Viscount of Vanity

by Tammy Andresen

  She gasped in a breath. It was him. The baroness’s friend.

  His hair was perfectly combed, not a strand out of place. His features were more symmetrical and pleasing than any she had ever seen.

  His clothing was impeccable. Made of fine cloth, not a string was out of place.

  And he was frowning again.

  Likely at her worn dress or her messy hair.

  He had that hard edge of a man who rarely smiled. His shoulders were set in severe, implacable lines or perhaps that was only an allusion because they were so broad compared to his tapered waist.

  She looked down at herself again. She’d put even less effort into her appearance than normal. Who wanted to look good at an event like this?

  In fact, she may have applied herself to having the least appeal possible.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, nibbling at her lip. Was he here to save her? How did he intend to remove her from the auction?

  But she watched in horrid fascination as he drew a pouch from his waistcoat and placed several coins in first her father’s and then the priest’s hands.

  The flash of gold disappeared into her father’s pocket before she could gasp and then he was tottering toward her, throwing open the curtain as his hand wrapped about her upper arm. He gave her a good hard yank out of the chapel.

  She bit back a scream as she stumbled, being half dragged out in front of the pulpit.

  “Forgive me, gentlemen,” Father Michael called. “But there will be no auction today.”

  “What?” she asked, confusion making her already jumpy thoughts scatter to the floor. “No auction?”

  But her words were drowned out by the yells and angry calls of the men who’d been waiting. They did not like being denied the opportunity to bid.

  “That’s enough,” her father yelled. A landed gentleman, she’d heard many of his tirades about the working class. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t launch into one now. She could smell the whisky on his breath and knew he’d been drinking. He was always more volatile when under the influence. “There’s none of you lot that can beat his price and we’d waste all our time letting you try. Go home. Find a bride somewhere else.”

  Father Michael cleared his throat. “There is breakfast in the rectory. Eat before you leave.” Then he turned back to the man who’d just…purchased her? “It’s eleven thirty. We’ve only a half hour to perform the ceremony.”

  “Now?” His spine straightened further.

  “When if not now?” the priest scrunched his brow.

  Gabriella stopped, her eyes surely growing wide. This man was marrying her? Why? He looked positively wretched at the idea. Her own heart turned over in her chest. The last thing she needed was a husband who disdained her as much as her father did.

  “I don’t know.” He clenched his fists. “Don’t you need to post the banns?”

  Father Michaels chuckled. “I’m a priest. I obtained the common license from the bishop. We’ll see the deed done now.”

  The deed done. That was to be her fate.

  Somehow, she wasn’t certain this was actually a rescue. It felt more like a continuation or even…could her situation be worse than it had been with her father?

  Her father tugged her forward and she managed to keep her feet as he roughly planted her at the man’s side.

  “Mr. Melrose, do you have rings?” Father Michaels asked as he turned back toward the altar.

  “I’m afraid I do not,” Mr. Melrose answered.

  She nibbled at her lip as his frown became more severe.

  But Father Michaels didn’t seem to notice. “No matter. I can sell you some for a price, of course.”

  “Of course,” the man repeated. “For a price.” His voice dripped with barely veiled disgust.

  Gabriella swallowed again. Had it sounded as loud as she’d imagined? When he’d agreed to help her this morning, she’d never imagined marrying him. This was ludicrous.

  Though, regardless, she’d have ended up at this pulpit today. She’d just never imagined that it would be him. Mr. Melrose.

  The name didn’t suit. It was a sweet name, implying softness. But this man appeared strong, even hard as his jaw clenched, matching his stony visage.

  Father Michaels stepped away and then returned with two slim bands of gold. She watched as her soon-to-be husband paid for them.

  Then, in the quickest ceremony she’d ever seen or heard, she was wed.

  Had she even been asked to speak the vows? She couldn’t say. They certainly didn’t kiss.

  But as Mr. Melrose presented his arm to her, his brown eyes finally met hers. They were unreadable as he offered his elbow. “My lady.”

  “Mr. Melrose,” she softly replied, slipping her hand into his arm.

  “My lady?” Her father snorted.

  Mr. Melrose ignored him. “Do you have a coat or muff?”

  She shook her head. “Neither.”

  His only answer was for a muscle in his jaw to tic as he started walking her down the aisle.

  While several of the men had dispersed to the rectory, a few stayed, and they gave Mr. Melrose and her hard glares as they passed. One man with a jagged scar running down his cheek raked his gaze up and down her frame as his lips thinned over his teeth. Gabriella dropped her head.

  Mr. Melrose stopped at the last pew, picking up a coat that had been carefully laid across the wooden bench; but rather than placing it on his own shoulders, he draped it over hers.

  Without a word, they stepped out into the cool spring air, a wind making it feel even colder, and then alighted into a carriage.

  Where they were going, she hadn’t the faintest clue, but she aimed to find out.

  * * *

  Austin sat on the bench opposite his new wife and surveyed the woman he’d just married.

  His eyes drifted closed.

  He’d bloody married her.

