“And let us not forget Winthrop. Should I disappear, you’d still have that waddling pear-shaped problem. What are you going to do, Maggie, if we don’t marry? Form a rope out of bedsheets and rappel down the side of your aunt’s home to make your escape?”
“I would leave by the front door.”
Welles snorted in derision. “You’ve no choice and neither do I.”
“I had a choice,” she said, growing irritated at his mocking attitude. “And you deliberately ruined my opportunity with Carstairs.” She saw not a shred of affection for her in his eyes, only icy resignation and resentment, as if she were to blame for all his ills. Anger simmered and burned beneath the snowy white shirt and indigo coat he wore, spoiling the air around them. And every bit of his rage was directed squarely at her.
“You blame me for this.”
A tic appeared in his cheek. He looked as if he wanted to strangle her.
Dear God, he did.
The unfairness of the situation, the feeling she was nothing but a burden, a piece of bloody spoiled fruit no one wanted but couldn’t dispose of, bubbled to the surface, exploding in a torrent.
“I don’t want to marry you, either.” Her hands curled into fists as she faced him. “I’ve no desire to be subjected to your foul mood and resentment for the remainder of my days. Good Lord, I already live with someone who hates me. I didn’t trap or ensnare you, my lord, so please cast your withering stare elsewhere.”
“Ah, there she is.” The corner of his mouth ticked up.
“I had no expectations. No illusions. I knew what you were.”
“And what am I, Maggie?” he said in a deceptively quiet tone.
“A rake. A libertine. Then you had to go and play Chopin.”
“I’m not the one who left the conservatory door open, Maggie.”
She sucked in a gulp of air, shocked at his inference. “I wanted to marry Carstairs. You were playing—”
He flicked a piece of lint off his coat. “Christ, I’m so tired of hearing how you prefer that dimwit to me. And on our wedding day.”
“Bloody Chopin.” She finished, taking a gulp of air, her breasts pushing painfully against the tight constraints of her bodice. “Wait—what?”
Welles was staring at her with such savage possessiveness that Margaret took a step back.
“I said, I am sick to death of hearing of your preference for Carstairs. Because he’s kind. Pleasant. Stupid. So you could walk all over him.” He moved to stand over her, a large, angry male, who unbelievably, had decided she belonged to him. Under different circumstances, she would have been…a bit thrilled with his declaration.
She stared at him, frozen in place by his words.
“Unfortunately for you, Maggie, I am none of those things.”
His forefinger reached out, lingering over the tops of her breasts, pausing only to dip below the delicate lace to circle one nipple.
Margaret gasped, hating the way her body immediately arched toward him, a low hum starting between her thighs at his touch.
He removed his finger, pausing only to brush the lace at her bodice. “Lest you think to demand the vicar not perform the marriage, you should know that I’ve apprised your aunt of how I debauched you well before my stepmother’s ball and took your virtue. I’ve also informed the duchess. I may have let such a thing slip in my conversation to Carstairs just the other day.” He shrugged and took her elbow.
Margaret’s mouth popped open in shock. “You—” A flush crept up her cheeks, mortified. She would never be able to look the duchess in the eye again. “Bastard.” She tried to pull her arm free.
“No, that is the other brother, the one you aren’t marrying. Pay attention, Maggie.” He dragged her back into the drawing room.
Margaret continued to swat at him, startling the vicar. Leo was smiling. Aunt Agnes moved forward to pinch her, and Welles made a low growl.
Her aunt stepped back so swiftly she stumbled over the chair leg.
“Now that we’ve cleared things up,” he said, nodding to all of them before addressing the vicar, “you may begin.”
Margaret barely heard a word of the ceremony. A mounting sense of despair filled her along with a great deal of anger. She didn’t want to marry Welles under these circumstances. Aunt Agnes seemed the only one in the drawing room to be even remotely pleased, although Leo didn’t look put out.
Her soon to be brother-in-law cleared his throat and gave her a nudge.
“I will,” she said automatically.
