He snorted. Reverend Axley and Lizzie both gave him a startled look. He smiled back at them.
The cowardly bastard had probably gone to ground somewhere until the evidence of his beating faded.
He shook his head. He had never felt such anger as he had when he’d seen that blackguard assaulting Lizzie. He hadn’t known himself.
“You do not have the ring, my lord?” Reverend Axley frowned at Robbie.
He frowned back. “Of course I have the ring. Why would you think I didn’t?”
“I’m sorry, my lord, but you shook your head when I asked you. I understood—”
“No, I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”
“Woolgathering, my lord?” The reverend’s eyebrows jumped halfway up his forehead. “At your wedding?”
“Well, yes. Not precisely woolgathering, I suppose. Daydreaming, more like.”
“Ah.” Reverend Axley gave him a knowing look and a wink. “I see. Not much longer to wait, my lord, for those activities.”
“No, uh, that is….” The man thought…? But the minister was frowning again. Best not to argue the matter.
He took Lizzie’s hand. Her fingers trembled slightly. Her lovely eyes were huge. He felt another stab of guilt. They should be sparkling with happiness, not shadowed by sadness and worry.
He felt like a beast. She should have a wedding dress and veil, hundreds of guests filling St. George’s, James giving her away, her Aunt Gladys crying in the congregation—not this hurried little ceremony. He didn’t care for such stuff, of course. If he were capable of consummating this marriage, he’d say his vows naked on a dung heap, but Lizzie should have better.
Well, it was not really his fault. Circumstances in the person of Lord Andrew had put them in this situation. They must make the best of it.
He slid his ring slowly onto her finger and looked up into her eyes. They held a question he had not the courage to answer. Impulsively, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.
She smiled, and it was as if the sun had come out from behind the clouds.
Lizzie climbed into Robbie’s carriage. Her stomach shivered with nerves. She glanced at her new husband.
He was sitting as far from her as possible, staring straight ahead, his mouth in a thin line, his jaw clenched, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He might as well hang a sign on his neck: WARNING—DO NOT APPROACH.
If she didn’t say something, they would ride to his town house in silence.
What did one say to a new husband who was clearly not happy to be wed? Thank you?
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He frowned in the dim light. “Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be all right?”
“I don’t know. You seem”—sad? He wouldn’t care to hear that—“quiet.”
“I’m tired.” He shifted position slightly. “Yes, tired. It’s been a long day—a long few days. I think I shall go to bed—” He coughed. “That is, I shall go to sleep early. If you don’t mind.”
Was he trying to tell her he would not be visiting her room tonight? She felt a mix of relief and disappointment.
“No, of course I don’t mind. I am tired, too. It has been a very exhausting few days.”
“Yes indeed.” Robbie nodded. “Very exhausting. Early to bed—uh, sleep—would do wonders for us both, I’m certain.”
“Yes.”
Silence again. She heard the clop of the horses’ hooves; the creak of the carriage. The Watch shouted the hour and some drunken men shouted back at him.
Robbie cleared his throat. “I am sorry about the wedding.”
Lizzie felt her stomach drop to her slippers. Not that she was surprised—she knew he hadn’t wanted to marry her.
“I’m sorry, too. You do know I never meant to trap you?”
He frowned at her. “What are you talking about? You didn’t trap me—Lord Andrew did.”
She drew in a sharp breath. So he did feel trapped.
He ran his hand through his hair. “That didn’t come out quite right. What I meant was, I’m sorry you had such a rushed, disappointing ceremony. You must have wished for more.”
“No. It was fine. I didn’t wish for more.” I just wish you loved me. She bit her lip. She hadn’t said those words, had she? No. She must not have. Robbie had not recoiled in horror.
She should ask him now if he loved someone else.
She couldn’t. Her throat seized up at the thought.
He grunted and settled back into silence.
What else could they talk about?
“Do you think Lord Andrew is in Town?”
That was an inspired choice.
