What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4)

by Adele Clee

  The smile gracing his lips carried a hint of pity. “Whatever is said between us will always be the truth. You will soon learn that love and desire are separate things entirely. I do not need to feel any long-lasting affection to be intimate with you. And we are not in our dotage, Priscilla. You will call me Matthew.”

  Before she had a chance to reply, the carriage rattled to a stop outside number twenty-six Grosvenor Street. A footman dressed in blue and white livery assisted her descent as another rushed to greet them with an umbrella.

  “Welcome to your new home.” Matthew placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her into the hall. “I thought you could meet the servants briefly. Tomorrow you may confer with Mrs Jacobs, the housekeeper, and then consult me on any changes you wish to make.”

  Priscilla scanned the line of cheerful staff. “There are rather a lot of footmen for a house in town.” She counted six. The men were all tall, broad and muscular, a little too coarse in appearance when compared to the servants in all the best houses.

  “I entertain here twice a week. Sometimes the crowd can be a little hard to tame,” he said as though party to her thoughts. “While I am handy with my fists, it is wise to have men to call upon when needed.”

  “I see.” An image of drunken lords brawling on the dance floor flashed into her mind, of scantily clad ladies giggling at the raucous display.

  “This is Hopkins.” Matthew gestured to the butler, a man also lacking the refined air considered a prerequisite for the position. His features challenged all preconceptions: a flat, squashed nose as opposed to one long and straight with razor-sharp edges. Hopkins’ face was full, his lips thick rather than the hollow cheeks and thin disapproving mouth she was used to.

  Hopkins bowed. “Should anything not be to your satisfaction, madam, please bring it to my attention at once,” he said with eloquence. Based on his appearance, she expected his tone to be that of a man from Whitechapel. “The guests have just arrived and await you in the drawing room.”

  “Thank you, Hopkins.”

  "Some people say the bumps and scars on a man's face speak of his pugilistic abilities," Matthew said as they moved along the line.

  Priscilla glanced at him and smiled. “Then I assume Hopkins has his uses.”

  “Indeed.” He paused while the procession of servants bowed and curtsied before returning to their duties. “You will never have cause to fear for your safety with Hopkins around.”

  “My safety? Are your parties always so … so wild and boisterous?” Priscilla dismissed the ice-cold chill flowing through her veins. A home should be a place of sanctuary, not a place where one locks themselves away in a bedchamber expecting an attack.

  “Not always, but men often argue over a mistress. The men who come here have no conscience. The dissolute care nothing for moral restraint.”

  Was life to be endless rounds of bawdy parties, her home abused by drunken louts? Surely there was a better way to supplement one’s income?

  They stopped outside the drawing room door. “Is that why I am banished to the bedchamber when you’re entertaining?”

  “It is my duty to protect you, Priscilla.”

  The comment should have reassured her, but his tone lacked the warmth necessary to suggest he cared. “And I suppose it is my duty to please you.”

  He smiled. “Did you not swear to obey my every command?”

  Priscilla placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Like you, my views are different when it comes to interpreting my vows.”

  Due to the scandalous rumours circulating regarding their need to marry, Matthew had suggested they invite only close friends and family to the house. He refused to give the gossips an opportunity to gloat. Looking at the small gathering — numbering five in total — one would assume Priscilla and Matthew were orphans. Priscilla’s guests included her aunt, uncle and Miss Hamilton. Matthew invited Lord Morford, his wife of three days, Isabella, and his uncle, Mr Herbert Chandler.

  “My nephew is a constant surprise.” Uncle Herbert nudged Matthew. Herbert possessed such an open and friendly countenance she couldn’t help but like him instantly. “Matthew insisted he would never marry and all the time he has been hiding you away.”

  Priscilla touched the man affectionately on the arm. “I’m sure Matthew meant to tell you of our betrothal sooner, but things progressed rather quickly.”

  It was the first time her husband’s given name had fallen from her lips. How strange that something so simple could create a sense of intimacy.

