“And that was all of it? A few words from the man and no more tears and fuss?”
She arched one eyebrow at him. “You’re sharing a house with two young women, my lord. Surely you know better than that?”
That prompted his own laughter. Indeed, living with Julia and Louisa, even for such a short time, had taught him just how dramatic girls could be. There was always a catastrophe. “And what sorts of catastrophes did he manage for you?”
“All of them,” she said with a sad smile. “The worst was when the butcher’s sons teased me that I was an orphan… they said I didn’t really have a father.”
“So what words of wisdom did he impart to make it all better when you were told he wasn’t your actual father?” It was impossible for him to reconcile what he was hearing with what he knew. How? How could the gentle man she described be the same man who orchestrated the beating and robbery that had derailed the entirety of his life?
“He told me he adored me, that he loved me beyond anything in the world and that he was almost certain my own father had engineered the whole of it from Heaven so that I’d have someone there to look after me always.”
To Leo’s absolute horror, Meg’s face crumpled. Her lower lip trembled and she began to sob—deep, heart-wrenching wails of a grief so raw and intense that it felt like an invasion of her privacy to even see it. And yet, they were alone in a carriage, traveling to her stepfather’s funeral. For better or worse, he was her husband, and strangers or not, it was his duty, ill-suited as he might be for it, to attempt to provide her some degree of comfort.
Rising from his seat, he moved across the carriage to the vacant seat beside her. Gently, he pulled her into his arms and held her while she cried. The very fact that she permitted it was a testament to the severity of her pain. It would be a long ride but, then again, for one of the first times in his life, it wasn’t about his comfort.
Chapter Five
It was late enough that the interior of the carriage had grown quite dim, even with the lamps. As she slowly came awake, Meg became aware of many things. Her body ached abominably, with more kinks and stiff joints than she’d ever felt in the entirety of her life. And yet she was reluctant to move and give up the comfort of a pair of strong arms that surrounded her. Instead, she stayed very still and began mentally cataloguing what had occurred.
With gentle prodding about her memories of her stepfather, her unlucky husband had found the perfect key to unlock all her pent-up grief. It had come tumbling out of her in great, hiccuping sobs. No doubt she looked a fright. But as she’d already humiliated herself as much as one person could in a day, it hardly mattered.
“We’ll be stopping for the night soon.” Those simple words, spoken in his deep, rich voice, reverberated through the enclosure of the carriage despite having been uttered in a hushed tone.
“I thought you were sleeping,” she said. In order to sit up, she had to place her hands against the firm planes of his chest and push herself up. As she did so, his arms slipped from about her and she shivered at the loss of that warmth.
“No. I’ve dozed a bit here and there… you’ve slept for hours. Though I daresay you needed it.”
Meg felt a blush staining her cheeks. “I’m terribly sorry to have taken on as I did. It was unfair of me to simply fall to pieces on you while we’re trapped together in this small space.”
“Do not apologize… not for that. Not for having an honest, emotional reaction to losing someone you loved and who so obviously loved you,” he said. “It’s a revelation to me that people can care that much for another being.”
Meg frowned. “But your own father… I’m certain you must have loved one another.”
His bark of laughter echoed in the confines of the vehicle. “Then, my dear wife, you would be the only one to think so. Most of the time, I was nothing but a bitter disappointment to him. So much so that I was all but banished from his sight. My half-sisters are but strangers to me because of that.”
“And your mother?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I’ve no memory at all of my own mother. She died when I was very young, giving birth to another child that unfortunately died with her. No, indeed, Meg… were I to die tomorrow, I’m not even certain I would be missed. But for a handful of friendships that are likely based more on convenience and mutual gain of some sort, I doubt I’d be truly mourned by anyone.”
“I can’t imagine that’s true,” she said. “I think you underestimate how much you mean to others. No man who could comfort a virtual stranger as you have comforted me today could go through life with so little impact upon others.” Their gazes met, their eyes locking with one another in a way that left little doubt as to what was on both their minds.
Silence fell heavily between them. They were scant inches apart on the seat and all Meg could think of was the kiss they’d shared the night before. He’d been impossibly gentle and patient, but he’d succeeded in what she’d since sussed out was his objective. He’d aroused her curiosity. It was impossible to deny that she now found herself wondering what lay beyond just a simple kiss and if those previously forbidden acts would be just as pleasurable and as consuming.
The tension between them was palpable. Growing and stretching, filling the space until even the sound of her blood rushing through her veins was like the roar of thunder. Then the coach slowed dramatically before turning sharply into a busy inn yard. The sound of horses and of people calling out to one another shattered the spell, allowing them both to breathe. Meg looked away first, thankful to be able to escape that impossibly potent moment between them.
He climbed down from the coach first then reached back to help her. The driver tossed down his bag and then they crossed the bustling yard to the inn itself. It was a large establishment, at least three stories high, and seemed to be a rambling warren of additions over the centuries.
“It’s not much to look at, but it’s clean,” he offered. “I’ve stayed here many times over the years.”
“I’ll take your word for it. I’ve only been to London a few times and we always left early enough to avoid having to stay overnight anywhere along the way,” she said.
