by Christi Caldwell, Eva Devon, Elizabeth Essex, Anthea Lawson
Abject terror shone in Lady Felicity’s violet-blue eyes. And he hated it. The fear did surprise him. She’d seemed so bold last night, but apparently total ruination struck horror into her heart. Of course, her ruination would spell disaster for her sisters, too.
At last, he said, “Yes. I will not go back on my offer. I made it in earnest, not wishing to see the young lady in the power of Lord Trumbold. But with the champagne flowing, I now wonder if I haven’t been made a fool.”
Lady Melbourne, whom he had always liked and respected, shook her head. “Such a thing would be impossible. But in all events, though I certainly have encouraged her to have less than perfect means in acquiring a spouse, I can assure you, Lady Felicity is incapable of duplicity. . . To my disappointment, if you must know. Why just last week, she could have had the Duke of Trawlawney if she had just—“
“Lady Melbourne,” hissed Lady Felicity.
“Ah. A touch too much honesty?” Lady Melbourne queried as she lifted her glass. “I did think it wise we make it clear to your soon to be husband that you are not a scheming baggage.”
“Well, I am a trifle scheming,” said Lady Felicity, “But I’m not a liar.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said. “I cannot abide liars.”
“You’d hate our father then,” said Georgiana.
“I know your father,” he said. “I don’t hate him. But he has some very poor points.”
“That is one of the kindest descriptions we’ve heard of him,” Lady Felicity said softly.
“Well if he’s to be my father-in-law, I shan’t go tearing him down any further than he’s already been brought.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
And he found that he quite liked the sounds of her soft voice thanking him. He suddenly felt rather like a chivalrous knight of old, riding to the aid of his lady fair. It was a very strange sensation. He nodded.
“Might we be alone, Lady Melbourne?” his intended asked.
“You might. Come along, ladies,” the older lady said, shooing them like a peacock herding slightly less gaudy birds.
As soon as they’d departed, he stood silent for a long moment, still not entirely certain what to say. Marriage had not been amongst his plans. And he didn’t court young ladies. He seduced enthusiastic widows and such. This was foreign ground.
“Do sit down,” she said.
“I prefer to stand.”
“Do you?” Her adorable nose wrinkled. “I shall get a terrible crick in my neck.”
He laughed. “I can’t allow that to happen.”
So, he crossed the room and, instead of choosing one of the chairs beside the settee, he sat beside her.
Her eyes flared ever so slightly but then she smiled.
That smile did something remarkable to him. All at once, he felt warm and as if all his barriers against the wiles of the opposite sex had fallen. He felt positively good in her presence. Oh, not good as in righteous, but pleasant. As if there was nothing amiss in the entire world.
And he knew that there was much amiss in it.
As he gazed into her violet-blue eyes, he found another feeling slipping over him. Desire. Intense desire.
She was going to be his after all and, immediately, it occurred to him to wonder what her mouth would feel like beneath his. Was she experienced or innocent? Did she look forward to love making? Did it terrify her or was she possibly ignorant of it all together?
“I should like to kiss you,” he said, his voice a gentle growl which surprised him. For the sound made it clear that he was hungry for her.
“Since we are to be wed, that would be permissible. . . But don’t you wish to know me a little?”
He smiled. It was the comment of an innocent which surprised him. “I do. Of course.”
“Then. . .” She licked her lips in nervousness, not suggestion. “Then can we pause?”
“Yes.” He leaned back. “I suppose I should have brought you flowers.”
She laughed. “I think you and I are far from the supposed tos of this life.”
“Do you, by God? My mother won’t like to hear that.”
Her eyes flared and her hand came up to her mouth. “Oh. . . I—“
“That’s quite all right,” he assured. “I love my mother. But she’s a bit too proper. I’m sure we can cure her of it, if we try.”
“I’d like her to like me,” she said with sincerity.
He didn’t say that he found that doubtful. It would take some time for his mother to approve of the young woman who had punched Lord Trumbold and knocked the old fellow unconscious.
Personally, he found her refreshing. He wasn’t entirely pleased to have to sacrifice himself at the altar of matrimony but he wasn’t despondent. After all, if he had to marry someone, she seemed like an entertaining choice at the very least.
He wouldn’t be bored.
“I’m glad that you don’t seem to be angry.”
He crooked a brow. “What would that serve?”
“I don’t know. But you did seem upset when we parted. I thought you might not come today.”
“Ah. Well.” How to explain? “I was shocked a bit. I hadn’t planned on marrying this year, let alone this month. And since we were discovered in such a strange circumstance, a quick marriage would be best, I think.”
Relief eased her entire stature, softening her. “I understand and I agree.”
“Good,” he replied, enjoying the look of her easing her guard. “For future reference, I’m not an angry person by nature. I see little value in it.”
Suddenly she smiled. “I confess to having a temper myself.”
“You were remarkably reserved last evening,” he observed.
“That?” She blinked. “Well, such behavior is to be expected when one’s father is a complete scandal. So, how could I be angry?”
If she wasn’t, then he was. Blazes, was she so accepting of such poor treatment? “The treatment of your father and thusly you, that doesn’t make you angry?”
