Improper Wedding: Scandalous Encounters

by Reed, Kristabel

  Rose licked her lips. She couldn’t feel them, but that seemed so very unimportant at the moment. She closed her eyes and nodded.

  “Yes.”

  Chapter Five

  ROSE NODDED TO the people waiting for her in Hamilton’s townhouse. Hers, too, she supposed. In their townhouse. She greeted each person appropriately, even the duke and duchess, an introduction she never, in her wildest dreams, expected to experience.

  The townhouse was well situated and very masculine, she supposed, as she tried to do more than sit there in stunned silence and blink stupidly at the people surrounding her. Hamilton had introduced them as his friends, but they were yet more strangers to Rose.

  She never envisioned her wedding like this; no, she’d always thought it’d be a merry party with barrels of wine, not bottles. Loud music and louder laughter where everyone danced until the sun ascended again.

  Rose had never thought she’d be sitting in an expensive parlor an hour after her wedding with her stranger of a husband in a subdued setting, with teacakes and a duke and duchess in attendance.

  “Mrs. Hamilton,” Lady Octavia said gently. “Congratulations.”

  Rose blinked at the other woman, tall and elegant with dark hair and darker eyes, who looked as poised and graceful as Rose most certainly did not feel.

  “Very smart dress,” the woman continued with an inscrutable look at Hamilton. “Very little fuss, just as Hamilton likes it.”

  She didn’t believe that for a second. On the other hand, Rose had absolutely no basis for her belief in the other woman’s words. Perhaps it was an insult—Rose had, after all, chosen her most austere dress. Or perhaps Lady Octavia was simply diplomatic.

  Tea and scones had been brought out, but her appetite had vanished about the time Sally had woken her. The mere thought of food turned her stomach. She swallowed convulsively and averted her gaze from the low table.

  She looked at Lady Octavia and offered a weak smile, her eyes skimming over the woman, but didn’t see any of the others, either.

  The duchess stood, and for one horrified moment Rose wondered if she was supposed to stand as well. Her etiquette classes never covered meeting a duchess in a parlor after one’s wedding. Never.

  “We’ll need to plan for tea,” the duchess said kindly. “And, of course, shopping and luncheons. And plan for a reception, soon. Hamilton won’t be able to keep you hidden away for too long,” she said with the same inscrutable look Lady Octavia had given Hamilton.

  Her husband.

  Rose pushed that thought aside. She didn’t care how selfish it was or how childish; she refused to think about how her life had changed in less than a full day. It’d happened so fast—one minute she’d spoken with her father about taking the carriage for shopping, and suddenly she’d woken to find it her wedding day.

  She felt as if she rode in a carriage with the horses running wild, unstoppable.

  With her fingers knotted in her lap, the fabric of her plainest gown bunched between them, she nodded. She didn’t know what else to do and certainly had no words to exchange with these very fine ladies of the nobility whose simple day gowns looked more expensive than all of Rose’s finest evening gowns put together.

  “Would you care for anything?” Miss Annabelle asked with a small gesture to the table piled with food and tea. “Mrs. Dodsly went through great trouble to make this cake for this morning. She hoped you were a fan of raspberry.”

  Rose only nodded and suddenly found herself sharing raspberry-topped cake with these polite strangers. She didn’t know where the Duke of Strathmore and Hamilton had gone off to and frankly didn’t want to know. Though she suspected them to still be in the house, this little party was quite obviously for women only.

  “Hamilton is a good man,” Lady Octavia offered. “A good man and a good catch. I’ve never seen him so…” She paused but continued to look at Rose. Her smile was soft when she continued, “So enchanted by a woman.”

  “Quick betrothals can often be a good thing,” the duchess added with a smile Rose didn’t understand. “You can discover each other during the early days of marriage.”

  She glanced at her plate then back up at the women just in time to catch the look between Lady Octavia and the duchess. They both looked uncertain, but she did not grasp the meaning behind the look. Miss Annabelle maintained a pleasant smile, her gaze focused solely on Rose.

