Kiss the Wallflower: Books 1-3

by Gill, Tamara

  “Troubled?” the duke asked, leaning close to ensure privacy. “He is but one of many who’ve noted your absence from the marchioness’s life and seem set on remedying the situation.”

  He clenched his jaw, his teeth aching. “The marchioness has been making a spectacle of herself?” Not a fair question, even he would admit, but it would force Carlton to tell him the truth of the situation without looking as desperate for information as he was.

  “The marchioness has been beyond reproach, and we have escorted her everywhere, and returned her home at the end of the night,” the duchess inserted, her cool gaze dismissing him before she looked back toward the dance floor.

  “Louise is not whom you should be worrying about. There is a rumor about London, as you’re probably already aware, that you do not intend to have a true marriage. That you were overheard at Whites as stating the union was in name only.” Carlton narrowed his eyes on him and Luke felt as small as a bee. “The gentlemen who have no interest in a bride have taken that, along with your continual attachment to your bachelor residence in Mayfair, as confirmation that you do not care one whit what the marchioness does or with whom.”

  The duke’s words rang with dread and Luke stared about the room, noticing for the first time this night that the guests glanced his way, small, secretive smiles on their lips and laughter in their eyes. Was this what people were thinking?

  He sighed, adjusting his cravat. He ought not kid himself. It was his fault they were gossiping about him, his marriage and what kind of life he was willing to have with his wife.

  No life at all.

  Luke mulled over the complexity of the situation. The thought of having a child with Louise, while not wholly awful, left dread to churn in his stomach.

  Damn the ton and its stipulations, its rules and censure.

  “I suppose that means that I’ll have to change that opinion and soon.”

  The duchess raised her brow, giving her husband a secretive smile that Luke did not appreciate.

  “I suppose it does, and if I were you, I would do it sooner rather than later. Tomorrow would suffice.”

  Luke followed the marchioness’s progress as she stepped off the dance floor, walking with Lord Stopford until they came to another group of gentlemen and some ladies. They welcomed her into their circle and spoke amicably.

  His hands fisted at his sides as his lordship’s hand sat upon her back, too familiar and too damn close. Lord Stopford laughed at something someone in the set said, and glanced Luke’s way. If he registered that Luke didn’t appreciate his hands upon his wife he did not show it, he merely kept his hands upon her person.

  What the blasted hell was Louise thinking to allow him such liberties? She was a lady’s companion, she knew the rules of what was correct and incorrect. And yet, from what he knew of the duke and duchess’s courtship, maybe the woman knew when to be lax in her rules and what was appropriate for a lady in such a situation. Louise had certainly granted her charge—now the Duchess of Carlton—liberties she should not have been allowed.

  Before he knew what he was doing his feet took him across the room. He charged across the dance floor, ignoring the startled yips and excuse mes as he went directly across to where Louise stood with her group of tactile friends.

  Where were these people when she was nothing but a lady’s companion? Certainly, nowhere he’d ever seen them. They had not wanted or bothered to know who the duchess’s companion was and Louise should not be such a fool to be taken in by their pretty words and false friendships.

  Lord Stopford raised his brow as he came up to them, and his refusal to let go of his wife sent hot anger coursing through his blood. He came about the back of Louise, taking his lordship’s hand and twisting it away as he came to stand beside his wife.

  Lord Stopford stepped back, his eyes narrowing, but without a word.

  Good. Hopefully the bastard understood that he would not, nor would he ever allow Louise to take a lover.

  “If you’ll excuse us. My wife promised me this next dance,” he said, smiling at the ladies. They tittered and gushed at him, as they always did, but their fawning was lost on him. His chest felt tight, and a small sweat broke out on his skin.

  Luke took a calming breath, unsure why he was reacting in such a way. He’d almost committed violence against a man for actions that he himself had partaken in only a month past.

  The thought shamed him. Now, with the shoe on the other foot, to see someone else take a pointed interest in what was essentially his did not sit well and he silently begged for all the husbands whom he’d given sleepless nights to forgive him.