Welles made a sign of irritation at her having to be prompted to respond before settling a large square-cut diamond onto her finger. The weight of the ring was heavy, the band far too large. Her fingers immediately curled into a fist, wishing she were taller so she could punch him right on his perfect nose.
Welles brushed a perfunctory kiss on her lips, prompting a spark down the length of her traitorous body.
Barely fifteen minutes later, Margaret found herself sitting in the same well-appointed carriage Welles had first propositioned her in a lifetime ago. The same one she’d ridden in after their night together at Elysium.
Only now, Welles was her husband.
28
That could have gone better.
Tony’s temples ached, mostly from the overabundance of scotch he’d had the night before. Scotch had helped him come to terms with a variety of current issues, namely marrying Miss Margaret Lainscott. Having to endure the company of Lady Dobson, more greedy and conniving than he’d given her credit for, only added to the dull ache in his head. He had been assured by his solicitors that the sum settled upon Maggie’s aunt would keep her away. Lady Dobson hadn’t spared Winthrop a thought before agreeing to Tony’s terms.
Tony rubbed his forehead while taking in the cause of this entire mess. His wife.
She had chosen to ignore him since their heated discussion in the parlor after Tony had explained he’d informed all concerned her virtue was no longer intact. The look on her face had been priceless. He couldn’t have her balking as their vows were said, not after the lengths he’d gone to in order to have her. Instead of being grateful—after all, Tony had tossed aside a vow to never marry he’d made when only fifteen, in order to rescue her from the clutches of Winthrop—she’d castigated him for not leaving her to Carstairs.
I was never going to give her to Carstairs.
The flash of jealous anger spread across his chest. It wasn’t the first time, and he doubted it would be his last. Another thing he laid at her feet. Tony’s fingers drummed on his thigh, wanting to itch at the ugly possessiveness climbing down his limbs. He’d known the moment Maggie had left Elysium spouting the nonsense about no expectations. What kind of a man did she think he was to take her maidenhead and then give her to his friend?
A rake. A libertine.
Tony studied the new Lady Welles discreetly. Her opinion of his character today notwithstanding, she looked lovely. Incredibly angry. But lovely.
The rose silk nestled against her petite body seductively, emphasizing her tiny waist and pushing her delectable breasts up in an almost wanton manner. And Maggie did have a tendency toward wantonness; he’d experienced such a thing firsthand at Elysium. Reading the memoirs of a courtesan. Never once blushing while he stripped her of her chemise. Touching his cock. Wicked little thing.
Another part of his anatomy besides his head began to ache, and she wasn’t even playing the damned piano.
He bit back the curse forming at his lips. While his anger had simmered to a cool, icy burn in his veins over the last few days, thanks to several bottles of Elysium’s best scotch, his fury was still there, threatening to crack through the surface of the skin. Marrying Miss Lainscott felt an awful lot like pleasing the Duke of Averell, something he was adamantly opposed to. He’d been so bloody angry when he’d left the ball that night. Amanda’s comparison of Tony to his father had sickened him so much it had blotted out everything else, including Maggie.
Tony had immedi
ately retreated to his rooms at Elysium.
He drank himself into a stupor the first night. And the second.
It was Leo who had stormed into his rooms, furious at him for leaving Miss Lainscott out to dry, so to speak. Amanda and the girls had refused to see him until he did the honorable thing. Romy, in particular, had sent Tony a scathing note; he had no idea his sister knew such vile curses. The entire ton was awash with ugly rumor and conjecture. His reputation, already not the best, had been battered further, though he didn’t actually care what society thought of him.
Tony gave a great sigh while studying the delicate curve of his wife’s breast, wanting her comfort for the pain he felt, even though she was the cause of it.
Contrary to what his family believed, having Leo remind Tony of his numerous character deficits and Amanda vowing never to speak to him again was not what had induced him to marry Miss Lainscott. Nor did the ton have to proclaim him the most wicked of all rakes or laugh at the fact it had been Lady Dobson’s much-unloved niece which had forced Tony to relinquish his vow of bachelorhood.
He’d known exactly what would happen when he played Chopin for her the night of the ball. He just didn’t like it.
