Save a Horse, Ride a Viscount

by Valerie Bowman

  “I must ask you one question, Thea. An important one.”

  She nodded and averted her gaze, turning her head to the side. “Very well.”

  Her profile was every bit as striking as her face. The outline of her long, graceful neck was visible in the candlelight. Her pulse hammered at the base of her throat. She was nervous. So was he.

  Ewan took a deep breath. This wouldn’t be an easy question to ask. But he had to know the answer. “Why did you refuse to marry me?”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed, and she turned her gaze back to meet his. “Why would you ask me that? I thought it would be quite obvious.”

  He clenched his jaw. “It wasn’t. Not to me.”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle and turned toward the mantel, her back toward him. “I refuse to allow idle gossip to dictate my life.”

  Ewan stalked toward her and spun her around to face him. He stared down into her eyes. Was it his imagination or was there a sheen of tears there? “I don’t believe you. You’re not telling the truth. At least not all of it.” He wanted to see her face when she lied to him.

  Thea’s nostrils flared. She raised her chin to meet his gaze. “Very well. Let me be more blunt. I did not want to marry a man I do not love.”

  Ewan dropped her arm and stepped back quickly as if she’d just struck him. He swallowed the large lump that had been forming in his throat since he’d begun speaking. He gritted his teeth. He would not allow her to see how her words had hurt him. Of course, she didn’t love him. She’d been forced to stay at his house to heal from a broken bone. They’d spent some time together, he’d kissed her once, that hardly meant they’d fallen in love. He’d been a fool to think she might have more intimate feelings toward him than she did.

  “Of course,” he breathed. “I understand. I shall not bother you again.”

  Thea reached a hand toward him. Her voice softened. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate all that you’ve done—”

  Ewan shook his head slightly. “You needn’t say more.” He turned toward the door, about to walk away from her. He could live the rest of his life—he would live the rest of his life—without seeing Lady Theodora Ballard ever again.

  But her hand on his wrist stopped him. “Ewan, wait—”

  Without thinking, he whirled around and pulled her into his arms. His lips crushed down on hers and he kissed her with all the passion he felt for her. He may never speak to her again, but he would have this one last kiss to remember her by.

  To his utter surprise, she kissed him back. It was more than he’d ever hoped for, but she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and lifted up on tiptoes, kissing him back with every bit as much ardor as he’d demonstrated.

  His hands moved to her hair. Then they cupped her face and keep her mouth glued to his. He stroked her cheek enjoying ever little sob, every little groan she made in the back of her throat as his tongue plunged into her mouth again and again. He turned her sharply and pushed her back against the nearby wall, needing to get closer to her, to touch her. He broke the contact of their mouths only momentarily to reach down and pull up her skirts. His hand on her thigh gave him an instant cockstand. The soft, warm skin bared to his hand made him tremble.

  Thea gasped at his touch, but she did not stop him. Instead, when his mouth found hers again, her tongue met his with equal force. His mouth moved to her cheek, her temple, her ear as his hands skimmed up her legs, above her stockings. His palm cupped first her cool bare hip and then moved around to her buttocks, pulling her tight against him. Thea gasped against his mouth, her head tipping back and her eyes closing. Ewan was rock-hard.

  His lips were on her throat, sucking her, tasting her, when the door to the drawing room swung open.

  “I could have sworn I saw them come in here,” came a female voice.

  Ewan immediately dropped Thea’s skirts and stepped away from her, but not before Lady Hepplewhite and her daughter saw them. The ladies’ eyes were round as carriage wheels and in just a moment’s time, the expression on Lady Hepplewhite’s face turned from aghast shock to unmitigated glee.

  “Oh, my dear,” Lady Hepplewhite said to her daughter, pushing the girl back out the door, “do close your eyes. It seems as if we’ve just stumbled upon Lord Clayton and Lady Theodora in a most compromising position.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Two hours later, Thea sat in her bedchamber atop her bed, her hair disheveled, her ballgown wrinkled, and the mistletoe that had once rested in her coiffure, thrown to the floor. She stared at the offended little flower as if it were responsible for her trouble.