She shook her head. “He made his bed.”
“But you’re the ones bearing the consequences, are you not?”
“Yes, but that’s also to be expected,” she said with easy factuality. “Life does not just punish the doer of the crime but often anyone near.”
He leaned back seeing her with new eyes. “You’re rather young to be so aware of the vagaries of life.”
“I may be young, but make no mistake, my upbringing has not been that of a typical country miss.”
“Best take care or you’ll put me off,” he teased.
She paled.
Realizing his gaffe, he took her slender hand in his. “I’m not going to abandon you to the likes of Trumbold, Lady Felicity.”
“I suppose the noble thing would be to set you free. . .” She swallowed. “But I find I haven’t the strength for that.”
“God forbid.” He shuddered. “You’d have to either marry that toad or join your father in Venice. Venice is well and good, a marvelous city, but not with your father as your chaperone and you ruined to boot. You’d instantly be in the clutches of another Trumbold. No, my dear. No. I shall save you.”
She was looking at him now. The gaze was not with pleasantness but with an irritated stare.
It struck him then. Mary had advised against mentioning his martyrdom. His sacrifice.
He coughed.
Her eyes narrowed. “My lord, I won’t be foolish enough to send you packing and I am, of course, incredibly grateful, but you do realize how terribly condescending you sound? I had no idea you’d have to sacrifice so greatly to save me.”
A laughed roared out of him. “I have no tact.”
“No.” Her eyes sparkled with tentative amusement. “You haven’t.”
“Let me be plain then.” He had to be honest. Here. Now. If he wasn’t, he'd regret it. “It is a sacrifice. I am giving up a way of life that I had planned to live for many years to come. You also aren’t the match I would have naturall
y picked for myself.”
“I see.”
“Lady Felicity, a man like me, as you know, marries for position and wealth so that I might be ensured that, generations from now, my family will still be powerful. I don’t marry in the moment for my pleasure. My father didn’t. My mother didn’t. Their parents didn’t. None of my forefathers have to my knowledge.”
He didn’t miss that the amusement was vanishing from her face but he had to be clear with her.
“My sisters will make an advantageous marriage to one of their equals or perhaps. . .” He couldn’t help but tease, “someone like the Duke of Trawlawney who visited us just a week ago in the country.”
“Are you inferring that I am not your equal?” she huffed. But then she sighed. “Well, I suppose that’s a silly thing to say. If I was, I wouldn’t need Lady Melbourne’s help.”
“You are my equal in terms of standing and wealth. If not for the scandals of your family, and the scandal which is inducing us to wed, you’d be the perfect candidate.”
“Candidate,” she echoed. “This sounds terribly like how my father married Lady Anne. That didn’t work out too well, might I say.”
“You might. But very few are like your father. I think that even if he hadn’t chosen candidates, he would have struggled with his spouse.”
She laughed dryly. “Indeed. This is all turning out far more practical than I thought it might.”
He wasn’t certain what to say so he simply said, “I apologize.”
“Don’t. It’s the truth even if it depressing.”
He shook his head. “The truth is that I think we shall do well together.”
“You do?” she asked, a note of hope in her voice.
“Yes.”
“Why?” she queried, genuine curiosity deepening her voice.
He hesitated. Some people discounted the importance of attraction. . . But he? He thought it significant. And it wasn’t just her body that he was attracted to. He quite liked her nature. She was the kind of lady that held an estate together while her husband went off conquering unknown lands, not that he planned to go off in such pursuits. But that’s why she’d been able to meet Trumbold’s advances with such calmness.
“I admire you,” he said softly.
“You do?”
He lowered his gaze to her lovely mouth. “I do. And. . .”
He found he could no longer deny his curiosity.
Stroking his hand gently against her cheek, he then cupped the nape of her neck.
Her breathing changed, growing shallow and quick. Signs of excitement.
He was pleased by her anticipation. He wanted a wife that desired him.
She was so strange. So different from the ladies he’d taken to bed. Yet, he found himself wanting to please her more than any other woman he’d ever known.
Studying the soft lines of her face, he felt absolutely certain of one thing, Lady Felicity didn’t want a man who’d be tentative. She’d want someone who went after what he wanted with no hesitation. No regrets.
And he wanted her.
Chapter 7
Felicity’s emotions felt pulled in such opposite directions she could barely draw breath. Her body ached for him. It was almost terrifying how much her sinew seemed to long to lean into his broad chest. Her mind had gone remarkably quiet. The earlier cries that he was not meeting her expectations died away.
So, perhaps he was far more normal than she’d first imagined. Normal was what she longed for. What she needed. Normal would protect her against scandal. Normal would ensure she wasn’t cast out and alone.
And normal was perfectly fine considering the way her lips parted in anticipation, no longer concerned with knowing him any better, before he kissed her.
She had a distinct feeling Lord Marksborough wouldn’t be normal when he kissed her.
As if he could read her thoughts, his hand slid into her hair, tilted her head back and, for one long moment, he gazed down into her eyes before he stole her mouth in a hungry kiss.
