The Arrangement

by Sylvia Day

  Jo’s face heated; how could she possibly be shy after the things they’d done last night?

  “What are you doing here?” she asked rudely.

  But he only chuckled again. “I was trying to be husbandly rather than draconian. Now come out of there.”

  She emerged slowly to find him holding the robe, but his eyes were wide open.

  “I thought you were going to close your eyes.”

  “I did close them. I didn’t say I was going to keep them closed.”

  Jo snorted, trying to slide from the bed and into the robe without exposing her body in the process, and making an acceptable job of it.

  She tied her sash and his hands landed on her shoulders and turned her around.

  “There—better?” he murmured, swooping down to kiss her with a mouth that tasted fresh, not like a stale trunk as she suspected hers did.

  “You’ve cleaned your teeth,” she accused when he pulled back. “And your hair is damp.”

  “Yes, I am guilty of cleaning myself,” he agreed. “Come,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the seating area in front of the roaring fire. “I am not only trying to be husbandly. I also wanted to demonstrate I’m not just decorative, but also useful. So I nipped down to the kitchen and fixed this tea tray.”

  Jo gave a very unduchesslike snort. “You did no such thing.”

  “Well, all right—but I did ring for the tray, which is quite strenuous.”

  “Now that I believe.”

  “I don’t know why you doubt my ability to do basic things like make tea,” he said. “I’ve been a duke for less than a year—and a spare for thirty-four years before that.” He stopped and cocked his head. “I just realized that I don’t know your age.”

  “I will be twenty-four on my next birthday. I suppose most married couples—the ones who courted normally—know that kind of thing beforehand, don’t they?”

  “Perhaps,” he drawled. “But I think we got to the more interesting parts of the marriage before most normal couples.”

  Jo gasped.

  “You really are quite amusing to shock, you know.”

  “Well, I’m pleased that I amuse you.”

  His eyelids lowered in a way that made her feel as if she weren’t wearing any clothing. “You do amuse me, Josephine. As well as intrigue, please, entertain, and arouse me.”

  Josephine opened the teapot for the ninth or tenth time, the lid rattling noisily in her shaking hands.

  Thankfully, he didn’t appear to notice.

  “We were talking about something else when I became distracted. Ah, yes, my utility. I’ll have you know that I made tea for myself while trudging across the Continent.”

  “What, twice?” she teased.

  “At least three times.”

  Jo’s face was not scalding, so she risked a peek at him. “You might have only been a duke since last August, but you have a very ducal air.”

  He squinted at her. “By ducal you mean, er, what was it? Draconian and—”

  “Dictatorial,” she finished for him. “How do you take your tea?” she asked.

  “Light and sweet.”

  Something in his tone made her look up; he was wearing a lazy, suggestive smile, his eyes hooded.

  Jo swallowed and dropped her eyes to the task at hand. “How interesting—since you take your coffee black.”

  When there was no answer, she looked up. His lazy smile was gone and his expression arrested.

  “What is it?” Jo asked.

  “You know how I take my coffee,” he said quietly.

  “Well, yes, I noticed at breakfast yesterday.”

  He nodded slowly but did not speak, so Jo resumed her work. “Did you ride again this morning?” she asked.

  “No. Come look.” He held out his hand and pulled Jo up, leading her to the window.

  When he yanked open the drapes, they both waved their hands to displace the dust.

  “Good God,” he said, coughing. “That’s dreadful. Look outside,” he ordered.

  At first she thought it was the thick cloud of dust motes. But then she realized it was snow—and a heavy snow, at that. The square below had already been cleaned at least once, but already more deep snow had accumulated: it was a snowstorm.

  Jo looked up at her husband, who wore a slight, mysterious smile. “Do you think this will keep up?”

  “The sky certainly has the look of it. If this continues we shall be snowed into the house.”

  Jo’s face broke into a grin.

  “I thought you might like that,” he said.

  All this snow meant no travel.

  Of course it also meant that Jo was snowed in with Victoria, but at least she didn’t have to leave London. Not that it mattered, since she couldn’t actually see her father, thanks to his orders.

  A warm hand took her chin and tilted her face up. “If you wish to send another letter to your father, I can deliver it when I go out after breakfast.”

  “Where are you going on a day like this?” Jo blurted before she could stop the nosy question.

  But her husband did not look annoyed at her question. “I need to go to the Home Office to take care of a few details, and I also need to see my solicitor.” He hesitated and then added, “I’m terribly sorry about Victoria being here just now, and I shan’t make you manage her all day on your own. I’ll come back as soon as I’m able.” He hesitated and then added, “I know this is a rough time for you, Josephine.”

  “It is. But—Well, you are being very kind.” Jo had wanted to say that being with him made things better, but she’d lost her courage at the last moment.

  “And when I return, you might show me just how good you are at that—” He gestured to the heavy gilt and marble chess table her father had given her for her birthday last year. It was a gaudy thing that she’d only brought along because it reminded her of him.

  “You play chess?” she asked.

  “Yes, and charades and spillikens, as well. I assure you that I’m quite human when you get to know me.”

