Never Kiss a Notorious Marquess

by Renee Ann Miller

  Caroline’s stomach leapt. James had sent a wedding gift.

  Her chest tightened as she lifted the lid. Her breath caught. Inside on a bed of white velvet was an emerald necklace. Diamonds surrounded the large green stone. It was too lovely for words. She lifted it from the box by its gold chain. “Will you help me put it on, Father?”

  As Father clasped it, the heavy weight of the stones settled against her chest, adding to her already oppressive guilt. It appeared she wouldn’t be able to tell James she was C. M. Smith until after the ceremony.

  She just hoped he didn’t really commit murder when he found out.

  * * *

  “Bugger it,” James mumbled, straightening the knot of his four-in-hand neckcloth. “Blasted thing is crooked.”

  “Well, it wasn’t until you touched it,” Reilly said. “You’re as fidgety as a cat in heat.”

  He narrowed his eyes at Reilly.

  It had little effect on his childhood friend, who grinned broadly as he straightened the collar on James’s morning coat. “You’re getting married, not heading to the gallows.”

  He knew that, and Caroline was lovely. She made him feel young and alive, like a pubescent schoolboy. Perhaps that was why he’d dreamed of children last night. Not one or two cherubic offspring, but a house full of grown boys. Five to be exact. They’d favored Caroline’s coloring, but they’d acted like Anthony. In his dream, all five had been arrested at a brothel after they’d fought over the same ginger-haired prostitute. He’d awoken in a cold sweat.

  “Ah, I forgot,” Reilly said, drawing James from his thoughts. The man withdrew a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to him. “I found this inside the pocket of one of your coats.”

  It was the note Caroline had written last week asking him to come quickly because of Anthony. He’d been so startled that night, he’d not realized how lovely her handwriting was with its curling, graceful lines and upward flourish at the end of each word.

  “I’ll go see if your carriage is ready.” Reilly strode from the room.

  James tossed the paper into the cooling grate. The bottom corner of the parchment darkened.

  An odd recollection settled in his mind. He’d seen that feminine script before. He snatched the note up. The charred edges crumbled and drifted to the stone hearth as he stared at it.

  Reilly stepped back in the room. “Ready?”

  “Yes, but I’ve got to get something from my study first.” He brushed past the man.

  Grandmother and his siblings waited by the foot of the stairs. The dowager was smiling like a cat with a yellow canary feather dangling from its feline lips. Her smile faded. “What’s wrong, Huntington? You’re paler than Anthony.”

  “I think I look rather dashing.” Anthony tugged down his silk waistcoat, then grimaced as he set his hand over his lower ribs.

  Their voices became muffled as the pounding in James’s head grew louder. He stormed past them, flung the study door open, and removed the articles from his desk that C. M. Smith had written for the London Reformer. He set Caroline’s note next to the journalist’s top article, the one that maligned him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment, then studied the penmanship again.

  The writing was identical. Every little nuance the same. It couldn’t be. He slammed his fist on the desk.

  “Huntington, what’s this about?” Grandmother asked from the doorway. “We’re going to be late to the church.”

  James shoved the letters and the note back into the drawer. “We can’t have that, can we? My sweet bride-to-be awaits me.”

  The words sounded calm, even though anger raged within him.

  * * *

  At the doors to St. George’s nave, Father nodded at Caroline. “Ready?”

  “Father, won’t you please tell Lord Huntington I must converse with him?”

  “I’ve told you, Daughter, it’s too late.” He peered inside the church. “Lord Huntington is already standing at the altar next to Reverend Howarth.”

  Two young altar boys swung open the doors. The sun streaming through the Flemish glass sent shards of colored light over the occupants in the church. The strumming in her chest picked up speed as they walked to the altar.

  Her gaze traveled over James’s back. Her future husband’s morning coat accentuated the breadth of his broad shoulders and the power contained below the superfine cloth.

