The Marriage Bargain

by Heidi Kimball

  Her eyes flew open. “Are you unhappy with our arrangement?” She hated how her hands shook as she waited for him to answer.

  “I know you married me to escape your mother. And I married you for your dowry. Not the best start, by any account.” He returned her question with one of his own. “But have you ever hoped there might be more between us?”

  “Lord Anslowe—”

  He gave a brief shake of the head, cutting her off. “Not Lord Anslowe. Just plain Anslowe, if you please. We are married, after all.” The irony in his voice was thick.

  “Anslowe—” His name came out stilted, felt far too familiar. “Of course I wish for more,” she said softly. “But I fear it, too.” Her throat bobbed.

  He looked up, his brown eyes dull and shadowed. “I don’t wish for a business partner, Emmeline. Or someone who runs the estate in my absence. I don’t want this sham of a marriage.”

  Emmeline’s ribcage constricted, making it nearly impossible to draw in a full breath of air. What was he saying? “A sham? Because I drive you away? Because we…keep our separate rooms?”

  “Forget what that hateful woman said—our sleeping arrangements are the least of my worries. I wish to know you, as I ought to have done from the beginning.”

  The anguish twisting itself around her heart eased a bit.

  “I don’t want to wait another four years, Emmeline. I want to court you and become acquainted with you.” He straightened and let out a breath, his chest falling.

  “And then?” she asked. Dared she hope that he might want what she had always wished for?

  He got up from the sofa and crossed the room to where she stood. Her knees trembled as he closed the distance between them. “And I hope we can come to admire and respect one another, to live together as husband and wife—without any secrets between us.” He met her gaze, his expression soft and vulnerable. “I hope that we will come to love each another.”

  She paused mid-breath, her lips parted. His words, the way they made her feel—it was so very much like standing on the edge of Brighton’s cliffs. Heady and reckless and daring. But the chance of falling, the deep plunge to the rocky shores below—terrifying.

  “May we try?” he asked, expectation lifting his voice.

  She could barely hear her own voice above the thundering of her heart. “Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, I think I would like to try.” A prick of joy pulsed through her chest.

  Anslowe reached out, and his fingers drifted ever so softly down her neck. He leaned in, his whisper a caress across her cheek. “I do not imagine it will be very hard to fall in love with you.”

  Chapter 9

  Anslowe listened for the click of Emmeline’s door before he allowed himself to grin like a fool. He’d almost kissed her. Standing so close to her, the intoxicating smell of her skin and the rosy hue that enlivened her cheeks had made it almost impossible for him to resist.

  But now was not the time for giving into impulsive behavior. Something made her hesitant about opening herself up to love, even to him, her husband. Perhaps something from her past had taught her that love was not to be trusted.

  And so he would, as with anything that mattered to him, take his time.

  Anslowe retreated to his room and shut the door behind him, electing not to ring for his valet and instead undress himself. He unknotted his cravat, frowning as he remembered the look of anguish upon her face as she’d overheard her name being bandied about as fodder for gossip. Anger boiled beneath his skin, at the women who had spoken so thoughtlessly. Though he’d given Miss Hastings a set down, how he wished he could have done more.

  But deep down, Anslowe was angry with himself. He’d been selfish. He’d thought only of his own image and had given no thought to how such rumors might affect Emmeline. What a cad he was. He finished undressing and climbed into bed, but it was a long time before sleep pulled him under.

  Despite the pattering of rain against the window that awoke him the next morning, Anslowe couldn’t bring himself to be put out with another day of stormy weather. He rose with a sense of purpose. He’d spent nearly an hour last night planning and strategizing how best to court his wife. And there were a few things that required his immediate attention.

  Once he’d sent off a brief missive, he called for his valet and quickly dressed, anxious to get a start on the day. As he stepped from his bedroom into the small sitting room he caught Bridget as she let herself out of Emmeline’s room.

  “Bridget, a word with you, if I may.” He kept his voice low and motioned for her to step away from the door.

  “Certainly, my lord.”

  “I know it is Lady Anslowe’s birthday this week. Would you happen to know which day?”

  “It’s on Saturday, my lord.”

  He nodded. “Very good. One more thing. I sent down to the bakery in town for some pastries and they should be arriving any minute. Would you run downstairs to collect the delivery and set it on a tray?”

  Her eyes grew round. “Oh yes!”

  “Thank you.” He pulled out the folded paper he’d composed just a few minutes earlier. “See that this is placed on the tray, alongside the pastries.”

  Emmeline sat at her vanity, reliving each word she and Anslowe had spoken to one another the night before. She felt strangely jittery, on edge even as she waited for Bridget to bring her breakfast tray. With Anslowe’s promise to court her and their agreement to try and form a real attachment, she could hardly think straight.

  She nearly jumped when Bridget pushed open the door. Bridget’s hands were occupied with a heavily laden tray, piled high with delectable-looking pastries and perfectly formed scones. A pot of chocolate let out a small cloud of steam. Emmeline’s mouth grew round.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Bridget smiled. “Lord Anslowe sent down to the bakery in Brighton for your breakfast.” She set the tray down, oblivious to the way Emmeline’s stomach turned over at such a thoughtful gesture.