  If she spoke, she was afraid the few women who seemed to accept her, who offered their friendship, would turn away from her for being impertinent.

  “I suppose I shall discover that soon enough,” she muttered.

  She lowered her gaze once more and pushed her mangled slice around on her dish. To their credit, as they continued their conversation, they made sure to include her, but it was painfully stilted. However, she nodded in appropriate places, even though each word hung heavily between them, awkwardly.

  Finally they took their leave, all promising to call on her later in the week. Rose must’ve said something; she remembered speaking but had no memory of the words she spoke.

  Why did they not ask any questions of her, such as the reasons behind this marriage?

  Rose thought of dozens of questions they could’ve asked. The same ones she, herself, continued to wonder about. Why her? Why was the wedding so quick? Why had they not met before? Why accept a stranger so suddenly thrust in their midst?

  Questions filled her mind as her guests took their leave. Who were these unbearably civilized people who asked naught of her? Her friends would’ve wanted to know, would’ve blurted out the most inappropriate questions.

  Suddenly, Rose felt abandoned by these strangers and wanted very much to leave this house alongside them. Yet these women asked nothing.

  Left alone with Hamilton somewhere in the house, Rose took several deep breaths. The few sips of tea she had had threatened to revisit her, and she quickly swallowed.

  They’d been kind, Rose supposed, as she stood alone in the parlor. They hadn’t actively snubbed her despite having to know where she came from. Who her family was—or was not. She licked her lips and stared around the well-appointed, expensive room.

  She squinted closer at the painting that hung along one wall. She’d grown up in a house covered with all things Scotland. The painting in Hamilton’s parlor was clearly Scottish.

  Rose wanted to walk over and study it further, but found herself quite unable to move. Frozen in place, she listened to Hamilton’s guests—her guests?—leave.

  The house settled around her, quiet and solitary. Rose closed her eyes and waited. This was it then. They’d had the marriage, had the breakfast, met the friends, entered his house. And now, now came the consummation of this marriage.

  She did not want that and was wholly unprepared for it. She was frightened and was unafraid to admit that.

  Hamilton’s footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor, and she stiffened. Her gaze swung in his direction and she stared at him. He smiled at her, easy and open—with no awkwardness whatsoever.

  His hands were clasped behind his back and his shoulders straight and even, with barely a hint of tension. His dark brown eyes watched her with a calmness she envied—and hated—in him. How dare he be so calm when he’d taken her from all she’d known after meeting her the day before?

  Rose narrowed her eyes at him, but he merely nodded—as if he expected it, damn the man. She raised her chin and held his gaze. Frightened though she may have been, she refused to show this man, husband or not, her fear.

  “You likely feel like a storybook princess abducted from the castle,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

  She hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected him to understand her. Then again, would not any woman feel that way, given the two days Rose had had? She tilted her head and continued to watch him, still having no real answer for him.

  Hamilton stepped further into the room, but continued to keep his distance. “I cannot fault you for such feelings,” he said in an even voice that R
ose supposed was meant to soothe.

  She was not soothed.

  “Had my hand been given to a stranger, I’d be locked up in Strathmore’s wine cellar for the foreseeable future.” He said that with a quick grin she didn’t understand. But the smile transformed his face from closed off and stern to open and handsome.

  “Should I have found the nearest wine cellar to hide away in?” she asked, pleased with the coolness of her voice and the snap in her retort.

  “Only Strathmore’s wine cellar is worth a damn,” he said with that same grin.

  Rose offered a weak half-smile at that. Yes, she supposed a duke’s wine cellar was far superior to anything else.

  He took one more step closer, just out of arm’s reach, his eyes as intent on hers as they had been since he walked into her father’s house so very early this morning.

  “Would you like to see this mausoleum of an old house?” he asked, utterly surprising her.