  What in heaven’s name had she been thinking? Yes, Ewan had come into the sitting room, and yes, she should have insisted they both leave immediately, but she’d been the one to grab his wrist and worse, she’d been the one who didn’t push him away when he kissed her. Not only did she fail to push him away, she leaned up on tiptoes for heaven’s sake. Tiptoes weren’t employed by accident!

  She’d wrapped her foolish arms around his blasted neck and lifted herself up in order to kiss him more soundly for the love of all that was holy. And if that wasn’t reckless enough, she hadn’t just allowed him to pull up her skirts and touch her, she’d welcomed it. There was no doubt about it. She was fully one half to blame for the ensuing chaos.

  Lady Hepplewhite had wasted no time in retreating from the room with her daughter in tow and spreading the tale of what she’d witnessed all across the ballroom. Thea had waited for the lady to go before she’d run from the room and up the back staircase to her bedchamber. She’d asked Maggie to go listen at doors to find out what was happening.

  “Lord Clayton has been in your father’s study this entire time and your father is on the way up here,” Maggie had reported moments earlier before slipping away into the adjoining room to give Thea privacy for the reckoning with her father.

  This time there was no knock. Her father opened her bedchamber door with such force it bounced against the far wall. Thea winced.

  He stalked into the room, pure anger on his face. “Theodora,” his voice boomed. “I refuse to argue or negotiate with you. I’ve just come from the study where Lord Clayton and I have signed the marriage contract. The wedding will take place directly after Twelfth Night. Prepare yourself to marry. I don’t care if I have to lock you in this room until then.”

  He glared at her, no doubt ready for her to argue with him, to refuse. But Thea knew what she’d done. She no longer had the refuge of righteousness or anger. She’d been a full party to this. And she was about to ruin her own life and Clayton’s as a result.

  “Very well, Father,” she replied, kicking at the discarded mistletoe with her stockinged foot. She forced herself to lift her head and meet her father’s disapproving stare.

  Her father narrowed his eyes on her, clearly not trusting her display of acquiescence. “You agree?”

  “Yes.” She nodded slowly. “I know what I’ve done, and I am ready to accept the consequences.”

  She couldn’t muster much sympathy for Clayton this time, however, he had kissed her. She had warned him that they should leave the room. Obviously, they were attracted to each other. That was something. It might not be enough to base a marriage upon, but at least they would have that.

  But she couldn’t stop hearing her mother’s words in her head. She was going to marry a man who didn’t love her. She felt as if she would retch.

  “Very well,” Father retorted, obviously willing to leave well enough alone. “I shall inform Maggie that you should prepare your trousseau. Tomorrow we can discuss the details of the marriage contract.”

  “Fine,” Thea replied, staring unseeing at the wall.

  Father retreated quickly from the room, leaving Thea to fall back upon the bed and curl into a small ball. Oh, why had Ewan come here tonight? He’d said he had an important question to ask her. He’d asked her why she’d refused to marry him. Could it be that his pride was hurt? She’d told him the first t
hing that had come to mind, that she refused to allow gossip to ruin her life. He’d essentially called her a liar, forcing her to tell him something that he would find more believable. “I did not want to marry a man I do not love,” she’d shot back at him. The look on his face had been hurt. That surprised her. The truth—that she couldn’t bring herself to tell him—was she didn’t want to marry a man who didn’t love her. But now, now she was going to do just that, and no amount of guilt or recrimination would make that untrue.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Ewan stood at the altar of the little village church as Thea walked down the aisle toward him. He hadn’t seen her since the night of the Christmastide ball. Both he and Lord Blackstone had agreed that would be for the best. Blackstone had sent word, however, that Thea was willing to marry him. Apparently, she agreed that after Lady Hepplewhite’s gossip, there was no other choice. An unconfirmed story in the Times was one thing. Lady Hepplewhite and her daughter seeing it with their own eyes was quite another.