  Had Abigail known that would be the only way to save her? He’d considered just stealing Gabriella away, but then what? It was illegal, and even his title might not save him from prosecution for kidnapping.

  And somehow, when he’d looked at her, he made up his mind. She was too delicate a creature to leave with those men.

  Still. What in bloody blue blazes was he going to do with a wife?

  But then images began to filter through his mind. Thoughts of what exactly he could do with the stunning Gabriella in his bed.

  He shut those thoughts down. He’d never allow him to lose control like that again.

  He knew what the doctors said. That he was cured. That he’d never suffer another attack. What if they were wrong?

  Fear still lived in the back of his mind. He’d spent so much energy avoiding them, and so much work into strengthening his lungs. Even now, he began every day with exercise meant to push the muscles in his body as far as they would go until his chest heaved with the effort.

  One might argue that with sex, he’d test the very limits, but when he exercised, ran, or boxed, or skipped a rope, he was highly in tune with his own body. He knew its limits. Lost in pleasure, however…

  “Why did you do that?” she asked, her hands clasping in her lap.

  He gave his head a shake. “Do what?” Had he missed something? He’d been rather taken with his thoughts.

  Her lips pressed into a thin line. At least, that was what he thought she was attempting. They were so full, it was difficult to contain them. “Marry me, of course.”

  He frowned, assessing her posture, the way she held her hands, the fineness of her speech. “You sound very much like a lady.”

  She gave a stiff nod. “My father is a landed gentleman, second son of a baronet.” She twisted her hands. “I was educated properly when my mother was alive.”

  He noted the words when my mother was alive in that sentence and the change that occurred. Her mother had died, and her father had ceased educating her, he was certain of that.

  His parents were gone as well, but they’d l
oved him. In fact, his father had been a great supporter of his only son and he’d been able to tell Austin how proud he was of the man his son had become before he’d died. “Your mother, she took good care of you.”

  Gabriella nodded. “I think I might have been her friend as well as her daughter. At least I was one of the few people she could communicate freely with.”

  He leaned forward, more questions filling his thoughts. “How so?”

  She cleared her throat. “She was from Spain. She taught me the language from an early age. Not that my father approved.”

  His brows shot up. That explained Gabriella’s coloring. “Your father chose a Spanish wife?”

  She gave a single nod, her fingers held in a tight grip. “I don’t think he was happy about it.”

  “Did your father marry her for the dowry?”

  “Yes.” Gabriella clasped her hands. “I believe that he did.”

  He grimaced, leaning back in his seat. Of course, he had. The man was a user. He took what he could get from the people around him. It had only taken one meeting for Austin to discern that.

  “And what of you? What was your family like, Mr. Melrose?”

  He scrubbed the back of his neck. Mr. Melrose. Melrose was his family name. But how did one go about telling his new wife that she was actually a viscountess?

  “My father and mother were kind and caring parents.” He turned his head to the side, cracking his neck. “I’m their only surviving child.”

  She looked away then. Out the window. “I’d wished for siblings when I was younger. Especially after my mother died.”

  He grimaced. He had also wished for a child companion. Someone who might keep him company as he’d spent many hours alone, not allowed to play with other children. He’d filled his time, of course. Reading, studying mathematics as his father required. But he’d missed being with others his age. “I understand.”

  Her smile was small, a bit sad, but her dark eyes held his. “I’m sure you do.”

  He drew in a breath. Did he tell her about his lungs? About the shortness of breath that had plagued him as a child? He wasn’t sure he was ready for that. But he did need to share the news of his title. Her title. “There are some things you should know.”

  She blinked, several rapid flutters of her eyelashes as her hands pressed so tight, her knuckles began to turn white. “Such as?”

  He drew in a deep breath. “Don’t look so frightened. I’m not about to tell you that I turn into a beast after the sun sets.”

  He watched her visibly relax her hands. The rest of her body remained taut. It was as though she were trying to give the appearance of relaxing while she was anything but. “Go on.”

  He thought of her father. The rough manner which he’d treated her in front of a crowd. He could only imagine how the man had behaved at home. He softened his voice. “Well. You should know that I am actually a viscount.”

  Her lips parted and the color drained from her face. “You mean to say…”

  “You are now the Viscountess of Easterly.”

  She blinked again, her bronzed skin turning positively white and then she slid to the side, her body going completely limp.

  He reached out a hand catching her head just before she bumped it on the wood frame of the carriage.

  Chapter Three

  Gabriella had never fainted in her life.

  At least that’s what she thought had happened as she blinked her eyes open, staring at the ceiling of a carriage.

  She was warm, which was odd. She’d outgrown her only coat two years ago and her father had not replaced it. And she was comfortable, which didn’t seem likely on the floor.

  She made to turn her head to the side, but her chin refused to move, and she realized that a warm, solid form was directly in her way.

  Her husband.

  The Viscount of Easterly.

  She caught her breath again.

  He shifted and muscle rippled under her cheek. Her breath caught as her gaze met his. “I…”

  “You fainted.”

  “Yes.” Gabriella attempted to sit up, but he held her tighter. “I’d gathered that.”