“Come on,” Leo said, pushing the door open and ushering her inside.
The small man behind the heavy wooden counter, wiping tankards with a cloth that looked reasonably clean, looked up. At the sight of her husband, the man’s eyes widened and a smile stretched across his face. “My lord!” he called out cheerfully. “It’s a pleasure to have you here again. We’ve one room left and it’s yours for the taking.”
One room. Meg looked at him and felt something akin to panic snaking through her.
“That’s excellent, Howard,” Leo stated. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Lady Margaret Thurston-Hunter, Viscountess Amberley.”
The man let out a hearty whoop of joy. “Congratulations to you, my lord, and many felicitations to you, as well, my lady! I will send up my best bottle of wine!”
“There’s no need, Howard,” Leo said smoothly. “While we appreciate your kind words and well wishes on our marriage, our journey is not a happy one at this time. We are heading for Sheridan Hall to lay my wife’s stepfather to rest.”
The little man’s face fell. “Indeed, my lord! Indeed. I knew Sir William quite well. He stopped in here frequently to change horses or have a bite to eat when journeying to London for business. A kind and honorable man. It seems wrong to offer felicitations and condolences in the same conversation, but alas, I must! He will be greatly missed, your ladyship.”
Meg forced herself to reply. “Thank you, sir. You are very kind.” A glance at her husband showed that same hardened and secretive expression she’d witnessed earlier. It seemed that whenever someone spoke of Sir William, he responded in a very peculiar fashion.
The man nodded, then called out for one of the serving girls who could only be his daughter. She looked so very like him. “Mary will show you to your chamber.”
They followe
d the young girl up the narrow and uneven stairs to a room on the third floor. Meg noted his grimace of pain as they neared the top and the fact that he leaned more heavily on the walking stick the higher they climbed.
At last, they reached the chamber and the serving girl unlocked the door and then presented the key to Leo before scurrying quickly away. They stepped inside, ducking due to the low height of the door jamb, and entered a room that was far larger than she’d expected. The ceiling pitched steeply on one end of the room. But on the other side, it was full height and they could both stand without hunching forward. The bed was large enough for the both of them, but Meg found herself shying away from that thought.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he offered, as if having read her thoughts.
“I can’t let you do that. You said yourself that you only dozed in the coach,” she protested. And while she didn’t wish to mention it, she couldn’t imagine that with his leg paining him so, sleeping on a floor would offer him any relief.
He smiled. “And to that end, I’ll be exhausted enough to sleep anywhere. We would have had to share a room regardless… we are too close to your family home to risk stirring gossip by sleeping separately.”
That was something she hadn’t considered. “Would it matter so much?”
He sighed. “Not to skirt the issue at hand, but until our marriage is consummated, it’s not truly binding. And given your age and the slightly irregular circumstances of consent, if your uncle wished to challenge it and press for an annulment, he’s not entirely without grounds. It wouldn’t be a quick process, and the truth of the matter is it would be so publicly damaging to both of us that I can’t imagine how we’d recover socially.”
“Oh,” Meg said. “Oh. I hadn’t… I suppose I shouldn’t have been quite so missish about things, should I?”
“I’d hardly call not wanting to fall into bed with a stranger missish,” he replied. “I told you I’d give you time and I will do just that. No one needs to know the particulars of our marriage bed besides the two of us. But that means taking steps to prevent anyone from asking questions—such as sharing a chamber.”
He didn’t mean simply for that night. He meant for the duration of their stay at Sheridan Hall. Yet his reasoning was sound. Any chink in their proverbial armor would be exploited by her uncle to maximum effect. “You should take the bed tonight,” she insisted. “I can sleep on the floor.”
“Not on your life or mine,” he said, clearly affronted at the notion. “What sort of man would I be to put a woman on a cold, hard floor?”
“You are as exhausted as I am… you’ll freeze on the floor and you’ll be naught but a mass of aches and pains tomorrow.”
He grinned at that. “I’m not exactly decrepit, you know. I’ve certainly slept in worse places… but there is a solution.”
“And what is that?” she asked.
“We can share a bed, Meg, without sharing a bed.”
She looked at the bed and then at the breadth of his shoulders. It would be impossible not to be aware of his presence beside her, but surely they could manage. It would be terribly intimate, terribly close and, a little voice whispered inside her, terribly tempting. “Very well then. It feels rather strange to prepare for bed with you here. Could you—I know it’s a terrible imposition, but…”
He smiled, closing the few paces of distance between them. With a gentleness that still stunned her, he pressed a feather-soft kiss to her lips. It was so quick, just the barest hint of a touch, before he drew back. “I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes. I have the key to let myself in, but I’ll knock first to give you fair warning.”
With that, he was gone. Meg heard the click of the key in the lock but she knew, under the circumstances, that it was more for her safety than to keep her prisoner. Even the best of inns could often house a disreputable element.