  Bridget gave her a sly look. “And I heard about what he did last night.”

  “Last night?”

  “What he said to Miss Hastings, who was being all nasty-like.”

  Emmeline’s heart was suddenly in her throat. “What did he say?”

  Bridget’s eyes grew round. “He gave her quite the set down, from what I heard. Told her she didn’t know of what she was speaking and warned her not to mention your name again.”

  He must have said something once she’d left the room. Emmeline pressed a hand to her stomach. It was difficult to fathom someone standing up for her. And for that someone to be her husband… She pursed her lips together, her heart swelling at the unexpected gesture.

  Her eye caught a small paper in the corner of the tray, simply marked -E-. Careful not to bump the mountain of pastries, she reached for the note and unfolded it.

  Emmeline,

  I should have thought to do this sooner, but I cannot allow you to waste away from hunger. Hopefully now there will be no need for you to eat biscuits for breakfast.

  There’s to be a fencing tournament this afternoon. I’d be pleased if you would meet me down in the library to spend some time together this morning, and then we can attend the tournament together.

  Your husband, A

  Her heart tripped seeing the words your husband, almost as if he were reminding her.

  “Is something amusing, my lady?” Bridget gave her a pert grin.

  “I am just relieved with the knowledge I will not starve today. I must insist you join me.” Emmeline picked up a flower shaped delicacy with raspberries in each petal and set it on her plate. “I’ll hardly make a dent in this mountain of deliciousness.”

  Bridget’s stomach rumbled just then and the two of them broke into laughter. “I suppose my stomach has answered for me,” she said, taking a scone for herself.

  Once she’d finished breakfast, Emmeline took more care than usual with her appearance. After some deliberation she chose a pale green gown with tiny embroidered white flowers. Bri
dget did a more elaborate hairstyle, twisting and looping, and leaving several curls framing her face.

  And yet, her nerves persisted even as she pushed open the door to the library. Lord Anslowe sat in a deep brown leather chair not far from the door and he got to his feet before she had fully entered the room. “Good morning, Emmeline. I trust you are well.”

  He looked so hopeful as she approached. Emmeline’s heart rose nearly to her throat. “I am, thank you Lor—Anslowe.” The familiarity of using his name brought a blush to her cheeks. “There is something I should have told you last night, and I wish to say it now, so that we may,” she waved her hand awkwardly, “move forward with nothing between us.”

  He nodded.

  “I only wished to tell you that there is naught between Lord Wembley and I. We met at a dinner party several months ago, but we were never even alone together. It is difficult for me to understand where those rumors might have come from.”

  “I’m sorry I gave any credence to them.” There was contrition in the set of his mouth.

  Emmeline hugged her midsection. “I would never do anything to jeopardize your political career.”

  Anslowe reached for her hand and led her to a settee. “I know you wouldn’t. Which is what makes this all the harder.” He cleared his throat, for once looking a bit uncomfortable.

  Whatever did he mean? The breakfast she’d eaten with such delight an hour before now churned in her stomach.

  “I hope you will not misunderstand me. I believe what you said about Lord Wembley.” He paused. “Someone mentioned you were alone in the library with Lord Bolton yesterday morning.”

  Hearing what he left unsaid, she tensed, her knuckles turning white. “I assure you, it was a chance meeting. He agreed to take a note to Lady Felicity for me. That is all.”

  He raised a hand. “I believe you. I only beg your caution. I have much on the line in this approaching session. Any more rumors and my reputation, my influence, could wane. I will be unable to drum up the necessary votes for my bill. We must be on our guard and do our best to undermine the credibility of scandal.”

  “Of course.” She bowed her head.

  “Have you any idea where these circulating rumors might have come from?”

  She bit her lip. “I have no proof, but I know of only one person who might hold something against me. Miss Hastings.”

  “Miss Hastings? Why ever would she do such a thing?”

  “You don’t remember, do you?” Emmeline felt a little surge of satisfaction at that.

  He shook his head, forehead furrowed.

  “Were it not for me, I believe you would have offered for her. She must despise me.”

  He rubbed his brow as understanding stole across his features. “Ah, you are right. I’d forgotten.” He grinned at Emmeline, which was not what she’d expected. “Well, I shall consider myself lucky. For not only is she a bore and a gossip, but her teeth are truly awful.”

  A laugh escaped, nearly a giggle.

  Anslowe squeezed her hand. “Hopefully our presence here will lay all the rumors to rest and we will leave people nothing more to discuss than how often Viscount Anslowe has been seen in the company of his very lovely wife.”

  She gave him a timid smile. “If we are truly to set the tongues wagging, you should have joined me and shared in the lovely breakfast you had sent up. It was too much for one person.”

  She blushed again at her own boldness. Was she making a fool of herself?

  “If you’d like that, perhaps I could. Tomorrow.” There was a look of satisfaction upon his face that softened her, made her want to put away her guardedness and just be.

  “I would like that.” It felt like a step had been taken, and some of the tension between them dissipated. Emmeline took in a breath and allowed herself to breathe.