  Jo laughed at his mock affronted look. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. I just wouldn’t have thought you’d had much spare time, being on campaign for so long.”

  A shadow passed over his face. “Oh, there was always time. Too much, sometimes.” He shook himself and gave her a dry look. “I must confess I’m not very good.”

  “Neither am I,” Jo lied. Her father loved the game and they’d played every night since she was eight years old. She was going to enjoy besting her magnificent husband for a change.

  Jo held out his tea and he leaned forward to take it. He took a sip and gave her a look of pleased surprise. “Perfect, thank you.”

  Jo felt far too happy for such mild praise.

  “We shall have to eat dinner with Victoria, of course.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, trying not to think about it.

  “But I think we might be excused for retiring early. Right after dinner, in fact.” He shot her a wicked look that sent sparks of excitement throughout her body. “After all, it is our wedding holiday, my dear.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “That was a lovely dinner, Jo.”

  Jo had just stepped foot on the stairs, pitifully eager to get up to her room. But she turned at the sound of Victoria’s voice. Although Jo knew the truth about her husband’s affections, she still could not bring herself to enjoy the other woman’s company. She’d successfully spent the day avoiding her, but of course she’d had to suffer through dinner—a meal at which Victoria had monopolized the conversation, either not realizing or caring that she was the only one talking.

  “Thank you.”

  Victoria laughed, the sound enticing and musical. “I do hope you will call me Vix—and I have always thought of you as Jo.”

  “Of course,” Jo said, already knowing she’d never use the pet name. But there was no reason to be churlish.

  Victoria laid a hand on Jo’s arm, and it took all her willpow
er not to jerk away.

  “I hope things will not be awkward between us because of my relationship with Beau,” Victoria said in a loud whisper.

  Victoria really was a snake—beautiful, but a snake all the same. It made Jo weak with gratitude that Beau had pulled her fangs so quickly; otherwise comments like this would have her and her husband at loggerheads every single day.

  “We are sisters, Jo—there should never be awkwardness between sisters.”

  Thanks to her husband, Jo was able to give Victoria a genuine smile of amusement. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Victoria recoiled slightly, a puzzled notch between her spectacular eyes. But she recovered smoothly.

  “I’m so pleased to hear it. I really was excited for you when I heard you were finally going to achieve your dream of marrying a Duke of Wroxton.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Victoria’s eyes grew big with obviously feigned surprise. “Oh, I just meant that I know things didn’t work out for you with Jason.” She chuckled. “That naughty boy.”

  “I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?” Jo demanded.

  “Are you ready to go up, Josephine?”

  Jo turned to see her husband standing just behind Victoria. When she didn’t answer immediately, his eyes narrowed and he looked from Jo to Victoria to Jo.

  Whatever he saw on Jo’s face made his stern expression soften. “You go up, darling. I’ll join you shortly.”

  The same caressing look and loving endearment that sent Jo’s pulse racing caused Victoria’s full mouth to tighten with displeasure.

  Jo knew she was grinning but didn’t care. “Good night, Victoria.” She didn’t wait for a response before turning on her heel and floating up the stairs.

  * * *

  Beau’s head ached as he dried his wet face and then slipped into the robe Dobson held out. He nodded his head in dismissal at his valet, his mind on the woman he’d left down at the bottom of the stairs—when it should be on the woman he would be joining in only moments.

  Damn Victoria! How dare she try to thrust her way into Beau’s more than satisfactory marriage bed? Oh, not that he hadn’t expected it. He’d meant what he’d said about Victoria always being welcome in his homes, but that didn’t mean she would have free rein to torment his wife.

  Beau had seen the disparaging looks she’d given Josephine earlier, the way she’d monopolized the conversation, speaking of past events that only served to underline how close she and Beau had been that summer, and how Josephine had not been part of it.

  Making his marriage work with such a strong-willed woman as his wife would be challenging in itself; the last thing he needed was a meddling ex-lover.

  Victoria was a bloody menace. The sooner her mourning was over and Beau could find her another husband, the better.

  He had no idea what she’d been saying to Josephine on the stairs, but it would likely be another evening in which he would need to put out a fire that Victoria had started.

  “Dammit all to hell,” he muttered as he strode toward the connecting door, not knowing what he would find, but girding himself to expect the worst.

  He yanked open the door.

  Josephine was curled up in a chair by the fire reading, but she looked up and smiled when he entered. So, she was not armored in flannel. Instead, she was wearing a lovely confection that had obviously been purchased with him in mind.

  Well.

  “You look like a thundercloud,” she said.

  Beau snorted. “Do I? I’m beginning to realize I would have made a dreadful diplomat with such a face.”

  She grinned and put a placeholder in her book before setting it aside.

  Beau lowered himself into the chair across from her, wanting to sort things out before getting to the real business of the evening: which was stripping that nightgown from her body and teaching her something new.

  “I’m sorry, Josephine. I know this isn’t much of a wedding holiday for you. Between your father and now—” Beau composed himself. “What did she say to upset you?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Josephine.”

