His Contract Bride (Banks Brothers Brides 1)

by Rose Gordon

  Edward turned around to greet her. Lady Sinclair was a peculiar lady who did nothing that wasn't for the sake of appearances—such as making a brief appearance to say hello to him while he spoke with Joseph. “It's nice to see you again, Lady Sinclair.”

  Lady Sinclair fanned herself as if she was becoming overheated at being paid such a paltry compliment. “Is it hot in here to you, Regina dear?” she asked, placing her hand on Regina's arm.

  Regina's arm jerked so quickly, had he not been shamelessly staring at his wife, he would have missed it. “No. But I'm not wearing quite the same costume you are,” she said quietly.

  “That must be it.”

  Edward took in his wife. To him she was the most beautiful creature in existence. She wore a dark green gown with burgundy ribbons sewn around her cuffs and modest neckline. Her silky hair was put up into a nice bun with silver combs on either side of her head. Standing next to Lady Sinclair, however, she appeared dressed like a beggar. As was her style, Lady Sinclair did nothing only part way. He'd never seen her in anything less than her finest gowns with not a hair out of place, such as she was today. She wore a gown made of red satin that shimmered in the light. Around her neck, she wore six strands of pearls, each strand's pearls being the tiniest bit smaller than the one before it.

  She reached a hand that had a ring on every finger up to her perfectly curled hair. Joseph had once told him that Lady Sinclair's lady's maid used a measuring tape while styling her hair to make sure she set Lady Sinclair's curls in their proper place as requested by Lady Sinclair. Edward wouldn't be surprised if she had to measure their circumference, too, to make sure it was plump enough before powdering them. Lady Sinclair was very particular that way.

  Edward shuddered. He'd been truly blessed with Regina. She might be what most would consider simple, but he didn't mind. He was simple, too. He hated wigs and only wore a coat and cravat so not to scandalize his staff. He shook his head. Joseph with his powered wig and pristine appearance was the perfect match for his fastidious wife.

  Just like Regina was a good match for him.

  “Shall we play a friendly game of chess?” Joseph asked, drawing Edward's attention back to present.

  “What of the ladies?” Edward inquired.

  Joseph shot him an amused glance. “They're invited to play, too.”

  “Excellent.” Edward reached behind him to where Joseph kept his chess set.

  “Outside,” Joseph clarified.

  Edward's head shot up, his gaze darting out the window. “So then my guess was correct.”

  Nodding, Joseph said, “The second one, anyway.”

  Chuckling, Edward replaced the marble chessboard then held his arm out for Regina. “May I escort you outside, my lady?”

  Her lips bent in the hint of a smile. “I'd like that.”

  He'd like it, too.

  “Are you very skilled at chess, Lady Watson?” Joseph asked.

  Edward scowled at his friend over his shoulder. “I'll help her.”

  “I suppose that's allowable,” Joseph said, standing with deliberate slowness so not to shake his wig and get powder onto his black coat.

  It had better be allowable, otherwise Edward wouldn't play. It was one thing to win against someone of equal skill, but it was another to trounce someone. If he didn't help Regina, that's exactly what would happen.

  Outside, was the most unusual chess set Edward had ever laid eyes upon. The pieces were nearly as tall as he was, all lined up on a large checked wooden platform. He ran his booted foot along the edge of the platform, noting how only the black squares had been painted; the white were actually the color of the stained wood platform.

  “Let's play,” Lady Sinclair chirped.

  “As our guests, you two can play white,” Joseph said, leading his wife to immediately stick her lower lip out in a pout. Joseph turned his head to study a nearby tree, presumably so he didn't have to bear witness to—or address—his wife's childish behavior.

  As predicted, Regina was awful at chess. If not for his pretending to hear her wrong, they'd have lost within three moves.

  “You're quite good,” Regina said to him as he escorted her back inside.

  “So are we,” Lady Sinclair said airily. “But as our guests, we thought it best to let you win, this once.” She turned to her husband. “Didn't we, my lord?”

  Joseph shook his head. “I do believe they won fairly, Bea. Edward is the best I've ever played.”

  “Quite a compliment coming from the president of the Chess Club of London,” Edward remarked, ignoring Lady Sinclair's gasp. While Lady Sinclair was decent at chess, he'd hardly call her a master. Mildly skilled, yes. A master strategist, no. She had a handful of advanced strategies memorized that she'd vary between, but when forced to create her own, she'd always lose.

  “And when shall I expect you to unseat me?” Joseph asked, not unkindly.

  Edward shrugged. “I have no interest in joining a society for playing chess. I'd much rather continue to lobby for members to join a society for biol—”

  Lady Sinclair's yawn drowned out the rest of his words. She patted her mouth with her gloved fingers. “Excuse me. I have no idea what has come over me. It must be all this sunshine making me sleepy.”

  “Of course,” Joseph said. He offered her his arm. “Let's go back inside where it won't be over warm.”

  Lady Sinclair couldn't possibly be “over warm” after they got inside and she commanded a fleet of servants to wave large fans, creating a steady breeze in the drawing room.

