How to Marry a Rogue

by Anna Small

  He straightened his collar in the mirror. “I hardly notice my appearance, unlike some. I seem to have sprouted more silver at my temples, and the creases around my eyes multiply daily. You, however, probably enjoy the dazzling sight of your own visage every time you pass a mirror. I’ve noticed you never fail to glance at your reflection.”

  She reached up before he could stop her. She brushed his unruly hair from his eyes, and he jumped as if her nearness had sparked something in him. A blush spread rapidly across her face, but she laughed.

  “You are a schoolboy no longer, Jack. I rather like the look of you now—all respectability and properly tied neckcloths. You could be a responsible landowner and not a celebrated fighter.”

  He snorted. “Believe me, it is only for the next hour. The moment the priest leaves, I’ll be back to shirtsleeves and boots.”

  “What a shame.” She clucked her tongue. “You look very dashing all cleaned up. I’m surprised women aren’t crawling all over you.”

  “They were, before you insinuated yourself into my chateau.”

  She laughed, and it was the loud, hearty laugh of the Lockewoods, though rare in her brother.

  At the thought of Lockewood’s reaction when he found out what they had done, Jack was tempted to utter a prayer. He offered his arm in a grand gesture. “My lady, our very drunk and overpaid priest awaits in the rose garden. But you’ll have to walk through an overgrown patch of weeds to get there, and I’m afraid there’s a rather large puddle we have to cross.”

  She took his arm, linking both hands around it as she used to when she was a little girl. It was her way of making him stay for just one more game, one more story, when cards and brandy beckoned with Lockewood and his friends. One more ride on his shoulders, because Lockewood never would. And Jack always did.

  “Is Aunt Adele downstairs?” she asked.

  “Yes, along with Lady Priscilla and a rather sallow-looking fellow I can only assume is the ignoble Alphonse. She spoke to me privately.”

  Georgiana fidgeted with a button his cuff. “What did she say?”

  “She is having second doubts, Georgie. Despite our protestations, she is not convinced of our sincerity. She intends to write your brother, and I fully expect an inquisition upon our return that will make the Spanish one look like a garden party.” He scowled. “Presuming, of course, Lockewood is not already on his way here to slit my throat. A letter from Lady Richmond might have reached him by now.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why should Aunt Adele object? She likes you well enough.”

  “She thinks I’ve seduced you.” He could not recall blushing since he was in school but felt uncomfortably warm. He’d blame it on the sun, dazzlingly hot this fine summer day, but they were still indoors. “As if I came all the way to France to take the innocence of my friend’s sister.”

  “I shall write Jonathan today and inform him otherwise.”

  “You shall do no such thing. Better to return to England in a few weeks, rather than the months we’ve planned. Of course, Aunt Adele may not write to him after all. I was rather—vocal—about her trusting that fool, Alphonse, to escort you to a ball, wherein he abandoned you the moment you arrived. I told her I rescued you from an unsavory situation, which might have resulted in your death, or ruined reputation, which is quite the same thing to her.”

  “Oh, Jack!” She clapped her hand over her mouth, but he heard her escaped laughter. “You didn’t frighten the poor thing, did you?”

  “I simply told her the prospect of your being ravished by two scoundrels was infinitely worse than attaching yourself to me for the rest of your life.”

  “But not much worse.”

  He glanced sideways at her. “No, not too much worse than that.”

  They walked outdoors, blinking at the invasion of bright sunshine hitting their eyes. She lifted her skirts to avoid a muddy patch, and he had to force himself to turn away from the enticing sight of her trim ankle as she leapt across.

  “Your grandfather’s chateau is rather a mystery. One finds the most curious things. To whom did these clothes belong?”

  He didn’t want to tell her about the gown’s owner, although earlier he’d thought to tease her for wearing a courtesan’s gown. For some reason, the idea of teasing her no longer appealed. Especially when those great blue eyes were turned up at him.

  “I’m not certain. My grandfather used to allow guests to stay here if they were passing through.” A little lie would never hurt. He couldn’t recall the last time his grandfather set foot in Bordeaux, and the old man was not known for his hospitality.

