Strong arms wrapped themselves around her . . . just as they had that night.
She’d forgotten.
Leonie had remembered Roman walking into the room. He’d taken the gun from her—and now, in the same way as she had that horrible night, she buried her face in his chest and sobbed.
He’d pushed her too far.
Roman had been incensed that she’d had so little respect for him that she had come to their marriage ceremony drunk. He’d not been able to think of anything else.
Well, he’d had a few thoughts while he’d waited all afternoon for her to come to her senses, and they had been dark ones.
No man wanted a drunkard for a wife.
Considering her mother’s behavior, he chastised himself for not being more cautious. Yes, he needed her dowry money, but he was leg-shackling himself to Leonie for the rest of his natural days, and at what cost?
He’d also berated himself for letting a pretty face erase him of his good sense.
In India, Leonie had been known as a willful brat whose almond-shaped eyes could befuddle any man’s brains. The problem was, he’d believed himself unbefuddleable, and he was wrong. He had thought with his cock like every other man in breeches.
Twice she had fooled him, the first time being when she and her family had left India for him to face Paccard’s death alone. And now this time.
He faced the truth: Charnock had paid him to marry his daughter—and now Roman knew why.
It also didn’t help that, even drunk, Leonie was an attractive bit. What sort of perverse man was he?
And when she had come to her senses, Roman had wanted her repentant for what she’d put him through. He’d given quite a show for the servants and guests when he’d carried her into the house. He’d made it sound as if he couldn’t wait to bed her. Any right-thinking man would have thought him a lothario of the first order and that had galled him, too. Why, there were a host of guests downstairs who assumed he was up here rightfully rogering his new wife and having a high time of it.
Oh, yes, he’d spent a good portion of his day in self-pity. And now?
Now he felt shame.
Her sobs were heartbreaking. Of course she’d turned to brandy to help her forget a wedding she never wanted. He might have as well.
Especially if the wedding triggered memories of Paccard’s foul treatment of her. Roman had been furious that night when he’d seen the bruises on her arms, neck, and face. If Arthur hadn’t already been dead, Roman would have killed him.
Now, as then, he found himself holding her, letting her cry until she exhausted herself. For a long moment, they stood together in healing silence.
She shifted, a signal that she’d had enough. She was better.
Roman let go . . . when what he really wanted to do was hold on.
“I think I will lie down,” Leonie said. “And I must polish my teeth. May I have a moment of privacy?”
“Of course.” Roman stepped outside the bedroom. Thankfully, the hallway was empty.
After a decent interval, he knocked on the door.
There was no answer.
Alarmed, he opened it and then relaxed.
She had climbed back into bed, wedding dress and all, and was asleep.
However, this was a different sleep from her passing out.
She seemed calmer, more at peace, like a child who has had a very hard day and was now weary beyond all cares.
Wanting to make her more comfortable, Roman debated calling for her maid to remove her dress but rejected the idea. He did not wish to involve the servants in what went on in this room. Too many rumors were spread by a careless word.
And so, he did it himself.
It was not an easy task. For a week and a half, and in truth longer, he had imagined this moment of undressing her. Now, he was setting aside his desire for her to be comfortable and to feel safe. He’d meant his silent vow at their wedding to be her protector.
That didn’t stop him from admiring his wife. She was perfect in every way . . . including being human. She was also the stuff of every man’s dreams. She did not wake while he removed her gown, unlacing and sliding it off her shoulders and down her legs. When she was free of it, and wearing only a camisole and petticoats, she curled up on her side with a soft sigh.
Roman didn’t dare try to untie her stockings. Every man had his limits and he had reached his.
Instead, with one last glance of regretful desire, he pulled the sheet over her. He then folded the gown and placed it on the bench in front of her dressing table.
A burst of loud, raucous laughter from the party downstairs punctuated the moment. He’d not go down and join them. They would think him a strange bridegroom indeed to leave his bride upstairs in bed.
Instead, he pulled off his shirt and walked around the bed to stretch out on the opposite side.
Leonie didn’t stir as his weight leaned the bed in his direction. He made himself as comfortable as he could when the woman of his dreams was right beside him.
Reverently, he dared to reach out and smooth his fingers along one of her curls spread out on the pillow. “You asked why I had chased after you the night you ran away with Paccard?”
She didn’t answer, and he wouldn’t have spoken if she’d been awake.
He rolled on his side toward her, keeping a respectful distance. The lamplight gave her skin a golden glow. He admired the perfect shape of her nose, the curve and peaks of her lips. Even her eyelashes were sacred to him.
“I went because I couldn’t believe after the conversation we’d had in the garden the night before that you would run away with Paccard the very next evening. Do you remember what you said? That you, too, felt a connection to me? I was certain he had pressured you. I was jealous, Leonie. The tribunal had that right. I was jealous.” He lightly pulled on the strand of her hair he’d been holding. “I loved you, Leonie, and I wanted to believe you loved me in return.”
He carefully placed her hair on her shoulder. “Now, I don’t know if that will ever be possible.”