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard,” Anslowe said, “but supposedly some of the guests will be performing some scenes from Taming of the Shrew this evening. Do you have any interest in being a part of the production?”

  “Goodness, no.” Emmeline gave an emphatic shake of her head. “I have never much enjoyed being the center of attention. But do not feel as though you cannot take part. I would enjoy watching you.”

  “No, I only thought to ask because you quoted Shakespeare the other day.”

  “Are you sure? It seems like something you would excel in.”

  Anslowe considered for a moment. “I would enjoy sitting beside you more. If I had to guess, the whole affair will be quite absurd and the acting will leave much to be desired. Perhaps we could sit near Aunt Garvey and hear her commentary.”

  Emmeline laughed at that. “A comedy from every angle.” He chuckled too, and her toes curled. It frightened her a little. How very easily she might lose her heart to this man she called husband.

  Chapter 10

  The following afternoon Anslowe stood out on the back lawn amongst a growing crowd. Guests milled about, entertained by a variety of lawn games. He mostly watched, enjoying the sun, occasionally being called upon for conversation. The house guests, desperate to be outside despite the muddy field conditions, were noisy and exuberant.

  He’d seen Emmeline out walking with Miss Brook earlier, and he surveyed the lawn, hoping for a glimpse of her. There. He spotted her soft pink gown over near the games of battledore. Screams and yelps, shouts of encouragement carried to his ears. After several days of rain, nothing could deter the guests from enjoying the sunny blue skies.

  He stayed quiet as he drew closer, glad for a chance to admire her pretty figure before she noticed him. She stood a few feet back from the other guests who were watching a game of battledore. The sun shone behind her, limning her in warm rays of gold. Her lips were pursed in concentration, and her bright eyes followed the quick movement of the game.

  When he was only a few feet away, Emmeline looked up, then glanced behind her, as if he might be looking for someone else.

  He hated how she’d clearly been taught to doubt herself, which in turn seemed to make her doubt that his care for her might be genuine. No doubt her dragon of a mother had something to do with it.

  He bowed his head in greeting. “Would you care to join me for a walk down by the ocean?”

  “A proper lady might normally demure, worried about the state of her shoes or the hem of her dress.” She held up the mud-caked hem of her skirts with a sigh. “But as the mud has already ruined mine I should be glad to join you.”

  “Then in this instance I shall be glad for the mud.” He offered her his arm and they set off at a leisurely pace.

  “Why did you not join in the games?” he asked.

  “I prefer to watch. I cannot stand to have so many eyes upon me.” She pulled her bottom lip through her teeth. “Does that displease you?”

  “Of course not. Why would you think so?”

  “You seem to enjoy attention. Or at least, it doesn’t bother you. But I am hardly a wife who will be helpful in your many political ambitions.”

  “I can secure my own ambitions, I assure you. But you do not give yourself enough credit. Your mind is informed and you speak quite eloquently. You are sure to garner respect wherever you go.”

  They’d reached the steep incline where the path led down to the beach and she gripped his arm more firmly. Despite her bonnet, the sun had managed to tinge her cheeks an attractive pink.

  “I saw you with Miss Brook earlier. Has she become a good friend, then?”

  “She has. Which reminds me, I was hoping I might ask a favor of you.”

  The look on her face was so hesitant, so troubled, he wished to reach out and smooth her worry away. “If there is any way possible for me to do it, I will see to it.”

  She gave him a half smile. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask yet.” A mild wind set her bonnet strings flapping.

  “Yet I know it pleases me to make you happy.”

  She ducked her head, but a smile lifted her cheeks. “Miss Brook has become acquainted wit
h Captain Sharpe. Do you know him?”

  “Only by reputation.” They’d reached the bottom of the path. The sandy beach stretched before them, but Anslowe stopped and turned toward his wife, giving her his full attention.

  “He is concerned about the upcoming court martial of some naval officers. I don’t know all of the particulars, but he fears they will hang. As I know that you are on the Naval Appropriations Committee, I thought perhaps you might be able to help him somehow, or at least offer him a word of advice.”

  Concerning all matters regarding the estate, Emmeline was strictly self-sufficient. Even on his occasional visits, Anslowe often felt superfluous. That she would come to him for such a matter gratified him.

  She continued on. “I know you are busy and have a great many obligations, but the matter is urgent. If you could at least—”

  “Emmeline.” He set a finger on her lips, hushing her. “Consider it done.”

  “Thank you.” She stood up on her tiptoes and tentatively leaned toward him. Lit by the reflection of the turquoise ocean, her eyes sparkled. The scent of her filled him, lavender and honey, mixed with the salty ocean breeze. She brushed a kiss across his cheek. Her lips were as soft as rose petals, and his skin heated beneath her touch.

  As she began to pull back, he caught her around the waist, keeping her in place. His pulse thrummed with the curve of her hip beneath his hand. He gazed at her, distinctly aware of so many details—the subtle angle of her cheek, that her brows were a shade darker than her hair, the tiny scar on the bridge of her nose. He wanted nothing more than to take her fully in his arms. Her eyes were wide but inviting, so he held himself in check and proceeded cautiously. His hand tightened around her and her lashes fluttered for a moment before she closed her eyes.