by Maya Rodale
“It’s a marriage of convenience. As long as I keep that in mind and don’t let my heart get involved, it will be just fine,” Julianna said resolutely.
As expected, Sophie snorted with laughter.
“You don’t seem to be suffering your usual pre-wedding jitters,” Julianna remarked in an effort to change the subject.
Sophie had been jilted at the altar, and then had become the author of Miss Harlow’s Marriage in High Life for The Weekly. Weddings made her very nervous and quite ill. The situation had noticeably improved since her own wedding to the Duke of Hamilton and Brandon.
“Surprisingly, I feel quite all right. It must be a good sign,” Sophie said, reaching out and giving Julianna’s hand one last squeeze before she left to join the other guests.
Julianna was left alone, and very aware that this was her last chance to make a mad dash out of the church, to get lost in the crowded London streets and then to . . . well, she didn’t quite know what else to do.
Fate was waiting for her.
The first notes of the organ sounded, loud and strong in the cavernous church, and she took a deep breath and held on tightly to her orange blossom bouquet. The scent reminded her of that night when he had kissed her against the orange tree in the Walmslys’ conservatory.
This was a bit different from a jaunt to Gretna Green.
At the end of the aisle, Roxbury was waiting for her with his hands clasped behind his back. His hair was dark and as tousled as it ever was. His eyes were large, velvety brown, and looking only at her. His mouth was neither smiling nor frowning. It was plain from his expression that this was as surreal and unexpected for him as it was for her. That they possibly had some common ground brought her a measure of comfort.
On her way to his side, she passed her fellow Writing Girls: Annabelle was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Eliza and Sophie smiled on. Alistair sat nearby, smiling as well. Knightly was with them, because she wanted him to see that she was becoming respectable.
The Earl and Countess Carlyle, Roxbury’s parents, had arrived from Bath earlier that week. In a show of optimism they had previously scheduled their journey to conclude in time for their son’s possible nuptials. Julianna had met them fleetingly the other day. How two such sober, upstanding individuals had produced a wild, passionate man like Roxbury was a mystery to her.
They had not quite approved of her, and she saw quickly that Roxbury enjoyed it. Once upon a time, part of Somerset’s appeal had been that her parents disapproved of him. So, she understood.
And then, before she knew it, she was standing next to Roxbury at the altar. Just as she considered running away, he took hold of her hand.
There was something about a man who knew when a woman needed some comfort, and strength, and then provided it. Because of that small gesture, she thought they might have a fighting chance. And so, perhaps, she would stay.
The vicar began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today . . .”
Roxbury looked at Julianna gazing at him from behind a white lace veil.
It went without saying that he had never imagined that he would marry. He certainly hadn’t pictured this moment—holding hands with his bride before his parents, close friends, a vicar. God. No wonder he felt ill.
His bride was not some missish, biddable thing. No, he did not make this easy on himself. Entranced, he watched as Julianna looked scared, then scowled, or smiled faintly, or schooled her features into an oh-so-determined expression.
Life with her was not going to be boring. That much he was sure of.
If he was not bored, then it logically followed he might not need to seek diversion elsewhere. If that happened, he would be a faithful husband, which is to say he was at this very moment promising to be the one thing he never thought he’d be.
He glanced at their guests—his smug parents, her weepy friends. Where was her family, he wondered? There was so much about her he didn’t know. But, oh dear God above, they had the rest of their lives together to discover it.
“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the vicar intoned.
This was it, then. Roxbury rocked back on his heels, contemplating making a run for it. The woman in question squeezed his hand as if she could read his mind. Hell, knowing her, she probably could.
Edward always swore he’d never marry. A man’s life is his own, he’d said—before he enlisted in the army, was assigned to France, and died in battle. It logically followed that a man’s life wasn’t his own anymore if a wife and then brats entered the picture. This moment was the end of so many wide-open horizons and endless possibilities.
One of the guests coughed loudly. Brandon, his best man, elbowed him in the back. Julianna appeared to be considering a swift kick to his shins.
For a second time, the vicar asked, “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Chapter 31
In the end, Roxbury managed to say, “I do.”
He also survived the wedding breakfast hosted by his parents. The toasts were awkward, as the bride and groom at best managed civility toward each other. Julianna appeared far too interested in the family portrait, including Edward, for Roxbury’s comfort. It was obvious that later there would be questions he did not care to answer.
He took no small measure of delight that his oh-so-proper restrained and uptight parents were hosting the four most scandalous women in London, and one of them as a daughter-in-law.
To have Derek Knightly, a lowborn, self-made man there was also a small triumph, though also quite unexpected since their last encounter was on a dueling field and Knightly’s arm was still in his sling. Underneath his jacket, Roxbury’s arm was still bandaged. They were quite a pair.
His parents acquitted themselves with the utmost politeness. His mother took the women for tea. His father smoked cigars with the gentlemen.
Roxbury had married by their schedule (without a day to spare), but he had done it on his terms—which just happened to be a desperate bargain with his she-devil bride.
