“Oh yes,” he said softly, dark heat burning in his eyes. “I believe we shall deal very well together, you and I…”
A thrill that was half fear lurched through her, but there was no time to dwell on that. Their names were inscribed in a book, together with those of their witnesses. At Daxton’s request, a copy of the entry was made on a sheet of paper, which he folded and tucked into his coat.
“Is this really legal?” Willa asked doubtfully. They hadn’t even glimpsed a clergyman.
“Perfectly, under Scots law,” Daxton replied.
“Let no man put asunder,” the blacksmith intoned. “You’re legally married, here, England and anywhere else. Good day to you.”
“Good day,” Willa said politely. “And thank you.”
“Thank you, Lady Daxton. Wish you both health and happiness.”
And then, somehow, they were in the open air and the sun shone down on her upturned face as she watched the scudding of wispy clouds across the sky.
Lady Daxton…
Laughter surged up in her throat. Catching her expression, the viscount grinned and swung her hand high as if they were a pair of children.
“A damned fine night’s work,” he pronounced.
“Where do we go now?”
“Daxton,” he said with unexpected relish.
Willa, who’d expected him to say London, or perhaps whatever place in Scotland he’d originally been intending to visit, blinked with surprise.
“You won’t be dull in the country, will you?” he asked, as if the thought had struck him.
Willa shook her head, rather expecting the boot to be somewhat on the other foot.
“Good,” Daxton said briskly. “We’ll go via Blackhaven and collect our things.”
“Would you like to have breakfast first?” Willa suggested. Now that the ceremony was over and nothing very much seemed to have changed, she was aware of her rumbling stomach. She hadn’t had much time to dine last night and she was famished.
“Of course,” Daxton said apologetically. “We’ll stroll back to the inn, have a spot of breakfast and hire a chaise. It will be more comfortable than the curricle, and I expect you’ll want a nap.”
“Me? I haven’t been on a three-day spree,” she said without thought.
Daxton let out a shout of laughter and threw his arm around her shoulder. “You’re wonderful, do you know that?”
The quick, open hug, like his kiss by the anvil, had a peculiar effect on her. Half discomfort, half-thrill, it made her only too aware of his hard, unfamiliar maleness. And the half-formed feelings she’d always harbored for him. She’d always regarded them as childish before.
Breakfast at the inn consisted of ham, eggs, toast, and coffee, consumed in a comfortable private parlor. Or at least Willa consumed them. Daxton lounged opposite her, one hand in his pocket while he drank a mug of ale. He refused to be tempted by the toast, though he did succumb eventually to her offer of coffee.
His mood seemed to turn quieter. Instead of entertaining or conversing, he watched her in silence, his red-rimmed eyes tired and yet increasingly warm. She felt a little like the prey of a large, unpredictable cat. God help her, she’d just delivered herself into the power of this man, relying only on what she’d once known of the boy’s honor and volatile good nature. But she had not laid eyes on him for at least eight years, and those years, even by his own admission, had not been well spent. By any standard, he was a hedonistic rakehell and used to getting his own way. They’d never discussed the nature of this hasty marriage of convenience. Was it in name only?
The thought, arriving from nowhere, unsettled her, for she was about to be alone with him for several hours in a closed carriage. Despite the fact that he’d clearly dunked his entire head in a basin of water, she could smell the brandy on him from across the table.
If ever there was a time to “manage” him, as Carson had put it, it would be on the journey back to Blackhaven. For she could hardly summon Carson to prevent his master exercising his conjugal rights. Whatever they were. Willa was a little hazy on the finer details, though she knew they were associated with that particularly hot, clouded look she’d already glimpsed in Daxton’s eye. She’d seen something similar in Ralph’s too, before and during “the incident”, and in other men’s faces when they looked at Lucy, the buxom downstairs maid, and imagined they were unobserved. Those other looks had never affected her like this. In fact, she’d found them positively distasteful. Especially Ralph’s.
Nerves began to close up her throat and stomach and she stopped eating. She was afraid he would notice the trembling of her hands so she sat with them crossed in her lap, reluctant either to stay or go.
