Willa wished she’d never heard this conversation.
Of course, she and Matt were not a love match. All she’d asked was to be respected and to be valued.
But he’d also said he’d loved someone else . . .
Willa knew who.
She had no reason for jealousy, and yet, every time Letty’s name was mentioned, acid soured her stomach. It had been this way since the night of their betrothal when he’d left London without a thought of Willa. And now was he merely placating her?
She had a strong urge to start upending tables and throwing glassware—which was very out of character for her.
Instead, she found a quiet corner and sat because she was always polite. Well bred. Raised to be a duchess. Even if she was as blank and boring as the pieces of paper on her desk yesterday.
And, really, what should she have expected? Matt’s poems might have inspired an almost desperate hope in her for something meaningful between them, but now she realized they were nothing but words.
She thought about her father’s mistresses. The humiliations her mother was forced to live with because she was dependent upon her husband’s whims, his moods. All any woman did was sell herself into marriage. What other option was there for them?
“Here you are,” Matt’s voice said from behind her. He came walking from the front of the house. No one’s smile was better than his. If she let herself, she could imagine he was happy to see her.
But Kate was right. They did not know each other.
He was a stranger.
He offered his arm. “It is time for us to go. This group is growing rowdier and I want you to myself.” There was a warmth to his tone. He sounded as if he meant the words.
For the briefest of seconds, Willa held back, stuck by how much she wanted to believe he had feelings for her, until she realized it was useless. This man was her husband. Her father had paid money to him. Reverly-Addison.
Like it or not, he was her fate. The best her life would be.
“Yes, please, let us go.” She tried to sound bright.
After all, it was her wedding day. She was expected to be happy.
And Willa always played her role well. She knew how to smile, when what she truly wanted to do was scream.
Chapter 7
Matt was furious with Kate.
How dare she blacken his wedding day with her accusations. She always thought she knew better, that she had not only a right, but an obligation to voice her opinion. Thank God, his other sisters were more discreet.
However, now that she’d pricked his conscience, he wanted to prove her wrong.
He had no doubt that she would report to his other sisters that poor Matt had lost his way. That he wasn’t the man he should be.
Well, he was damn tired of families all the way around.
It was true he was marrying Willa to save the impossible situation he had inherited. No, he wasn’t completely happy with the solution. He’d been resigned to being a lowly tutor. However, fate had conspired otherwise and given him the responsibility to preserve what his ancestors had built. He owed his descendants his very best.
Yes, he would have preferred to have had the luxury of marrying for love. Damn it all, he’d been so inspired by his parents’ example, he’d written a book of poetry about it. A bad book, but a book all the same. He believed in love . . . or thought he did.
He had lost his way in his affair with Letty. Looking back, he realized it had been doomed to fail from the beginning. Bainhurst was so possessive, he would never have divorced Letty for criminal conversation. They would have had to run away to the Continent, and Matt now realized he would have eventually come to his senses and regretted sacrificing everything meaningful in his life for her.
In that respect, Letty had been far wiser than he.
Marrying Willa was the right thing to do, no matter what Kate said. The Reverly money allowed him to take care of his sisters, his grandmother, and the numerous cottagers and tenants that depended on his sensible management of Mayfield for their livelihood.
Not only all of that, he actually liked Willa. He didn’t mind changing his last name to Reverly-Addison. Granted, Kate would have a field day if she knew how little time he had spent with Willa before the wedding.
Or that Willa hadn’t sparked his interest until she’d been willing to cut him loose.
However, now the deed was done. And he’d be lying if he claimed it didn’t feel good to have Willa’s dowry. Overnight, she’d resolved the majority of his problems. He owed her his allegiance and, to his mind, so did Kate.
So he was determined to give Willa all the deference that was her due as he moved toward the front door with his new wife on his arm.
Numerous suggestions of how they were to spend their night were called out. A few were crass enough to make comment about the difference in their height. Throughout the afternoon, Matt had overheard people speculating. He’d quickly steered Willa away from that nonsense.
In truth, he didn’t know if she was sensitive about her height or understood how men viewed women as playthings. A group of men had mentioned that he was fortunate to have such a doll-like wife, the lust in their voices enough to make Matt contemplate throwing them out the door.
Soren had calmed him down. “It’s the brandy,” he’d said. “People are damn fools.”
Matt could agree to that.
The worst, though, had happened after Matt had finished with Kate. He had searched for Minerva to let her know he was planning on leaving and caught her holding court with her friends on whether a woman as petite as Willa could give birth to a child sired by a man as big as he was.
“Big babies have difficulties coming out of small wombs,” one of the dowager’s friends had opined. “I had a maid die in childbirth for that very reason. Both she and the baby dead. Couldn’t get it out of her.”
Talk of wombs was not a deterrent to a man with sisters as vocal as the ones Matt had. The idea that his children would die made his brain spin.
Matt’s first reaction was to denounce their speculation as nonsense. But what if it wasn’t?