  “It’s pretty, but it smells a bit. Like garlic and perfume.”

  The end of her button nose crinkled, and he had to restrain himself from pinching her cheek. He also had to restrain himself from doing more. She was awfully tempting in the flimsy gown.

  “The entire house smelled like that when I got here. You get used to it after a while,” he lied. Francine. Now, he remembered. They’d fed each other garlic and wine-soaked mushrooms. His groin ached at the memory. Had it only been a few weeks since his last tryst with a courtesan whose name had left his memory?

  “That must be the puddle you mentioned. Looks more like a lake.”

  They stopped at the edge of the flooded garden. Before he could think about the damage he would inflict on his boots, he turned abruptly and lifted her.

  She squealed in surprise and wrapped her arms around his neck. “This is like in a storybook, Jack!”

  “Well, you’re no little girl lost in the woods.” He hefted her with an exaggerated grunt. “You need to avoid so much pudding with your supper.”

  As she pressed against him, he caught the scent of the fragrant soap she’d used in her bath, as well as the faint garlic odor clinging to the fabric. She was featherlight in his arms, just as she’d been years before when he’d carried her across a field to her home when she’d sprained her ankle. Lockewood and he had taken turns carrying her, but she had fallen while chasing him, so Lockewood insisted Jack do the honors. Her skinny arms had clung to his neck, and she’d chattered into his ear the entire time, making up a song at one point and singing it for him and her brother.

  Her arms held firm about his neck, one hand combing through the back of his hair. The tickling sensation it produced was distracting, and he jiggled her a bit to make her stop. He glanced down once and got an eyeful of her full bosom, pushed up by the tight bodice. Gritting his teeth, he sloshed through the water while she continued touching his hair.

  “I forgot one slight matter.” He tried to distract his attention away from her bosom and focused on her face, so close to his.

  “What is that?”

  “I haven’t got a ring. Had I expected to find a bride on this trip, I would have been better prepared.”

  Her skin flushed all the way to her lace-trimmed bodice. “I don’t mind. I wasn’t expecting to find a husband abroad, either.”

  He set her down on the dry grass. Aunt Adele and Lady Priscilla sat on chairs the servants had dragged out for the occasion. A makeshift altar stood before the hollyhocks. Alphonse stood with his hands behind his back, an almost bemused expression on his angular face. Jack longed to say something to him but didn’t want to spoil the moment. Besides, the trouble he had brought Georgiana was nothing compared to what Alphonse had done.

  The priest was a relative of Philippe’s and had been persuaded not to ask too many questions. If persuasion was a close cousin to bribery. He nodded, a broad grin on his face. “Bonjour, monsieur! And this must be la mademoiselle!”

  Georgiana curtsied and Jack bowed, although he felt a bit ridiculous. He wore his best suit with a more or less clean shirt, and her gown was that of a successful courtesan. Marie and Philippe and a few other of his servants were also present, and he noted one’s bare, dirty feet.

  “Could you not find an English minister?” Georgiana whispered.

  He fidgeted with his neckcloth. Perspiration beaded on his fore
head and dripped over his eyebrow to sting his eye. “I was hard pressed to find this one. Fortunately, he didn’t mind being paid in my grandfather’s wine.”

  The priest opened his prayer book and began a shortened, simplified version of the wedding service. Jack’s French wasn’t too bad, and Georgiana spoke it better than he. So he was surprised when the man pronounced them man and wife, and Georgiana remained frozen beside him.

  “That’s it, then,” he muttered, shaking her hand which had been clasped in his for the duration. “We did it, Pudding Face! Well, aren’t you going to start ordering me around as your new husband, or has the cat got your tongue?”

  She raised misty eyes to him, and promptly brushed at her face as if she had a dustmote in her eye.

  The hair lifted on the back of his neck as if he were caught in a trap. He gulped hard. Georgiana Lockewood was no trap. She was the sweetest girl he knew, and he would die to protect her. Any lingering doubts for what they’d done faded when he stared at the pale rose blush of her cheek and her eyes, round and wide and blue as the grapes in the vignoble. He was so glad that, if anything else, he had saved her from the likes of Richmond.