  Louise walked beside him as if nothing was amiss, and he wanted to break that icy shell she’d erected about herself. When he pulled her into his arms, there was no wilting wallflower, no hurt registering in her eyes. No anger or fear. Nothing.

  He didn’t want nothing. He wanted to know what the hell sort of game she was playing.

  “Enjoying yourself with Lord Stopford’s paws all over you? Or maybe I should ask how long you’ve been shagging him. You’ve been in London a month now, plenty of time to have a gentleman of the ton warm your bed.”

  She smiled up at him and he cursed. When the hell had she become so alluring? Had he been blind all the times he’d stood with the duke and duchess? He supposed he had been. His fixation had been on Lady Scarboro and the pretty little debutante Lady Clara, whom he liked to play and tease. Not that he would have ever married her, but it was amusing and a pleasant way to pass the time.

  This woman in his arms, his wife, was punishment for all his wrongdoings. God was punishing him for being a cad.

  You are a cad and you deserve everything you get.

  He dismissed the voice, pinning her with his gaze. “Answer me.”

  “I have to have someone to warm my bed. My husband has made it abundantly clear that he will not.”

  He shut his mouth with a snap, pulling her close as they turned within the waltz. The music was loud in his ears and his nape pricked with awareness that all eyes were upon them. Watching and wondering what they were discussing.

  If only they knew…

  “You better tease, madam.” His voice vibrated with temper that he did not recognize within himself. What did he care who his wife flirted with? He should not. He was not emotionally involved with this woman. Their union was a mistake. One of his making. To be so territorial with her was confounding and he growled.

  “If you ventured to live with your wife, you would know. I cannot be expected to be alone for the rest of my life. I must carve out my own little bit of happiness if you shall not supply it for me.”

  He shook his head, pulling her closer. “You said that I should expect nothing from you. Are you a liar as well as an unfaithful wench?”

  His words broke through the defensive wall a little and her eyes flared, anger making the deep blue of her irises like a fathomless, swirling sea. “I was angry and upset when I said that. You ruined me in front of the whole ton and then demanded marriage as if I should be grateful. Of course I said what I did. Anyone would.”

  The feel of her in his arms, all womanly curves, pulled at a part of him who longed for a woman in his bed. No matter what the ton may think, he’d not taken a woman into his bed since the night he’d walked into Miss Grant’s room.

  Lady Scarboro had of course tried, and failed. He was certain her ladyship was the sole reason he was married at all and he’d never take her into his bed again.

  So what the hell was he going to do? Take Louise into his bed, which inevitably led to children. A family. No matter how careful one was, if a child was meant to be, it would happen.

  Damn it all to hell. It wasn’t to be borne.

  “You want a true marriage. A family. With me.”

  She focused on something over his shoulder and he wanted her to look at him. Not some unseen thing behind his head. Him.

  “I cannot have it with anyone else, can I? I’m married to you, so who
else can I have such a future with?”

  The scent of jasmine wafted from her skin and he breathed deeply, having always loved that fragrance above any other. She was too tempting, too sweet for him. He was a rogue. A selfish, obstinate lord who was used to getting his own way.

  However was he going to deal with her?

  Her statement clanged about in his head like a death knoll. How indeed…

  Chapter 8

  The following morning Louise stood in the foyer of the marquess’s London home as trunk after trunk was carried through and up the stairs.

  Her sister came to stand beside her, her eyes full of amusement. Louise, on the other hand, felt as though she were having an out-of-body experience. The marquess was moving in, that was obvious, but what was not so obvious was whether he would give her the marriage she longed for.

  They had been without a family for so long. With her siblings having been separated from her, she wanted them to be part of her new future. That the marquess was here was at least one small step in making a go at their marriage. Surely he wished for a child. An heir. From what Mary had told her, he’d also been without his parents for many years. Could he be as lonely as she’d been at times?