  “Love strikes the heart when one least expects it.” Uncle Herbert chuckled. He was incredibly handsome for a man of middling years. “I am relieved to find my nephew is just as susceptible. I feared he would spend a lifetime alone.” He grabbed Matthew’s shoulder firmly. “Your father would be proud. I assume your mother was too ill to travel but what of your siblings?”

  At the mere mention of family, a dark cloud descended to dull her husband’s handsome features. “Beatrice is nursing my mother and Simon is too busy with estate business to leave Yorkshire.”

  In truth, Matthew had not given the family a choice and had only written three days ago to inform them of his impending nuptials. In the letter, he’d mentioned his mother’s ill health as a way of justifying his actions, though Priscilla suspected there was more to it than that.

  “I doubt Simon will believe it.” Uncle Herbert laughed. “No doubt he will think it a prank to annoy him. Perhaps when you sire heirs, it will force your brother to marry.”

  Matthew smiled, but his eyes were like cold mossy pools of nothingness. “Then I can only pray he finds a bride quickly. I have no intention of ever living at Moorlands.”

  “You may change your mind when you have a son.” Herbert raised a mischievous brow.

  “I doubt it,” Matthew snapped.

  A look of pity flashed across his uncle’s face. “This is a time of new beginnings. Things will be different now. You’ll see.” He patted Matthew on the arm, took Priscilla’s hand and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. “I shall leave you to mingle with your guests. Lord Morford has been hopping about like a hare in his desperation to speak to you.”

  Priscilla met Tristan’s nervous gaze. No doubt guilt formed the basis of his anguished expression. “He seems eager for our attention.”

  “Tristan recently married in a private ceremony, and we’ve not congratulated the couple.” Matthew patted his uncle on the back. “We’ll come and find you shortly.”

  “You must come to dinner,” Priscilla said, much to Uncle Herbert’s surprise.

  “Dinner?” A smile touched the man’s lips, and he cast Matthew a dubious glance. “Are you sure it would not be an imposition? My nephew usually insists on meeting me at my club.”

  Matthew swallowed deeply. “I can make an exception,” he said, and she could not tell if he was pleased or annoyed.

  As soon as Uncle Herbert moved away, Tristan hurried over. “How are you both faring?”

  The ebony-haired lady at his side touched his arm. “Stop worrying, Tristan.” She turned to Priscilla. “Forgive him. He holds himself responsible for your predicament.”

  Priscilla understood why Tristan blamed himself. But life was too short to worry. Only a few weeks prior, poor Mr Fellows had been knocked down and killed by a carriage whilst crossing the road on a foggy morning.

  “Your mother is the only person who should feel remorse,” Priscilla said.

  “It might please you to know she now lives with my sister in Ripon.” Tristan forced a weak smile. “I give you my word she will not trouble either of you again.” He turned to Matthew. “I know I have said so a thousand times, but I’ll not forget what you’ve done for me, for Isabella, for all of us.”

  Matthew snorted. “As I have already explained to my wife, I am not a martyr, Tristan. At heart, I have always had selfish tendencies. Do not give the matter another thought. Besides, have you not heard the news?”

  “What news?”
r />   “We’re in love.” Matthew gave a sinful smirk. “Surely it’s obvious.”

  Despite knowing it was far from the truth, butterflies fluttered in Priscilla’s chest. The tickling sensation travelled to other parts of her body as her husband brought her hand to his lips and brushed a tender kiss over her knuckles. The same playful glint she’d seen when alone with him in the carriage flashed in his eyes. Lust, it seemed, could be mistaken for love if one was of a mind to deceive.

  Tristan and Isabella stared at them.

  “Then I would say the course of true love is rarely smooth.” A dubious look marred Tristan’s fine features. “Should either of you need anything while navigating the turbulent waters, you only need ask.”

  Isabella nodded. “Our door is open, day or night.”

  Matthew raised his chin. “There is no need for concern. In my tainted experience, we share the one thing most married couples lack — honesty. There are no secrets. We understand one another and so how difficult can married life be?”