One of the few bits he’d learned about animal husbandry over his months at Mayfield was that breeders took great care in matching their males and females. However, those rules were about sheep, horses, and dogs.
Not people.
In fact, a good number of the women at the breakfast were as petite as Willa. Of course, none of their husbands were Matt’s size.
He’d looked around for Alice, the scientific one, and found her deep in conversation with Kate. No, he wasn’t going there.
Instead, he hunted for his wife. She’d been sitting on a chair in what seemed to be the one quiet corner of the house. She’d acted more than ready to leave.
Now they said their last good-byes as if embarking on a great trip and not just driving a few blocks to his house to consummate their union. Kate and Alice offered their well wishes; Kate with a decided lack of sincerity. He noticed that Willa’s earlier warmth toward his outspoken sister had given away to a reserve. She saved her smile for Alice.
Minerva waved them on and returned to her friends. No one knew where Leland Reverly was, and his wife barely looked up from the card game she had started.
There were true well-wishers such as George and Cassandra and Soren. Matt chose to focus on them.
However, he was grateful once the coach door had closed.
He looked to Willa. “I’m glad that is over.”
She studied some point out the window and nodded. The coach rolled forward. He found himself watching her, fascinated by her skin. The late afternoon sun highlighted its clarity.
His wife. He was not displeased. She still wore the virginal lace and net veil.
He removed his glove and reached out to run the backs of his fingers against her cheek.
Willa jumped at the contact. She looked to his hand and then at him. For once, he could read her thoughts in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to frighten
you,” he said.
“I was startled. That is all.” Her lashes lowered as she moved her study to her hands in her lap. “I’m tired. The day has been exhausting.”
Matt could agree, except he was far from tired. All his senses were tuned to her.
Willa was a study in contrasts. She could be bold and then remarkably shy, submissive even. That was interesting because his experience had been that women, like men, were either one way or the other. They either forged ahead or held back. Willa could be a chameleon, unless one looked deeper.
He shifted in his seat, and again she jumped slightly—only this time, he sensed a hint of what she was thinking: his lady was angry.
Furious even.
That was why he couldn’t decipher the expression in her eyes, because what man would expect an angry wife on his wedding day? Of all of life’s days, this should be the one when the female was happiest.
“You are upset?” he said.
“Just tired,” she answered.
He didn’t believe her. “Have I done something to offend you?” he asked.
Willa looked at him wildly as if he’d spouted gibberish . . . or read her mind. “Of course not.”
She was lying.
He let silence spool between them.
“Why would you even think such a thing?” she threw out. A shiver of distaste went through her as if the fault was his.
“Well,” Matt said, “your whole attitude tells me you would rather be anywhere but right here.”
She scrunched her nose. She’d never done that around him before. He liked it because he sensed it was something she tried not to do, and yet, it was charming. A personal quirk. She then brushed at an imaginary piece of lint on her skirt before saying, “We aren’t a love match.”
“True . . .” He would not deny it. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make love.” He let his voice warm the last words and watched her reaction.
Willa fidgeted with her skirt, right where the imaginary lint had been. She rubbed her thumb against it as if there was a stain only she could see.
She was nervous. The idea struck like lightning. God, he was a fool. He’d thought she was angry. He’d actually been ready to take offense, but now he realized, she was shy. Yes, that was it. Maidens were shy . . . because they didn’t know what to expect.
Matt had never slept with a virgin. He knew what the ton whispered about his carnal adventures, but a good deal of that had to do with Letty. In truth, he’d actually not had many sexual partners. Meaningless relationships had never been attractive to him.
However, Willa was very attractive, and she always had been. From their first introduction, he’d admired her English beauty and the way she held herself. He would never have agreed to marry her if he hadn’t been somewhat drawn to her.
He leaned in, reaching for her hand rubbing the material and covered it with his own. His action brought his eyes level with hers. “I’m pleased with my choice of wife,” he said, thinking that was important to say. “I won’t hurt you, Willa. I promised we would be good together.”
The corners of her mouth tightened.
He held his breath, waiting for her response and uncertain if he’d made the situation better or worse.
And then she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.
The startling kiss was innocent, untried—and set a fire alight inside him.
Matt had not anticipated such a response to her artless inexperience. All admonishments to himself about maidens aside, he would have taken that kiss and more, if the coach had not come to a halt.
Willa broke the chaste kiss, her color high, a second before Marshall, the Camberly butler, opened the coach door himself. “Your Grace,” he said to Willa with great flourish, “welcome.”
“Thank you,” she managed, and offered Marshall her hand to help her out of the coach. Matt followed.
The servants were in a line by the front door. Willa hung back as if intimidated, but with a slight press of the fingers, Matt teased her forward. She went by every servant acknowledging their bows and curtseys of welcome. Fortunately, Matt didn’t have even a third of the servants her father’s household boasted or else they would be at it all day.
And this was not how he wanted to spend his time. He was ready to open a school for kisses and he had only one pupil in his mind: his sweetly innocent wife.