Chapter 10
Leonie woke the next morning feeling as if she had slept for a week. She lay a few moments in bed, orienting herself. Something was different.
She was married. She couldn’t recall a detail of the event; however, she had shamed herself at it. She held up her left hand to be certain it all hadn’t been a dream. The beautiful star in the sapphire winked at her. Such a lovely, simple ring and completely in her tastes—
Where was he?
Roman had been here.
She sat up, and was startled to see that she was in her undergarments. Her wedding dress was folded over a chair. She did not remember taking it off.
Outrage started to gather steam until she recalled the conversations she’d had with Roman. She’d told him all. Everything.
Recollection returned—his sitting in the chair, his anger, his arms around her when she’d broken down. He probably despised her. No wonder he wasn’t here.
A timid knock sounded on the door. “My lady, it is Minnie.”
My lady. That was Leonie.
“Yes?” she said, reaching for the sheet to cover her modesty.
Minnie opened the door and came in, shutting it carefully behind her. “My lord said not to wake you but I thought I heard you moving.”
“I am awake,” Leonie assured her.
“I am to pack your things. My lord plans on leaving this afternoon.”
“He wants my things packed?”
“Why, yes, my lady. You are going with him, aren’t you?”
“Did he say that?” Leonie was afraid of the answer. What if the servants assumed and then discovered Roman didn’t want her? She couldn’t imagine confronting them, let alone all of London.
“Yes, my lady,” Minnie answered, a note of confusion coming to her tone.
Leonie didn’t know what to make of this information. Part of her was relieved and another part was apprehensive. “Where is his lordship?”
“No, but don’t pack a thing until I’ve talked to my lord. And help me dress. I wish to bathe.” Yes, Leonie would bathe. She wanted to be at her very best when she spoke to Roman. She was guilty of many things but she needed to know if he was going to treat her as a wife, or an extra servant. She’d witnessed many a husband regard their wives in this manner. She believed it rude. She also didn’t know if she could serenely kowtow to his wishes. Such was not her nature.
Minnie set to work ordering water for a bath prepared and helping Leonie choose what she should wear. She also ordered a tray to be sent to the room to break Leonie’s fast.
In an hour and a half’s time, Leonie was dressed in a rose-colored day gown. Minnie had twisted Leonie’s hair at the nape of her neck and held it in place with gold pins. Leonie was feeling she had some charge of her life. She sent Minnie to Yarrow to ask after Roman but the reply was not satisfactory. The butler was not certain of his whereabouts either.
Leonie stood in her room in indecision. Roman had said he’d known Arthur had raped her. He knew she was damaged goods, and yet he still expected her to accompany him? What other man would do such a thing? And why?
A timid knock on the door interrupted her. “Yes?”
At the imperial command, an even more cowed voice said, “My lady, Miss Holwell and Miss Reverly are here to see you.”
At the mention of her friends, Leonie started for the door, and then stopped. They had been invited to the wedding breakfast yesterday. They must be wondering what happened to her.
Her joy and relief at having her friends and confidantes call was tempered by the need to explain her absence from her own wedding breakfast. Her mind chewed furiously on the problem as she went downstairs.
Yarrow was in the front hall. He was directing servants as they put away silver and tidied up after yesterday’s party. Seeing her, he stopped midsentence and gave a small bow. “Good morning, my lady.” Yarrow gave great deference to her title and she knew he was pleased for her.
“Good morning,” she answered, a bit shy about the title. “Where is my mother?”
“The mistress is still abed, my lady.” He held two empty liquor decanters that he now handed over to a passing maid. “I found these under the chair in the receiving room.” His pointed comment let the maid know that he was not pleased with the cleaning that had been done in there.
“Yes, Mr. Yarrow. I will give it another look.”
“The countess has guests. You will wait until they leave.”
The maid shot a guilty look toward Leonie and slinked away.
Yarrow shook his head. “It was a fine event yesterday.”
“I heard,” Leonie said, thinking of the music and laughter that had served as a backdrop to her confrontation with her husband.
The strangest expression crossed Yarrow’s face. It was both sly and a bit embarrassed. Leonie didn’t know whether to question him or ignore the matter. She chose the latter.
“Is my father in?”
“He left last night with friends.”
Friends could mean anything, especially since he had not returned home.
“Will you send refreshments to the side room?” Leonie said.
“I have already arranged for it.”
“Thank you, Yarrow.”
“My pleasure, my lady.”
She paused before going into the receiving room. She decided to tell her dearest friends that she had taken ill, the sorriest excuse of all, but what else would account for her missing a party in her honor?
Placing a smile on her face, she opened the door.
Cassandra and Willa sat on the settee with their heads together. At her entrance, they jumped up and came rushing to her, giddy words tumbling over each other.
“Was it complete bliss?” Cassandra asked breathlessly.
“Were you frightened?” Willa wondered.
Leonie took a step back. “What are you talking about?”
“The marriage bed,” Cassandra said. “Did he find your passion flower of ecstasy?”
“My what?” Leonie said.
“Oh, you know. You were at my salon the night Mr. Roger Edmonds read from his work on the topic. I thought I would swoon before he was finished.”