  Honestly she didn’t care one way or the other, and shrugged silently. He didn’t touch her, didn’t offer his arm, didn’t take her hand; he did none of that. He simply gestured out the door, still keeping a respectable distance between them.

  “This way,” he said, but it sounded as if he wanted to say more. But Hamilton simply walked beside her, once more silent.

  They walked down the hall only a dozen steps or so before he slid open a set of pocket doors. The music room held a pianoforte and harp, and a long settee and several chairs. The walls were covered in a gorgeous blue wallpaper, but it was the bagpipes hanging near the fireplace that really drew her attention.

  Rose took two steps forward before she realized it, only to abruptly stop. Why did a proper English gentleman have a set of bagpipes? She wondered if he played them—then realized how ridiculous that sounded.

  She turned back to eye him and wondered at her new husband once more.

  “No one I know actually enjoys playing any of the instruments in this room,” he said with that same half-smile that continued to catch her attention despite her resistance. “And when we throw a reception, we’ll either have to sit through the excruciating task of auditioning musicians…” He swept his gaze around the room, and his eyes settled back on her. “Or, what I’d normally do, use whomever Strathmore’s or Granville’s house have previously hired.”

  Once more that half-smile lightened his eyes and softened his face. Rose tore her gaze from him and focused on the instruments.

  “Granville?” she asked, meeting his gaze for a heartbeat then looking away.

  “Ah, yes,” he said with that same grin. “Strathmore is my cousin. Edmund Pembroke, Earl of Granville, is a mutual friend of ours. Lady Octavia is Granville’s sister. And Miss Annabelle is the new Lady Granville’s cousin.” He shrugged as if this was an everyday conversation for him, and Rose supposed it was. “You’ll get to know them all in time. They’re good people.”

  He was cousin to a duke. She was now married to a man who was cousin to a duke. Rose felt a hysterical laugh bubble in her throat, and she hastily swallowed it down. She refused to show this man anything—not her fear, not her confusion, not how out of her depth she felt. None of it.

  “I would’ve liked to have met them in a more traditional manner,” she said coldly. “And perhaps met you in a more traditional manner,” she added, unbearably pleased her voice was not hysterical, even if it was as icy as a winter’s day.

  “I understand how this must all be unsettling for you,” Hamilton said quietly. “I will admit, this is all extremely unsettling for me as well. I’ve never been the type of man to commit so readily—when it wasn’t a plum business opportunity, that is. I’m not exactly known for my fealty with women.”

  “But why?” Rose asked, at a total loss. “Why insist on a marriage? And why me? We barely know each other’s names.”

  “Have you ever been overcome by a feeling, a reaction to something?” he asked with a quick, and slightly bemused, shake of his head. “Where you know if you did nothing, something untoward would most definitely happen?”

  “What feeling?” she demanded. “What feeling did you have that led you to this?”

  “After dealing with your father,” he said slowly, “and then meeting you, I had a—” He cut himself off and pursed his lips. “I had a foresight,” he admitted. “You weren’t safe with your father. Please forgive me, I know this sounds…odd.”

  Rose looked incredulous and tried not to laugh derisively.

  “But it was such a strong feeling and one I could not ignore.”

  “We did not even know each other before yesterday!” Rose reminded him sharply. The fog that surrounded her since Sally woke her that morning finally began to lift. She saw him and this whole situation a little more clearly but still couldn’t believe it. “Why would you relinquish your freedom to protect me, even if you did have this feeling?”

  “It was a choice I made,” he said decisively. “Just as it is a choice to save someone from falling over a cliff.” He looked so serious, so intent when he said that, that his next words didn’t shock her as much as they might’ve. “I made the choice.”

  Rose released a long breath. “My father would not have harmed me,” she said confidently. “You should have discussed it with me before—” She waved a hand, taking in the music room, the parlor next door, the entire house. “Before all of this,” she finished, at a loss.

  “Perhaps I should have,” he agreed. “But often there’s not enough time for thoughtful conversation when someone is teetering over a cliff.”

