“Glad to hear she’s snug in her bed,” Benjamin said with little conviction. “Good thing, really, since my brother misreads her character completely. Thinks she would burn up his sheets.”
Nicholas clenched his jaw hard enough to break his teeth.
Benjamin set his glass down and shifted forward to the edge of the chair. He rubbed his hands before the fire. “Angeline is a wildly enticing little package, but surprisingly prudish. The other night, she was all sympathy and sweetness. And when I suggested she and I might be a conjugal match, I tried to seal it with a kiss. But she stuck her hand over her mouth, which was bloody humiliating, and all I got was a mouthful of glove. Hugh, on the other hand, managed to get the kiss, but she stomped on his foot and nearly hobbled him for a week for his presumptions. And you remember old Shackleforth. Used to pay her visits when she lived at that old biddy’s house in Yorkshire. Shackleforth was a bit forward and she sicced some bruiser of a servant on him. The man came home nursing a broken nose.”
Nicholas recalled Stanbury limping around his study and the ballocks story about it being gout. Clearly, Angel had kept that secret to protect Stanbury from her bad-tempered guardian.
He raked his hair back in frustration. He had to admit she knew him well. In that vein, he thought it best to set Benjamin straight before he said something that only fists could settle. “That enticing package, will be my wife in a couple of hours.”
Benjamin choked on his drink. “Well, bloody hell, why didn’t you mention that before,” he said once his sputtering cough ceased. “You’re sure to have better luck than the rest of us, discarded and neglected suitors, since she’d mentioned having once been infatuated with you.”
Once? As in the bloody past.
Nicholas took consolation in knowing that she’d denied other men what she offered him. He recalled how she’d so pertly walked toward his bed last night.
He may have lost her admiration, but he would insist on her devotion in the bedchamber. He would show her the level of attentiveness he would expect from her.
Benjamin chuckled loudly pulling him from his desperate thoughts. “How does that work, then? Do you sign giving permission as her guardian and then sign again as the intended bridegroom?”
“Do shut up.”
The door opened and Nicholas’s aunt stepped in wearing a rain-dampened cloak. Without saying a word, she walked across the room and grabbed an armful of flowers from the pillar vase. Water dripped from the stems onto the carpet as she bustled out of the room.
Someone was frantically knocking at the front door again and the footman soon appeared at the parlor door with Olivia Mayhew in tow. She sidled around the servant. Her eyes were pink and swollen from crying. She hesitated for the briefest of seconds clearly shocked to find Draxford in his shirtsleeves. His shirt gaped open at the neck and he still hadn’t bothered to tuck it into his breeches.
Embarrassed color slashed across her high cheekbones. “Major Draxford, they’ve eloped. You must hunt them down.”
Benjamin peered around the side of the chair and then jumped to his feet. “Olivia, what the devil are you doing here?”
“Oh, Benny, I thought I’d lost you,” she cried and ran at him, rocking him onto his heels. “Cook walked to the Banby’s farm to get some milk and they were all atwitter about a Stanbury eloping.” She was hiccupping. “I thought surely it had to be you, since you and Angeline were as thick as thieves at the masked ball.”
Gladys stepped back into the room, her cloak even wetter than before, and headed to the side cabinet where she proceeded to pluck all the candles from the candelabrum. She was just starting in on the smaller branched candle holder when Olivia shrieked.
“What happened to you?” Olivia was staring up at Benjamin, cupping his face in her hands.
Benjamin looked altogether pleased with the attention. “No point in mincing words, I suppose. Turley tried to kill me.”
He caught her as her knees buckled and set her gently in a chair.
Gladys, momentarily distracted by the scene, returned to plundering the parlor.
Draxford helped himself to more brandy. His faith was beginning to falter. Who had taken the horse? Of course, Stanbury would be too craven to kidnap her. If she’d gone with him, she’d gone willingly. Hadn’t she threatened to do just that? Was last night to put him off his guard?
There was a chill in the house and he was breaking out in a sweat. He scrubbed his face with a shaking hand and grimaced at the stubble he encountered. Unshaved, half-clad, with the bishop on his way. And his bride-to-be possibly traveling in the pouring rain to wed another man.
He’d bloody well chase her down. He would damn well hold her to her promise.
Draxford followed his aunt as she left the room, stuffing the candles and sundry items in her cloak pockets. His frustration was becoming unmanageable. “Aunt, rather than raiding the house, why do you not ask the housekeeper for candles?”
She squinted at him curiously as though she’d only just noticed him. “And have her tattle on me to Miss Stanbury?”
“To hell with that. You have my permission to clear the stores of every blasted candle,” he said and headed toward the stairs.
She tsked, tsked. “There’s that temper, I warned her about.”
“Warned who?” He attempted to keep his voice calm, but could tell by his aunt’s frown he was not succeeding.
“Angel, of course,” she said.
Bloody great. Even his aunt was working against him. Nicholas thought to question his aunt further, but he knew the conversation was going to become a tangle that he did not have the patience to unravel. Without responding, he took the stairs two at a time.
