Love and Marriage

by Alexandra Ivy

  The older woman appeared remarkably unconcerned, even going so far as to lift one shoulder.

  “No doubt they are visiting a tenant, or merely inspecting the fields.”

  Perfectly reasonable explanations, but Beatrice was not comforted. She simply could not dismiss that expression upon Gabriel’s countenance when he had left her.

  Had it been anger?

  Disgust?

  Pleasure?

  It was annoyingly impossible to know for certain.

  “Perhaps they informed Aunt Sarah of their destination,” she at last muttered.

  “I believe Mrs. Quarry has gone to the village,” the older woman offered.

  “On her own?” Beatrice demanded in shock. Aunt Sarah never left the estate without Gabriel or herself in tow.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “How extraordinary.”

  Clearing her throat, the housekeeper cast a deliberate glance toward the Louis XIV clock upon the mantel.

  “If you will excuse me, my lady, I should see to the linen.”

  Realizing that she was keeping the busy servant from her duties, Beatrice gave a reluctant nod of her head.

  “Of course.”

  With dragging steps she turned back into the hallway and made her way to the library to check the progress of her secretary. Although it had only been two hours since she had requested Mr. Eaton to begin cataloguing the contents of the priest’s hole, she had to find some means of occupying her thoughts or she might very well go mad.

  With a nod toward the two footmen who had been wisely set beside the hidden door for security, Beatrice stepped inside the small chamber.

  With his usual efficiency, Mr. Eaton had set up several candelabra to provide an adequate amount of light as well as a chair and writing table to aid in his work.

  At her entrance, however, he set aside the table and jumped to his feet.

  “Welcome, my lady.”

  “How do you come along?” she demanded, noting he had already separated the bounty into several neat piles. Her methodical mind silently approved of his orderly technique.

  “Very well,” he retorted, his pale face uncommonly flushed with obvious excitement. “There is quite the finest collection of Rubenses it has ever been my privilege to view, and I am fairly certain that the silver can be traced to Charles the First. I have not yet examined the jewels, but I do not doubt they will prove to be priceless.”

  She briefly regarded the numerous boxes that spilled over with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds.

  “Priceless, indeed. And to think they have been hiding here for years.”

  “It is most astonishing. Lord Faulconer is a fortunate gentleman. There are few in all of England who can boast of such a fine collection.”

  “Fortunate? I wonder if he believes so,” she muttered.

  Mr. Eaton gave a startled blink. “Pardon me?”

  “Nothing,” said dismissively. “Continue with your work.”

  “Certainly.”

  Still plagued by her sense of restlessness, Beatrice left the priest’s hole and crossed out of the library.

  Now what?

  She supposed she could always visit Mrs. Litton. Or perhaps she should simply return to her chambers and enjoy a brief rest. She had, after all, been kept awake most of the night.

  A tingle of warmth rushed through her at the sudden memory of precisely how she had been kept awake.

  No.

  She was in no mood for a quiet rest. She needed something that would firmly take her mind off Gabriel.

  As if in answer to her unspoken plea, a uniformed footman suddenly appeared to offer her a bow.

  “Pardon me, my lady.”

  “Yes?”

  “I have a message from Vicar Humbly.”

  She gave a started blink at the unexpected words. “A message?”

  “Yes. He requests that you meet him at the church.”

  Beatrice could not imagine what the vicar would be doing at the church. Nor why he would send a message for her to meet him there.

  It simply made no sense.

  “Did he say what he desired?”

  “No, my lady, only that you join him as swiftly as possible.”

  “Very well.”

  Leaving the footman, Beatrice retrieved her spenser and bonnet before she escaped from the house. Even though she could not make head or tail of Mr. Humbly’s odd behavior, she might as well be walking to the church as to be pacing the floor in her chambers.

  Beatrice breathed in deeply as she crossed the courtyard and made her way toward the path that would lead to the nearby church and vicarage.

