Marriage with a Proper Stranger

by Karyn Gerrard

  Finally, she cleared her throat. “Should we keep doing this? Kissing, I mean.”

  “Yes. In the same way we should keep breathing.” He did not give her a chance to respond, just swept her up into a bracing kiss. He clasped the nape of her neck, sending her bonnet slightly askew. “Kiss me in return, Sabrina,” he rasped.

  His gently spoken but urgent demand gave her courage. She threw her arms around his neck and followed his movements, brushing her lips across his until a husky moan escaped his throat. When it did, she thrust her tongue into his mouth as he had with her yesterday. Sinful. Completely wonderful.

  “Oh, God,” he murmured. In response, he wrapped his tongue about hers, caressing it, sending the flames of desire to a full roil. Sabrina was caught in a maelstrom of sensations. She wanted and needed more. Riordan clasped her cheeks, gasping, then leaned his forehead against hers. “Listen to me. Any chance I am able, I will be kissing you. I can’t not kiss you. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, gulping deeply, trying to regulate her breathing as she did.

  “Do you want me to kiss you? If not, tell me. Here. Now. We will coexist as friendly acquaintances and nothing else.”

  How would she survive the next three months? The Sabrina of the past would have coldly rebuffed his passionate plea, even acted pitiless in the face of his raw and honest emotions. But in the span of mere weeks, she’d changed. It was all due to Riordan. She longed for his kiss. Yearned. At this moment? It was all she wanted. “Yes. Kiss me. Always.”

  He pulled her into his arms and she melted. “Brilliant. I don’t know what I would have done if you had said no.”

  They stood together for several minutes. Sabrina did not even care that his arousal was pressed against her. She did not pull away in horror, but instead soaked in his warmth. The hardness of him. For the first time in years she felt…safe. Protected.

  Grayson nickered loudly and they parted. Riordan chuckled. “I believe the horses are anxious to be on their way.”

  “Could we walk along the brook first? The day is lovely, and the winter season will soon be upon us. I want to savor it.” And savor you. Yes, she shamelessly wished to be as close to him as possible. Take his arm, lean against his tall, muscular body. How astounding that she did not find any of this abhorrent. Perhaps the six years in which Pepperdon had left her alone before he died had allowed her to heal somewhat. But how much? Enough to allow more than kisses? Not possible. Pepperdon had ruined her from ever wanting a deep intimacy with any man.

  Or had he?

  * * * *

  Once they arrived at the farm, they headed to the stable to leave the horses. Sabrina stumbled and Riordan rushed to her side.

  “You’re tired. I will take you to the cottage on Grayson.”

  “No, I will be able to walk.”

  Riordan leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Whether or not you are able to walk, indulge me. I want you in my arms.”

  Another roll of heat moved through her. Riding together on his horse? “Will he manage both of us?”

  Riordan handed Goldie’s reins to Farmer Walsh. “Absolutely.” He lifted her up onto the saddle and gracefully mounted behind her. “Farmer Walsh, I will return shortly.”

  The farmer touched his forelock. “Grayson will enjoy the extra exercise, sir.”

  “That he will.” Riordan urged the gelding forward at a slow trot. In a low voice that only she could hear, he said, “And give me an opportunity to be close to you.”

  Pleased at his words, she leaned against his chest and sighed contentedly. Riordan kissed the exposed area of her neck between her bonnet and the collar of her cloak. This continued for several moments, until a small girl’s voice broke through her dreamy thoughts.

  “Mr. Black, Mr. Black!”

  Sabrina sat upright, her gaze sliding toward the sound. A girl, probably no more than six or seven, stood on the path. She wore a shabby pinafore over a plaid dress, her golden blond hair pinned haphazardly, with several tendrils hanging loose, framing her pretty face. She clutched several pieces of paper. Her face lit up at the sight of Riordan. Goodness, he even charmed small children.