  “There was no imminent danger from my father!” Rose insisted.

  His eyes flashed and his temper flared. “How do you know that?” he demanded. “He gave you to me without much coercion.”

  Once again, Rose felt bile rise. “You threatened to destroy him!” she shouted back, angry and tired and helpless in this new turn her life had taken.

  “I would’ve fought much harder for those I love,” he insisted, his jaw clenched and eyes hard.

  Was that a confession to blackmail? Or…not? Rose couldn’t tell. But she was absolutely certain he did not mean he loved her. How could he?

  “He gave you to a stranger to save his precious bank accounts,” Hamilton snapped. “He’s a small man with a small heart.”

  Rose tossed her head back and raised her chin. She didn’t do it simply for her father’s money and did not care about Hamilton’s. She never expected any of this in her life. But there had been more ramifications to saying no to Mr. Hamilton than she could live with.

  “He tossed you out,” Hamilton continued in that same disgusted voice, “to protect the coin in his pocket. No. He’s not someone who’d protect you. He’s not someone who’d honor you. He’s a man who used you.”

  She swallowed hard and said in a cool, even voice, “It makes no sense that you care whether he uses me or not.”

  He stepped back, putting distance between them. He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t threatened her.

  “I’ll show you to your rooms,” he said rather than answer her question.

  Frustrated, she glared at him. Then she realized what that meant, realized it was their wedding day. A cold shiver raced up her spine. They were headed to their rooms to consummate their marriage.

  Chapter Six

  NO, NO SHE did not want to see her rooms.

  “I’d like to see more of the house,” Rose said as evenly as she could manage. Her stomach lurched with fear, and a fine sheen of cold sweat made her skin clammy. “You’ve only shown me the music room. I’d like to see the rest of house,” she added and swallowed against the bile that churned in her stomach.

  He stepped closer and looked at her with those dark, fathomless eyes. For a painful heartbeat, Rose wondered if he’d reject her request and insist on consummating this marriage. Instead he nodded, a faint curve to his lips.

  “As you wish,” he said and gestured for her to walk beside him. “Follow me,” he added lightly, “and we’ll continue with
the tuppence tour.”

  They walked slowly down the hallway in no great rush, which confused Rose. She’d not have thought him to want to show her his house, but he walked beside her in silence until they came to the library.

  “And here, Mrs. Hamilton,” he said with a gesture into the room, “we have the library. Shockingly full of books,” he said dryly, seemingly oblivious to her surprise over hearing Mrs. Hamilton. “I inherited most of them, but I believe this section here”—he pointed to the far right side of the room—“might interest you. This is where my mother kept her literary spoils for none to touch save her.”

  Rose moved away from him and breathed deeply of the room. Not necessarily because she loved books, though she did enjoy reading, but because of the distance she was able to put between them. On the one hand, she didn’t want to be anywhere near Hamilton; on the other, she also didn’t want him to lead her upstairs.

  So she obediently walked to the far right corner of the library. Faint hints of sunlight painted patterns on the hardwood floor, and through the large windows she watched trees sway in the breeze.

  Suddenly her skin felt too tight and she itched to run—run as fast as possible away from this townhouse and this man and her new life. Clenching her teeth, Rose stopped before the high shelves filled with books and took several deep breaths in the hopes of calming herself.

  “Perhaps,” Hamilton’s voice came from her right. He stood not too close, not too far, his voice low with emotions she didn’t understand. “Perhaps you’ll find something to entertain yourself here. I’m told,” he added in that same quiet tone and with a gesture to the books, his eyes still holding hers, “they’re filled with rakes and scoundrels and pirates.”

  “Ah,” she said, the word cracking. Rose swallowed and managed a somewhat lighter tone. “Your early education literature?”

  His chuckle was brief but amused, and the look he gave her acknowledged her barb. Rose didn’t know how to take that, how to reconcile the man currently before her with the one who insisted she marry him immediately.