  Thea walked toward Ewan looking as if she were walking toward an executioner. She looked small. Small and frightened, almost like a little girl. The bouquet of winter lilies she held in her hands was trembling slightly and her mouth remained a thin, unhappy line as she made her way to stand beside him.

  The church was nearly empty on this cold, January morning. Lord Blackstone, Anthony, Maggie, and Lord Theodore Harding, Thea’s uncle, stood at the pews on Thea’s side. Only Bell and Dr. Blanchard stood on Ewan’s side. Dr. Blanchard had only taken his side to even out the guests. Bell had been the only one of Ewan’s oldest friends who had been able to make it on such short notice. As a Naval officer, Kendall was out of the country and Worth was indisposed. Phillip couldn’t attend and risk being recognized. Ewan’s own mother hadn’t traveled to Devon from London due to the cold. Instead, she’d sent him a letter asking him to bring his new bride to the city for a visit the first chance he got.

  Meanwhile, the vicar spoke the words that would bind Ewan and Thea together for life and Thea didn’t even glance at him. Instead, she kept her eyes trained on the vicar, a half-stunned, half-resigned look on her face. It was as if she were attending a funeral instead of her own wedding.

  Guilt pummeled Ewan’s conscience with every word the clergyman spoke. Ewan was forcing a young woman to marry him. A young woman who clearly didn’t want him. She’d said as much. She hadn’t wanted him after the gossip about them appeared in the Times and she didn’t want him now. The only difference was, now she was trapped. And he’d been the one to trap her. Not on purpose, never that. But he’d been the one who’d followed her to the drawing room, waited for her father to leave, and then forced her to speak to him. She’d even told him she wanted to leave the room, precisely because she was fearful they’d be seen together. But Ewan insisted she stay. There was no doubt in his mind that he was entirely to blame for what happened between them that night and he was ruining this poor young woman’s life by forcing her into an unwanted marriage.

  Ewan, too, kept his eyes trained on the vicar, repeating the words that sealed their fate. When it was over, when they were well and truly married and had signed the record book, they turned to face their friends. Their faces completely blank, they promptly left the altar in opposite directions.

  The wedding party piled into three different coaches to return to Ewan’s estate. The wedding breakfast was a tense and awkward affair held in the dining room at Clayton Manor. Dr. Blanchard and Lord Theodore did their best to keep the conversation going. Meanwhile, Ewan cleared his throat uncomfortably, Thea poked at her meal without consuming a bite, and Anthony and Bell drank brandy at ten o’clock in the morning.

  After the breakfast had mercifully ended, all of the guests, except Bell and Maggie, took their leave. Ewan and Thea walked everyone to the door. Lord Blackstone kissed his daughter on the cheek without saying a word, while Anthony clapped Ewan on the shoulder. “Congratulations, old man. Best of luck.” Then he hugged his sister and slipped out the door.

  Lord Theodore made a long, unwieldy speech about how proud he was of his only niece having married at last. Then he welcomed Ewan into the family. Ewan did his best to be gracious, while wishing the older man would simply take his leave.

  Immediately after the door closed behind the group, Thea turned to Ewan with a stonelike look on her face and said, “I should greatly like to take a nap.”

  “Of course. It’s been a long morning,” Ewan replied with an equal lack of emotion. He had no objection to her plan. How could he? He was trapped somewhere between wanting to take a nap himself and wanting to join Bell in the study to drink. After Thea had disappeared up the staircase, Ewan opted for the latter.

  The moment Ewan entered the study, Bell held up a glass. The marquess was already sitting in front of Ewan’s desk with two brandy glasses filled. “Congratulations, Clayton! I know I speak for Kendall and Worth as well when I say, we’d never have thought you’d be the first to tie the parson’s noose around your neck.”

  Ewan readily took the glass from his friend and walked around his desk to sit. “Really? Who did you think would be first?”

  “I suppose I always thought it would be Kendall,” Bell replied. “He’ll need a countess sooner or later, now that he’s an earl.”

