius on the back and then faltering. Lucius was not the sort of man one slaps on the back. “My nephew is a black-guard, leaving this lovely lady in the dust, but he has excellent friends. He doesn’t deserve them.”

  “Yes,” Lucius said noncommittally.

  Finally, the bishop opened his book and began rushing through the opening of the service. Clearly he felt that any romantic flourishes should be dropped from this particular ceremony; Tess felt as if the words rushed by her ears like water, he was speaking so fast. “Will-you-take-this-woman,” he gabbled, and then there was a pause.

  Lucius’s voice, dark and clear, said, “I will.”

  The bishop turned to Tess. “Will-you-take…” and she couldn’t even understand the rest, even though she tried desperately to listen closely to Lucius’s full name. The bishop paused and looked at her, and she felt herself opening her mouth, without conscious volition. “I will.”

  “Good!” the bishop said heartily, and then returned to the Bible, clearly relieved to find his nephew’s reputation saved.

  Tess bit her lip, feeling rather miserably like a piece of meat Cook had decided to stew as it was on the verge of rotting. Suddenly she felt large hands take hers, and she looked up to find Lucius looking down at her.

  And where others might have seen an unexpressionless face, she saw laughter in his eyes, and a reassuring hint of affection, and a twinkle that suggested they would laugh together later at their gabbled wedding ceremony.

  The bishop calmed down as he turned to the next section of the ceremony: “I, Lucius John Percival Felton, take thee, Teresa Elizabeth Essex, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward…”

  This time Tess heard his name clearly. She raised an eyebrow at him. Percival?

  “For better for worse,” Lucius said steadily, still holding her hands in his and looking down at her, “for richer for poorer…”

  Not that money was a problem for him, for them, Tess thought. Perhaps it would be easier for them if there weren’t so much money. But she dismissed the idea as ridiculous.

  “In sickness and in health,” Lucius continued, “to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  She met Lucius’s eyes. ’Twas was a grave thing they were doing. She had a sudden flash of blinding joy that she was plighting her troth to Lucius and not to Mayne.

  “I, Teresa Elizabeth Essex, take thee, Lucius John Percival Felton, to my wedded husband,” she said, hanging on to his hands, “to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey…”

  Then before she had time to think again, he brushed a chaste kiss on her cheek, took her arm, and they turned about. Annabel was crying, and Josie was grinning. Rafe was instructing Brinkley to pop the corks on as many bottles of champagne as he could find in the cellar.

  “A short repast,” he shouted, waving a glass and grinning, “then we shall see the wedding couple off to their own abode.”

  Tess blinked and looked at Lucius.

  “I have a house just an hour or so down the road,” he said to her. “I thought we might have a brief time to ourselves.”

  “Shouldn’t we go immediately to London?” Tess asked confusedly, thinking of the need to whisk Annabel away from Rafe’s house.

  But he merely said, “Your sisters will be fine. Lady Griselda has agreed to stay as chaperone.”

  Tess frowned, but:

  “Trust me, Tess?”

  She met his eyes. “Yes.” And that was that.

  Just one moment stood out clearly in the next few hours: when she sat in front of her dressing table preparing to leave, with Annabel and Josie sitting on the bed behind her. Josie was crying a little because, as she said, “Imogen would love to be here. And now we’ll never all be sisters together again. It won’t be the same.”

  “It will be better,” Annabel said. “Tess, you are married
to the richest man in England! Our sister will be the richest woman in England.”

  Josie interjected. “By all accounts, William Beckford of Fonthill Abbey is the most wealthy man in England.”

  Tess wrinkled her nose at them. “And what would Miss Flecknoe say of this vulgar conversation?”

  “Do you suppose that your husband owns a castle?” Josie asked. “It’s possible that you will be the Lady of the Castle. Oh, my, Tess, how lucky you are!”

  “A castle,” Tess repeated.

  “I’m certain that he will have some such structure,” Annabel put in. “All the heroes in novels have castles. Who better to be in a castle than the richest man in England?”

  “Kings belong in castles,” Tess said firmly, pushing one last hairpin into place, “not plain folk such as we.”

  Josie hooted. “Plain folk! You’re dreaming, Tess!”