“Yes, I’m afraid he might be. You’d think he’d go home to lick his wounds, but as far as I can tell he hasn’t. I’ve inquired at all his father’s properties. There has been no sign of him.” He reached out as if to touch her, then let his hand fall back to his lap. “I know Felicity came back to Town. That girl has no shame.”
“Surely she will not bother you now? We are wed—there is nothing she can do.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain. She and Andrew are both harboring a goodly dose of anger. At a minimum I expect some nasty rumors to circulate.”
The coach slowed to a stop and a footman opened the door.
“My lord, we’ve arrived. Mr. Bentley has assembled the staff to welcome Lady Westbrooke.”
“Thank you, Thomas.”
Lady Westbrooke? Robbie’s mother had died years ago. Why would…
“Oh.”
Robbie smiled. “I’m sure you’ll get used to your new title quickly.”
“Yes. Of course.” Not if Lord Westbrooke remained the stiffly reserved man helping her down from the carriage. She did not feel like Lady Westbrooke at all.
She smiled and nodded at Mr. Bentley, the butler, and Mrs. Bentley, Robbie’s housekeeper, and the rest of the servants lined up to meet her.
“Mrs. Bentley, if you’ll show Lady Westbrooke to her room?”
“Certainly, my lord.”
She’d thought Robbie would take her upstairs, but he was talking to his butler. Perhaps it was just as well. She was feeling a little teary. He would not care to see her turn into a watering pot.
Mrs. Bentley had bright brown eyes and a wide, warm smile. “You must be exhausted, my lady.”
“Yes, I am rather tired.” And panicked. It hit her suddenly as she walked up these unfamiliar stairs. She was a wife now, no matter how unwanted. Her life had changed irreversibly.
She took a sustaining breath.
Mrs. Bentley touched her arm lightly. “Are you all right, my lady?”
“Yes, thank you. Just a little overwhelmed.”
“You poor thing.” Mrs. Bentley patted her hand. “You’ll settle in quickly. We are all delighted to welcome you.” She leaned a little closer. “If you’ll forgive me for saying so, the master has been a bit blue-deviled these last years. We—Mr. Bentley and I—think you are just what he needs.”
Lizzie flushed. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Bentley nodded and continued up the stairs.
“I had the countess’s rooms aired as soon as we got word of the wedding. I think you will find them quite comfortable. Your maid is there now, putting away your things.”
Lizzie felt a thread of relief. At least there would be one thing unchanged—Betty would still fuss at her and argue with her. She stumbled slightly. She would, wouldn’t she? The girl was now wed to Robbie’s valet. That would not change her too much, would it?
Apparently not. At least Lizzie didn’t notice any difference when she entered her bedchamber. Betty was hanging her favorite ball gown in the wardrobe. She closed the door when she saw Lizzie and grinned.
“Oh, my lady, isn’t this a lovely room?”
“Yes, Betty, very lovely.”
It was a beautiful room, decorated in blues and golds. She walked over to the window and pushed back the heavy curtains. The moon lit the back garden, bathing the fountain and trellises with
pale light.
“Let me brush out yer hair, my lady. Ye want to be ready when Lord Westbrooke arrives.”
Lizzie sat down at the dressing table. “I don’t believe Lord Westbrooke will be coming tonight, Betty. He is very tired.”
Betty snorted. “Don’t ye believe that for a minute, my lady. Men are never too tired for bed play. He’ll be up shortly, ye’ll see.”
Would he? Betty seemed so certain—but Robbie had been clear, hadn’t he?
Lizzie’s stomach twisted. She really didn’t know what she wanted.
Collins was whistling, damn him.
“I thought you’d come up earlier, my lord.” He tilted his head at the door to the countess’s room and grinned.
Robbie turned away to put his cravat pin on his bureau. Lizzie was on the other side of that door.
He would not think about it.
“I had to speak to Bentley. I’ve had men looking for Lord Andrew, you know.”
Collins grunted. “Any luck finding the bastard?”