  As if filled with concrete, her feet slowed. Father shot her a warning look. “Don’t be foolish, Daughter. You made your choice. Now you must stand by it.”

  Father didn’t understand. He believed her frightened, and she was, but for a different reason than he thought.

  James turned and peered at her. The smile he’d flashed so easily yesterday before leaving Grosvenor Square was gone.

  Her stomach knotted.

  Anthony, next to James, smiled at her. He seemed unaware of the scowl marring his brother’s face.

  She gazed at the boxed pews. The dowager was staring at her eldest grandson, a perplexed expression on her visage.

  Caroline took her place before the chancel next to James.

  His dark eyes held hers for several heartbeats. He acknowledged her with nothing more than a slight incline of his head before he turned and faced the rector.

  As if water engulfed her, breathing seemed almost impossible. Her chest tightened and burned. James looked like the man she’d met at Beatrice Walker’s speech. The unsmiling man everyone had feared.

  Her heart pounded as the reverend opened the Book of Common Prayer. “Dearly beloved,” he intoned. The words that followed echoed through the large space, floating upward to the arched ceiling.

  As the clergyman spoke, she stole another glance at James. Surely, it was not repulsion in his eyes? No, her nerves colored her view of the man beside her. James, for all his strength and assuredness, must be experiencing the same turmoil assailing her.

  She followed James’s gaze. He seemed to be studying the painting of the Last Supper that hung above the altar, more specifically Judas, who stood to the left. The minister said something to James. His regard shifted back to the clergyman. “I do.”

  The minister spoke again, then arched a brow at her. Dryness prickled her mouth, causing her to mumble her lines.

  A few minutes later, James took her right hand in his. His normally warm fingers were cool against her skin. Without inflection, he spoke the vows that would bind them as husband and wife. Each word was crisp and clear—sharp as a razor’s edge. Each syllable deadly for its lack of emotion.

  As if in a dream, she seemed to float above, watching it all unfold as she recited her vows and listened to the rector.

  James spoke again, and cool metal was slipped onto her finger—an enormous emerald with diamonds that matched the necklace he’d given her earlier.

  These gifts spoke of something, yet his expression remained distant, his eyes angry. Accusing. Not even his long lashes softened the hard stare he cast upon her.

  Panic overwhelmed her. She peered at the long aisle toward the doors. As though James sensed her desire to flee, his fingers tightened about her hand.

  The minister’s words echoed about her. “. . . have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  James released her hand, as though it singed his skin.

  A lead weight settled in her middle. No, it wasn’t nervousness on his part. Something was clearly wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  James climbed into the landau and sat next to Caroline. While in the church, a fine mist had fallen and his coachman had raised the carriage’s roof. At the altar, he’d tried to ignore the enticing floral scent drifting off Caroline’s skin. Here, in this confined space, it was impossible.

  He crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned back against the squabs. Yesterday, he’d envisioned thi
s ride from the church to his father-in-law’s Grosvenor Square residence. He’d thought of how he would pull Caroline onto his lap, then kiss her senseless while his hands dipped underneath her skirts, a prelude to what he’d do to her tonight. Now, he was trying to figure out why he’d gone through with the wedding. Perhaps it was nothing more than the thought of her being forced to marry that bastard Hamby. Or her father casting her out if she refused to, and the gossip she’d endure. Or that he loved her, more than he wished to admit.

  Caroline frowned at him and squared her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  Soon enough, she would learn he’d uncovered her deception. He forced a smile, knowing it was weak. He’d never been skilled at acting, unlike Caroline, who seemed born to tread the boards. “Wrong? Whatever could be wrong, my sweet?”

  A line pinched between her brows and she took a deep breath, causing her chest to rise. For modesty’s sake, she wore a piece of lace over her gown’s revealing neckline. With the tip of his finger, he lowered the delicate fabric, exposing the creamy swell of her breasts and the necklace he’d bought her. The large emerald gathered the moderate light streaming through the windows, then reflected it back. Like the matching wedding ring, he’d chosen the stone because of her green eyes.