  “My youngest student. One moment.” He slid off Grayson and strode toward the small girl, who immediately broke into a sprint, throwing herself at him. Riordan hunched down and held out his arms. The girl laughed with pure joy as Riordan gathered her into a warm hug and lifted her upward. The sight of Riordan with a small child tugged at her heart, making it ache with longing. Someday, once he was free from this situation, he would make a fine father.

  “Momma told me you got married. I drew you pictures,” the girl cried.

  “Did you? Does your momma know you’re here?”

  The girl shook her head. “She’s asleep.”

  “Annabelle, this is my wife, Mrs. Black. Say hello.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Black,” the girl answered in a singsong voice.

  “Good afternoon, Annabelle.”

  Riordan lowered the child. Annabelle held out the papers toward him, and he took them and studied them closely. “Well done. Is that me standing outside a church?”

  Annabelle nodded vigorously as she chewed on the side of her finger. “Uh huh. And your wife. She’s holding flowers.”

  “Pretty bluebells, or are they daisies? I will hang these pictures in my cottage, I promise. But we must get you home, Annabelle, before your mother starts to worry. Are you cold?”

  “A little.” The child was wandering about in the late autumn air without a cloak. Riordan slipped out of his frock coat and gathered it around Annabelle, causing Sabrina’s heart to squeeze once again at his thoughtfulness.

  Riordan helped Sabrina down from the saddle, then handed her the papers. “I’ll drop Annabelle off at her home before returning Grayson. She is a handful, slipping out while her mother naps. She has no siblings, and the father left years ago.” It explained much. The girl looked to Riordan as a father figure.

  “Of course. I will ensure Mary has tea ready for your return.”

  Riordan smiled as he trailed the back of his fingers down her cheek. “Thank you, Mrs. Black. The cottage is straight ahead over the small rise. You can’t miss it.”

  Oh. She flushed at his touch, the warmth slowly spreading through her.

  Riordan gathered the child and placed her on the saddle, then mounted. “Wave goodbye, Annabelle.”

  The girl giggled and gave Sabrina an enthusiastic wave. Sabrina returned it and watched as they rode away. She opened the papers and inspected the first pencil drawing. The picture was crudely drawn, as only a young child could accomplish. Annabelle had drawn Riordan as a tall stick figure with a broad smile and a head of wavy hair, hand-in-hand with a female figure in a long gown who held flowers. A large sun shone over them, and the girl had drawn what looked to be a rainbow arching over their heads and beds of flowers at their feet.

  Tears gathered in Sabrina’s eyes. The picture moved her, for it captured her mood since marrying Riordan. Sunshine, warmth, smiles, and happiness. It hit her hard. She wanted this. With Riordan. For the rest of her days. But it was a fairy tale, and no more real than a drawing with stick figures. A dream. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she hugged the picture against her chest and watched Riordan and Annabelle disappear through the trees.

  She was falling for the schoolmaster and had no idea what to do about it.

  Chapter 16

  Heading toward Wollstonecraft Hall for the first-Monday-of-the-month family meeting, Riordan was apprehensive. Garrett must have kept his word and said nothing, because his father and grandfather did not descend on him in Carrbury, demanding an explanation for his actions. And they would have, if they’d known about his hasty marriage.

  There was no meeting last month, as his father and grandfather had been busy with parliament. It struck him he hadn’t heard from Aidan since m
oving to Carrbury two months past. For all his brother’s excesses, they usually stayed in touch. He’d specifically asked his twin to correspond with him, but he’d received no word at all. Well, he would be at the meeting. Aidan wouldn’t dare ignore a summons from the earl.

  As for his marriage…his thoughts drifted to the previous Sunday and the magical afternoon he and Sabrina had spent together. Any chance I am able, I will be kissing you. I can’t not kiss you. Do you understand? But since his passionate confession he’d only kissed her twice. Riordan thought it best to slow things down, more for Sabrina’s sake than his own. At least for this week—even though she’d responded to his desperate plea with, Yes. Kiss me. Always. As soon as he returned, he would fulfill her request with enthusiasm.