Tony kept his focus on his wife’s petite form, mentally stripping the rose gown from her. She was still fuming and possibly mourning her thwarted attempt to become Lady Carstairs. Another rush of jealousy washed over him. He’d never thought to ever be envious of Carstairs or have a woman prefer him to Tony. The thought chafed at his ego.
As the carriage rolled to a stop before his town house, the expression of Lady Welles didn’t change except for a slight tightening of her delicious plump lips. Tony allowed himself a moment to study her mouth, remembering the taste of her. There were many uses for a mouth.
His trousers tightened alarmingly at even the wisp of such a thought.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of his rather modest town house.
Thank God. If he didn’t get out of this carriage and work off some of the havoc of today’s events, Lady Welles would likely pay the price. He needed a short stroll and a glass of scotch to clear his mind before dealing with his wife. Maybe he’d spend his entire marriage foxed.
His brother jumped out first, shooting Tony a look that warned of an upcoming lecture.
Leo was very good at instructing others on how to conduct their lives. Less so when doing the right thing himself. If Leo so much as uttered a word about Tony’s conduct, Tony meant to fling Lady Masterson at his brother’s head. That would shut him up.
Leo held out his hand to help his new sister-in-law out of the carriage.
Maggie smiled up at his brother, plump lips wide as if she meant to bestow a kiss.
Possessiveness stung Tony again. He was beginning to detest the sensation. He should never have encouraged her ridiculous scheme to wed Carstairs, nor requested she play the piano half-naked. It had only delayed the inevitable. Tony had known the moment he’d seen her at Gray Covington last year, arched over that fucking piano, that he was going to have her. He should have taken action then and convinced her to become his mistress.
He glanced at his wife.
Damn her.
Perhaps after he’d had Maggie a time or two, the desire for her would wane and he could go back to his life. He’d give her this house and she could invite every female musician in London to tea if she wished. Play the piano until her fingers bled. Tony would live at Elysium and have as many mistresses as he liked. Opera singers. Maybe an actress or two for variety. He’d insist none of them have the least musical inclination.
The idea had sounded more appealing last night after half a bottle of scotch.
“Welcome home, my lord.” Fenwick, Tony’s butler, swung open the door.
“Fenwick.” Leo clapped the butler on the shoulder. The first time his brother had done such, the very proper Fenwick had nearly expired on the spot.
“Mr. Murphy.” The butler gave him a weak smile.
“Fenwick,” Tony said not moving further up the stairs, “this is Lady Welles.”
The butler bowed politely. “Lady Welles, your trunks have already been brought upstairs. Daisy arrived a short time ago and has unpacked your things and prepared your rooms.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said in a quiet voice. “Daisy is…?”
“Romy’s maid,” Tony interjected. “I thought you might use her until you find a replacement for your own. My sister was more than happy to lend her to you. Fenwick will show you up. I need to stretch my legs a bit.” He kept his expression bland.
Annoyance flared in Maggie’s dark eyes. Her lips pursed, not caring for his abrupt dismissal.
Tony glanced down to see her hand on Leo’s forearm. Was she intentionally trying to annoy him?
“Tony—” Leo said under his breath.
“Have a drink. I’ll join you shortly,” he shot back. It was rude and completely inappropriate to leave his new bride with his brother without even walking her inside, but Tony thought he’d explode if he didn’t at the very least walk around the block. Or perhaps take a ride through the park. He was a storm of emotions at the present, and none of them were good.
“Of course, my lord.” The new Lady Welles barely glanced back. “Mr. Murphy, I’m sure you know the way. I could do with a drink myself.”
Ah. There she is.
Tony detested the meek demeanor Maggie had adopted as a way to survive both her aunt and society. He much preferred her obstinance.
Maggie turned away from him, stiffened her shoulders and walked purposefully into the foyer.
Leo waited until she’d disappeared inside before he said, “You’re behaving like an ass. None of this is her fault.”
“It’s all her fault,” Tony spat back at Leo. “But at least you’ve made a pretty penny on whether I’d marry her or not. Did you think I wouldn’t find out about the open betting at Elysium?”