Getting his new wife to agree to his terms was another battle entirely.
After a long day, and after all their goodbyes were said, they finally climbed into the carriage to return home. Julianna smoothed her silk skirts and loosened her bonnet strings.
He wished she’d remove the thing entirely. He wanted to see her face without the veil, and he wanted to see her luscious auburn hair instead of a stupid bonnet. He wanted to see Julianna bare, pure, without adornment.
“To 24 Bloomsbury Place, please,” she told the driver. Peter looked warily over at Simon. He knew who paid his wages, but he also knew the lady was capable of wielding a firearm with frightening accuracy.
“Home, Peter, to Bruton Street,” Simon confirmed.
“What do you mean, home?” Julianna queried.
“We are going to our new home, Lady Roxbury, which is at 28 Bruton Street.”
“I cannot. I need my things.”
“Your maid packed them and brought them over during the ceremony and breakfast,” he answered evenly. He had seen this conversation coming a mile away. While she was focused on negotiating the most intricate, generous, and favorable marriage settlement any solicitor had ever created, he was busy ensuring that she actually did marry him.
He also made plans for her to reside with him in his garishly decorated bachelor’s residence because in order for this whole scheme to work, the ton had to believe the marriage was real and that they were in love. They could not just tie the knot and live separate lives across town.
Thus, they would reside under the same roof.
“I did not order her to pack my things,” Julianna said.
“I’m sure you didn’t tell the sun to rise, either, but it did,” Roxbury remarked. “And I asked your maid to do so.”
“This will never work. I cannot have you going behind my back and making plans for me without my knowledge or consent. I am my own person, an adult, and I will not be tre
ated as a child or a servant.”
“Lady Roxbury, if you will be calm and listen to reason . . .” he began, purposely to provoke her.
“Be calm? Listen to reason? Lady Roxbury?”
Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were blazing, and she was utterly adorable. It was a delight to watch Julianna practically choking on her fury. Nothing was surer to agitate a woman than to tell her to be calm and listen to reason.
“As I was saying,” he carried on, trying very hard not to break into a grin, “this marriage is for the sake of appearances. So you will stay at my home, not because I wish to claim my marital rights, but because we need to dispel rumors that I enjoy bed sport with other men, that you do not enjoy bed sport with many men, and to convince the ton that this is a passionate love match and not the mercenary scam that it is.”
“I want a separate room,” Julianna said.
“They’re preparing two chambers right now,” he replied.
“With locks.”
“That will not be necessary,” he said, and then she surprised him by blushing, and turning away. Had he offended her modesty or was she embarrassed that he would not be seeking access to her bedchamber?
His intentions regarding bedding a female were, for the first time, pure. While his body was demanding that he claim her as his own by kissing, caressing, and loving every inch of her, his head and—dare he say it—his heart wasn’t in it. He’d had enough experience with women to know that a kiss too soon could be the end of everything.
Julianna infuriated him. She also amused him. They were married now and he wasn’t quite ready to ruin it all. He ought to give it a week, at least.
“I hope Penny brought my pistols,” Julianna muttered.
“I specifically told her not to,” he said. Because, being a red-blooded, passionate male married to a stunning beauty meant that at some point, he was going to bed her. He’d rather not risk her gunfire—again—to do so. The wrath of Julianna was sufficient to keep him at bay. For now.
She sighed, ever vexed, and he was ever entranced by the glorious rise and fall of her breasts. Perhaps it might just be worth the risk after all.
“I do not care for this,” she said with a sniff. He assumed she was referring to everything. He could not blame her. His own feelings were mixed—terror, a sort of excitement, a sense of adventure, and did he mention he was terrified?
But then there was always the great pleasure of discovering and learning a woman for the first time. To notice when she sighed, or to learn that she smoothed her skirts when she was nervous, or to discover just how she liked to be kissed.
“An excellent start for our marriage,” he remarked.
“Are you going to be faithful, Roxbury?” she asked. He fought the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat, for had he not just entertained the thought, a few hours earlier, that he might be able to do it? Or was that just delusional? Or was that how he felt at the start of every love affair? Was this even a love affair? He thought it was a bargain with the devil.
“Do you want the honest answer, Julianna, or are you having a vulnerable moment and need to be consoled?”
“Honesty, please,” she answered.
“For now, yes, I will be faithful to you. But ultimately it depends,” he answered truthfully.
“On if I’m a true wife to you?” she asked.
“Yes, and probably a dozen other things. But for now, Julianna, I am yours and only yours.” It was a line he’d said before, but it was different this time: it was her and they had taken vows, and because he knew, deep in his bones, that this was not just another passing affair.
“Roxbury, I have another question.”
“Life with a reporter . . .” he jested.
“At your father’s house, that portrait . . .”
His smile faded as her voice trailed off. She was referring to the big family portrait above the mantel in the drawing room, and he had seen her glancing at it frequently before dinner. This question was not unexpected. Nevertheless, he did not know how he wanted to answer it.
“Tell me about how you first met Somerset,” he said.