  Lovely eyes that camouflaged her deceitful soul.

  “It’s beautiful, James. Thank you.”

  Forcing a smile, he lifted the pendant, gripping the cool metal in his hand. He wanted to tug the necklace off her pretty neck. It reminded him of the fool he’d played. Instead, he dangled it over her cleavage, allowing the hard surface to softly touch her skin.

  Her breathing turned shallow, and she wet her lips.

  His cock jerked to attention.

  Damnation. He released the pendant and peered out the window. Anger eased up his throat like bile. Anger at his father for pissing away the family’s wealth and forcing him into his first loveless marriage. And anger at himself for allowing Caroline to make him believe this marriage would be different from his first.

  * * *

  “I’m so glad we are sisters,” Nina said.

  “As am I,” Caroline replied, glancing at James, who stood across the room at her father’s residence. During the wedding breakfast, her husband had engaged everyone in conversation, except her. Now he spent his time chatting with Anthony and her cousin Edward.

  Nina set her hand on Caroline’s sleeve and motioned to them. “Lord Thorton is not married?”

  Caroline blinked. Did the girl not realize who Edward was? His reputation as a heartless womanizer usually preceded him. He was not looking for marriage. The women who normally interested him were worldly and surely not innocent. “He is widowed, and though I love him as dearly as I would an older brother, he is not the type of man you should seek the company of.”

  Nina’s eyes widened. Not with shock as Caroline had predicted but with unfettered interest. “Really?”

  “I must warn you away from him,” Caroline said.

  Her sister-in-law’s lower lip protruded. “You sound like James.”

  “Your brother is wise. Involving yourself with my cousin will ruin your chances of a good match.”

  There was a sure way to dampen Nina’s ardor. Caroline pointed at Edward’s five-year-old daughter, who sat on a settee giggling at something George was saying. “Anyone who marries my cousin will become a stepmama to his dear Anabelle.”

  Nina frowned. “That’s his daughter?”

  “Yes. Perhaps he could be convinced to marry again, if he found the perfect mother for the child. Someone to care for her. Tend to her. Raise her as her own.”

  Nina’s nose scrunched up as if the odor of rotten eggs assailed it. “I do believe Lord Thorton might be a bit old for me.”

  “Yes, I think you are right.”

  A heavy hand settled on Caroline’s shoulder. “It’s time to go,” James said.

  Warmth seeped into her skin where he touched her. “I have things I wish to collect.”

  “Your trunks are already on their way to Essex.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Essex?”

  “Yes, we’re going to Trent Hall. My siblings and perhaps my grandmother will follow in a day or two.”

  “I need to inform my lady’s maid. She is to come, as well.”

  “No need. She left earlier with your belongings.”

  “I will say goodbye to my father and cousins.”

  He nodded and leaned close, spoke for her ears alone. “Hurry, my love. I’m most anxious to be alone with you.”

  A shiver chased down her spine. The words should have held softness, a longing and the promise of sensual delight, but she didn’t miss the foreboding tone or the unsettling gleam in his dark eyes.

  * * *

  The silence in the first-class compartment on the train from London to Essex had seemed deafening—if silence could be described in such terms. James had spoken few words since they’d left her father’s residence. During the interminable journey, he’d kept his face buried in what looked to be business documents. Several times, she’d contemplated snatching them from his hands and tossing them out the window. Instead, she’d continued watching the pastoral views outside, pretending his taciturn behavior was of little consequence.

  Now that they were in his carriage and making their way to Trent Hall, he remained withdrawn. Several times, she’d caught him staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

  The carriage rumbled between the wrought iron gates of Trent Hall and down a long, winding road. Ash trees lined both sides. Their branches arched across the drive, touching like recalcitrant lovers unable to stop themselves from drawing near to each other.