  “L’embrasser!” Marie cried, clapping her hands. “Kiss him, madame!”

  He grinned down at her. “Yes, embrasse-moi, Georgie. The priest will question our motives if you do not.” He’d meant to tease her, but his heart pounded erratically as he waited along with the others for her to do something.

  She drew a shaky breath, her slim shoulders vibrating with the action. She placed one hand lightly on his chest while the other remained clasped around his. She rose on tiptoe and he had to stoop to meet her halfway. He turned his cheek slightly toward her, as she’d always kissed him there, but she turned at the last second and met his lips. He jumped back as if stung.

  “Felicitations!” the priest sang, nodding at them both. The servants led him away. Jack looked down at his new bride. Ought he to embrace her? To kiss her again, but this time, the way she ought to be kissed, and not an innocent peck on the lips?

  The warmth of her hand penetrated through his shirt when she’d given him a little caress. He glanced down, half in wonder, half bemused, to stare at her oval fingertips. Mistaking his look, she pulled away and was silent.

  He’d made many mistakes in his life. Some of them, fully knowing the risks, as when he’d seduced the Marquise de Burgoyne at a party in Paris years ago while her husband gambled in the next room. Or when he’d lost one thousand pounds on a bet, won it back, then promptly lost it the following night. Other mistakes were not as clear to him at the time he’d made them. He hoped this was not one of those times.

  “Congratulations, my dears, and blessings, too.” Aunt Adele kissed them both. She fanned herself with a feeble hand. “I apologize for not staying longer, but this warm air does make one tired. If you will forgive me, Georgiana, I will return with my sister to the chateau.”

  “Do you need any assistance?” Jack offered his arm, but Alphonse had already stepped forward.

  “I will see the ladies home, monsieur.” He bowed smartly to Jack and turned to Georgiana. “Congratulations, madame. I am happy you changed your mind.” He bent and kissed both her cheeks in the airy custom Jack found so annoying.

  “Changed your mind about what?” Jack asked, but she must not have heard, because she didn’t reply. They walked back to the house where Aunt Adele declined any refreshment, citing the coolness of Priscilla’s chateau as her most dire need.

  As they saw the ladies and Alphonse into their coach, Aunt Adele pressed Jack’s hand. “I will not write to Jonathan yet, as you requested, Mr. Waverley. He will take the news better coming from his sister’s husband.”

  He forced a cheerfulness he didn’t quite feel. He could just imagine Lockewood’s eruption if he ever received that letter. “I quite agree with you, Aunt Adele.” He punctuated this last, and the old dear gave a gratified smile.

  Georgiana was silent the entire way back to the house, and he would normally have pointed that out but did not have the heart. The strong bonds of friendship had evaporated into the tenuous strings of marriage.

  He didn’t feel like a bridegroom. He had not courted nor seduced her. There had been no endless meetings with her brother and aunt to compose his suit for her hand, and he had not received a dowry in exchange for turning a Lockewood into a Waverley. He was almost too nervous to glance down at the quiet girl at his side, but when he did her deepening blush and the tiny smile on her lips brought him no end of relief. Perhaps he was not the best choice of husband for her, but he would never hurt her, like Mitford had, nor would he ever treat her coolly, as Herbert Richmond might have, with his overbearing mother.

  He wanted to ask her thoughts, but the answer might not be to his liking. Strange how just a simple ceremony of words and gestures could transfigure one so.

  The cook had prepared an outlandish wedding feast for just the two of them, and Jack inhaled the aromas of a fine meal, relieved that eating would be a suitable distraction.

  Georgiana followed him toward the dining room, and paused.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She shrugged, then quickly nodded, her eyes wider than usual. “Aunt Adele brought my trunks with her, so I’ll just change out of this dress. The smell does irritate one so.”

  “Good idea. I did promise to remove my neckcloth the moment the ceremony, such as it was, ended. If it does not offend you.” He’d almost added, madame, at the end of his sentence, but bit off the word at the last breath. New bride or no, Georgiana Lockewood was very much a mademoiselle.