“Point taken, Roxbury. We shall suffer our curiosity about the other’s deep, dark secrets until a suitable degree of intimacy is established, or—”
“All in good time, darling wife,” he said. They had the rest of their lives together. He swallowed hard at that realization.
Finally, the carriage rolled to a stop before his townhouse. A footman was waiting, but Simon waved him away.
“Julianna,” he said, and he took her hand in his and looked her in the eye.
Her eyes were lovely—bright green, with dark lashes. Her gaze was, as always, strong and honest. Her mouth, however, was another story entirely—here she showed her every emotion. Did she bite her lip in fear or vexation? Smile mysteriously or pout? Now, he found her lips were just so . . . kissable.
There was definitely a very significant chance that he would not be bored.
“Neither of us wanted this marriage,” he began, “but now we’re in it and there is no getting out of it. We have already demonstrated our capacity to utterly devastate the other. I am suggesting we endeavor to make a success of it; I only ask for a truce.”
“Complete honesty and practicality. My favorite kind of romance,” she remarked, sighing, and the smile she offered him could only be described as shy. Such a strange thought—Julianna, shy.
“A truce, Roxbury,” she said, holding out her hand to him.
He lifted her palm to his lips for a kiss, pausing to savor the warmth from her hand and this moment of tenderness. And then he escorted his bride into the horribly decorated bachelor’s abode that was now, suddenly, the newlyweds’ home.
Chapter 32
In the lady’s bedchamber . . .
Once upon a time, Julianna had thought that Roxbury possessed plain brown eyes like anyone else. She never understood the sighs and raptures from other women about his chocolate-colored eyes with their sparks of mischief and desire and all that rot. The legions had fanned their hot cheeks at the merest mention of his tall, lean, muscled physique. What hogwash, she had thought.
She was beginning to understand. When he held her hand and looked at her with beautiful, warm brown eyes, she noticed that he really looked at her. He really saw her.
Somerset had stopped seeing her after a while. She’d forgotten what it was like to be noticed, and that it was lovely.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight, my lady,” Penny said. Julianna stood in the center of her new bedroom—a very pink room—awaiting her maid’s assistance in removing her gown.
“It’s been a big day,” Julianna replied.
“And now a big night . . .” Penny said, and Julianna caught her maid’s grin in the gold-framed full-length mirror.
“No, not exactly,” Julianna said. But she was very aware that he was just across the hall, and at this very moment he was probably undressing that tall, lean, muscled physique of his. A blush stole across her cheeks.
“But he’s your husband now, and so handsome,” Penny went on. Her maid had been completely charmed. Wonderful.
“And the last time I had had a handsome husband . . . you know how that turned out, Penny.”
“Just fine,” she said briskly, tucking a stray strand of red hair out of her eyes before beginning to unlace Julianna’s corset.
“Just fine? Whatever do you mean?” Julianna asked.
“He conveniently removed himself from your life. He got out of your way so you could be happy,” Penny said. Julianna had been thinking more along the lines of utter calamity, but the point was taken. The worst was after the love had gone, but the marriage remained.
“You make it sound as if he did me a favor, when in fact he was merely an idiot. He was killed because he was trying to make love to an actress while driving a carriage. While drunk,” Julianna said. Every so often she had to repeat it aloud to confirm it. What a stupid way to go.
By the en
d, Somerset liked his vices in pairs, at the minimum. Alcohol and women, opium and fornication, gaming and smoking.
“But the point is he is no longer around to hurt and embarrass you with his infidelities,” Penny added.
“I have Roxbury for that now,” Julianna said forlornly—and yet glancing at the bedchamber door as if he might knock at any second. Would he knock? Why wouldn’t he?
“Oh, my lady,” Penny said with a laugh. “He’ll never get away with it! You have a network of spies and informants, starting with my six sisters and me. We’ll watch out for you.”
Penny spoke brightly as she worked efficiently to remove all the hairpins. She didn’t seem quite aware of the revelations she had just shared.
With her network of information gatherers, Julianna would know about any infidelities of Roxbury’s before they even happened. And if he were the promiscuous rogue that she feared he could be, it would be different this time because she would not be in love with him.
This marriage might have a chance after all.
In the bedroom across the hall . . .
“She’s a stunner, my lord. Well done,” Timson said. Roxbury removed his jacket and handed it to his valet.
“That is my wife you’re talking about. And she’s the devil in disguise.”
“Aren’t all women?” Timson asked with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I have to live with this one. I cannot just leave before morning light and be done with it,” said Roxbury.
This part, in particular, worried him. He fell easily into love, and easily out of it. Because he did not engage in long-lasting binding affairs, it was of little to no consequence at all to walk away whenever he felt like it.
Though he knew little about marriages, Roxbury knew that he could not just walk away and be done with it once he was bored.
“A wife, Timson. My wife.”
“Never thought you’d say that, did you?” Timson asked with a grin. Roxbury handed his waistcoat and cravat to him and wondered what his valet did besides collect clothing and offer his unsolicited opinions. Certainly not tend to his own slovenly attire.