After considering her options and knowing that she had no other gown to wear the following day, Meg made the difficult decision to remove her traveling gown. She hung it carefully on a peg behind the screen, but didn’t dare remove anything else. Even with the fire, the room was a bit chilled. Surely that was justification enough for leaving her layers of petticoats on? Removing the pins from her hair, she fashioned it into a braid and took a small bit of ribbon from her reticule to fasten it with. With that task done, she slid beneath the heavy quilts and coverlets of the bed and awaited her husband’s return.
Leo waited in the corridor. It took all his will to suppress the urge to simply pound his head against the wall to render himself unconscious. The idea of sharing a narrow bed with her, and doing so without giving in to any number of his very dishonorable urges, was torture. It had been difficult enough holding her in the carriage. Oh, certainly, when she’d been weeping, he’d been solely focused on comforting her. But when she’d fallen into a peaceful sleep there in his arms, when her sobs had subsided and he’d had only the quiet of the carriage and the soft press of her against him, then his very libidinous nature had reared its head, literally and figuratively.
“Christ Almighty,” he whispered. “Why am I torturing myself this way?” The answer was simple enough. While it might create an agony of unfulfilled desire, there was a certain pleasure to be had simply in holding her, in being close to her and savoring the sweetness of her. She’d fit so perfectly in his arms and it had been a stark reminder of just how long it had been since he’d indulged in carnal pleasures. Having two young girls to tend to, not to mention a lack of available funds, had certainly hampered his bachelor lifestyle.
Unable to put it off any longer, he made his way back to their chamber and knocked softly on the door. She called out for him to enter and Leo fitted the key into the lock, a symbolic gesture if ever there was one, and entered the room.
She was tucked tidily beneath the covers, nothing sticking out but the very top of her dark head. He smiled in spite of his own particular brand of misery. Entering the room, he’d immediately smelled the light scent of her perfume, or perhaps it was the soap that she used. Lemon verbena. It was sweet, tart, clean and encapsulated so much of who she was.
Stripping off his coat, his waistcoat and his cravat, he settled on the chair before the hearth to remove his boots. His thigh was screaming at him, the scar from the pistol ball throbbed with pain. Hours sitting cramped in a carriage and three flights of stairs later, his injury was rearing its head and reminding him of his limitations. But he’d eschewed the laudanum the physicians were so eager to thrust upon him. He’d seen far too many men fall into that tiny bottle and never emerge. Pain was a small price to pay for clarity of mind.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he placed his boots near the hearth and rose from the chair. Still wearing his shirt and breeches, he approached the bed much the way a person would approach a hissing snake. Settling on the side of it, he lay down, stretching out atop the blankets.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Won’t you be cold?”
“If I get cold, I’ll get beneath the blankets, but I’m fine for now,” he assured her. And the more layers between them, the better.
There was silence again for a moment. Then very quietly, the sound almost lost amidst the feather pillows and blankets, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being kind. You didn’t have to be, and I appreciate it more than you can know.”
Those words hung over him, echoing in his thoughts as he snuffed the candle beside the bed. He lay awake for the longest time thinking of what her uncle, Roger Snead, and his horrid son, Neville, might have done to make her think kindness was such a rare commodity. Whatever it was, they’d pay for it. He’d make certain of that.
Staring up at the ceiling, he heard her breathing slow, heard the difference in the rhythm of each inhale and exhale that told him she’d drifted off to sleep. Shifting slightly, he rolled to his side and propped himself up on his elbow. In the dim light from the fire, he studied the delicate lines of her profile—the gamine nose whi
ch turned up impudently, the stubborn jut of her chin softened in repose, the lush curves of her lips, the dark sweep of lashes against her cheeks and the arch of her dark brows. He noted the fine, silken texture of her alabaster skin and recalled exactly how it felt when he’d brushed her tears away in the carriage. There was little doubt in his mind that it would be just as soft, just as tempting elsewhere. He had hoped to have a wife he could tolerate. He hadn’t counted on having a wife he would actually desire. Certainly not one that he found himself mooning over like some love-struck boy. It was damned disconcerting. And she was also incredibly vulnerable, rocked by grief, and that, as much as their bargain, made her thoroughly off limits for the time. He wouldn’t take advantage of her need for comfort. It would make him the worst sort of villain.
She was beautiful, innocent, and so painfully young. Marriage to her had been a necessity for him. It was the only thing that would allow him to salvage his failing family fortunes and to care for his half-sisters. And it had been a necessity for her in order to be spared whatever machinations had been wrought by her own scheming relatives. But she was being denied the things every young woman of her station dreamed of… a season, being presented at court, having suitors come to call, even attending Almack’s as dreadfully dull as it was. It, like so many other things related to London society, were rites of passage that she would never experience. And for better or worse, he was part of the scenario that robbed her of them.
That didn’t sit well with him. Not in the least. And to that end, Leo became determined to find some way to right that wrong, to give her the things she would have had if he’d been a suitor who could court her normally, who could pay calls on her and show his increasing affections for her with trinkets and gifts. It wasn’t much, but it was something that he could do to normalize their situation once they returned to town. And for whatever reason, he felt it was the right thing to do. For his own peace of mind, it was best not to think too much on what may be motivating his behaviors. No good ever came from overthinking a thing.
Fall of the Lyon: The Lyon's Den Page 5