Leonie frowned and then she remembered. “I do remember a poet reading about the ‘passion flower of ecstasy.’ However, I thought he was discussing gardening.” She was joking, of course. Mr. Roger Edmonds was guilty of very bad poetry.
However, Cassandra didn’t know if she was jesting or not. She glanced at Willa. “She’s teasing,” Willa assured her. To Leonie, she said, “Your husband was dashing the way he carried you into the house.”
“Swept in with her,” Cassandra proclaimed. “We waited for you to return, and when you didn’t, most of the women in the room were jealous.”
“Yes,” Willa agreed. “They were all certain your passion flower was in ecstasy.”
“Willa! Edmonds’s work is serious,” Cassandra chastised, and Willa laughed her response.
Leonie looked over her shoulder, praying Yarrow and the other servants didn’t hear this romantic nonsense, even as she herded her friends into the coziness of the side room. “Let us go in here. It is more private.”
“Yes, privacy,” Cassandra repeated brightly. “So you may tell us all the details.”
Leonie closed the doors behind them. “What details?”
“About the marriage bed,” Willa said. “Does it hurt? Annabelle Markham said she was in pain for weeks after Niles had her.”
“Yes, and I can’t imagine Niles has anything manly,” Cassandra threw in, wagging her eyebrows as if she meant something other than she said.
Willa laughed. “However, Rochdale is a far cry from Niles.”
“Oh, yes,” Cassandra said. “He is. So, Leonie, the truth!”
“About?” Leonie didn’t want this conversation. Oh, not at all.
“The passion flower of ecstasy,” Cassandra replied with some exasperation. “Did you experience it?”
A knock on the door saved Leonie from answering. “Come in.” The maid entered with a tray of fresh bread, jam, and tea. She excused the servant and then set about serving herself and her guests.
The door had barely closed when Willa pushed the subject again. “Well? Was it wonderful? Or terrible? I’ve heard both.”
How could Leonie say she didn’t know?
In the end, she didn’t need to say anything because Cassandra decided for her. “It was wonderful, wasn’t it? Everything the poets claim.”
“The passion flower of ecstasy,” Leonie murmured, taking a bite of bread spread thickly with butter and plum jam.
“Exactly,” Cassandra said with a satisfied sigh, and sat back against her chair. “That is what I thought. When I saw him carry you up the stairs—” Her voice broke off as if words failed her.
“It was amazing,” Willa said solemnly. “And then you didn’t come back down. Who would have thought it? I had gained the impression from my limited acquaintance with him that he was rather staid.”
“He’s not staid.” The words shot out of Leonie because Roman did deserve her loyalty.
What her defense elicited from her friends was snickers. “He isn’t?” Cassandra teased. “Tell us more.”
“I’m not going to tell you more,” Leonie answered. The thought that everyone at the party yesterday had assumed that she and Roman had spent the afternoon consummating their marriage embarrassed her. No wonder Yarrow had a strange look on his face. He must think her quite wanton.
And if any of them knew the truth, it would be even more lowering.
“I don’t believe this is fair or kind of you to not share,” Cassandra said. “You are the first of our group to marry and it seems only right you should give us some inkling of what to expect.”
“I see no need.” Leonie dropped a lump of sugar in her tea. “Roger Edmonds,
the poet, has already done so for you.”
Willa and Cassandra exchanged glances and then burst into delighted giggles as if they could scarce believe what she was saying.
They had so much to learn.
Always before, when groups of debutantes had started speculating about the marriage act, Leonie had quickly made herself scarce. In truth, if she told Willa and Cassandra what she’d discovered about what happened between a man and a woman, they would lose the bread and jam they had been eating and swear never to marry—which had been exactly what Leonie had thought she had planned . . .
“You do seem different,” Willa said.
Ah, different.
Leonie knew that wasn’t true. After Arthur raped her—
She stopped, surprised by her own thoughts. She’d used the word “rape” without hesitation. She had never used it. The word sounded too horrible.
But it was the truth.
Arthur had done to her the worst thing a man could do to a woman short of murder. He’d taken away her purity, her childhood, her whole sense of herself as a good person.
Yes, she had been foolish to let him badger her into eloping with him. She’d been naive.
However, he’d been brutal.
Roman’s words came back to her. He was not a gentleman. You were protecting yourself.
He was right. Who knows what would have happened if she had not found the pistol?
“I am different,” she said to Willa.
“Because of Lord Rochdale?” the always dramatic Cassandra asked.
Leonie set her cup in its saucer and gave that question some thought. The answer was a surprising, “Yes.”
Leonie also wasn’t certain what that meant. However, twice now, Roman had come to her rescue. First, by claiming he’d shot Paccard in a duel, and secondly, by hiding her drunken state. If anyone outside of her family knew of how she’d been yesterday at her own wedding, she would be mortified.
There was a knock on the door. Before Leonie could say come in, the door opened and there was Roman as if her thoughts had conjured him—and both Willa and Cassandra almost purred their pleasure.
If Ever I Should Love You Page 11