  Chapter 5

  Standing together in the hall, Matthew and Priscilla were all smiles and chuckles as they said goodbye to their guests. Her aunt and uncle were the last to leave.

  “Now, if you need any help with the household management you know where to come,” her aunt said in earnest.

  Matthew almost snorted. The Callans were the last people to offer advice on handling one’s affairs.

  “I’m sure I shall need your help with many things.” Priscilla clutched her aunt’s hands. “Once I’ve settled in here I shall be sure to call round.”

  A frisson of guilt flashed through him. Despite knowing of her family’s failures, his wife showed nothing but kindness and respect to her kin.

  “When you’re settled we might go shopping.” Aunt Elizabeth’s comment surprised him. Perhaps the woman knew nothing of her husband’s financial predicament.

  “Shopping?” Lord Callan tutted. “Ladies and their fripperies.”

  A smile lit up her aunt’s face. “Perhaps we might treat ourselves to new perfume from Floris.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Priscilla replied although he noted the lack of enthusiasm in her tone.

  “Well, Chandler,” Lord Callan said tugging at his collar as though struggling for air. “We’d best be off. No doubt my solicitor will be in touch in the next few days.”

  No doubt? Damn right he would be. “I shall look forward to the event.”

  Once left alone, an uncomfortable silence ensued. Despite outward appearances, Matthew doubted the transformation from bachelor to husband would be without its problems.

  What the hell did a man do with a wife, other than the obvious?

  Priscilla shuffled from one foot to the other, twiddled her fingers and sighed. “Well, now would be a good time to give me a tour of the house. Hopkins arranged for the footmen to take my luggage upstairs, so it remains for you to point me toward my bedchamber. Perhaps it would ease the tension if we got the preliminaries over with.”

  Her nervous ramblings caused guilt to flare. Regardless of the promises made, he was unaccustomed to pleasing anyone but himself. Nevertheless, he wanted to make her happy. It seemed like a fair exchange. What sort of man would he be to take a lady's money and give nothing in return? But where the blazes was he to start?

  His skill with women lay in one specific area.

  “Preliminaries?” He cast a mischievous grin though doubted she meant the claiming of her body. “Are you so eager to get the deed done? If you’re referring to the business of marriage, then I would rather savour the moment not rush.”

  The apples of her cheeks flamed. “I … I was referring to the mundane tasks of settling in.”

  “You’ll soon come to know that I’m uncomfortable with all mundane aspects of life.” He moistened his lips. “I refuse to temper my wild imagination and hope there will be nothing ordinary about settling in.”

  “It … it appears we are having different conversations.”

  “Once we begin, I’m sure we’ll be singing the same tune.” Damn. For a man who’d spent years avoiding marriage, he sounded desperate to consummate their union. Then again, since the night he’d promised to wed her, he’d not looked at another woman, let alone satisfied his carnal needs.

  “Did you mind me inviting Herbert to dinner?” She bit down on her bottom lip. The abrupt change of subject was perhaps a way of settling her nerves. “It is obvious he admires you greatly, and it would give us an opportunity to become better acquainted.”

  “There has never been a need to invite him before as we meet each week at Boodle’s.” Herbert Chandler never sat in judgement. He never spoke of the past. In that regard, he was an ideal companion. One could only hope Priscilla did not feel the need to pry into their family history. “But perhaps we should wait until we’re more at ease with one another.”

  “Do you find me too presumptuous?” Two thin lines appeared between her brows. “Here we are married for little over an hour, and already I am organising your diary.”

  “Had I any objection, I would have said so.”

  They stared at one another. Neither knew what the hell to do or say next. Damn it all. Marriage proved to be harder than he’d imagined.

  “Come, let me show you to your bedchamber.” He gestured to the stairs. “You can wash and change before dinner.” And he needed time alone to decide how best to proceed.

  Priscilla touched her stomach. “After such a wonderful wedding banquet I doubt I’ll have room to eat again today.”