  At his core, he was a sensible man, raised to take responsibility for his emotions and actions no matter how riotous. He’d married Sabrina in order to assist her with her plight, but that was only part of his motive. He’d been attracted to her from the moment she showed up at his door hidden under the hood of her cloak. Kissing her had been a revelation. Apparently he knew nothing about desire, because everything he’d experienced before did not even come close to what he felt when Sabrina was in his arms.

  If he wanted to try and convince her there could be more between them than this temporary legal arrangement, his original assessment of taking things slow had been the correct one. The way she’d melted in his arms showed passion existed in her. He need only allow her the time to acknowledge her hidden sensuality.

  His trepidation grew as the tree-lined drive leading to Wollstonecraft Hall came into view. The property consisted of magnificent grounds, ideal for hunting, though none of the Wollstonecraft men did it for sport, as they found it barbaric, particularly fox hunting. The original house, done in the Tudor style and constructed in the sixteenth century, had all but been demolished, except for the timber-framed entrance and front hall.

  The additional wings were Gothic Revival and Georgian, light beige brick with Palladian windows. The small Gothic wing sported black brick with lancet windows. As the sprawling building came into view, Riordan smiled. In spite of its strange, eccentric look, this was home. His arrival had been anticipated, for Martin stood by the door while a young lad from the stable hovered nearby to take charge of Grayson.

  “Good to see you, sir,” Martin said. His deep voice resonated but had a gentle, firm tone. The no-nonsense butler had been around as long as Riordan could remember. He’d been hired as a young footman about four decades ago. Around the age of Riordan’s grandfather, Martin commanded respect from the other servants and ran the hall in an efficient manner. Tall, lean, and gray-haired, he stood ramrod straight, motioning to a young footman who’d appeared in the doorway to take Riordan’s valise.

  “Good to be home, Martin. Am I the last to arrive?” He slid off Grayson, giving the horse an affectionate pat on the neck before handing the reins to the stable boy.

  “No, sir. Master Aidan has yet to make an appearance. You will find the earl, the viscount, and Master Garrett in the library. Dinner will be at eight.” Riordan had departed at the crack of dawn in order to have most of the afternoon to visit.

  “I’ll go the library first and greet the family, but will wish a bath before dinner. Who will attend me?”

  By their own choice, both he and Aidan did not have their own valets, nor did Garrett. Usually one of the footmen stepped in when needed, such as preparing for formal occasions or seeing that baths were prepared. Otherwise, the twins looked after themselves, shaving, dressing, and the like.

  Handing his hat, gloves, and cloak to Martin, Riordan strode through the hall, steeling his spine for the confrontation ahead. Should he tell them now? At dinner? Tomorrow morning at the meeting? Spilling the information over brunch before he departed was the coward’s way. Not his style at all.

  Stepping into the library, he found his grandfather, father, and uncle sipping whiskey and sitting in the half circle of leather chairs before the large stone medieval fireplace. A roaring fire crackled in the hearth, the logs snapping noisily on the grate.

  “Riordan, my lad,” his grandfather called out, a warm smile on his face. Martin had followed Riordan into the library and was already pouring a tumbler of scotch. When Riordan sat, Martin handed him the drink. “Thank you, Martin. That will be all.” The butler bowed toward the earl and left the room.

  “You look well, Riordan,” his father stated. The viscount, though self-contained and not as outwardly affectionate as the earl, felt things profoundly. Riordan never doubted that his father loved him. One only had to look at his astounding record in parliament, fighting and speaking passionately for progressive causes, to see the proof. But it was not only in his work—he’d spent as much time as he could with him and Aidan as they grew.

  “As do you, Father.” Once settled in with his drink, he savored the comforting warmth, not only from the fire, but also from being with his family. Which reminded him. “Where is Aidan? Sleeping?”

  His father frowned. “We have not heard from Aidan. At all. Not once in the past two months.”

  Riordan looked to Garrett, who said, “It’s true. We sent runners out to his usual haunts and…nothing. He’s gone to ground.”

  Riordan did not like the sound of this. “How odd, he’s never done that before. He has always stayed in contact, no matter how deeply immersed in his vices. But I haven’t heard from him either.” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Damn, I’ve been caught up in my own… Is anything being done to locate him?”

