Viscount of Vanity

by Tammy Andresen

He looked over at her then. “I sense a but at the end of that sentence.”

  She shrugged. “It’s just that I find avoiding things I am dreading rarely makes them easier.”

  He sat up then, running his hands through his hair. It had the interesting effect of making the strands stand on end.

  The rumpled effect was devastating. It softened him, making him so handsome he stole her breath. Or perhaps it was the view of his back tapering down from the breadth of his shoulders.

  “It’s not that I am dreading them, precisely,” he answered in a choked voice.

  “What then?” she asked, sitting up too.

  “It’s just that…” And then his feet swung out from the bed. “I think it best if I do sleep in the living room.”

  “In a chair?” she asked, reaching for him. “You’ll be dreadfully uncomfortable.”

  “No more so than I am here.”

  She winced, realizing she was irritating him. She pulled her knees up and hugged them as butterflies danced in her belly. Irritated men acted irrationally. “I’m so very sorry. I’ll stop talking.”

  He looked back at her, his brow drawing together in concern. “Gabriella,” his voice was far softer. He reached for her hand, taking it in his much larger one. “You don’t need to stop talking. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s that these are difficult topics for me to discuss and we don’t know each other all that well.”

  She relaxed at his gentle tone. She supposed her father’s increasing anger over the past few years had left her on edge. She never knew when he might explode in a fiery fit of temper. “I understand,” she answered. “But please stay. It will be terribly uncomfortable in the other room.”

  He gave a stiff nod and then lay back down. She did as well, and resumed her spot with her back to him, balanced on the very edge. It was going to be a long night.

  * * *

  The carriage rumbled into the village the next morning as Austin attempted not to stare at his new wife.

  Gabriella was once again drowning in his very large coat. Any gentleman would keep a lady warm. How could her father have left her without one?

  He frowned again. One of his first jobs as her husband was to make certain her father never came anywhere near her again.

  Well, that wasn’t true. His very first job was outfitting her properly.

  She looked out the window of the carriage, her expression thoughtful. “I’ve known this place my entire life and yet it looks completely different this morning.”

  He smiled at that. “I hope it’s a good change.”

  She looked back at him with a beautifully warm smile. The kind that stole his breath. “I think so.”

  The carriage rumbled up to their first stop. Austin climbed out, then helped his wife down. He leaned over. “I’m not sure I want your father to hear of my title just yet.” He could only imagine what a man like that would do with such information. “I’ll refer to you as Mrs. Melrose today, if you don’t mind.”

  He saw the shadow cross her face as she nodded. Was she worried he was lying? He wouldn’t blame her. Their relationship had not begun on the best foundation. A problem he was attempting to repair now.

  Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, he led her into the shop.

  He was a man with an eye for detail, and he used it now.

  With the help of the modiste, they picked out a myriad of fabrics; they were deep, rich hues that would complement her coloring.

  Gabriella barely expressed an opinion or said anything at all. Something else they’d need to work on.

  He had several more shops he’d need to visit. His wife would need bonnets, ribbons, stockings, shoes, and of course, a trunk to carry it all back to Everfield, his country estate when he wasn’t in London.

  With that in mind, he left Gabriella to continue the fitting. But as he walked down the street, he noticed several men giving him a hard stare.

  He didn’t recognize any of them, but they surely did him. And they didn’t like what they saw.

  Ignoring them, he stepped into the cobblers. He carried Gabriella’s very worn kid boots. He needed these repaired and she’d need a new pair as well.

  One of the people in the group called out to him. “There’s the horse’s ass who cheated us.”

  He grimaced as he kept going. They were men from yesterday’s auction. He should have realized some of them might still be here. One stood out, in particular. He had a jagged scar that cut across his cheek.

  They eyed him as he passed. The one with the scar hitting his open palm with his other fist. Apparently, some of the men were still angry that he’d stolen the chance for them to bid.