In the end, he rose abruptly to his feet. “I’ll see if the chaise is ready.”
She was practiced at schooling her expression, so she was sure she remained outwardly calm as he escorted her out of the inn and into the chaise. He climbed in and sat beside her, while Carson sat up on the box with the driver.
One of the horses whinnied, and on the driver’s laconic instruction, the carriage rumbled forward out of the inn yard.
The sense of recklessness with which Willa had so blithely entered into this mad scheme had fled, leaving her churned-up and swamped by the reality of what they’d done. But she refused to stare at her hands for the whole journey and so, feeling as if it was a major step in her life, she turned her head and looked at her husband.
His head had fallen back against the squabs, but his warm, clouded eyes were focused on her face. A predatory smile played around his sculpted lips.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice deliberately light. “Have I a smut on my nose?”
“No. I married you, Willie Blake,” he said softly, intensely. “You’re mine.”
Butterflies leapt in her stomach. This would have been so much easier if only he weren’t so ridiculously handsome. He shifted, the hard warmth of his thigh pressing against hers, and the childish crush she’d always harbored for him was no longer nearly enough to explain the strength and confusion of her feelings.
“Willa,” she corrected nervously. “It’s etiquette not to deliberately annoy your wife during the first two hours of your marriage.”
A smile flickered on his lips. “No, it isn’t.” He cupped her cheek and his breath stirred her lips. She smelled brandy and coffee and something more elusive, but God help her, it wasn’t unpleasant. It wasn’t unpleasant at all.
The smile died. Behind the lust and the clouds of alcohol in his eyes, she read something very like pain. His thumb moved against her skin, brushing her lips, parting them.
“I’ll cause you to regret this,” he whispered. “I know I will, in the end. But at this moment, it’s sweet. I’ll make it sweet for you, Willa.”
His mouth closed on hers, and her heart seemed to dive downward into her stomach. This was nothing like the kiss he’d given her at the anvil. That had been quick, sealing a promise. This was like the promise itself, both arousing and fulfilling. His lips were warm and firm, and yet surprisingly soft as they caressed hers, sinking deeper with hunger, and then plundering. His tongue darted over her lips and inside her mouth, tasting, exploring with raw need.
She’d never imagined a kiss like this. It overwhelmed her. She clutched his shoulders, unsure at first whether it was to push him off or draw him closer. It was wonder that held her still, and sheer sensuality that did the rest. She never wanted it to stop.
He pushed against her until she lay on the bench, and she held him to her as though afraid he’d vanish. His weight pressed against her aching breasts as he kissed her mouth again, and dragged his lips down her throat. One hand slipped under her skirts, stroking her ankle, her calf, and knee. She gasped as the other closed over her breast, cupping caressing, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric of her ugly gown.
Fresh heat surged through her trembling body as he bared her breast and closed his lips around her nipple. She sighed with pleasure, with a need she hardly
understood. Daxton was kissing her, as though he loved her. He didn’t, of course, but he felt something. She knew the significance of the hard shaft pressing between her thighs, and when he lifted his head, sheer, thrilling desire blazed in his eyes.
His hand slid up her thigh. He sighed as he kissed her mouth once more with aching, sensual tenderness. He shifted position again, taking some of his weight off her, and laying his rough cheek against her naked breast.
Her fingers tangled in his unruly, blond hair. In wonder, she stroked its unexpected softness. She couldn’t quite believe this was happening to her. It was a dream. She was asleep in bed, and when she woke, there would be no Daxton…
She didn’t know how long they lay there before she realized the truth. A sob shook her. She didn’t know if she was laughing or crying.
“Daxton, are you asleep?” she demanded.
Perhaps he heard his name, for he grunted and moved his head against her shoulder, shifting his weight. His eyes were closed, his lips relaxed, almost smiling. But he was quite unconscious.