  The meandering road straightened, and James’s Essex residence came into view. When not viewed under the haze of a morning mist, while scurrying away in haste wearing riding boots several sizes too large, the country house was breathtaking.

  Like many grand residences, it appeared to have evolved over time, growing larger with each lord’s desire to place his mark on its history. The façade was an impressive sight with its Palladian windows set in cream-colored stone and a sizable balustrade which ran the perimeter of the roofline.

  On the steps, under the lowering sun, a line of servants stood waiting to greet them. James exited the carriage and offered his hand to assist her down, releasing her fingers the moment her feet touched the ground.

  Maggie stood amongst the staff, dressed in a crisp navy gown with a delicate lace collar. Relief drifted over Caroline at the familiar face. Her lady’s maid flashed a quick smile, sobering her expression when the dour-looking housekeeper sent the young lady’s maid a quelling look.

  As Caroline was introduced to the butler, his mouth gaped before he quickly corrected his surprise and welcomed her.

  A flurry of curtseys and bows ensued from the other servants.

  “Mrs. Anderson,” James said to the housekeeper, “will you show Lady Huntington upstairs? It has been an exceedingly long day, and I’m sure she wishes to rest, then take dinner in her room.”

  Caroline blinked at him. How would he know what she desired? He’d not spoken to her. She was tempted to argue, but in truth, she was overtired.

  With an inscrutable expression, his gaze drifted over her. “Until later, my dear.”

  Again, the ominous undertone in his voice didn’t escape her.

  * * *

  The housekeeper’s key ring clinked a metallic tune as the elderly woman led Caroline to the west wing. Her muscles tightened as they approached the bedchamber she’d slept in before—the one connected to James’s by nothing more than a sitting room.

  The woman moved past the door.

  Yesterday, Caroline would have been disappointed at not being placed in the chamber attached to James’s, but not after his distant behavior today.

  Farther down the corridor, Mrs. Anderson opened a door. The lit fireplace sent shards of flickering light over the masculine furnishings and the curtains and c
ounterpane of rich brown velvet with paisley accents in shades of wine. The spicy scent of expensive and familiar shaving soap filled her nose.

  Her breathing quickened. This was worse than the bedchamber adjacent to James’s. This was his room.

  Mrs. Anderson moved to the bedside table, turned up the lamp, and folded the counterpane back, exposing sheets of cream-colored silk. The woman turned to her. “If you require anything, Lady Huntington”—the housekeeper gestured to a bell rope near the bed—“just ring.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you wish your lady’s maid sent up?”

  More than anything, she wanted the familiarity of Maggie and the young maid’s smiling face. “Yes, thank you.”

  A short time after the housekeeper’s departure, a soft knock sounded on the door, and Maggie stepped into the room.

  “Oh, miss, I mean my lady, is it not enchanting here?” Maggie moved to an enormous armoire and flung the doors open. With a wide sweep of her hand, she motioned to Caroline’s clothing inside. “Mrs. Anderson instructed me to put your gowns in here.”

  The housekeeper’s stern face, so different from Mrs. Roth’s congenial one, floated before Caroline’s mind. “Is his lordship’s staff treating you cordially?”

  “They have been more than kind, especially Mr. Reilly.”

  “Mr. Reilly? His lordship’s valet?”

  “Yes, he’s quite nice.”

  Though Father had not allowed any of his staff to attend the wedding ceremony, when introduced to James’s valet on the steps of Trent Hall, Caroline had recognized the man from the church.

  “He appears quite amiable.”

  A small frown crept over the maid’s face. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but are we to stay here long? They whisked me away so fast, I didn’t have a chance to send word to my beau.”

  “I honestly don’t know. I shall see about getting stationery, so you may inform your fellow where you are. Maggie, if you do not wish to stay here, if you wish for a different position at my father’s house, I understand.”

  “No, I’ll be the envy of my family. Lady’s maid to a marchioness. My mama will tell everyone.” Maggie pointed to the brown tufted-velvet chaise in the corner of the room.