She managed a wobbly smile and croaked, “I think that would be lovely.”
JOSIE CONSIDERED TELEGRAPHING her sister Miranda to inform her that she wasn’t going to be arriving as scheduled in Charleston. In the end, she decided it didn’t make sense to say anything, until she knew just how late she would be. Besides, she would have bet good money that Miranda had sent for Hannah and Hetty, who would already be on their way with their families to Miranda’s home in Texas. She was in no hurry to tell everyone she was a duchess—and married to a scoundrel—until all the Wentworths were together again.
The wedding had been delayed a week, but that gave her more time to plan her escape with the two boys. Once she was the duke’s wife—and the boys’ aunt—she would be on her way to America as quickly as she could find a ship to take them there.
Meanwhile, Josie thought it best to keep herself aloof from the duke. She didn’t want any sort of emotional involvement with him, because that would make it more difficult to leave when the time came. It quickly became apparent, when he invited both of his sisters and his best friend along on every outing during the following week, that he was as committed to keeping his distance from her as she was from him.
Unfortunately, having Lark and Lindsey and the Earl of Seaton along ended up having the exact opposite effect from the one she believed the duke had intended. The two girls inevitably traipsed off with Seaton, leaving her alone with her future husband.
Josie had her arm looped through Blackthorne’s as they observed an Indian elephant at the zoo. Her fiancé’s great height and broad shoulders made her feel small and protected, even though she was a tall woman. She was aware of the scent he wore, something that smelled like the woods. And she could feel his eyes constantly on her, when he should have been paying attention to the wild animals they’d come to see.
She searched her mind for something to say in the unbearable silence that had fallen between them once Seaton and the twins had gone in another direction. It seemed safer to confine her conversation to the beasts in cages, rather than the one standing next to her, so she said, “That elephant seems rather large to be confined in such a small space.”
“I agree. It seems cruel to pen up a wild animal in such a way.”
She waited for Blackthorne to elaborate, but he didn’t. He merely walked a few paces farther, bringing her along with him, to observe a ragged-looking bear pacing within the iron-barred cage in which it was confined.
“I’ve felt a lot like that bear over the past year,” he said.
She looked up at him in surprise. “You have?”
He shot her a sardonic smile. “Constantly searching for a way out, with no hope of escape.”
“What is it you’re seeking to escape?”
“Debt, I suppose, primarily.”
Again, she waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. What else was he hoping to escape? Even what little he’d admitted was more frankness than she’d expected from him. “Your debt will become a thing of the past within the week,” she pointed out.
“Thanks to you.” He sounded more cynical than grateful.
“But you’d rather not be married, if you could help it.” She made it a statement rather than a question.
“I lost my wife a year ago to illness. I couldn’t do this—marry again—if there were any obligation for affection on either side. It’s fortunate we each have something else to gain from this marriage.”
It seemed one of the other things he couldn’t escape was grief. Josie was glad she was getting out of this marriage as quickly as she could. Glad that she was the woman marrying him, and not some other heiress who might have hoped someday to earn the duke’s love. Apparently, he had none to give.
The lion opened its jaws and roared, startling her into jerking backward and wrenching one of her scars. She bit back a cry of pain, but Blackthorne must have believed the lion had frightened her, because his arms closed around her, and he pulled her close, murmuring, “There’s no danger. He can’t escape.”
Any more than you can, Josie thought. Nevertheless, she appreciated Blackthorne’s offer of comfort. She became aware of her breasts pressed against his muscular chest, of his cheek against her hair, and the way their bodies fit together so perfectly. She was surprised when he abruptly released her and took a step back. She looked up to see what might have caused him to let her go and saw the two vertical lines that had formed between his brows and the look of confusion in his eyes.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.” Except his voice was curt and his shoulders were stiff and his jaw was taut.
Josie was irked because she had no idea why Blackthorne was acting so strangely, when he’d been so kind only a moment before. It occurred to her that she was better off seeing him as the ogre she knew him to be, rather than as the nice man who occasionally emerged from the shadows. She had to remember that they were using each other to achieve their separate personal ends, which didn’t require them to like each other.
“Shall we join my sisters?” he said. “I believe it’s time we headed home.”
He offered his arm, and she took it again, refusing to look into his blue eyes, which she found especially attractive. She might have saved herself the effort, because Blackthorne kept his gaze focused on the caged animals to their right. She aimed her gaze at the three people who were walking on their left, a short distance away. Which was when she noticed something peculiar. Seaton kept glancing surreptitiously toward the twin on his left. Which one was it? Lark or Lindsey?
In the next moment, the twin on the right drew his attention, and Josie watched as the twin on his left shot a look at him that was equally furtive.
Why, they’re attracted to each other! But neither seems willing to reveal his or her interest in the other.
What she couldn’t figure out from this distance was which twin had caught Seaton’s interest and was attracted in return to the earl.
“Your sisters are lovely young women,” she said. “Are either of them being courted?”
“Not at the moment,” Blackthorne said, turning at last to look at her. “One of the benefits of your fortune is that I’ll be able to dower them again.”
