Love with the Proper Husband

by Victoria Alexander

  She’d wondered about any number of things since Marcus had proclaimed his feelings. Had wondered and examined and given it all a great deal of careful thought and attention. And her own feelings and beliefs had changed, slowly, almost imperceptibly, from that point to this. Perhaps starting the very moment she’d met him, even if she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it before now.

  There were worse things in the world than loving and being loved by someone like Marcus. She’d always blamed love for her mother’s death in trying to give her father a son. Now she wondered if it was a choice her mother made gladly for the man she loved and perhaps for herself as well. It was love that lured her sister away from her family and ultimately led to her death in foreign lands far from home. Yet now Gwen wondered if the happiness her sister had obviously found with her unsuitable match, as well as the children they’d shared, wasn’t well worth what she’d sacrificed.

  As frightening as Gwen found her feelings about her husband, what was even worse was the realization that she would give up everything for him. She would gladly forfeit life or position or fortune or anything.

  That was really what had her in such a state. The belief, deep down inside her, that accepting his love and loving him in return made her vulnerable in a way she’d never been before. And worse yet, the recognition that she no longer cared.

  Maybe true courage lay in following your heart.

  She blew a long, resigned breath. She loved him and he loved her, and no matter what happened in the world around them, that might well be all that truly mattered.

  “I wondered if I’d find you here.” Marcus’s voice sounded from behind her.

  “There you go again.” She forced a light note into her voice. “Sneaking up on me.”

  He laughed and sat down on the ground beside her. “I was doing no such thing. Certainly I did approach your position in a somewhat roundabout manner, but it was entirely innocent on my part.”

  “Was it?”

  “Perhaps not entirely.” He grinned in an altogether wicked manner. “I rather enjoy that expression of outraged amusement you give me when I catch you unawares.”

  “Outraged amusement?” She raised a brow. “What kind of expression is that?”

  “I suspect it is a look perfected by governesses and I doubt that I could ever truly duplicate it.” He shook his head mournfully. “But only because you asked, mind you, I shall give it a try. It’s something like this.” He thought for a moment, then widened his eyes and pursed his lips.

  She stared, then burst into laughter. “I don’t look the least bit like that.”

  “Oh, but you do,” he said in a slightly garbled manner dictated by the contorted position of his mouth.

  “Stop it at once.” She tried to smooth his expression, but he caught her hand and pulled it to his lips.

  “I will, for a price.”

  Her gaze met his, and her heart skipped. “And what would that price be?”

  “The truth.” His gaze met hers. “Honesty.”

  “I have been honest with you for the most part,” she said quickly. “Except for not telling you about my nieces and that may have been a…mistake on my part.”

  “A mistake?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “A simple error. Of judgment perhaps. I will give you that much but no more.”

  “From you, my dear Lady Pennington, I will always take what few morsels I can get. Especially when it comes to admitting that you could possibly have been wrong.”

  She shook her head and tried not to smile. “I don’t believe I actually ever used the word wrong. Erroneous perhaps, misguided, even incorrect, but never specifically wrong.”

  “I see. Then it was obviously my own mistake to believe that you had. Admitted that you were wrong, that is.”

  “Absolutely.” She grinned.

  He laughed. “That’s something, at any rate.” He sobered, his expression abruptly intense. “Gwen, I…” He sighed as if he didn’t know what to say. His gaze drifted to her hand in his. He turned it palm up and examined it as carefully as a Gypsy fortune-teller. At last his gaze returned to hers. “Are you happy?”

  She smiled. “Of course I’m happy.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” She forced a light laugh. “Goodness, Marcus, I have everything any woman could ever want. Wealth, position, a lovely family. Why would I not be happy?”

  He studied her intently. “I don’t know exactly, but you have been acting in the oddest manner, and I wondered—”

  “You needn’t,” she said quickly. “My manner is not the least bit odd. I am simply”—she thought for a moment—“female. Yes, that’s it. I am a woman and you are not especially used to living in close proximity to a woman.”

  “That is what I thought too at first,” he said under his breath.

  “And now?”

  “Now?” His gaze searched her face. “Now I am concerned. It has been brought to my attention that perhaps you are uneasy because of the suddenness with which your fortunes, your life, have changed. If you might fear that acknowledging this newfound happiness will cause it to vanish.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She scrambled to her feet and stared down at him, ignoring the fact that, in part at least, he was right. “Wherever did you get such an absurd idea?”

  He laced his fingers behind his neck and settled back against the tree. “A highly credible source, I assure you.”

  “Who?”

  “Other women.” A smug smile played over his lips. “Oh, they were rather shorter than you. Younger too. And a bit more outspoken, although I daresay that’s hard to believe.”

  She narrowed her eyes and studied him. “You’re talking about Charity, Patience, and Hope?”

  He nodded.

  “But they’re children. You can’t possibly—”

  “I can and I do. These nieces of ours are wise beyond their years. Not surprising really. They have a great deal in common with their aunt.” He considered her thoughtfully. “They think I simply need to convince you to admit that you love me, aloud I believe, or failing that, I have to give you what you want most in the world.”