  She clutched her fingers before her, her hands cold and clammy. “I cannot wait to meet the marquess. Is he handsome?” Sophie asked, almost bouncing in her excitement.

  “He’s very handsome, but he’s yet to arrive. Come,” she said, pulling her toward the front parlor that she’d taken to using the most during the day. It gathered the afternoon sun and was warm, no matter the English weather.

  They sat and had tea, the clock on the mantel clicking the minutes away, winding Louise up more and more with every passing second. Would the marquess be amenable or surly? Would he show his dislike of their situation by making her life here with him uncomfortable? Louise watched as her sister flicked through the latest fashion plates, while Louise’s attention was wholly focused on the front door and of any new arrivals.

  What seemed like hours passed by and then, finally, the muffled male voice and the clipped steps of someone heading toward them sounded outside the door.

  Nerves pooled in her stomach and Louise stood, adjusting her dark-pink morning gown and ensuring all was in order. Her sister continued to read, oblivious to the turmoil that wracked her body.

  The door flung open and in strode the marquess. He’d removed his gloves and hat, both clasped in one hand at his side. He took in the room, his blue eyes stopping on her sister. “Friend of yours?” he asked, his eyes narrowing with inspection of her.

  “Lord Graham, may I introduce you to my sister, Miss Sophie Grant. Sophie, this is Luke Ashby, Marquess Graham.”

  Sophie’s eyes widened and she stood, dipping into a pretty curtsy. “Very pleased to meet you at last, my lord.”

  His lordship placed his gloves and hat on a nearby table, coming to stand before the fire. “A sister,” he said, turning his attention back to Louise. “Anything else that I should be aware of?”

  Louise clasped her fingers before her, unsure how to tell him that she also had a brother who lived here. From the displeased line of his brow and unsmiling lips, the news of a sister was not welcome either. This was not the best start to their married life under one roof, but then, the start of their marriage was not good to begin with.

  She straightened her back. “Yes. My brother is also living here. You ought to know that as well.”

  Luke shut his mouth with a snap and wondered for a moment if he’d stepped into another world. Who were these people who lived here? Of course Louise had stated they were her siblings, but how had he never known such a thing about her, especially now that she was his wife?

  “Would you please leave us for a moment, Miss Sophie?” he asked, smiling to buffer the annoyance he felt running through his veins. His wife, uncommonly pretty today in her dark-pink muslin morning gown, sat on a nearby settee and waited for him to speak.

  No longer the wilting wallflower, it would seem.

  “How did I not know that you had siblings? Or that they were living here?” Under his roof for who knows how long. He schooled his features. He was married now, the life of bachelor that he’d enjoyed so very much was over. Still, it rankled that it was the case or that he now seemed to have an instant family.

  One that he’d never wanted.

  “They’ve been living with my aunt due to our limited means. Upon our marriage, I had them travel to Ashby House to be with me. When the duchess asked me to return to town, I had them come along.”

  Did you now… “How old are you siblings?” he asked, curious despite himself.

  “Almost sixteen, my lord. Sophie and Stephen are twins, you see.”

  He turned to face the fire, wanting to remove her from his vision. After their dance last evening, he’d dreamed of her. The dream had not been one that allowed sleep-inducing refreshment. Instead, he’d dreamed of stripping her sapphire gown from her body, unveiling the hidden gems beneath all that silk and taking his fill.

  The morning gown she wore today seemed uncommonly fetching and not what he needed to see if he was to keep his hands off her. Ensure that they both understood what type of marriage they had and what was expected of them and what wasn’t.

  The image of Lord Stopford dancing with her the night before, his hands low on her back, his words close to her ear flittered through his mind and he fisted his hand on the marble mantel.

  “I suppose since they are your family I’m unable to deny the request of them staying here with us. Even so, it would have been nice to have been asked.”