  If not for the fact Lady Sinclair had a natural ability to offend without warning, Edward would have taken Joseph up on his suggestion to leave the ladies to chat about hair ribbons while they took themselves off to examine Joseph's new thoroughbred.

  But he'd vowed the day he'd married Regina to spare her feelings no matter what, and if that meant enduring Lady Sinclair's inane drivel so Regina wouldn't be alone with her, so be it.

  ~Chapter Seven~

  Regina could never remember a time she'd been happier than when she was living with Edward at Watson Estate. As odd as it might seem, she felt like she mattered. And to her, a girl who'd been told her whole life that her one goal in that life was to marry a titled gentleman, that was the best feeling in the world.

  Other than the occasional visit to Ridge Water to visit Lord and Lady Sinclair—which Regina suspected were only made so she could have some interaction with another lady, because it was quite obvious Edward wasn't as impressed by Lady Sinclair's false charm as Lord Sinclair was—their days together had been very similar to their first day together. They'd break their fast together, dig around in the conservatory, have luncheon, then go to the library where she'd pretend to sew while he'd ask for her opinion on something he was debating—which never failed to make her feel important—and then she'd either jot down his musings or offer to translate notes she'd find on his desk.

  Not the life young girls with romantic notions dreamt of, but to Regina, it was. Not only had she appeased her father by making a match with a baron, thus by association raised her father to a better social standing, she'd married a gentleman who didn't treat her as a nuisance to be dealt with, but rather, included her and made her feel wanted.

  Yes, Regina had made the match of the Season.

  “What has you smiling like a cat who just spotted the cream?” the object of her affection asked.

  She blushed. She didn't dare tell him what she was thinking about. Gentlemen didn't like to talk about such subjects. Especially him. The few times she'd mentioned something about the circumstances of their marriage, he'd grunted and quickly changed the subject. Poor man. It must embarrass him for the entire world to know he held a tendre for his own wife. Of course, it didn't stop her from whispering her feelings before drifting to sleep in his arms on the nights he'd visited her bed. Her blush intensif
ied at the thought and she ignored it. “Nothing so important.” She gestured to the small stack of sloppy notes on the edge of his desk. “Would you like for me to translate these into English for you?”

  He smiled sheepishly. “If you wouldn't mind...”

  “Of course not.”

  He took to his feet so she could sit down in his chair. “Last night, the answer came to me...”

  Regina nodded encouragingly as he went on about the discovery he'd made last night. She noted the inkwell was empty and opened the drawer in the front of his desk to retrieve another pot of ink. She quickly refilled the inkwell then slid open the drawer where he kept his parchment. She pursed her lips. He was nearly out; she'd need to order it to be restocked after they finished. She took the few sheets he had left and placed them on the desk.

  “Thank you,” Edward said quietly a few minutes later when she had begun writing.

  Regina looked up and met his eyes. “You're welcome. I'm happy to do it.” And she was. He'd been good to her. She'd be happy to do anything for him. She dropped her eyes back to the papers in front of her and picked up where she'd stopped.

  The spicy scent of Edward's shaving water filled her nose, indicating his closeness. She inhaled deeply. Even after being married more than three and a half weeks, she still couldn't get enough of that scent.

  Warm fingertips pressed gently into her spine. “Would you mind writing out that equation on a separate page?”

  Regina nodded. “Of course not.”

  “Good.”

  She moistened her thumb and forefinger and lifted the top page from the stack, exposing the fresh sheet underneath. Some moments—such as right now—she honestly wondered if her husband was oblivious to the effect he had on her. Did he not realize that he could make her heart pound and her blood race with nothing more than an intent look or a gentle touch?

  “There, I think having the whole page to write on will allow enough room for the entire equation to be written clearly without leading to confusion.”

  Apparently he really was oblivious to the feelings he created in her. She dismissed the thought and began transcribing the gibberish he'd scribbled into legible letters and numbers.

  “Excellent,” he murmured, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze before flipping open the book in his right hand.

  Suppressing her sigh, Regina shook her head. For as much as she loved him, and he her, sometimes he was far too interested in his scientific pursuits to take full advantage of the situation. He'd visit her in bed, of course, but only when it was dark and never more than once a week. It would seem during daylight hours his mind was somewhere else. She glanced to the stack of notes she was transcribing, apparently most nights it was there, too.

  Regina finished copying his stack of notes and with nothing else to do, but not wanting to leave, resumed her usual position on the chair by the window and began to sew.

  From the corner of her eye, she watched as Edward took his seat and began to jot down words faster than a rabbit being chased by a dog.

  “Would you like for me to write that down for you?”

  Edward paused in his writing then shook his head. “No, no. You sew. You've done enough for me already today.”

  A smile took her lips. “Stubborn man.” She set her sewing in the wicker basket beside her chair and stood. “I'll be right back.”

  He looked up. “Is there something you require?”

  “Yes, and I'll be right back after I find it.”

  His brows knit in confusion. “Have you run out of things to sew?”

  Had she actually been sewing these past three and a half weeks, she certainly would have run out of things by now. She tucked a tendril of loose hair behind her ear. “No. You're out of paper in your desk. I'm going to your study to get some, so I can take notes.”