Inside, Mrs. Snow, the housekeeper, waited by the stairs to be introduced to the new duchess. “If you have any questions, Your Grace, I am completely at your service.”
“That is nice—” Willa started, but Matt had waited long enough.
“Very nice,” he agreed brusquely, a beat before sweeping Willa up in his arms, just as he had in front of the church. His arms full of wife, Matt looked to Marshall and Mrs. Snow. “Don’t disturb us.”
His pronouncement was met with good-humored laughter as he carried Willa up the stairs to his room.
Another servant waited for them there, Willa’s maid. It had been arranged that while the wedding breakfast was taking place, Willa’s clothing and personal effects would be moved to his house.
Her maid made a deep curtsey as they came upon her. “Annie,” Willa said, “did the move go well?”
“Oh, yes, Your Grace, very well.”
“Annie,” Matt said, testing the name. “Your services will not be needed for the night.” A grin of delight spread across her Irish face, and Matt decided he liked this new addition to his household. “Have a good evening,” he tossed over his shoulder as he carried Willa into his bedroom. He kicked the door shut and conveyed her to his massive bed with the intention of pursuing that kiss they had started.
He was hard, he was ready . . . he was excited. If she’d been more experienced, Matt would already have her on her back. Instead, he remembered she’d been gently reared. Protected and pampered. Guarded.
And he’d taken a marriage vow to cherish her, one he was determined to obey if it killed him.
He removed his jacket.
The time had come.
The moment everyone had gossiped about. Willa was going to let Camberly have her because he was her husband. Giving in to him was her duty. She wasn’t truly his duchess unless they did the deed.
She experienced a pang of regret that she’d overheard his words to his sister about not loving her. Willa was practical. In spite of the marriage vows, she wouldn’t even have thought of love if it hadn’t been for Kate’s words.
Now, it seemed all she could think about. Love.
Having a husband who loved her. Just as Soren loved Cassandra, and Leonie’s husband, Rochdale, all but worshipped her.
And yet, everyone envied Willa. Matt was a prize. She had become a duchess. The point game had gone to her.
So why did she feel sad?
It might have to do with the kiss in the coach. Her first kiss. She hadn’t known what she was about, but he had apparently liked it because he hadn’t stopped touching her since she’d kissed him. For most of the afternoon, when she had been with him, his hand had been at her arm or her waist, guiding her and moving her along until he’d swept her up and carried her to his bed.
Willa sat up on the mattress. His bedroom furnishings were dark brown against ivory walls. The bed itself had been made for a giant. It had a massive headboard that was almost black with age. The bedclothes were a dull gold. Someone, most likely Annie or Matt’s valet, had turned down the covers.
Rather bravely, she said, “What do you want me to do?”
He’d tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair and was tugging on the knot in his neck cloth when her question gave him pause. An uncertain look came into his eye, as if he, too, was feeling his way. And then he answered, “Let me take down your hair.”
The request was unexpected—and she couldn’t imagine anything she would more dearly love. The weight of it had added to her building anxieties. “Yes, please.”
He smiled and pulled his neck cloth free to join his jacket before offering his h
and. “Well then, stand.” She thought he meant the floor until he helped her balance on the mattress. This way, she was taller than he was. He wasn’t so intimidating this way. Was that his intent?
He began removing the pearl-tipped pins.
She held out her hand to receive them just as she did with Annie. The familiar arrangement helped her relax. “There are plain pins in there as well.”
“I will find them.” His touch was gentle, his expression intent. He reminded her of a sculptor she’d once observed working on his art. The tension between Willa’s shoulders and neck began to unwind. “I’ve wanted to see your hair down since the moment we first met,” he said.
“I have too much of it.”
He smiled. “We shall see.”
Her gaze took in the room. This was obviously his domain. Just as she noticed when she’d visited Mayfield several months ago, there were signs of neglect and wear. A huge wardrobe took up a good portion of one wall. There was a washstand, a desk, chairs—all the usual items in a bedroom, including a privacy screen in one corner.
However, Willa’s personal effects were here. She was surprised. She had assumed she would have her own room. In fact, beyond his shaving gear, there seemed to be nothing else of Matt’s in this room. What brushes and small boxes and bottles were on the washstand belonged to her.
He had collected all the pearl pins and was now searching for the plain ones.
“I was thinking this was your room,” she said, “but my things are here.”
“This is our room.”
She looked down at him. “We’ll share the same room?” She had never heard of such a thing. Her parents had separate suites of rooms.
“You are my wife, Willa. You sleep by my side.”
“Forever?”
“As long as our natural lives.” He pulled the last pin from her hair. It was as if that last pin held it all in place. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, flowing almost to her waist.
It was pure pleasure to have the weight of it off her neck. As she did every night when she took her hair down, she rotated her shoulders—and then stopped. Her breasts were at his eye level and they had his attention.
The Duke That I Marry Page 9