“Again?”
“My father stole their dowries and spent the money,” he said flatly.
“Oh.”
“In any case, I’d rather they take their time and look around before they fix their interest on any one man.”
Josie opened her mouth to ask Blackthorne if Seaton had mentioned his interest in one of the girls but closed it again without speaking. Surely, such a good friend would speak to Blackthorne before he courted one of the duke’s sisters. She was determined to discover which sister had caught Seaton’s eye, but by the time she turned back around, the twins were walking toward them arm in arm with each other. Seaton followed behind, and it was impossible to tell which girl had previously been standing on his left.
“What do you think of the zoo, Josie?” Lark asked as they approached. “Isn’t it thrilling?”
Josie wouldn’t have used that word. “Terrible” was more like it. Maybe it was her experience of being a captive and unable to escape a horrible situation that made her so empathic to the caged animals’ plight. She couldn’t remember feeling this way when she’d gone to the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago with her parents, when she was ten.
She was spared from answering when Lindsey asked her brother, “Can we stop for ices on the way home?”
“Your grandmother is expecting us. She asked me to be sure Miss Wentworth arrived home in time to have a fitting for her wedding gown, before we go to the theater this evening.”
Josie wondered if Lindsey had asked to stop somewhere because she wanted more time with Seaton, but whatever her reason, she accepted her brother’s response without a fuss.
Blackthorne left Josie at the door to his grandmother’s townhome without any gesture of affection. He merely bowed to her and got back into his carria
ge, where Seaton was waiting for him. The twins each took one of her arms and dragged her upstairs to the guest room she’d been given in the dowager’s townhome, where Miss Pope, the dowager’s dressmaker, was waiting for her.
Having a wedding dress made for her was a serious trial for Josie, because she felt the necessity of hiding her scarred back from Miss Pope and her assistant. She didn’t want anyone revealing her secret to Blackthorne before they were wed, for fear it would raise questions she’d rather not answer—like why she was marrying him without revealing that she was the woman he’d rescued from the Sioux.
Having her body measured had been a trial, because she refused to undress completely for the seamstress. Even now, she insisted on trying on the completed gown behind a screen.
“Are you sure you don’t need some help, Josie?” one of the twins asked. Josie still couldn’t tell their voices apart, but she assumed it was Lark speaking, because Lark was the sister most likely to put herself forward in every activity.
“I’m fine,” Josie said. “Except for a few buttons I can’t reach.”
Before she knew it, one of the twins—Lark, as it turned out—was behind the screen with her.
Josie gasped and turned her back away from the girl. She was wearing a chemise, but she wasn’t sure how noticeable the raised scars might be under the thin cotton. She held the dress together behind her with both hands as she demanded, “What are you doing back here?”
“Helping you, of course. You don’t have to be shy. You’re beautiful, you know. Your spectacles don’t detract from your stunning blue eyes or your flawless skin or your silky hair or your very attractive feminine curves. My brother is a connoisseur of women. He waited a very long time—almost too long—before he chose you. But I can see what he likes so much about you, even beyond your good looks.”
Josie was embarrassed into laughter by the effusive compliments. “What is that?”
“You don’t kowtow to him,” she said matter-of-factly. “You stand toe-to-toe with him and speak your mind.”
“And no one else does?”
She shook her head. “Everyone’s too busy trying to please the Duke of Blackthorne to object to anything my brother says or does. He’s used to ruling the roost. I suspect he isn’t quite sure what to do with you,” she said with a cheerful grin.
“And that’s a good thing?”
Lark nodded. “Absolutely. Marcus needs a challenge.”
She tilted her head like a curious bird and asked, “Are you going to let me help you button up that dress?”
Josie reluctantly turned her back to the girl, holding her breath, hoping against hope that the marks on her skin were concealed sufficiently beneath the cotton chemise.
A few moments later, the dress was buttoned up, and Lark said, “All done. Turn around and let me see how it looks.”
Relieved that the girl seemed to have noticed nothing amiss, Josie turned back around and said, “Thank you.”
“You should thank Miss Pope. That dress is stunning. Marcus is going to be knocked off his feet when he sees you coming down the aisle.”
Josie smiled. “Let’s hope not. I need him standing there to say his vows.”
Lark laughed. “I suppose you do. May I ask a question?”
“Anything.”
“What happened to your back?”
Josie’s heart skipped a beat. She’d thought she was home free, that Lark hadn’t noticed anything unusual when she’d buttoned up Josie’s wedding gown. What should she say? How could she best keep the girl from mentioning what she’d seen to her brother? Josie’s mind was racing, and she forced herself to take a deep breath and let it out before she spoke.
“What do you mean?” Josie realized as soon as the words were out of her mouth that pretending ignorance wasn’t going to work.
“Where did you get those horrible scars on your back?” Lark said in a quiet voice.
Josie’s face blanched. She couldn’t actually touch most of the ridges on her back with her hands. She could trace the ones on her shoulders and the ones lower down, but the ones in the middle were beyond her reach. She could see them in the mirror, so she knew they were ugly, but she hadn’t realized they would be quite so noticeable through a film of cotton.