Willa drew her shaking hand over her face, trying to regain some self-control. Somehow, it wasn’t quite funny. With an effort, she heaved herself up into a sitting position. His head slid down into her lap, but still he didn’t wake. Hastily, she adjusted the bodice of her gown and brushed down her skirts over her ankles once more. There, no one would know.
She allowed the laughter to come until the tears scalded her cheeks, when she forced it back again and instead, gazed out of the window at the spectacular countryside whizzing past.
Only when she felt calm once more did she drop her gaze to the face of the sleeping man in her lap. Her heart turned over. Like this, he resembled much more closely the boy she once knew.
“Dax,” she whispered. “My husband. My love.”
*
An intolerable headache drove Sir Ralph Shelby from his bedchamber far earlier than he would have wished. His jaw ached where the unspeakable Daxton had hit him, and the effects of the copious alcohol were not helping. He went in search of his mother’s medicine cabinet.
In her sitting room, he encountered Haines, her abigail. Her stupid, devoted gaze revolted him at that moment because it made him remember that Willa had left the hotel with Daxton.
Last night had been a disaster on so many levels he felt sick. He’d lost far more than he could afford—including his mother’s pin-money—and to Daxton, of all people. And the scandal of his cousin, whom he’d deliberately humiliated in the heat of the moment, running off with Daxton could only cause the family harm. To say nothing of depriving his mother and his entire family of her very useful help.
He tried to push past Haines to his mother’s room, but she took something from her apron pocket and waved it in front of his face.
He blinked. It was the purse he’d lost to Daxton in a pitifully few rolls of the dice. And it still looked fat. Snatching it from the maid, he pulled it open.
“It’s all there,” he said stupidly. “How…where did you get this?”
“From the clerk at the reception desk. She—Miss Willa—left instructions, apparently, to give it to me this morning.”
Ralph rubbed his aching head. “She got it back from him… What a clever little thing. Perhaps I misjudged her. Is she in her bed, Haines?” he asked hopefully.
But Haines shook her head with idiotic satisfaction. “No, sir. She left the hotel with Lord Daxton, drove off with him in his curricle and hasn’t been seen since. I’m afraid she’s ruined.”
In fury, Ralph threw the purse on the floor. “Damn it!” Then he stared at the spilling coins, a new idea forming in his fuddled head. He’d examine it later for weaknesses, but for now it seemed worth the trouble. He’d got this much money back at least and he could still cause more damage to the wretched Willa, now she was Daxton’s damaged ware. It had been done to spite Ralph, of course. Well, Ralph could bite back and would. With luck he’d see her in prison, or even hanged.
That pleasant image would, no doubt, be shattered by his mother. But he’d see how it went.
“Do me a favor, Haines. Keep the purse with you for now. Don’t tell my mother anything about it. Pretend it’s missing if she asks. Better still, tell her the truth, that Miss Willa took it last night.”
*
They were still on the main post road south when Willa heard the suddenly loud, warning voices of the men on the box. The carriage slowed to an abrupt halt amidst the complaining shrieks of the horses who still snorted and pawed the ground, as though anxious to get moving again.
Oh dear, Willa thought, craning her neck to try to see more out of the window. We’re not being held up, are we?
For some reason, she was reluctant to move Daxton’s head from her lap so that she could climb down and find out for herself. Before she could talk herself into it, Carson opened the other door.
“Gone, has he?” he said, sparing his master a glance that was neither judging nor affectionate. “Got a girl here, m’lady. In distress. Nearly ran her over. She wants to go to Blackhaven, but the thing is, she’s freezing cold, so I don’t want to keep her outside with us.” Turning, he ushered a damp, bedraggled and shivering young woman toward the door. From her dress, she could have been a servant or the daughter of a small farmer or laborer.
“Oh goodness, you are wet!” Willa exclaimed. “What happened?”
“Fell in the lake, ma’am. Trying to get away.”
“Away?” Willa repeated, startled. “From what? Or whom!”
“Both of them,” the girl said bitterly. “Fighting over me like a bone or a piece of meat.”
“Come in, come inside at once. Do we still have the blanket, Carson?”