“No, but I’m not surprised. I expect he’ll stay away from society functions until his face heals.” Robbie pulled off his cravat. “I just don’t want him bothering Lizzie.”
Collins helped him out of his coat. “Surely the man won’t trouble the new Lady Westbrooke.”
“I sincerely hope he will not, but he didn’t have a shred of compunction about troubling her before. The Duke of Alvord is not someone most men would want as an enemy.”
Collins shrugged. “Ah, but now Lady Elizabeth is your wife, my lord.” He grinned again. “I know you’ll keep a very close eye on her.” He winked.
Robbie gritted his teeth. If Collins didn’t leave soon, he was going to plant his fist in the middle of that knowing grin.
It wasn’t Collins’s fault. The man was newly married himself and obviously enjoying every moment of his wedded bliss. He merely anticipated the same joys for Robbie.
“That will be all for tonight, Collins.”
Could the man’s grin get any wider?
“Have a very”—Collins looked at the door to the countess’s room again—“pleasant night, my lord.”
Robbie let out a long breath the moment his valet left.
He looked at the connecting door. Lizzie was on the other side. She was probably in bed, dressed in her nightgown. Was it the high-necked virginal gown she’d had at Tynweith’s house party or something new, something diaphanous? Mmm. Something that skimmed her lovely breasts and floated over the blond curls at the apex of her thighs, something he could slide slowly up her beautiful body….
Was she waiting for him? Surely she had taken his hint? But what if she expected him to come to her?
She was in a strange room in a strange household. She had suffered through Lord Andrew’s attack, the resulting scandal, and then that hurried wedding. Her emotions must be disordered. He should go to her. Talk to her.
Kiss her.
Part of him leapt at the thought.
He put his hand on the door.
He wanted to give her many kisses, too many to count. He wanted to bury his face in her hair, to kneel between her thighs, to….
Right. And when he was there, ready to enter her, what would happen? This enthusiastic part of him that was almost bursting from his pantaloons would wilt like the shy little flower it was.
Then would Lizzie laugh at him as Fleur had? Or would she pity him? Which was worse?
God, they were both awful. Better to go to his study and get roaring drunk.
Chapter Eighteen
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you, Fel. I’m quite aware of the fact. I feel terrible, too.”
“I’ve not seen you at any parties recently.”
“Do you think I want to advertise the fact Westbrooke rearranged my face for me?”
“No, I don’t suppose you do.” Felicity leaned back against the tree trunk. Lord Palmerson had an exceptionally large, dark garden. Some very interesting activities could be conducted in complete privacy here. She studied Andrew in the dim light. His face might be an unpleasant rainbow of bruises but the other portions of his anatomy appeared to be completely functional. She reached for the fall of his pantaloons.
He moved his hips back.
“Shy, Andrew?”
“No. I merely am not in the mood to be distracted. Aren’t you angry at the way things turned out? Trapping Westbrooke and compromising Lady Elizabeth were your ideas, after all.”
Felicity shrugged. “I’m not happy, of course, but what can I do? Westbrooke’s married.”
“Ah, but perhaps not happily. I’d swear something is wrong between Westbrooke and his wife.”
“How do you know? You’ve been playing least in sight ever since we got back to London.”
Andrew snorted—and winced. “As you say, my face is not a thing of beauty at the moment. But I have my spies. You’ve seen Westbrooke and Lady Elizabeth, too, Fel. They are not together much, are they?”
“Well, no, but it is not good ton for husbands and wives to live in each other’s pockets.”
“But newlyweds, Fel? They’ve only been married two weeks. And the few times they are together, they aren’t. Surely you’ve noticed how far apart they stand and how carefully they don’t look at each other? Quite a contrast to the longing glances they used to litter ton gatherings with.”
Andrew had a point. She’d been busy looking for another matrimonial quarry, so hadn’t been studying Westbrooke any longer. Now that she thought on it…Yes, she had noticed a certain distance between them. A certain chill. And Lady Elizabeth…
“You’re right. The new Lady Westbrooke looks like she hasn’t had a good swiving.”