  “Then we must find a way to work up an appetite.” The comment roused the memory of their heated kisses in the carriage. Judging by the slight tremble of her chin, she understood his meaning perfectly.

  “Will we be sleeping together?” She struggled to hold his gaze.

  Was it a trick question? “Excuse me?”

  “Are we to share a chamber or will we have separate rooms?”

  “I thought separate rooms would be best.” A man needed the freedom to strut around naked. And having experienced many illicit liaisons, one woman’s body looked much the same as another. It was the intimacy of seeing her wash and brush out her hair that threatened to destroy his equilibrium. “We will both want privacy.”

  Rather than her tight shoulders sagging with relief, she narrowed her gaze. The look suggested he had made a grave error. How odd.

  “I understand.” She nodded. “You do not want to make excuses to be alone. But you should know that I will not make demands on your time. I am not a woman who moans or mithers. I am not a leech intent on sucking you dry.”

  Bloody hell!

  Did the lady not understand that certain phrases forced a man to think wicked thoughts? He considered her full pink lips, imagined threading his fingers through her hair as she knelt before him.

  Eager to experience the fantasy, his cock swelled and pushed against the fall of his breeches. Matthew swallowed hard. Damn. He could not take his bride in the middle of the afternoon. It suggested an element of desperation, suggested he lacked control.

  “No doubt we will have cause to reassess the living arrangements as problems arise.” To tell her they might sleep together at night would only give false hope. Besides, most married couples slept separately. “Nothing is set in stone. For now, I suggest we continue as planned.”

  “Then lead the way,” she said with an air of resignation.

  Matthew gave a curt bow and motioned to the stairs. “After you.”

  He followed behind, observed the gentle sway of curvaceous hips, pictured the same scene minus the clothes.

  Coming to a halt on the landing, she waited for his direction.

  “Your bedchamber overlooks the garden.” He walked to a room further along the corridor, opened the door and stepped back for her to enter. “It’s generally quieter unless I’m hosting an event. Hopefully, no one will disturb you.”

  With some hesitation she stepped inside, twirled around to scan the decor, stroked the
dusky-pink bed hangings as her wide eyes focused on the large four-poster bed.

  Matthew cleared his throat. “I’d suggest ordering new soft furnishings, but until I’ve repaid the vowel, it is best to be prudent.”

  “These will be perfectly fine. Where do you sleep?”

  “The master suite is next door. You can access my chamber via the connecting door in the dressing room though I took the liberty of locking it. The key is on the night table next to your bed. That way there is no fear of waking at night to find a stranger lurking in the shadows.”

  Priscilla arched a brow. “You’re my husband, Matthew, not a stranger.” She wandered over to the window. “Do the guests realise you can see behind the topiary hedge from up here?”

  “When in the throes of passion, I doubt they give the matter much thought. Why? Do you intend to snoop on their amorous activities?” The notion of her experiencing pleasure at the sinful sight aroused him further.

  “A lady must do what she can to further her knowledge.”

  The minx was teasing him. “Have no fear. I shall give you all the tutoring you need. Trust me you’ll never have cause to look elsewhere.”

  Averting her gaze, she touched the burgundy drapes, unhooked the sash and drew the curtains.

  Once plunged into semi-darkness, all thoughts turned to seduction. After all, she was his wife. Duty demanded he bed her. Indeed, his cock ached to burst free, to push inside and experience the true depth of innocence.

  “And what are your plans for the evening?” Confidence infused her tone which was surprising when one considered the intense pulse of desire radiating through the room. “Am I to come to your chamber?”

  “No. I will come to you.” It was easier that way. He could leave, sneak out as soon as she fell asleep. It would save any awkward conversations.

  “Then you do intend to lie with me tonight?”

  “Of course.” He sounded far too eager. “Our alliance must be legally binding.”

  “I see.” With deft fingers, she pulled the pins from her hair. Golden curls fell free to drape over her shoulders and slide seductively down her back.