  He scraped his fingers over his cheek. He’d not engage them if he could help it. Not that he was a man who shied away from a fight, but he didn’t go looking for them either.

  He doubted they were a real threat, but it did pose an important issue. While Gabriella had a license and a marriage certificate, without intimacy she had no physical proof of their union. Damn.

  He needed to introduce Gabriella to Chad. If something happened to him, his friend could substantiate Gabriella’s claim she was the viscountess. And he’d need to see a barrister. While much of his property was entailed, the townhouse in London was not part of the estate and he had plenty of funds that were his own.

  Gabriella would be cared for even if he were gone.

  And she’d never fall victim to her loathsome father again.

  He entered the cobblers to have her boot repaired and a new pair commissioned. When he came out a quarter hour later, the men were gone.

  Rather than complete any of his other errands he started back for the modiste’s shop, wishing to check on his wife. Something about those men had gotten under his skin.

  He’d only been married a day and he was already protective. Hell, that feeling had been what had driven him to marry her in the first place. He sensed her desperation from the first.

  And his instincts were screaming at him to see how Gabriella fared.

  Chapter Six

  Gabriella stood on the platform in the dressmaker’s shop admiring a bolt of fabric against her skin.

  She’d known Madame Fleur since she was a small girl and, when her mother had been alive and they’d had a modest budget for clothing, she’d come here to be fitted.

  Madam Fleur now had streaks of grey in her simple yet stylish coif, but the woman had a knack for looking sophisticated even in her matronly years. She came out of the backroom holding a gown of deep red and another of dark pink. “Ma chérie.” The woman smiled at her. “You must try these dresses on.”

  Gabriella frowned. “You don’t have racks of already-made gowns, do you?” Such a practice was unheard of.

  Madam Fleur laughed. “Goodness no. But you are a rare beauty and I would see you walking about in the worn dress. I couldn’t help myself. I fashioned these for you some time ago.”

  Gabriella turned toward the other woman. “You made them for me?”

  The other’s woman’s look was soft. “Don’t be so shocked. I see your beauty and I knew that some very handsome man was going to sweep in and save you. And besides, these colors were perfect for you. I’ve been hoping to dress you for years. Every dressmaker dreams of putting her creations on someone so beautiful.”

  Gabriella’s smile fell. A handsome man had swept in and saved her. And she was grateful. If he were also a kind man, she’d be truly blessed.

  But deep down, his restrictions made her uneasy.

  Madame Fleur squinted her gaze. “What wrong, ma chérie?”

  Gabriella worried her lip. “He’s been generous but…”

  “But?” Madam Fleur stepped closer. “It’s all right. We are alone in this shop and you’ve been without a woman to talk to for a long time.” Then she winked. “And I have a great deal of experience with men.”

  Gabriella leaned closer, the modiste’s words putting her at ease. “He told me that he wasn’t interested in…relations be
yond creating children.”

  Madame’s eyes grew wide and then she squeezed Gabriella’s hand. “This worries you?”

  Gabriella nodded. More than anything, she wished to be emotionally connected to her husband. And the physical relations had to be part of drawing them closer to each other. “Shouldn’t a man want to be with his wife?”

  Madame’s eyes softened. “You are young, and you want to be wanted. I understand.”

  Did she? She supposed that she did. Her father had been dismissive in a way that was cruel. “Wanted?”

  Madame Fleur winked. “You wish for your very handsome husband to ravish you with his strong arms and manly shoulders.”

  Heat filled Gabriella’s cheeks. A thought of being pressed against his muscles made her breath catch. “Oh. Wanted.” Her tongue darted out and she licked her lips. “More than that, I want to be with someone who actually cares for me.”

  Madame Fleur nodded. “He’s here, isn’t he? Buying you dresses. I can always read a man and he will provide for you, I am certain. If he prefers to share his bed with a different sort, at least you’ll be comfortable and secure in a good match that provides for your needs.”