  “Give yourself a moment. You’ve had a taxing day.”

  “Yes.” Any other words failed her. Today had been one of the worst in her life. The only one worse had been the day she’d lost her mother. Though even then, she’d managed not to faint.

  “Me too. Though I daresay not as difficult as yours.” He reached up a gloved hand and stroked it across her forehead. The touch was soothing and just a bit exciting. And very surprising. She hadn’t expected such tenderness from the man who’d appeared so hard. “Can I confess that I did not expect to end the day married?”

  Her lips tugged into a reluctant smile, then she frowned again. “Why did you marry me?”

  His fingers stilled. “I’m still not certain.”

  Her stomach dropped. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but those words filled her with unease.

  He cradled her, maneuvering her onto the bench while he still sat on the floor. He must be very strong to manage the move. Once she was lying on the bench, he slid up to sit on the other.

  She missed his heat, the feel of his muscles as she slowly pushed herself up to sitting.

  “Take your time,” he murmured.

  She slowly pushed up, testing her ability to stay upright. When it did not fail her, she swung her feet to the floor. “You can still change your mind.”

  “Pardon?”

  She looked down at the seat, the next words more difficult to say than she’d imagined. Though why they should be, she wasn’t certain. Perhaps it was his unexpected gentleness. “About the marriage. It’s not been consummated. You could have it annulled.”

  “You’d be impoverished and ruined,” he said, his arms crossing.

  His voice was cold and hard, and she winced, despite herself. It was ridiculous to expect affection from a man she’d met this morning, but they were talking about their future, or lack thereof, a bit of kindness was in order.

  She nodded. “But I’d also be free and so would you.”

  He sucked in a bit of a breath. “Is that what you want? To be free?”

  No. She’d be very happy to be a man’s wife. To care for him and their children. But not a man like her father. That was a future she could not abide. “I wish to be free from the shackles of cruelty.”

  He paused and the silence was lengthy enough that she finally raised her gaze to his. His face was granite-hard as he spoke. “Did he hurt you often?”

  She shook her head. “Physically, you mean? No. Occasionally when he’d drink I’d get a smack or a cuff. Not so unlike other fathers. But emotionally…”

  He gave a nod. “I witnessed that today. I understand.”

  She leaned forward. “I could be a good wife. Despite what he just did, I was a good daughter. I cared for him, worked hard for him. But I cannot be married to a man who looks at me with a constant sneer. It’s a future that would crush my very soul and—” The words tumbled out of her mouth, and she finally had to press her palms to cover her lips in order to make them stop.

  But he didn’t look irritated or vexed. In fact, his face could only be described as thoughtful. Kind. “I see.”

  She wanted to ask what he meant by that, but the carriage slowed. She peeked out the window, her brows drawing together as she stared at a small cottage. “What’s this?”

  “My friend, the baron, whose wife you met this morning, owns the estate in which this cottage presides. At least for tonight, I thought I’d borrow it from him.”

  “We won’t travel to your home?”

  “Not today.” He ran another hand through his hair. “I’m not quite prepared for such a journey, and I thought not to take you so far from home until we’d gotten to know one another better.”

  She released the curtain as she assessed the strong lines of his face. That was rather thoughtful; her stomach fluttered and she pressed her hands o
ver it. “Thank you.”

  He gave a quick nod of acknowledgment. “We’ll need to have you outfitted for a proper wardrobe, and buy you a trunk, and…”

  “That isn’t necessary,” she said, her hands pressing harder against her middle. “I know you’ve already paid for my hand. I—”

  “Of course it is,” he answered. “You’re mine to care for now. As my wife, you’ll be outfitted to properly represent the position.”

  Her lips parted, but words failed her. He wished to care for her. Hope fluttered in her chest.

  He paused, his hands lacing together. “And, in addition to all of that, we need to set some parameters for our union.”

  Parameters? The hope that had been rising, dashed down to the bottom of her stomach again.

  * * *

  Austin steeled himself against the slump of her shoulders.

  His new wife was fragile. He could see that quite clearly.

  Who wouldn’t be today?

  While he understood, he felt it important to get the truth out as quickly as possible and be done with it. Then they could go about getting to know one another and figuring out how this was going to all work.

  But as he stared at her, his throat closed. He’d held her in his arms, felt the brush of her inky hair. Her skin had been like silk under his hand. He wanted to throw all his carefully built guards out the window, the ones that said he needed to hold himself apart. Instead, he wished to hold her in his arms with complete abandon.

  Mistake, his more cautious half screamed. That half had always dominated the other. It had seen him through the toughest years and battles of the disease, and he depended on his iron self-control still.

  “Is the cottage stocked?” she asked, her gaze dropping again.

  He had not anticipated a marriage, but he had foreseen the need to stow away somewhere, and so he had packed the cottage with food and wood for a fire before he’d left for the auction. “Yes.”

  “Let’s eat something then and we can discuss whatever parameters you have over a meal.”

  Austin sat back. Her suggestion was not only wise, it showed an amazing amount of decorum. And likely something he should have thought of himself. With a nod, he opened the carriage door and helped her out.