  “And what exactly is that?”

  “Hope thinks it’s a dog.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think…” His eyes narrowed and a shiver ran down her spine. That particular look in his eye always made him appear just a bit dangerous and wickedly handsome. As if she were playing with fire. “I think I have given you all I have to give. My name, my home, my fortune, my heart.”

  She stared at him, and any last shred of resistance vanished. “What if I want more?”

  He laughed. “Do you?”

  “I don’t think there could possibly be more.”

  “Nor do I. There is my life, of course, although that too is yours insofar as I can give it.” He got to his feet in a slow and leisurely manner. “However, it does seem only fair I should expect something from you in return.”

  “I can’t imagine what. You have kept your fortune because I married you.”

  “And you have kept possession of the money left to you by your father. You have retained the deed to the property I have wanted to purchase for years—”

  “We may be able to come to an agreement on that.”

  “Damn decent of you.” He stepped closer. “You have retained the independence of your manner.”

  “Come now, my lord, does a married woman truly retain any semblance of independence?”

  “You seem to.” He reached out with one arm and pulled her hard against him. The intensity of his green eyes belied the light note in his voice. “You are a cruel and heartless wench, Gwen. You have captured my very soul, yet you will not throw me so much as a mere morsel of affection.”

  Her breath caught. “I think the affection I have thrown you can scarcely be called mere.”

  “I’m not taking about that kind of affection but you’re right. There is nothing mere about that.” He bent to kiss the side
of her neck. “Tell me you love me, Gwen.”

  “Very well, Marcus.” Her voice was matter of fact. “I love you.”

  He raised his head and stared down at her suspiciously. “What did you say?”

  She laughed and pulled out of his arms and backed away. “If you didn’t hear—”

  “I heard.” He moved toward her. “However, I wish to hear it again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have three smaller versions of you implying they shall do me great bodily harm if I do not do all in my power to make you happy.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “No, Lady Pennington, it isn’t.” He rolled his gaze toward the heavens. “Gad, you are stubborn.”

  “I love you, Marcus. Are you happy now?”

  “The question is, are you happy?”

  Apparently the girls had been right. The very words had lifted a weight off her shoulders.

  She folded her arms over her chest and grinned. “Yes, indeed I believe I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Come now, Marcus, isn’t my admission, aloud, enough?”

  He shook his head thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”

  “Very well.” She heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “I am happy because I have everything I could ever possibly want and more.” Her voice caught. “I have you.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “Say it again.”

  “I love you.”

  “Say it like you mean it.”

  She laughed. “I do mean it.”

  He shook his head regretfully. “It didn’t sound very sincere to me.”

  “Marcus.” She resisted the childish urge to stamp her foot or to laugh again. “It was exceedingly sincere.”

  “I don’t know.” He sighed. “I thought it had a rather halfhearted ring to it.”

  “You are so annoying.” Abruptly she turned on her heel and faced away from him, stretched her arms wide, and yelled, “I love the Earl of Pennington! I love my husband! I love Marcus Aloysius Grenville Hamilton Holcroft!”

  “And he loves you as well.” Marcus’s voice was low beside her ear. “Now, that did sound sincere.” His arms wrapped around her. “And yet another instance where it is easier to confess one’s true feelings when one is not face-to-face.”

  “Nonsense.” She pulled away and turned toward him. “I think your so-called scientific inquiry into this matter needs further attention.”

  He chuckled and moved closer. “Do you?”

  “I do indeed.” She reached out and grabbed the edges of his jacket, then stepped backward, pulling him with her until she could rest her back against the tree. “In point of fact, I don’t think your theory goes far enough.”

  “You don’t?” He stepped closer.

  “No.” She met his gaze directly, and her stomach fluttered at the emotion she saw in his eyes. “I believe it is indeed easier to admit your thoughts and feelings when you’re not looking at another person but only if you’re unsure of your response or his.” She rested her palms on his chest, the hard lines of his muscles tense beneath her touch. “Once you are confident, once you—”

  “Trust?” He braced his hands on the tree on either side of her and stared down at her.

  “I was going to say know but trust indeed plays a part.” She drew a deep breath. “Once you realize that you can trust him with your feelings—”

  “With your heart,” he murmured.

  She nodded and slid her hands up his jacket to curl against the back of his neck. “There is no need to avoid his eyes because you know precisely what you will find there.”

  “And what do you find in my eyes?” He moved to wrap his arms around her and pull her against him.

  “My life,” she said simply.

  “Ah, Gwen.” His lips met hers softly. “I never dreamed…”

  “What?” she whispered.

  “You.” He drew her closer, and his lips pressed against hers. She opened her mouth in welcome and wondered if she would always feel this rush of passion in his arms. The ever-present fire that simmered just beneath the surface whenever he touched her flickered to life. She wanted him with her always, in the years to come and this very minute.

  His kiss grew harder, her response more insistent. She pressed her body tighter against his, wanting, needing to feel the hardness of his arousal.