  Annabel met Tess’s eyes in the mirror. “Josie, I would like a moment or two alone with Tess, if you please.”

  Josie narrowed her eyes. “If you’re going to talk of mating, I am fully aware of the particulars.”

  “I shouldn’t advise Miss Flecknoe of that fact,” Annabel said, pushing her out the door.

  “I too am acquainted with the matter,” Tess remarked, noticing that her hands were trembling slightly. “And we discussed the subject last night, Annabel.”

  “It has always seemed to me that being acquainted with the fundamentals of such domestic activity and actually engaging in it oneself are not the same thing,” Annabel said firmly. “Are you frightened?”

  Tess thought about it for a moment. “A bit. I hope I can acquit myself properly, whatever that means under the circumstances.”

  “It seems a thoroughly tasteless business.” Annabel sighed. “From what I’ve learned, Tess, the important thing is to endure it in a smiling fashion. Mrs. Howland, in the village, told me that there’s nothing a man dislikes more than being refused one’s company.”

  Tess thought about Mrs. Howland’s generosity.

  “But let’s not be needlessly disheartened,” Annabel continued. “There must be something appealing about it, or there wouldn’t be so many children in the world.”

  “Do try to hide your rather less than maternal nature when you’re in London, won’t you?” Tess said, amused.

  “I doubt that many men choose a spouse on the grounds of maternal longings,” Annabel said. “And if the gentleman I choose shows that propensity, I am certain I can prevaricate on the subject long enough to catch his attention.”

  Annabel was always certain that she could do whatever was called for: pretend to maternal virtues, capture the heart of all and sundry, endure any number of intimate unpleasantries in a smiling fashion…

  “I wish I had your confidence,” Tess said, standing up and giving her reflection one last glance. There was no excuse for not returning to the drawing room, where her husband was waiting. Lucius’s carriage was waiting; her new marriage was waiting, like a set of clothing that she had not yet put on.

  “I shall doubtless be trembling like a cornered hare when it is actually my turn to take to the marital bed,” Annabel said lightly. “But at least I shall have the benefit of your advice. Thank goodness, we have never been reluctant to discuss anything at length. I shall want to know even the smallest details when I see you next week.”

  Tess turned and gave her a fierce hug in farewell. But inside, she was thinking that Annabel didn’t yet understand. Tess could not imagine pouring a description of whatever was to come between herself and Lucius into her sister’s ears.

  Truly, as Josie had said, things would never be the same.

  Chapter

  27

  It turned out that Lucius owned the most elegant carriage that Tess had ever seen, let alone ridden in. It was painted a dark glossy green and drawn by exquisite matched grays.

  Tess kissed Annabel, ignoring the twinkle in her eye, and kissed Josie, promising to see her very soon and write every day. She sat down on the velvet seats, and looked at the small gilded lamps, at the cloth of gold fringe—

  “Do you find it overlavish?” her husband asked.

  Her husband!

  Tess couldn’t even think what to say. There was only one thought in her mind, and sure she was a wicked doxy to have such a thought at all. She felt almost dizzy with it. Fearful and yet—

  How did one deal with the embarrassment? With the humiliation of it all? Would Gussie put her in a nightgown and leave her in bed? Would Mr. Felton undress her? She devoutly hoped that wasn’t the case. For one thing, she had no corset. She did have a lovely chemise, thanks to Lady Griselda, but what if it were damaged? Annabel had been so certain that the prelude to mating was a gentleman ripping off his wife’s clothing.

  Nothing Tess said could dissuade her. “They rip the clothing off their wife’s body,” she had said the previous night, with distinct relish.

  “That is simply unlikely,” Tess had said. “Look at the smithy and his wife, for example. Mr. Helgarson has six children. Obviously he and his wife have…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Don’t be so missish!” Annabel had said. “You’re a married woman now. I bet Mr. Helgarson loves the bed-sheet dance!”

  “Well, if I’m almost a married woman, what’s your excuse? Where do you learn these vulgar terms!” Tess had scolded.