“Now, don’t you go courting bad luck,” Gladys called after him.
He stopped and stared down at her, his grip so tight on the railing he thought he might snap it in two.
She wagged her finger. “A groom should not see the bride before the ceremony.”
His heart seemed to start beating again. “Then you’ve seen her this morning?”
“Certainly. We’ve been preparing the chapel.” She pulled the hood of her cape over her gray curls. “She’s having a well-deserved hot soak now.”
“We are still talking about Angel?”
She looked at him as though he’d lost his mind.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Angeline was late to her our own wedding. Fixing up the chapel had taken more time than she’d expected and then Tabby had insisted on ornamenting a lace headdress with small silk flowers.
Angeline had thought to save time by putting on her pattens while she waited. But they hobbled her progress down the stairs. Her heart raced as she imagined Draxford losing patience and storming out of the chapel.
At the door, Tabby put an arm up to bar her way. Angeline swallowed her frustration as Wick and Kit, despite the rain plinking down on their hats, approached at a leisurely pace.
They unfurled an oil cloth and made a protective canopy of it. She waddled between them, the ungainly pattens making swiftness impossible.
Wick caught her elbow and steered her clear of a puddle. “Careful, Angel, wouldn’t do to ruin that fine dress.”
The men saw her safely to the chapel porch and then turned to leave. “Stay for the ceremony,” she called after them.
“How would that look? Us tromping in there with our mud-caked boots,” Wick said with a laugh. “Besides Kit needs to gather flowers for the wedding breakfast and I’ve got to get the chaise up and running to collect the guests.”
“Don’t fret so. It will be over before you know it,” Kit said and gave the brim of his sodden hat a tug.
She frowned at the men’s retreating backs then peeked through the small, cloudy-paned window set in the door. Draxford wore his full dress uniform; his r
ed coat with deep cuffs and gold epaulets, his snug white pantaloons tucked into Hessian boots. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. He stood silently near the altar, his plumed shako tucked under his arm. The bishop, a short stout man with spectacles, seemed to be holding a one-sided conversation. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Both men turned at the sound of her pattens clattering on the stone floor.
She excused herself and ducked back outside. She took a seat on the porch bench and began untying one of the overshoes.
The door to the chapel opened and Benjamin exited.
“Thank goodness, a friend,” she said. “Is Gladys in there too?”
“Naturally. And decked out in more lace and ribbons than the bride.” Turley’s assault had left his voice raspy and bruises were visible above his shirt collar. “And Olivia is with me. She’s agreed to be my wife.”
Tears sprang to Angeline’s eyes. “How wonderful! You are meant to be together.”
He dug in his waistcoat pocket and produced a handkerchief. “Dry your eyes. It wouldn’t do to look like you’ve been crying. The groom might take it personally.”
As she blotted her tears, he crouched down and began untying the second patten. “I must warn you, Drax is on edge. You have kept the poor bastard waiting for nearly half an hour.”
He pried the overshoes off carefully to avoid muddying his hands. “That’s done.” He straightened up, took her gloved hand and popped her off the bench. “To be honest, I may have had a bit to do with his mood. I’d banged on his door early this morning to alert him that you’d run off with my brother.”
She gasped.
“In my defense, I merely put two and two together. Whomever Hugh eloped with borrowed one of Draxford’s horses.”
Angeline took his proffered arm. He gave her gloved hand a comforting squeeze before opening the chapel door.
Unable to hold Draxford’s intense gaze, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Benjamin escorted her as far as the altar, then left her side and slipped into the front row pew next to Olivia.
Draxford reached out for Angeline, interlocking his white-gloved fingers with hers. His hand was so large that it spread her fingers uncomfortably wide. She was certain he could feel how badly she trembled.
She admired him from beneath her eyelashes. With his broad shoulders, squared jaw, and rigid stance he was the picture of a hard as steel soldier. The only thing that didn’t fit the image was the way he clutched her hand as if she would float away if he were to let go.
It wasn’t until the ceremony had been concluded and the register signed, that Draxford relaxed his hold on her. The door opened a gap and Wick peeked his face inside.
“I’ve managed to get the chaise up the path, sir.”
“Good man,” Draxford said.
“There’s only room for two. I’ll have to shuttle back and forth.”
“Wick, who the devil rode out on the mare today?” Benjamin asked.
“Miss Stanbury, sir.”
Benjamin chuckled and shook his head. “That would explain why she hasn’t been poking her nose into today’s goings-on. Those two have been like an old married couple for years it’s about time they made it legal.”
Angeline glanced at her new husband to gauge his reaction to the news, only to find him studying her.
The bishop and Gladys were the first to be taken to the manor. Once Wick had collected Benjamin and Olivia, all the joy that enveloped the reunited lovers went with them. Wind swept the rain through a crack in the window and the candles set along the sill flickered. Her new husband’s mood fit the bleak atmosphere perfectly. He’s brooding, Angeline realized with a start. It was a completely unnatural state for him. He was a man who took action, who made things happen—like this marriage. Now that he’d done his duty, was he already regretting it? Angeline fought the overwhelming urge to cry and busied herself with snuffing out the candles. There were hundreds of them. How had Gladys managed it?