  His father nodded. “Of course. We have people in Bath and London and points beyond. He will be found. And dealt with.” His father’s expression turned stony. Aidan was in deep trouble. He’d been sinking for months, but this was the final straw.

  “Tell us about Carrbury and your teaching. Garrett was sparse on details,” his grandfather said, no doubt glad to change the subject.

  Garrett laughed. “Da, I wasn’t in the schoolroom with him. I was only there for a couple of nights.”

  Riordan stared into the depths of his whiskey. Why put off the inevitable? Might as well reveal it. “I was married. Last week.”

  The silence was deafening. The only sounds came from the fire crackling in the hearth and the pendulum clock on the mantel ticking away the awkward minutes.

  “What did you say?” His father’s tone was incredulous.

  “It’s a temporary marriage of convenience only. I’m assisting a widow left penniless by her earl husband. She was about to be literally sold off by her miserable baron father to an old marquess.”

  Garrett blew out a breath, then took a long swig of whiskey. His father turned his thunderous look toward his brother. “Were you aware of this?”

  “I knew a little of his plans,” Garrett murmured.

  “And you thought not to tell us?” the earl cried.

  “He asked me not to. Riordan is of age, and able to make his own decisions. He’s here now to tell you of it. Listen to what he has to say,” Garrett replied.

  “What do you mean by ‘assist’ and ‘temporary’? Explain yourself,” his father barked.

  Riordan took a fortifying drink, savoring the burn. Once he swallowed, he commenced giving his family as thorough an explanation as he could. The earl looked shocked, but his father’s expression darkened.

  “The money. Where did it come from?” his father whispered, his tone clearly expressing his growing irritation and anger.

  “It is mine.”

  Julian stood and threw his glass of whiskey into the fire. The alcohol exploded in the flames. “I gave you the money, a mere taste of your inheritance, when you turned twenty-five because you had shown through word and deed that you were responsible, sober, and sensible. Apparently, I was wrong. I should have held the money in a trust as I did with Aidan’s.” His father began to pace. “I never had to worr
y about you, not one moment from the cradle onward. I trusted you. Believed in your judgment.” He stopped pacing and faced Riordan. “What a crushing disappointment to find that you are as vapid and stupid as your brother.”

  “Julian, wait a moment—” the earl began.

  “No, Father. This is between me and my son. Years ago, I agreed to stay here under the condition you never interfere with my dealings with my sons. Do not start now.” The earl’s mouth pulled into a taut line, but he said nothing. “Riordan, tell me why you’ve done this. What possessed you?” Julian cried.

  He had never seen his father as livid and distressed as this. Throwing the glass into the fire was a rare show of emotion. Riordan placed his tumbler on the nearby table. “She had nowhere to turn. As you’re aware, women have no rights whatsoever. I wished to assist her. It is a good cause. You know all about it, Father.”

  “And what if you are trapped with this woman for life? A woman older than you. What then?”

  “It will not be a hardship,” Riordan murmured.

  “God, he’s infatuated,” Garrett stated incredulously.

  “Is this true?” Julian demanded.

  “Yes. I hope to convince Sabrina to make the marriage permanent.”

  “You should have informed me of this before acting. We discuss everything in this family, especially anything to do with our causes. You will be getting an annulment. I will brook no argument on this matter.” Julian kicked the nearby stool and charged from the room.

  Riordan’s insides twisted and he clenched his jaw. His father had never spoken to him that way before. Vapid. Stupid. Crushing disappointment. The words were seared into his heart. He grabbed his nearby glass and tossed the rest of his whiskey down his throat, the burn no longer comforting.

  * * * *

  Julian strode angrily from the library, only stopping long enough to gather his greatcoat before heading outside. He would try and walk off the dangerous fury roiling inside him. The strong breeze whipped his long coat about his legs as the gravel crunched under his heavy tread. Damn it all. Riordan was the last one he expected to act as foolhardy as to marry a stranger, and gift her with a substantial sum besides.