  The day was fine with only a hint of dampness in the breeze. It felt good to have the pale sunshine warming her body and to smell the unmistakable scent of wildflowers just coming into bloom. Her stiff tension began to ease as she forced herself to appreciate the beauty about her. With Gabriel confined to his bed, it had been far too long since she had enjoyed a simple stroll.

  Slowing her steps to a mere snail’s pace, it took some time to reach the grounds surrounding the church. At last, however, she stepped through the fringe of trees that surrounded the yard, only to come to a startled halt as Gabriel suddenly appeared before her.

  “Gabriel.” She regarded him in a wary manner, uncertain what to expect. It did not help that his dark features were once again impossible to read. “What are you doing here?”

  “Awaiting you, my dear.”

  “Me? I thought Vicar Humbly had sent me the message.”

  “He sent the note for me.”

  Beatrice desperately searched his guarded expression for some hint of his inner thoughts. She felt as vulnerable as if she were once again on that storm-tossed lake, at the mercy of unseen forces.

  “Why?” she breathed unsteadily.

  “Because I have prepared a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise?”

  “Yes.” He smiled deep into her troubled eyes. “And on this occasion I intend to do things right.”

  Before Beatrice could question his mysterious words, he suddenly dropped to one knee and grasped her hands in his own.

  “Gabriel . . . whatever are you doing?”

  He offered her that wicked grin she had come to love so dearly.

  “I intend to propose to you.”

  “Propose?” She gave a disbelieving shake of her head. “But we are already wed.”

  He gave her fingers a swift squeeze. “Beatrice, a gentleman cannot possibly propose in style if you insist on being so prosaically practical,” he complained.

  “I do not understand,” she said even as her renegade heart began to swell with hope.

  His expression slowly sobered. “My dear, during my first proposal we both know that I was not entirely truthful with you.”

  She looked away, not wishing to speak of the past.

  “Gabriel, there is no need for this.”

  “There is for me,” he insisted. “On this occasion I come to you as a gentleman well able to provide you with all the luxuries you may desire. I have an estate that is in need of restoration, but with a fine collection of art and the promise of a bountiful harvest. I can also offer you a king’s ransom in diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires to grace your beauty. And this . . . ”With an elegant motion he reached into his pocket to remove a ring. Beatrice watched in wonderment as he slowly slid the large square-cut diamond onto her finger and raised her hand to his lips to brush a lingering kiss upon her palm.

  She shivered, rather afraid that she must be dreaming.

  Surely nothing so wonderful could happen to Beatrice Chaswell?

  Of course, if she were dreaming, she desperately hoped that no one bothered to awaken her.

  “It is beautiful,” she breathed.

  “It belonged to my grandmother.”

  “I do not know what to say.”

  He slowly rose to his feet, appearing like a prince of old with the sunlight shimmering within his russet hair and adding a
hint of bronze to his lean features.

  “I ask you to be my wife, Beatrice, not for Falcon Park or hungry tenants, but for me. Just me.”

  “Oh, Gabriel.”

  He lifted her hands to press them to his heart. “I also have a confession.”

  She asked bemusedly, “What confession?”

  “The fact that I was in need of your inheritance was not all that I hid from you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I wanted you to be my wife because I loved you.”

  Beatrice’s heart faltered in disbelief at his low words. “What?”

  “Oh, I did not realize the emotion for what it was,” he admitted. “I knew only that when I was in your company I felt comfortable and oddly content. No other maiden had ever done more than make me wish to flee miles away.”

  “We are very much alike,” she said in husky tones.

  “No, it was more than that. Somehow I knew that we were meant to be together. There was a bond I could not explain.”

  Her eyes abruptly filled with tears of joy.

  Yes.

  There had been a bond from the moment their eyes had met.

  A connection that transcended logic. As if fate itself had determined they were destined for each other.

  “I felt so too.”