She expected it to be frenzied and wild.
Oh, it was wild! But it was slow. So very slow. His lips caressed hers with tantalizing abandon as if they had all the time in the world.
With each kiss, she grew drunk. Drunk with passion and need.
Her body swayed towards his and he pulled her into his arms, arching her back, supporting her so that he might take her mouth fully.
His tongue teased her lips. She gasped and he delved his tongue into her mouth.
It was such a shocking sensation that she could barely think as he stroked her.
After a moment, she realized with great astonishment that she was being almost entirely passive. It was something she didn’t like at all. But did he like that?
There was only one way to find out.
So, tentatively, she touched his tongue with her own.
He let out a soft growl of pleasure.
She flushed as she was certain he had liked what she’d done. So, she allowed herself to give way to instinct and allowed herself to give as well as take in their kiss. After several moments of this, his hands wandered over her back, stroking firmly.
She pressed her breasts against his chest, savoring the sensation. Of course, she knew about intimacy. With a father like hers, it was impossible to be innocent, but she had never experienced anything first hand.
It was so thrilling that she longed to throw caution to the wind. To tear her clothes. To offer herself up to him. And why not? She was already ruined!
But she couldn’t. She daren’t risk him thinking her a whore.
She couldn’t risk him decrying their marriage.
So, she pulled back.
Much to her relief, he didn’t resist but his face was dark with hunger. Hunger for her, she knew.
It was exhilarating knowing she made him feel thusly.
“I think I should go,” he said softly.
She nodded. “Yes. Probably best.”
“Let’s wed,” he said suddenly.
“I thought we’d already agreed-“
“Tonight.”
All the air rushed out of her, replaced a by an alarming excitement and sense of disbelief. “What?”
“A special license. I can get one. Let’s be wed today.”
She was no fool to mistake that his sudden wish to marry now had nothing to do with their kiss. But she wanted to marry him now as well. The sooner she had him, the sooner she could stop feeling so afraid.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Tell Lady Melbourne then,” he said gently. “And you and I shall be man and wife before midnight.”
With that, Lord Marksborough, Marquess of Talbot, stood, bowed, and left her absolutely breathless. And absolutely wondering what sort of man she was marrying.
***
Penelope ran the silver-backed brush through Felicity’s dark hair, in long, soothing strokes.
Felicity savored this last simple exchange with her sister as she sipped on the large glass of wine that Lady Melbourne had insisted she partake in. In fact, she’d sent up a tray of wine with glasses for a toast before she left for her rather hasty wedding.
After today, there would be no intimacies like this with her family. Or at least not often. After today, she’d live in her husband’s house, with his family. It was a bittersweet thought.
“Are you certain?” asked Penelope softly.
They sat before Felicity’s dressing table in Lady Melbourne’s townhome. The light of the summer evening poured through the windows bathing them in a golden glow. It should have been perfect. Or as near to perfect as it could be.
How did she tell her sister she was bloody terrified?
She stared at herself in the mirror then sipped again at the robust wine.
“I’m certain,” she declared with a great deal more conviction then she truly felt. “He’s a good match.”
“Yes, but what sort of man is he?” Penelope demanded.
“An honorable one,” Felic
ity replied easily and truthfully. “He could have fed me to the wolves, you know.”
Pen grinned. “He has that in his favor, coming to your aid and all that.”
Desperate to assure her sister and lighten her own mood, she pointed out, “He’s also very handsome.”
Pen clucked. “That isn’t a good reason for marriage.”
“Isn’t it?” teased Felicity.
“Papa is very handsome.”
It was true. Their father was an exceptionally handsome man and it had helped him through a multitude of sins. Beauty did have its uses.
Felicity took a gulp of wine, her nerves aflutter at the fast turn of events this day had taken. In truth, the whole year had been mad. “Lord Marksborough is nothing like Papa.”
Pen waved the brush and admonished, “He’s a rake.”
That was true enough. He was important enough that his reputation was made known. He was a gentleman of consequence and he was a gentleman who liked the ladies. Married ladies and widows.
“One cannot expect one’s husband to be a saint,” she said, a maxim she had to acquire if she was to survive. What else could she say? “Besides his good points make up for any bad.”
“And those good points are?” asked Pen.
“Oh, an exceptionally old title, heaps of money, and he could have left me to Lord Trumbold.”
Pen softened. “I’d like to like him. But it’s so very sudden.”
“You know as I do that there is little one can do to prepare for marriage. He might turn out to be a bounder or the best of men. We cannot be as careful as others with fathers to protect them.”
Felicity nibbled her lower lip, her own nerves flaring again. “You don’t think I should suddenly run to Venice do you? You’re not worried?”
“Of course I’m worried!” Pen replied with frustration. “But Venice? No. I think Gus could do it. Even Marianne, but you, George and me? We’re English thru and thru. We love this land and the society it hosts.”
Felicity raised her glass. “Too true.”
The door burst open and Gus bustled through, her reddish-blonde hair flying out of her coif. She pounced on the bed and grinned at them. “So, tonight is the night!”
“Gus,” Pen warned.