“I did,” Leo said unapologetically. “I was fairly certain of the outcome.”
“You don’t know anything, Leo.”
“Why? Because I’m not the bloody heir?” Leo shook his head. “Regardless, take your walk. Ride your horse until you collapse. Just don’t come back here until you’ve burned away some of your anger toward your bride. She doesn’t deserve it.”
If Leo didn’t stop talking, Tony might well punch his brother. “She deserves every bit.”
Leo leaned close to him. “Imagine, you’ve seduced literally dozens of women. And not one of them as carelessly as my new sister-in-law. You meant to do it.” Leo jumped up the steps away from him and into the house. “You wanted her and decided to give yourself no choice in the matter. Or leave her a choice, either.”
Leo was remarkably astute. Tony hated him for that.
29
How dare he?
Margaret deserved, at the very least, to be treated with some respect. Not discarded like an old coat on the doorstep of her husband’s home in front of his staff and her new brother-in-law…barely an hour after marrying.
“A scotch?” Leo walked into the drawing room and shut the doors.
She nodded.
“I knew there was something about you I adored, Lady Welles.”
“My drinking habits?” She gave him a weak smile. Leo was as flirtatious and charming as his brother, with the same graceful way of moving. “I’ve only ever had scotch two other times, but it seems the right sort of thing to drink under the…circumstances.” She made her way to the comfortable-looking settee covered in damask nearly the same color as her gown and looked up at her brother-in-law.
The inflection in Leo’s voice was different than her husband’s. Welles had a much more cultured accent while Leo’s voice didn’t have such snobbery tinting his words. The arrogance in their manner was the same, though, the air of entitlement marking them both as sons of a duke, bastard or not. Leo Murphy, much like his brother, was also intimately aware of the effect of his looks on the fairer sex.
“May I c
all you Maggie?”
Margaret looked up into the face so like her husband’s. “Your likeness to Welles is rather uncanny.” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Leo she’d seen him at Elysium and thought him Welles, but she didn’t wish to announce her visit there, though he likely already knew.
“Is that a yes?” Leo handed her a scotch and waved for her to sit down. “We do look very much alike, but we aren’t twins, I assure you. Welles is actually a year older than I am.” He sipped his drink. “The same father, different mothers.” He gave her an assessing glance. “Would you like to hear the story? We’ve some time, I suspect, before Tony returns.”
Margaret nodded, palming her glass.
“Tony’s mother was the daughter of an earl. My mother, her lady’s maid at Cherry Hill. There’s not one cherry tree there, by the way. Have no idea where the name came from.” He shrugged. “I grew up at Cherry Hill. Thought my father was a groom my mother had dallied with. Tony and I were childhood playmates, neither of us knowing we were brothers.”
“But you look so much alike.” Margaret’s brow wrinkled. “Surely the resemblance was remarked upon.”
“Tony was tall and lanky as a child, while I was pudgy and small for my age. We didn’t look much alike then, except for our eyes. I was only the son of a maid, so no one looked too closely at me, not even Katherine, Tony’s mother. At least, not then.”
Her grasp on the fine cut crystal tightened. The two women would have had a close-knit relationship. How horrified Welles’s mother must have been to realize her maid was also sleeping with her husband. And had borne him a son as well.
“My mother had been brought to Cherry Hill as a child. She’d known Averell, Marcus she called him, her entire life and was in love with him for most of it. Molly, that’s my mother, broke off her relationship with the duke when he married, but their estrangement didn’t last.” He gave a small laugh. “I’m living proof of that. At any rate, some years later, Katherine found out about my mother and the duke. They’d grown careless, and she saw them together. She was heavy with child when she tripped going down the steps on her way to confront him. I’m sure you can see where this story ends,” Leo said quietly. “Welles found her, bleeding to death at the base of the stairs. I think he was fourteen at the time and home from school on holiday. He held her as she bled all over the rug at the base of the stairs. Tony was covered in her blood, screaming for help.”
The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons Book 1) Page 19