  That wicked smile returned. “And, of course, there has always been the desperate manner I have desired you.”

  Beatrice thought she might burst from sheer happiness.

  “You truly love me?”

  “I have loved you since the day we met,” he assured her. “But at first I denied what my heart whispered, and then, when you discovered the truth of our marriage, I told myself that I was unworthy of such an emotion.”

  Beatrice gently reached up to lay her hand upon his cheek. “I tried to convince myself that as well. But no matter how I tried to remain furious with you, my heart was breaking.”

  “No more,” Gabriel said in firm tones. “The past is behind us. Today we will say our vows again and start our marriage as it was meant to be.”

  Her eyes widened with startled pleasure. “You wish to wed again?”

  “Vicar Humbly is awaiting us in the church to perform the ceremony.”

  Beatrice tilted back her head to give a joyous laugh. “I wondered where he had disappeared to.”

  “He has been helping me to prepare my surprise. So tell me, Beatrice, will you marry me?”

  She did not hesitate as she threw herself against his warm body.

  “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  Twirling her about, Gabriel at last set her on her feet and together they ran laughing toward the church.

  Beatrice was quite certain that she could not possibly be any happier than she was at that moment.

  She had the man she loved at her side and they had their whole future to look forward to.

  Then she stepped into the church and she tumbled into love with Gabriel all over again.

  Her disbelieving gaze traveled over the mounds of daisies that had been banked along the aisle, while the pews were filled with smiling tenants who let out a loud cheer at the entrance of their beloved earl. At the altar a clearly delighted Vicar Humbly gave her a warm glance as Aunt Sarah and the servants crowded behind him with baskets of grain to toss at the bride and groom.

  Tears of pleasure once again filled her eyes. “Oh, my.”

  “You are pleased?” Gabriel whispered close to her ear.

  “It is perfect,” she assured him with a brilliant smile.

  “As it should be.” He lowered his head to press a tender kiss to her lips. “Come, the vicar awaits us.”

  * * *

  With surprising stealth for a gentleman of his girth, Vicar Humbly slipped down the stairs and made his way to the foyer.

  He was not precisely sneaking away, he assured himself. After all, he had made his good-byes to both Gabriel and Beatrice the night before. There was no need to trouble the two when they so clearly desired to be alone. It would be far better to quietly slip away in the carriage Gabriel had insisted take him back to Surrey.

  Wrestling with his large bag that threatened to knock over the various urns and pier tables that lined the foyer, Humbly had nearly reached the door, when the voice he had been dreading cut shrilly through the air.

  “Oh, Vicar Humbly.”

  Rolling his eyes heavenward, Humbly reluctantly turned to face the determined widow.

  Blast.

  He had been so very close to freedom.

  “Yes, Mrs. Quarry?”

  Hurrying forward, she clamped her hands upon his arms as if realizing he would bolt if possible.

  “Surely you do not mean to travel in such dismal weather?” she demanded.

  Now that his task was accomplished, Humbly would gladly have traveled through a blizzard to return to the peace of his vicarage. As much as he might love Gabriel and Beatrice, he was eager to be far from the wiles of this desperate woman.

  “A spot of rain, nothing more,” he assured her with a shrug.

  “But I have ordered your favorite duck in cherry sauce to be prepared for dinner,” she attempted to sway him. “Cook will be most disappointed.”

  “I fear that I really must be on my way.”

  She gave a sudden pout. “Nonsense. What could be so urgent?”

  “I . . . well . . . I must prepare to move into my cottage before the arrival of the new vicar,” he hurriedly stammered.

  With bewildering speed, her tight expression melted and she was batting her lashes in a most peculiar fashion.

  “Oh, yes, your dear cottage,” she cooed. “How envious you have made me. I should very much like to visit this cottage of yours.”

  Humbly gave a choked cough. “It is quite ordinary, I assure you.”