  “Marcus.” She pulled her lips from his. His mouth strayed to her throat, and her head dropped back against the tree.

  “Yes?” he murmured.

  “It would be highly improper…” She gasped. His hand moved to cup her breast, and she could feel the heat of his touch even through the fabric of her riding habit. “Wouldn’t it?”

  “Wouldn’t what?” His hands roamed over her.

  “If we were to…well…you know…here.” Her fingers entwined in his hair.

  “Yes.” He shifted, one hand splayed across her back, the other gathered the fabric of her gown until he could reach beneath it to run his hand up the length of her leg to her hips. “Highly improper.”

  “Still…” His fingers slipped between her legs and she sucked in a short breath. “We are married.”

  “Indeed we are.”

  She shifted to give him greater access. “And no one could see us here.”

  “Not a soul.” His voice was low and a touch breathless.

  “Then perhaps…” She ran her hand over the hard bulge in his trousers and was gratified by his sharp in-take of breath.

  His fingers slipped over her in a rhythm that thrummed from his touch upward to melt the very bones in her body.

  “Good Lord, Gwen,” he murmured against her neck. “This is…”

  She gasped and tugged at his pants. “Indeed it is.”

  He fumbled to free himself from his trousers, then raised her leg to wrap around his hip. She gripped his shoulder and rested her back against the tree, and he slipped into her, the awkwardness of their position only increasing her arousal.

  He moved within her, and she responded with the sheer delight she found in his touch and more, a bliss far beyond the excitement of their joining. It was indeed right and proper to be with this man, even here and now, under the setting sun, overlooking his world.

  A primitive, animal desire drove her to meet his thrusts with a hard, fast urging of her own. To pull him deeper into her and push against him as if their very lives were at stake. The tense, hot wonder built within her with every stroke, every breath, every beat of his heart against hers. She wanted to scream with need, demand release and pure pleasure. And far too soon, her body convulsed around his and she did indeed scream softly, and she felt his shuddering release within her. For a moment neither moved, shocked by the intensity and the speed of their joining. At last he sagged against her.

  “I have been thinking lately, Marcus”—she swallowed hard—“that I am terribly tired of being proper.”

  He made an odd sort of choking sound against her neck. “I daresay you needn’t worry about that again.”

  Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her. He joined her and they clung together and laughed with a passion nearly as intense as their lovemaking. Laughter that came from a delightful sense of satisfaction and a joy she’d never imagined but now embraced in every fiber of her being.

  He moved away just enough to allow her dress to fall back into place and give him room to recover his trousers. Then he pulled her back into his embrace.

  “I fear you might be rather bruised tomorrow.” He winced in sympathy. “I suspect this tree is not the most comfortable thing to make love against.”

  “I scarcely noticed, nor did I care. However”—she kissed him firmly—“next time you can be against the tree.”

  He lifted a brow. “And will there then be a next time?”

  “Oh, I can almost guarantee it.”

  He laughed. “I think I shall quite enjoy having a wife who is tired of being terribly proper as long as her improprieties are with me and me alon
e.”

  “Of course, my lord.” She flashed him a wicked grin. “At least for the next seven and a half years.

  His eyes narrowed. “Forever, Gwen.”

  “If I recall correctly, this condition about seven and a half years was your idea.”

  “That was before.”

  “Before?”

  “Before I knew how incredibly lucky I was. Before I knew I had stumbled into the best thing to ever have happened to me. Before I realized seven and a half years, even a lifetime, with you will not be nearly enough.” His gaze searched hers. “I promise you, Gwen, you can trust me. With your future and the future of your nieces and your children, our children.”

  She gazed at him and knew, with a surety she’d never known before, that she could indeed trust this man with the rest of her life. And her heart.

  “Forever, Gwen,” he growled. “Say it.”

  “Because if I say it aloud I’ll be happy?” She couldn’t help the teasing note in her voice.

  “Because if you say it aloud we’ll both be happy.”

  Her heart caught at the look in his eye.

  “Very well, Lord Pennington.” She smiled up at him and realized love wasn’t at all a trap. “Forever.”

  It was a gift.

  Chapter 17

  Even when a man has the best of intentions, it may be not be enough, because in the end, he is but a mere mortal. Some things even a good man cannot change.

  Gwendolyn Pennington

  Happiness was certainly not at all overrated.

  Indeed, it was a kind of constant euphoria that underlaid her every step, her every breath, the very beat of her heart. She was inclined to laugh for no particular reason, even to giggle. It was suspiciously like the delightful sensation brought on by brandy without the unpleasant aftereffects.

  Gwen sailed down the stairs to join her husband and Berkley in the enjoyable conversations, and often debates, that marked any evening Marcus’s friend joined them for dinner.

  It had been nearly a week since Gwen had admitted her love for her husband. Certainly, in a logical, rational part of her mind, she knew the intensity of her feelings would no doubt change with time, would ease and mellow, but she suspected that, like the patina on fine furniture, it would become even richer with the years.