  “From the maids. Anyway, husbands of twenty years duration may not engage in clothing-ripping, but I am absolutely certain that newlyweds do. Absolutely certain. The man can’t wait, you know. He’s—he’s like a stallion in the springtime.” The girls had never been allowed to see a mating, of course, but no one could be around a stable without understanding a stallion’s main reason for living.

  “Why,” Annabel had added, “if your husband doesn’t rip off your clothing, it would be a sign of a virtual lack of interest in the act, don’t you think? As if you’d already been married for years. In fact, Felton will probably tear your clothes off right there in the carriage!”

  Now Tess looked at the little spark in her husband’s eyes and had no doubt that if ripping clothing was a prelude that indicated interest, Lucius was likely to start ripping.

  She had never felt stupider in her life. How does one say: please do not destroy my clothing until I have more? Was there some way that she could delay the inevitable? Fall sick? Plead her monthly? But then what would happen when her monthly did arrive? Oh, why had Mama died, and left her without advice? Tess bit her lip hard. Soon it would all be over, and she could just accustom herself to married life.

  “My house in these parts is not far past the ruins we visited the other day,” Lucius said. He was still watching her.

  Tess summoned up a smile. “How lovely,” she murmured.

  “I thought we might stop for a picnic. Rafe’s cook packed us a hamper.”

  “Oh,” Tess said flatly. It seemed her new husband wasn’t nearly as eager as she had thought to—she wrenched her mind away. It almost felt as if she—no! “That would be wonderful! I adore the ruins!”

  Lucius swallowed a grin. It seemed his new bride had a thing or two on her mind. But he meant to begin as he would go on. He had a busy life. He traveled frequently and alone. He and Tess had to establish a comfortable married life now: one that promised pleasant company during those days when they happened to be together and pleasant recreation at night, if he happened to be in the same house as she, and they were both amenable.

  He had thought about it a great deal, and as long as he never played the part of a passionate husband, he would protect her from falling into the illusion that he was one. In other words, that he would protect her from the illusion that he was—or would ever be—in love with her. A normal groom wouldn’t even consider stopping in a field for a picnic. But they weren’t that sort of couple. They were a less intimate couple. He didn’t want that sort of intimacy: it suggested too many hidden promises that he would fail to keep. Being that kind of couple would break Tess’s heart.
/>
  If there was one thing that Lucius was quite sure about, it was that he couldn’t bear to see disappointment in Tess’s eyes. If she were well aware of his limitations, she would never be disillusioned.

  “I’m hungry,” he remarked. “And since it’s an hour to my house, I’m sure we would be quite uncomfortable if we ignore our appetites.”

  Her eyes widened again, but she nodded. Obviously, she thought that those just wed didn’t feel hunger.

  The only problem with Lucius’s scheme was that it was damned hard to keep his hands off her. Tess was sitting opposite him, her slender body swaying with the motion of the coach, and all he could think about was pulling her into his arms like the most miserable kind of rascal. He was thinking perfectly rational thoughts about their future, and yet some part of his mind engaged in frenzied thoughts of an entirely different tenor.

  What’s more, that part of his mind was making an attempt to control his body, too. Lucius casually pulled the fold of his greatcoat over his lap. There was nothing wrong with thinking about what he wanted to do. In fact, what he would do once they were in their dark bedroom, and the proper amount of time had passed after dinner so that she understood that marital proceedings had a small part in his life, a circumscribed, pleasurable—of course, he would make it pleasurable—

  For a moment his rational mind slipped its control, and his head reeled with an image of Tess in a glow of candlelight…he would stand before her, kiss her—no. Rub a thumb over the peak of her breast. She would tremble in his arms; he would drink from her sweet mouth, that wicked mouth, drink deep—

  No.

  His loins were raging, and his control was slipping. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes.

  “I do believe that I’ll take a brief nap,” he said to her. His voice was rusty with desire, but surely she would never recognize the note. He looked at her through his eyelashes. Tess looked disconcerted. Good. It was working. She was coming to understand that he wasn’t a man of strong emotion.

  Of course, he did have one strong emotion. At the moment he was a raging mass of animal lust, every muscle tensed to stop himself from leaping across the seat, kissing her, begging her to forget his stupidity, showing her every way that he could that he was possessed—nay, dying for the touch of her lip. For the touch of her finger…