  Her breath stalled. A different sort? “What sort will he share his bed with?”

  One of Fleur’s slender shoulders rose up. “It’s been my experience that men that aren’t that interested in relations with a woman prefer them with other men.”

  Her stomach dropped to the floor. There was so much she didn’t know about the world. “Oh dear.”

  Madame Fleur wagged her finger. “Don’t you worry. It’s a blessing to have a husband who won’t hound you constantly. And you’ll likely be free to come and go as you please, and once you’ve provided him with an heir or two, you’ll be able to pursue your own passions.”

  Gabriella shook her head. Whatever that meant. She had some idea, of course. But the devil was in the details and despite the intimacy of this conversation she didn’t dare ask more of the modiste. “Thank you, Madame Fleur.”

  The woman nodded again. “You come ask me questions, any time. Now. Let’s get you in one of these dresses.”

  Twenty minutes later, they’d changed her out of the rags she’d been wearing, Madame Fleur swept them away and Gabriella felt certain they’d end up in the dressmaker’s stove. She’d been outfitted from top to bottom in new clothes from her chemise to her stockings and she barely recognized the woman who stood looking back at her in the mirror’s reflection. “Oh my.”

  Madam Fleur gave her a glowing smile. “See what a fine job I’ve done fitting you without ever taking a measurement?”

  Gabriella stared in amazement, turning this way then that to see the effect. The dress was a perfect fit. “You’ve a gift.”

  Madame Fleur came up behind her. “You’ve a gift. Like you’ve brought this dress to life, I’ve seen you time and again in this town. You bring out the best in people.”

  Gabriella shook her head. It wasn’t the truth. “If that were true, my father—”

  “Your father is a bad egg. Has been his entire life. He was before he was married, before you were born. That has nothing to do with you.”

  Gabriella nodded. That might be true. But was she destined to spend her life with men who held no real affection for her? That sounded dreadful.

  She pressed the skirts of the dusky pink gown of soft fine wool that skimmed down her body. Did she have another option?

  The bell at the front of the shop tinkled merrily and Gabriella turned, expecting to see Austin in the doorway.

  Instead, four men stared at her, their eyes hard. Of course men came into dress shops to accompany their ladies, but this wasn’t the tavern. What were they doing here?

  Then she recognized the man with the scar. His gaze hard on her.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. How can I help you?” the modiste asked.

  But they didn’t answer as they continued to stare at Gabriella. Then the scarred man stepped into the shop, moving toward her.

  She swallowed a gasp.

  * * *

  Austin crossed the street and started for the modiste’s shop. His muscles twitched with energy as he picked up speed. Something was wrong, he could feel it deep in his gut. That’s when he heard yelling.

  It came from the shop, distinctly feminine, and he cursed that he didn’t know the sound of his wife’s voice. Well, he knew her voice but not her scream, he supposed. Was it her?

  But as he moved closer, the door opened and the modiste stepped out, brandishing an umbrella and speaking loudly and emphatically in French.

  He hurried over even as a man also stepped out of the shop. He recognized the fellow as one of the men he’d seen before he’d visited the cobbler. His jagged scar flashed in the light.

  The man snatched the umbrella from the modiste’s hand and raised it in the air, but Austin didn’t wish to know what the other man planned to do.

  With a burst of speed, he closed the gap and raised his fist, sending a punch directly into the man’s nose.

  Blood instantly gushed from his nostrils as he stumbled back, yowling and covering his face.

  Austin didn’t have a moment to consider as two other men jumped on his back. Years of hard exercise had made him stronger than most and he threw off one of the men as the other wrapped an arm about Austin’s neck.

  Another man bellowed even as the bugger on his back tightened his arm, choking off Austin’s air. He hated that feeling more than anything…not being able to breathe haunted his waking hours and his dreams. He jabbed his elbow back, getting the other man in the gut and he loosened his arm again.