“Loads of ’em,” the servant said laconically, all but shoving the reluctant girl into the coach. “This here’s Lady Daxton, who’ll be kind to you. That’s his lordship, but he’s asleep so you needn’t mind him.”
Gingerly, the girl edged onto the opposite seat, warily eyeing the unconscious Daxton. “Don’t want to disturb you, m’lady,” she all but whispered. “Soon as I can get warm, I’ll go out and sit with them. It’s just if I get sick, I won’t be able to work.”
“Oh no, let’s make sure you stay well,” Willa agreed eagerly. “Wrap both those blankets around you and sit just there where the sun comes in the window… Perhaps his lordship’s brandy, Carson?”
Without demur, Carson delved into the great coat which lay on the seat, half under the sleeping viscount and rummaged until he found the flask which he refilled and passed to the astonished girl. Grinning, he left again and the carriage got back under way.
“So kind of you, m’lady,” the girl managed when her teeth stopped chattering.
“What’s your name?” Willa asked, a trifle uncomfortable at being addressed as “m’lady” all the time. She supposed she should get used to it.
“Clara, ma’am. Clara James. My father’s the tenant of Black Farm over by Blackhaven.”
“Then you’re a bit away from home,” Willa observed.
“Oh yes, m’lady.” The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t mean to be. I didn’t want to be. I told Jem it was over between us, but he must’ve discovered Dan was courting me, for he ups and bundles me into a gig—God knows where he got it from, but I’m terrified he stole it, probably from the coach house at Haven Hall since the house is empty…” She paused for breath, rubbing her eyes. “He said he won’t wait no longer to marry me. And I’m only nineteen years old ma’am and my Da doesn’t want me to marry Jem. Or Dan, come to that.”
Willa’s eyes widened. “You mean you were on your way to the border, too?”
If Clara noticed the too, she gave no sign of it, merely nodding miserably. “Dan found out, so my family probably knows by now, and he came after us. They started to fight and when I ran to get away from them both, I got knocked in the lake. They pulled me out, but then immediately start slogging away at each other again. I left them to it and prayed I would find a fr
iendly vehicle on the road to take me home.”
“Quite right, too,” Willa approved.
“I don’t want to get you in no trouble, ma’am. Jem’s got no respect for quality and might well come after you and… and his lordship there.” Clara’s gaze fell to the viscount’s handsome face in Willa’s lap.
“I think he might get rather more than he bargains for if he does,” Willa murmured.
“Sleeps well, doesn’t he?”
“He’s had a busy few days,” Willa said diplomatically.
“He’s very handsome,” Clara allowed. “You been married a while?”
“Not long,” Willa got out.
The girl frowned discontentedly. “I’m not sure I want to be married now. I think they both want the farm rather than me. Thing is, my father only rents it. The Muirs could sell it tomorrow or put the rent up so high we’d never afford it, and then none of us would have anything.”
“Life is full of uncertainties for all of us,” Willa said vaguely.
“Even you, m’lady?”
“Even me.” Especially me.
*
It wasn’t quite dark when Jem Brown drove furiously into Blackhaven in the same old gig he’d forced Clara into. They could have been married by now, except for bloody Dan Doone’s interference. Dan had no business courting Clara. Jem had had his dibs on her and her father’s farm well before the incomer, and Jem was not used to losing to anyone.
Having finally knocked Dan unconscious in their fight, Jem had chased after the girl, only to see her get into some hired post chaise. And so he followed, as fast as he could go with one placid horse and an ancient gig. Fortunately, the post chaise hadn’t been in too much of a hurry, and he wasn’t so far behind it when he entered Blackhaven and drove to the hotel.
There was no sign of the chaise there, but where else would the nobs go? Unless they were local gentry, of course. Jem got down, leaving the horse standing there—it rarely bothered moving unless pushed—and strolled around the alley to the back of the hotel. No one paid him much attention as he wandered about the busy kitchen and up the stairs.
The Wicked Husband (Blackhaven Brides Book 4) Page 3