  She sighed. “Fine, she said something about being glad I finally got what I wanted—a Duke of Wroxton.” The look she gave him was more than a little hurt and slightly accusing. “I don’t know what she meant, but I’m sure she shall enjoy sticking me with pins for her own twisted entertainment.”

  If Victoria had been in front of him at that moment, Beau would have throttled her.

  Here was yet another vow the old man had extorted from him. But at this point, was he really breaking his word by explaining what their vicious sister-in-law meant? By speaking now he wasn’t exposing the truth; he was only stopping a problem before it got worse.

  “Please, tell me.”

  Perhaps he was becoming weakened by all this emotional turmoil, or perhaps he was just sick and tired of always finding himself on the wrong side of the argument with this woman. It really didn’t matter. What mattered was that he needed to ameliorate at least a little of her unhappiness, even if it meant breaking his word. If he didn’t tell her, Victoria would—as Josephine said—stick her with pins. He could not be a party to that.

  So he took a deep breath, and prepared to tell her one more thing to hurt her.

  * * *

  Jo had never seen an expression like this on her husband’s face: it was bone weary, and she dreaded learning whatever had made him that way. Perhaps it would be better if she told him she didn’t want—

  “Your father made a marriage contract with my brother—five years ago. Jason broke their agreement. It wasn’t a legally binding agreement, of course—not without your signature or knowledge—but Jason couldn’t have known that when he married Victoria, thus breaking his word.”

  Jo didn’t know what she’d been expecting Beau would say, but this certainly hadn’t been it. She’d started shaking her head before he’d even finished. “Even my father could not be so arrogant.”

  Beau said nothing.

  “I cannot believe this! Just when was he going to tell me? When he dropped me off at the altar?”

  “If it is any consolation to you, he deeply regrets his actions.”

  “Oddly, that is no consolation at all,” she said, her voice shaking with anger.

  “I can’t blame you for being angry.”

  A horrid, nasty, slimy thought shoved its way into Jo’s frazzled brain and her head whipped up. “Is that why you married me? Did he pressure you to save your family’s tarnished honor?”

  He sighed. “It’s long over with, Josephine. What matters is that we are married now, and it seems quite happily—at least for the past forty-eight hours, or so.”

  “I guess that is my answer,” she said, ignoring the thrill she felt at his “quite happily” comment and keeping to the subject at hand.

  “Fine, here is your answer. It was part of my reason for marrying you. First off, your father approached not long after I learned of the horrible financial disaster Jason left. Not only did his offer seem like a godsend, but then he told me about what Jason had done. If your father hadn’t known my brother, I suppose he never would have approached me. And we never would have married. Would you have preferred that?”

  Jo looked into his handsome face and knew he was right: they were getting along and their marriage showed signs of only getting better, but—blast it! Just who did her father think he was?

  Edward James Loman, that’s who, he would have said.

  Jo took a deep breath and flung herself off into the void. “I am glad that I married you.”

  The corner of his mouth pulled up into an almost boyish smile. “Thank you,” he said softly. “As am I. So does how we got here really matter?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I just—” She flung up her hands. “No, you are right. Once again I’m acting angry at the wrong person. It is my father, and not you, who is responsible for this.”

  Beau h
eld out his hand. “Come here. I don’t want to sit across from you—I want to be in bed with you. Inside you.”

  His words tore the air from her lungs, and her legs were wobbly when she rose from her chair.

  Beau sucked in his breath when she stood. “Good God.”

  Jo looked down; she’d forgotten she was wearing this particular nightgown, a pale blue and very sensual creation with sheer panels in strategic places.

  “Do you like it?” she asked, recalling with a shiver what he’d said the night before—that he wanted her naked.

  He stared as if enraptured. “I might have to revise my opinion about fancy, lacy nightgowns. There is something about this one—it covers you, but with a suggestion of nudity that almost makes you look more naked.”

  Jo didn’t think her head could become any hotter.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Has anyone ever told you that you are very bossy?”

  “No. But I have been called draconian and dictatorial. Does that count?”

  She laughed and then twirled in a circle for him.

  He made a growling noise and took a step toward her, dropping his mouth to suck on her hard nipple though the lace panel.

  Jo swooned. He was so . . . so—Oh, she didn’t know what the word was. And she didn’t care right now.

  “It’s very becoming,” he said when he stood up, his robe sliding to the floor and exposing his arousal. His eyes were riveted to her body. “Now take it off.”

  Her hands were shaking badly, so it was fortunate the gown had only three ties to loosen before she could pull it over her head. Once freed, she flung it aside and moved toward the bed.

  But he caught her hand and tugged her back. “No,” he said, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was more of an assault. Jo met him stroke for stroke, their teeth clashing in their urgency to get deeper inside each other.

  Beau wrenched himself away and then pulled her toward the sofa.

  “Kneel and put your hands on the back of the settee,” he ordered.

  She blinked, dazed.

  “Do it, Josephine,” he said when she gaped up at him.

  Her limbs were jerky, but she took the position.

  He made a noise of approval. “This is a breathtaking view of your body.” His hand slid from her hip over her flank and then paused to cup her breast, thumbing her aching nipple while his other hand slid between her thighs.