The ride back to the manor was uncomfortable in every way. Not only did she have to share the ride with a man in a surly mood, but he was too large for such a narrow vehicle and his thigh pressed hard against hers the entire time.
Wick pulled the chaise up to the shelter of the arched portico. Draxford did not have the patience to wait for her to step down, instead he wrapped his hands around her waist and plunked her down under the archway.
As the chaise drove off he drew her in close. “It was supposed to be you. You were the one Stanbury was expecting.”
His accusation took her by surprise, she could not find her voice.
“So up to the final fucking moment you were deciding between me and another man.” He spoke through clenched teeth.
A footman opened the door. The servants were lined up in the entrance hall as if they’d been waiting to offer their congratulations. Angeline managed a tremulous smile, while her new husband accepted the well-wishes with a stiff nod.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The servants were showing too much initiative. Without being asked they’d assembled a wedding breakfast. Christ, all he wanted was to drag his new bride upstairs and consummate the marriage before she had another change of heart.
The table was laden with dishes; eggs, bacon, fresh rolls, and cold meats. Goblets were filled with wine for toasting. Coffee, tea, and hot chocolate were on offer.
Angeline’s plate held only a single scone of which she hadn’t taken a bite. He glanced at her hand as she fiddled with a napkin. Because of his rush to marry, he’d had no ring to give her. He would send for his mother’s jewelry.
“They say opposites attract.” Benjamin, who was drunk on requited love, was on his fourth toast. “To a blissful union between opposites.”
Angeline lifted her glass then downed the contents without taking a breath.
Nicholas glared at the footman who approached to refill her goblet and the man had the good sense to retreat immediately.
The wine had left her lips with a pink stain Nicholas wanted to lick off. Her cheeks though were drained of color and she was casting him doleful looks from beneath her frilly lashes, as if he were the guilty party.
The savory dishes were taken away and replaced with cakes and tarts. Angeline managed a forkful or two of cake and tried to put on a happy face as she chatted with the guests.
Whereas Nicholas was ready to bend his bloody fork in two in his impatience. Gladys put her hand on his sleeve. “Shall I put you out of your misery, nephew,” she said under her breath.
“God, please,” he said.
She got abruptly to her feet. “Since my services as a chaperone shall no longer be needed” —Gladys plucked some cakes from the table and wrapped them in a napkin— “I shall have Wick drive me to the dowager house in the chaise.”
The signal to depart was not lost on the others. After both the chaise and the landau were summoned, the leave taking was blessedly quick.
Angeline followed him up the stairs at a reluctant pace that irritated the bloody hell out of him. No sooner had he closed the door of the bedchamber, than he issued a command. “Take off the dress.”
She blinked at his gruff manner and then reached back and began unfastening the string of buttons.
He shed his uniform jacket and unhooked the black stock from around his neck. He pushed the braces off his shoulders and yanked the shirt over his head. She was still struggling with the dress.
Clad in only his pantaloons and boots he crossed to her, brushed her hands away and tore the dress open. Buttons bounced across the floor.
Her chin trembled as she peeled off the ruined garment. “Why?”
“Because Stanbury chose your wardrobe.”
“I was told you had.”
He tugged on the laces of her corset. “Sorry, b
ut you’ve married an uncivilized bastard who knows nothing of women’s fashion.”
She clutched the corset clearly hoping to save it from her barbaric husband. “I had this before I arrived here.”
“Then I won’t be so clumsy this time.”
He clenched his teeth with impatience as he loosened the laces. The corset undone, she continued to clasp it to her body. He pried the undergarment from her hands and slipped it over her head. Her hair was still up, leaving her graceful neck exposed. He nuzzled her as he slid the chemise from her shoulders. She shivered beneath his lips.
She stepped out of the chemise then covered her nudity with her hands.
“Take down your hair.”
She hesitated for only a moment before complying. He did not have her love, but it seemed he did have her obedience in the bedroom.
He watched fascinated as she unwrapped the long ribbon and then plucked pins and flowers from her hair and set them upon the dresser. Released, her shiny locks skimmed her hips. She combed her fingers through it. “Why are you blaming me?”
He shot her an incredulous look.
She was pulling her hair forward to cover her nakedness again, as if he hadn’t already gotten an eyeful. She seemed suddenly shy of him, but then why wouldn’t she be the way he was acting. He would do his husbandly duty then leave her in peace.
“I was stuck in his wagon. I was a captive audience. Stanbury was furious. He’d guessed your intent to marry me.”
“Not a guess. I told him plainly. The night of the masquerade and again at the mine.”
“Constance said I would be a disaster as your wife. That I would ruin you.”
Nicholas stopped and stared at her and realized that if anybody was to blame, it was him, for surrounding her with such treacherous people.
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