  Her eyes flared and she stood, coming over to him. “I would’ve asked, of course, but I did not think to see you again until the end of the Season and well, I knew my aunt wanted to travel, so I requested them to come to me. I did not mean to overstep my mark.”

  Luke drank her in, tall and proud before him. Her eyes were bright and clear, and uncommonly lovely. If he were to choose a woman for himself to marry he supposed someone as fetching as Miss Grant would have suited him very well. Her figure was perfectly proportioned and curvy, her gowns accentuated all the correct places one’s gown ought. Her nose was small and straight and her lips…

  His attention snapped to that part of her person and he stilled when her sweet, pink tongue flicked out to moisten them. Luke blinked, bringing back his thoughts from the dangerous territory where they’d wandered. He straightened his spine.

  “What is done is done and if they’re your siblings, I will not deny them your company.” Not that he needed to be responsible for any more people, but he supposed, as the siblings were almost sixteen, they would not be long under his roof before they too sought their own paths in life. He could accommodate that. It was not so very much to ask.

  “Now,” he said, waiting for her to meet his gaze. “Regarding our marriage and what I expect from you.”

  She nodded without words and he ignored the hope he read in her blue orbs. Did she expect a true marriage? Surely not. Not after how their nuptials came to be in the first place. “We will keep to our rooms and not share a bed, for now at least.” At least until he could procure a French letter to use while making a beast with two backs. “I also expect absolute fidelity from you. I will not condone you sharing a bed with any other gentleman of the ton. Especially Lord Stopford whom you seem to favor so very much.”

  His wife scoffed and he flinched. “You find such a request preposterous, my lady?”

  Her lips thinned into a tight line and she watched him like a genius watched a fool. He wasn’t anyone’s fool. “And while I’m remaining the vestal virgin, how are you conducting yourself about town, my lord? Are you taking an oath of chastity or am I expected to turn the other way and ignore your indiscretions?”

  Luke had never had a woman speak to him in such a forward manner, and bugger him if it wasn’t a little amusing to see that his wife had some spark to her blood. A small backbone after all. “As a marquess and gentleman what
I do is none of your concern, madam.”

  He stepped past her and he stilled when she gripped his upper arm, stalling him. A shock ran through his arm, echoing throughout his body and he stilled.

  What the hell was that?

  “I’ll not be made a fool of twice, Lord Graham. You’ve already bundled me into this marriage through a situation not of my making. I’ll not then stand by and watch as you sleep your way through the women whom I have to entertain.” She let go of his arm, attempting to throw him a little as she did so.

  He didn’t move an inch. “I will be discreet.” The lie almost choked him and he swallowed. He would not be told what to do by a woman, certainly not a woman he did not want. Who did this chit think she was?

  She raised her chin, a perfect rosy hue spreading across her dimpled cheeks. Sweet mercy, she was pretty. Prettier than he’d ever realized. His body, typically male, had a typical male response. Louise’s attention drifted over him as if she sensed his train of thought and she stepped back. “No.”

  He followed her. “No?” he said, menace in his tone. “You do not have a choice.” And she did not, as unfair as that was. An image of his parents flittered through his mind, happy and loving, his little sister playing at their feet before a roaring fire as they sat together, arms entwined, enjoying a night in watching their children play.

  So long ago now since they’d left him.

  “Of course I do. I will not allow you to go on with your life as you once did, my lord. I’m here, a marchioness because of you, and if I want affection in my life and my husband is unwilling to secure that for me, I will seek it elsewhere.”

  He clasped her upper arms, wanting to shake some sense into her. Instead, his mind diverted to how very small she was, how with very little effort he could break her. Not that he ever would, but being so near to her he once again was reminded that she was his now. If he so chose, he could seek his husbandly rights this evening and have her.

  Dear God, that was tempting.

  She glared up at him, all fire and ire, her eyes blazing with anger. Good, he wanted her angry at him. Anger meant she would not push him, seek him out and demand things he was not willing to give her. Such a road led to disaster and broken hearts.