  “You don't have to do that, Regina,” he said.

  “I know. I want to.”

  “Well, as long as you want to... But, you can just ring a servant for paper.”

  She flicked her wrist. “It's of no account. Your study is but a few feet away. It'll be much quicker this way.”

  ***

  Edward could not have found a better Lady Watson had he spent ten years at the proverbial Marriage Mart attending boring balls and ear piercing musicales. And, he shuddered just to think of what paying calls would entail with the rumored horrendous poetry and false flattery. He grimaced. Neither of those things held an ounce of appeal.

  He leaned back in his chair. His father, though not done intentionally, had certainly done him a great favor by unknowingly matching him up with such a wonderful young lady. Perhaps one day, he could make such a fortunate match for his own son.

  Of course, Father, being so rigid in his belief that Edward only marry as a result of an arranged marriage to avoid the mistake he'd made, had no idea everything would have turned out this well.

  A grin took his lips. Yes, everything had turned out perfectly, indeed. Nearly a month into their marriage and Regina didn't seem bored with him, which was a direct contradiction to John's prediction. Instead, she still conversed with him about his plants and would answer silly questions he'd ask her with answers that were so far from possible that he'd have to bite the inside of his cheek so not to embarrass her by laughing.

  And as for their nighttime activities...

  There was no use in denying it. He enjoyed visiting her bed most of all. Though he managed to hold to his father’s advice and only visit her once a week, he looked forward to those visits all week long. Sneaking peeks at the skin just above the bodice of her gown or the “accidental” brush of his body against hers only served to excite him more. But alas, he did not wish to scare her. Not to mention that momentary feeling of shame that washed over him just as they'd finish and she'd snuggle up against him and say—

  “Hell and damnation,” Edward shouted as he nearly faltered while shooting to his feet. Regina was about to start digging around in his other desk.

  ~Chapter Eight~

  Edward had no idea which was louder: his heavy footfalls on the floor or the pounding of his heart against his chest.

  “Regina,” he rasped, rounding the door of his study.

  Regina didn't answer. But she didn't have to. The faraway, lost look in her eyes was enough. She knew.

  Edward cleared his throat. What did one say to a lady who just found out that her love match was actually an arranged marriage?

  Silence engulfed them.

  Keen observation was one of the most useful tools a scientist had in his laboratory. But just now it seemed as if it was the most useless. His eyes searched her face. But with each slow sweep he did, he learned nothing new. Her brown eyes looked as dry as they always did, if not a bit wider set. Her pink lips were slightly parted as they usually were, exposing the lower half of her front teeth. Her skin, though not what he'd have considered pale in the first place, was still colored the same.

  No red edges around her eyes.

  No tears streaking down her cheeks.

  No bright red splotches on her cheeks.

  No frown.

  No sobs.

  Nothing.

  To him, her not reacting was worse than if she had reacted.

  Years of witnessing his mother's tears may have annoyed him, but it had given him the needed experience of what to say and not to say to a lady experiencing a fit of vapors.

  However, Regina's response of indifference was different. Most unnerving, really.

  Her eyes looked up from the papers she held and met his gaze. “Why didn't you tell me?” she asked at last, confusing him more with her casual tone. Not a single squeal or crack had erupted in that sentence, nothing but a calm, smooth question that he felt like a dunce forming a response to.

  “I didn't want to hurt you,” he said at last.

  She no
dded once. “So you think lying to me was the better way to accomplish that?”

  He blinked. Where on earth had she learned her arguing skills? “Yes.”

  She nodded once again. “Well, Lord Watson,” she began, in a tone that wasn't hard or sharp, but neither was it warm and excited, “I feel foolish to have waited so long to inform you of this, however, I prefer honesty to heroics.”

  Edward swallowed. “Regina, I wasn't trying to be heroic.”

  “Weren't you?” she challenged. “You just admitted to such not more than thirty seconds ago.”

  “No, I just said that I was trying to spare your feelings,” he corrected. His mind reeled. In their weeks of marriage, he'd never seen her have as much to say or as strong of an opinion as she did just now.

  Regina dropped their betrothal agreement to his desk. “It matters naught why you did it. What's done is done, I suppose.” She stood and smoothed her skirts. “I apologize for whatever it was I said to you that made you feel you needed to lie to me in order to protect my feelings.” Twin patches of pink stained her cheeks, presumably because she was alluding to one of their more intimate moments during the middle of the day. She lifted her chin. “I should inform you that while most gentlemen frequently tell their wives whatever they think will keep them appeased, I am not one of those wives and do not desire such a husband.”

  “Regina, I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said, taking a step toward her.

  She flicked her wrist dismissively and smiled. “It's of no account. I was the one silly enough to believe... Well, never mind all of that.” She slid open the top left drawer of his desk and slipped their blasted betrothal agreement inside. “As you can see, I was unable to locate where you keep your parchment. If you'd be kind enough to bring some with you, I'll be waiting for you in the library.” And with that, she said nothing else, just stepped out from behind his desk and walked right past him, head high, shoulders back, chin up, sweeping the room as if she were a queen—and leaving him more uncertain than when he'd first entered.