“Please don’t say anything to your brother.” Josie heard the panic in her voice, and tried to calm herself by threading her hands together and holding them tightly before her in a way that seemed to beseech Lark’s help. “The scars are from a childhood injury. I conceal them because they’re hideous. Please don’t say anything about my back to anyone, including your sister, and especially your brother. I know how hard that will be, but this is my secret to keep. And now yours, too.”
The concern in Lark’s eyes made Josie feel sick to her stomach. It was bad enough deceiving Blackthorne. She hated lying to his sister as well, but she didn’t know what else to do. Josie waited for some confirmation from Lark that she was willing to do as Josie had asked.
She got a jerky nod before the girl spoke. “All right,” Lark said. “I’ll hold my tongue. But I don’t see how you’re going to hide those marks on your back from Marcus after you’re his wife. I mean…” Her voice trailed off as she shrugged and held out her hands, as though her point was obvious.
Josie knew exactly what she meant. What would happen when she and Blackthorne were in bed together as man and wife? Wouldn’t her husband’s hands be all over her, including on her back?
Of course they would, if she and Blackthorne were married for fifty years or so. But Josie planned to be gone from England long before Blackthorne got a good look at her without all her clothes.
“Let that be my problem,” Josie said.
“All right,” Lark agreed with a skeptical shake of her head. “Once Miss Pope checks your gown to make sure it’s perfect—and it is—I’ll be glad to undo all those buttons.”
Josie set a hand on Lark’s shoulder. “Thank you for keeping my secret. Let me know if I can ever return the favor.”
She waited a moment, wondering if Lark was the sister interested in Seaton, and whether she would share that information with her. But Lark remained silent.
Josie squared her shoulders, smiled, and said, “Well, let’s see what Miss Pope has to say.” She stepped out from behind the screen to the oohs and aahs of Lark’s sister and the approving nod of the dowager’s dressmaker.
She met Lark’s gaze over her shoulder and saw that her eyes had narrowed speculatively. Josie kept the wobbly smile on her face with an effort. She would just have to hope that Lark was as discreet as she’d promised to be. Otherwise, this whole marriage business could be over before it ever got started.
BLACKTHORNE WAS AWARE of his grandmother’s probing gaze focused on him as he paced her sitting room, waiting for Miss Wentworth to make her appearance for their engagement at the theater that evening. Rather than have the dowager remark on his restless behavior, he forced himself to stop in front of the crackling fire and put his hands out, as though they needed warming.
Actually, he was already so warm he would have been more comfortable without his coat, and he wouldn’t have minded loosening his tie as well. The girl made him jumpy. Uneasy. Edgy. And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why.
Maybe it was this forced evening alone with his soon-to-be bride. The dowager had insisted that he be seen at some public gathering with his fiancée at least once before their wedding.
She’d given him a choice between a musical evening hosted by one of her cronies and a night at the theater. He’d figured the theater would bring him into contact with the fewest people to whom he would need to be effusive about the merits of the woman he’d chosen to marry, since he planned to arrive late and leave early, and visitors could only stop at his box during the interval.
To his chagrin, he was more eager and excited to be spending time alone with Miss Wentworth than he’d expected—or wanted—to be. He’d been surprised to discover, over the past week, how mu
ch he enjoyed his fiancée’s company. Young misses weren’t exactly his cup of tea.
But so often, when Miss Wentworth spoke, he found himself agreeing with her, as he had this afternoon at the zoo. It was unusual to hear a young woman voice such an unpopular opinion. He suspected her forthrightness was a result of growing up in America, where people spoke their minds more freely. It was one more reminder that she was completely unimpressed—and undaunted—by his royal title.
Miss Wentworth also seemed to have a great deal of common sense. She’d worn a hat at the zoo to keep the sun off her face, but there had been no concoction of fruit or flowers on it. Her dress had been almost plain, with simple buttons down the front and a fitted bodice and waist that had prompted him to remove the garment in his imagination and take the feminine assets he found beneath it into his willing hands.
Because Miss Wentworth had seemed so levelheaded, he’d been more amused than irritated when she’d squeaked and turned to him for succor when the lion roared. When he’d taken her in his arms, she’d fit perfectly there, her chin reaching his shoulder, her brow level with his mouth.
It would have taken no effort at all to let his hand drift into her silky blond curls, something he’d been yearning to do, or to press his mouth to the soft skin at her temple. The temptation had been there to touch, but he’d resisted it. He’d meant what he told her. There was no room in their marriage for emotional attachments—on either side.
What he’d found most disturbing was his physical desire for the woman he planned to wed. What magic web had this slip of a girl spun in the brief time he’d known her to make him want her so badly? The need to kiss her, to hold her, to thrust himself deep inside her, had become intolerable. He’d never experienced anything like it. Not with Fanny. Not with any woman since. Whenever he was with her, he found himself in an excruciating state of arousal. He swore under his breath as he realized that just thinking about her had accomplished that dreaded result.
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