  Ewan nodded slowly. Their group of friends all knew that Kendall, who’d been a second son at the time, had been tossed over by a young woman who had received an offer of marriage from a baron. It had greatly affected Kendall. The man hadn’t attempted to court another lady since. But now that his brother had died and he was the earl, Kendall wouldn’t have the luxury of remaining a bachelor. “I suppose you’re right,” Ewan agreed. He tugged at his cravat to loosen the thing. He was convinced it had been about to choke him all morning.

  “But there’s plenty of time for all of that,” Bell continued, raising his glass in the air for a toast. “Here’s to you and your new viscountess. May you have decades of happiness together.”

  Ewan dutifully raised his glass and drank, but he highly doubted he and Thea would have decades of happiness. Not given the way their marriage had begun.

  Ewan spent the next several hours trying to drink away the memory of the unhappy look on Thea’s face as she’d marched down the aisle toward him this morning. He’d ruined her life today. She’d called him an ass the day they’d met. She was bloody well right.

  By the time Ewan took his leave from Bell that evening, he was not nearly inebriated enough. Oh, he’d drunk enough. Plenty. But he still had his wits about him. The only thing that could make him more of an ass on his wedding night would be being a drunken ass. And he had no intention of making Thea’s day any worse.

  To that end, he’d waited long enough. He’d remained in the study with Bell for hours. It was well past dinner time. He’d hidden from his new wife long enough. No matter what happened between them tonight, it was time for the reckoning.

  “Good night, old chap,” he said, standing, walking around his desk, and clapping Bell on the shoulder.

  “Good night,” Bell replied, lifting the last sip of his brandy in the air. “I do believe I’ll go to bed myself. But first I’ll stop in the library and get something to read.”

  As Ewan climbed the stairs to his bedchamber, he found himself envying his friend for his ability to simply climb into his bed and read tonight. Ewan, however, had to go have what was certain to be an awkward conversation with his new wife about how they intended to spend their wedding night.

  Ewan entered his bedchamber and quietly closed the door behind him. His gaze immediately fell on the door that joined his room to Thea’s. She had to be in the adjoining bedchamber. Was she expecting him to come to her or did she want nothing to do with him? He ripped his cravat from around his neck and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He wasn’t just an ass. He was also a fool. A man should go to his wife on their wedding night. Instead, he was hemming and hawing in his room like an untried school lad.

  First, he
divested himself of his coat. Then he spent an inordinate amount of time pulling off his boots and stockings, then he crossed his arms behind his neck and pulled off his shirt.

  Wearing only his breeches, he paced toward her door. He paced away. He cursed himself for a fool a half dozen times.

  The faintest knock sounded on the door between their bedchambers. “Come in,” he called, the breath catching in his throat.

  The door opened slowly, and Thea stood there in a filmy concoction of white lace that made her look positively delectable. Her long, dark hair was down around her shoulders and the nightrail she was wearing was nearly see-through. Ewan’s throat went dry. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He gulped.

  She walked barefooted into his bedchamber with tentative steps and tossed her hair across her shoulders before looking directly at him and saying, “Should we get this over with?”

  Chapter Forty

  Thea felt like an idiot. She was wearing the most ridiculous frothy ensemble of lace and gossamer she’d ever seen. And of course it was white of all embarrassing colors. Days ago, Maggie had attempted to involve her in the choice of her wedding night attire, but Thea’s only response had been a glare. She’d left the details to Maggie, who, of course had never had a wedding night, and so it was Thea’s own fault that she was now dressed like a confection, standing in front of Ewan looking like a powdered puff pastry.

  She might not know much about marriage, but she knew enough to know that married people were supposed to spend their wedding night together. In bed. She’d spent the last few hours with a litany of questions scrolling through her mind: Would Ewan even want to bed her? Or was he still angry with her for ruining his plans with his fiancée? Who was his fiancée? Did Thea even want to know? Probably not. Knowing the identity of the woman Ewan truly wanted was certain to only make the thought of it that much more excruciating. No doubt his former fiancée was an accomplished debutante. A darling of the ton. Not a stubborn aged spinster who lived in Devon, was obsessed with a horse, and wore clothing such as this ridiculous puffy nightrail.