  Her fingers dug painfully into his arm. “Perhaps Gabriel and Beatrice will wish to visit you.”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed, well aware that it would be several months before Gabriel and Beatrice would desire to leave the privacy of Falcon Park. “Now, I really must be leaving.”

  Dramatically moving her hands to her narrow bosom, the older woman gave a sharp cry.

  “Oh, how I hate partings. Good-bye, my dear, dear Vicar. Do not forget me.”

  “Ah, yes, excuse me.”

  Hurrying through the door before the woman could create a further scene, Humbly breathed a thankful sigh at the sight of the waiting carriage.

  Salvation, at last.

  “A very tender parting, Humbly. I fear you have broken poor Aunt Sarah’s heart.”

  Abruptly turning his head, Humbly discovered Lord and Lady Faulconer standing upon the bottom step. A pleased smile touched his countenance at the sight of them arm in arm.

  “Do not tease Mr. Humbly, dear,” Beatrice chided with a tender glance at her husband.

  Humbly gave a click of his tongue. “Goodness, you should not be standing in the rain,” he protested even as a warmth filled his heart. He had never seen Beatrice appear happier, and there was a new air of deep contentment that had settled about Gabriel. The brittle pain had been laid to rest.

  Beatrice gave a lift of her brows. “You did not believe we would allow you to leave without saying good-bye?”

  “Indeed, not,” Gabriel swiftly added. “We have so much to thank you for.”

  Humbly waved aside their gratitude with an embarrassed flush. “No, no. I have done nothing.”

  Gabriel placed an arm about his wife’s shoulders with a wry smile.

  “You have performed no less than a miracle. You have convinced two stubborn, thick-skulled fools to admit their love.”

  “I am delighted you are so happy.” He regarded Beatrice with a searching gaze. “It is all I have ever wished for you.”

  “I am happy,” she assured him, a delighted color filling her cheeks. “Far happier than I ever dreamed possible. Thanks to you.”

  He reached out to pat her hand. “Just remember to always listen to your heart, my dear. It
will never lead you astray.”

  “I will,” she promised.

  “And if she forgets, I shall haul her off to the grotto and swiftly remind her,” Gabriel teased with a wicked smile.

  She gave a choked laugh, but Humbly did not miss the shimmering heat that filled the amber eyes.

  “Gabriel.”

  “A fine notion,” Humbly agreed, knowing his time to leave had arrived. He performed his most elegant bow. “Now I must be off to Surrey.”

  Allowing the waiting groom to take his bag, Humbly moved toward the carriage. The steps were being lowered, when the voice of Mrs. Quarry could be heard from the shadowed foyer.

  “Vicar. Oh, Vicar.”

  “Good heavens.” Humbly shoved his bulk into the carriage, indifferent to the amused expression of the groom.

  “Vicar, I have packed you some nice cucumber sandwiches.”

  Leaning out the window, Humbly waved an impatient hand at the startled driver.

  “To Surrey, my son,” he called in urgent tones. “And be quick about it.”

  With a crack of the whip they were off, and Humbly heaved a deep sigh of relief.

  Surely Cupid had never been plagued with tenacious widows and cucumber sandwiches?

  It was almost enough to put him off matchmaking once and for all.

  A sudden smile curved his lips.

  Well, perhaps not yet, he silently conceded.

  After all, there was still Victoria and . . .

  A Scandalous Marriage

  Alexandra Ivy

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Prologue

  It was only a dream.

  But such an utterly delicious, sinfully wicked dream.

  One moment Victoria Mallory was cursing the lumpy, dubiously clean mattress allotted to her at the posting inn just out side London, and the next she was slipping into an uneasy sleep that astonishingly included the sudden sensation of warm, male arms encircling her body and pulling her close to hard, naked muscles.

  There was a brief flare of shock at the wanton pleasure shimmering through her, but as the dream also included a male voice whispering words of comfort and encouragement she slowly relaxed and allowed herself to loosen her stern restraint.