  They walked silently upstairs, and he gave her a little, almost foolish bow when they reached her chamber. She hastily closed the door, and he went to his own room, whistling soundlessly between his teeth and drumming his fingers onto his thigh while he walked. He was a stranger in his home, and this bewitching girl was now the mistress of all he surveyed.

  Once inside, he glanced around his bachelor quarters. Dirty linen lay strewn about, as he eschewed the services of a proper valet except when in London, as the Parisian gamblers and roustabouts he associated with were more concerned with the contents of one’s purse rather than the cut of one’s coat. He glanced at the messy bed and winced. It was hardly a bridal chamber, if he could dare assume she should be compelled to go along with the other trappings of marriage.

  Stopping short in his tracks, he stared at the bed, trying to imagine sleeping entwined in Georgiana’s arms during the hot, sultry night. Just as his body reacted in its typical manner, he laughed. Georgiana was too proper a lady, too innocent to consider such a thing. Especially when he had been so close to her in the past. Why, they were almost family.

  Except that they were not.

  He ran his hands through his hair, tugging it violently. He’d hoped before their meeting at Fairwood Hall last month that she would not look as he remembered her. He’d prayed for her slim curves to have made way for gluttony. For her clear blue eyes to squint. Although why her eyes would not remain their remarkable shape, nor her figure to bud into a woman’s soft curves, mystified him.

  A loud groan escaped him, and he paced the room, unsure of what to do next. Did he dress for dinner or remain casual as he had all week since she’d been at the chateau? Did his newly married status require he brush his hair or polish his boots?

  He opened the wardrobe and surveyed his clothes with a frown. Nothing would do. They were all evening or riding clothes. Evening for when he sought female companionship and riding for the odd occasion when the gardener brought round the finest horse in town so he could attempt some sort of exercise. He was seldom active during the daylight hours and hardly knew how to act or dress in sunlight.

  Either way, he could not go down to dinner in his shirtsleeves. He slipped off his shirt and pulled on a clean one, then selected a waistcoat and frock coat. If only for tonight, and because he respected her family, he would wear a neckcloth. Suffer through with the wretched thing,
but wear it nonetheless.

  If his hands shook slightly when he tied the material into a semblance of respectability, he ignored it. If he cursed more than usual while searching for a clean pair of boots, he put it down to frustration with the neglectful housekeeper.

  As he had done earlier that day, he regarded his reflection in the mirror. His hair had thinned a little at the temple, and despite what Georgiana had said, the few silver hairs mocked him that his days of boxing and sitting at a gaming table all night were ending. Perhaps marriage was the right thing for him. With luck, he could persuade Georgiana to bear a few offspring and they’d buy a suitable home in the country, near Fairwood Hall.

  His hands froze on his neckcloth. He hadn’t considered where they’d live. He still had his set of chambers at the Albany, but ladies were not allowed. Besides, more than a few questionable females possessed keys to the back door.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” He yanked off his neckcloth to retie it. He’d forgotten he’d made certain arrangements with more than a few of his usual lovers for when he returned. How to cancel them now? Before he could dwell on it further, there was a knock on the door. He should have expected her.

  Georgiana stood in the doorway, her own gown adorning her curvaceous figure in a shimmering column of ocean blue that exactly matched the color of her eyes. Her elaborate hairstyle was still in place, and her bare throat and décolleté glowed pale pink from the heat of the day.

  He caught his breath while trying to maintain an air of bored civility. The little vixen had to know the effect she had on him.

  “I didn’t know if you were coming down yet. Perhaps we may walk together.” Her voice was a breathy whisper, as if she were trying not to wake a sleeping person.

  “I’m almost finished here.”

  Suddenly, they were two strangers who’d been thrown into a desperate situation. Stranded at sea, or lost in a forest with no help in sight. She took a step forward, stopped, then proceeded to walk to him. Before he realized what she was doing, she took the ends of his neckcloth and tied it for him.