  A giant fellow charged at Austin and the first trickle of fear slithered down his spine. The other man still clutched at his back, impeding his movements. Austin prepared to duck but the new man hauled the ne’er do well off his back and tossed him to the side. “That’s enough,” the giant bellowed.

  Austin was tall, nearly six feet, but this man dwarfed him.

  Another one of the attackers charged and his new ally took one swipe with a beefy fist. The other fellow fell back in a dead faint.

  “Mr. Sharpe.” Gabriella rushed out of the shop. “Thank you for helping my husband.”

  Mr. Sharpe clenched his hand into a fist and that was when Austin noticed the stains of blood on his fingers and nails. The man had to be the butcher. He didn’t answer right away, instead he looked at the villains scattered about the ground. “It’s time all of you left. Go home. There’s nothing here for you, there never was.” Mr. Sharpe watched as the men hauled themselves off the ground.

  Austin waited for them to skulk away, all except for the one who was still knocked out on the ground.

  Mr. Sharpe, however, had turned back to Gabriella. “I’m glad to see you well.”

  She dropped into a curtsy and Austin’s eyes moved from the other man to his wife and then nearly fell out of head. She’d been stunning in the worn dress her father had forced her to wear. But dressed in a fashionable gown of a dusky rose pink, she…she looked like a goddess. He staggered back a half step.

  “Monsieur, your jacket,” the modiste said next to him. “It’s ripped. Step inside so that I might fix it for you.” He tore his gaze from Gabriella to find the older woman giving him a knowing smile.

  He blinked. Was Gabriella going to stay out here with this behemoth of a man? “Thank you, but my jacket should be fine.”

  “Nonsense. Anyone can see you are a man of impeccable grooming. It must be repaired. Besides, your wife must finish collecting all her packages.”

  Mr. Sharpe grunted. “I’ll see that those men are cleared out of town.” Then he bowed his head to Gabriella. “It’s nice to see you looking well, Mrs…”

  “Melrose,” she answered softly. “And thank you for your kind words. I noticed you at the auction yesterday. Your support is always appreciated.”

  Mr. Sharpe gave Austin a sidelong glance that resembled a glare and then picked up the man who still lay on t
he ground by the back of his jacket, holding him like a side of beef in his large hand.

  Austin frowned. He’d been under the impression he’d been saving Gabriella. But perhaps he wasn’t the only man who wished to be her hero.

  Jealousy ripped through him, an emotion he hadn’t counted on.

  Chapter Seven

  Gabriella watched her husband through the window. He’d been chopping wood for two straight hours. Before that, he’d exercised in the yard. No wonder he was so muscular.

  She nibbled on her lip, then clutched the curtain.

  The memory of those muscles enveloping her when she’d fainted made her ache. He’d felt divine.

  As she’d been leaving the shop, Madame Fleur had held her back with a single touch of her hand to Gabriella’s arm. “From the look in your husband’s eyes when he first saw you in this dress, I think I was wrong about his preferences. Find out what holds him back from you.”

  Gabriella gave herself a shake. How was she going to do that?

  Normally, she’d keep herself busy in the kitchen, her thoughts working themselves free as her hands moved. But the Baron of Blackwater had sent a servant to attend the couple in the cottage along with an invitation for dinner at his home the following evening.

  So now she had nothing to do but sit. Which might be driving her mad.

  Madam Fleur had lent Gabriella a pelisse while making one for her and she donned the borrowed garment now. What she needed was a walk. If she couldn’t cook, she could at least move, and fresh air might clear her thoughts.

  Stepping out the front door, the swinging of the ax paused. “Gabriella? Where are you off to?”

  She stopped and turned to her husband. “I’m afraid I don’t sit idly very well. I thought to take a stroll down the lane.”

  He swung the ax so that it stuck into an upright log. “I’ll escort you.”

  “No.” She held up her hands. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  He scowled. “After what happened this morning, I don’t think it wise for you to go alone.”