“Exactly. Something is keeping Westbrooke out of her bed.”
“Interesting.” Felicity grinned. She’d certainly like to make that couple’s lives miserable if she could. “What do you suggest?”
“Rumors usually work well. See that the new Lady Westbrooke hears some juicy gossip about Westbrooke’s sexual exploits.”
“He doesn’t have any sexual exploits, Andrew—at least none I’ve been able to discern. The man is either incredibly discreet or a eunuch.”
Andrew had a fleeting look of disgust on his battered face that quickly turned into a grimace. “They don’t have to be true, Felicity. Innuendo often works best. Vague whisperings that can’t be confirmed or denied. Little drops of verbal acid that eat away at lovely Lady Westbrooke’s confidence. We want her to feel unease, to worry, to doubt. Then her imagination will take over, and we can sit back and enjoy the farce.”
“Perhaps she’ll turn to you for comfort?”
Andrew snorted and winced again. “Bloody little hope of that—but I do know some delightfully devious men who look like angels, but most certainly aren’t. They would be happy to cuckold Westbrooke.”
“Ooo, do I know them?”
“I’m certain you do, but they don’t play with unmarried ladies.”
“Ah. Another compelling reason to get a husband.” Felicity leaned forward and put her hand on Andrew’s fall again. This time he flinched, but did not pull back. She smiled and stroked him. A lovely hard ridge grew under her hand.
“I’ll be delighted to go back to the party and drop a few hints,” she said, “but first…Well, I’d hate to waste the convenient darkness, wouldn’t you?”
“Something is wrong between Lizzie and Westbrooke, Billy.”
Lady Beatrice lay in bed and surveyed her butler. After all these years, he still made her heart beat faster. She frowned.
“I shouldn’t let you into my bed, you know, until you promise to make an honest woman of me.”
Alton sighed. “Bea, we have been through this almost every day since you seduced me in the Knightsdale attic. I cannot marry you.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“You would if you weren’t so pigheaded. I am not of your class—I’m just about as far from your class as possible. You are the sister a
nd aunt of a marquis—I’m the bastard of a whore and who knows what? A sailor at best. Furthermore, I am your butler. Society would be scandalized.”
“Oh, pshaw! Society is a bunch of totty-headed, stiff-rumped fools. They can go to the devil.”
“Bea, it is easy for you to say that now, but wait until the first door is slammed in your face. You’ll feel differently then.”
Bea sat up with that. “How dare you tell me how I will feel? You’re more of a stickler than any of the patronesses of Almack’s. I don’t give the snap of my fingers for such stuff. I only go to the routs and balls because I’m bored.” She stretched out her arms to him. “Say yes, Billy. We can go to the Continent until the worst of the fuss dies down.” She grinned. “We may as well add to the gossip orgy Tynweith’s party has provided.”
Alton scooped Queen Bess off his pillow. She meowed her usual protest and stalked over to her own bed.
“I don’t believe her highness wishes us to marry.”
“Nonsense.” Bea wrapped her arms around his neck. “She loves you—and you love her. She looked very well fed when I got home from Lendal Park.”
Alton grunted. “Cook has a soft spot for the creature.”
Bea chuckled. “Cook says the same thing about you.” She nuzzled his neck. “Did you miss me?”
“You know that I did. I have already shown you—many times.”
“Show me again.”
Alton was an extremely accomplished lover. He had been good when he was a young man and he’d only gotten better over the years. He knew exactly what she liked, knew just how to tease her until she was wild for him.
Well, and she knew what he liked, too. She ran her tongue over an exquisitely sensitive part of his anatomy and smiled when she heard his quick intake of breath.
Afterward, she rested her head on his chest and returned to her original concern.
“Billy, there is something wrong between Lizzie and Westbrooke.”
“So you said. They are newly married, Bea. It will take them a while to settle into life together.”
“No, it’s more than that. Lizzie still has the look of a virgin about her.”
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