Bride Who Fell in Love with Her Husband

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Rose’s heart lightened with the surprising invitation. She smiled brightly. “I do love to shop.”

  “Then let us be off.”

  She collected her shawl and bonnet while Thomas took up his hat and cane. He ushered her into the small carriage and waved off the groom. He’d drive them himself.

  The ride to Bond Street wasn’t long and the tension between them had eased a bit after the pleasant breakfast. Thomas was a charming companion as he noted points of interest that they passed and kept the conversation moving forward. “Have you ever seen a play at the Theatre Royal? They are currently putting on a farce by Marks that is quite entertaining.”

  “I have not, though I drove past it once with a man who’d hoped to gain favor with me. He thought to impress me with promises of a life of balls and the theater and expensive gifts. I did not like him. He had cold eyes.”

  The instant Rose made the comment, she saw Thomas’s face change. His jaw tightened and his eyes darkened. “Oh, Thomas, I do apologize,” she said in a rush. “I should not speak of my former life as I do. I often speak without thinking first.”

  Thomas drove on in silence until they reached their destination and pulled the carriage to a stop in front of a shop. He set the brake and turned to face her.

  “It isn’t your history that troubles me, Rose. I know your arrangement with the duke was made out of desperation to survive. What concerns me is that in spite of the teachings of Miss Eva and the others at the school, I believe you still see yourself as a courtesan.”

  Rose was taken aback. “I have left that life behind me.”

  “You have. Yet last evening proved you have not fully moved away from living under the expectations of the duke. Tell me that you didn’t laugh even when you found him not amusing. You sighed when he expected you to sigh. You played coquette for the amusement of his friends. And you certainly did not express an opinion on any matter. You were a pretty bird who was seen and not heard. Is this not correct?”

  The shock of his accurate portrayal of her life left her speechless. She remained motionless as her heart tightened in her breast.

  He reached to take her hand. “Four years of living under his rule will not be easy to overcome . . . for either of us.” He paused and drew her hand to his mouth. “The courtesan school taught you etiquette, how to set a table, and how to speak of topics of interest in polite society. They taught you how to be a proper wife. It wasn’t enough.”

  “Is there something wrong with being proper?” she asked, finally discovering her voice. She wasn’t certain where this conversation would lead.

  “No. There is nothing wrong with proper. In public.” He sighed. “I married the Rose that I caught glimpses of when we were courting . . . the Rose with the wicked sense of humor and infectious laugh who charmed me during several unguarded moments, when you freed yourself from the restrictions of propriety.”

  Rose sat quietly, her mind racing, unsure of what to make of this information. “It took Miss Eva weeks to teach me to be respectable, and now you tell me that it is unacceptable?”

  He shook his head. “Not in the least.” He scratched his brow. “I want to see you as you were as a girl, before your mother’s husband forced you to flee. I want to see the woman you were before the duke kept you on a leash. I want to see the real Rose.”

  If he’d asked her to walk down Bond Street in her chemise, she could not have been more surprised. “I do not know her anymore,” she admitted sadly. “I have long left her behind.”

  Thomas climbed from the carriage and helped her down. He looked into her eyes. “Then let us take one hour at a time and see what we can discover.”

  Befuddled, she took his arm as he led her toward the row of shops. She was quickly discovering that her new husband was not at all what she expected. He was a puzzle.

  An hour later, Rose was stripped to her chemise and standing in a small room waiting for Mrs. Jensen to finish adjusting a cream day dress to her measurements. Thomas was seated on a spindly chair in the corner after insisting he help with dress selection.

  She suspected his offer was made not out of a love for fabrics and dress design but out of the desire to see her in her chemise and stockings.

  His attention proved to be a distraction. “Surely you can find a more productive use of your time, husband.” She crossed her arms over her thinly covered breasts. His intense gaze left her out of sorts. “There must be a shop for men somewhere on this street . . . ?”

  He grinned and he looked down at the thin chemise. “Perhaps. But I find my time better taken by my half-naked wife.”

  Rose flushed, and she never flushed. “Oh? I thought your disappointment last evening brought an end to your interest in me.” Her cheeks warming, she turned toward the mirror. She didn’t want him to see the twinge of hurt in her eyes. “I expected you’d be out today looking for an acceptable mistress.”

  A brow went aloft. “Then you are mistaken. I have not lost interest in you, sweet.” He ran his gaze over her. “In fact, I see your misbehavior in our bed as a challenge and you the prize worth winning. I plan to make you love me, Rose.”

  Love? “People seldom marry for love,” she said, turning back to him. “Can we not be satisfied with affection for each other and leave the rest for romantics and fools?”

  Thomas leaned back on the chair and it squawked in protest. Clearly the piece was meant to hold a much smaller frame.

  “Why so pessimistic, dearest?” His eyes took on a dark glint. “Do you believe yourself incapable of love?”

  Rose wasn’t certain of anything at the moment. The hours since their wedding had been a muddle of contradictions and upheaval. And they were only on their second day.

  “I loved my father and he was killed very young. I loved my mother and she betrayed me.” Rose sighed deeply. “I think it best if you accept that I am fond of you and leave it at that. I will not love you, Thomas.”

  To her surprise, he grinned. “Oh, you will love me, and all your fears will be put to rest, for I will not betray that love.” He pushed up from the chair and crossed the narrow space to her. “Would you care to place a wager on my success?”

  He spun her around to face the mirror. Bending, he placed his open palms just under her breasts and nipped her bare shoulder while his eyes locked onto hers.

  A shiver passed down her body. “I think not. It will be a fool’s wager that you will lose.”

  * * * *

  Thomas chuckled and stepped back as Mrs. Jensen returned. He reclaimed his chair as the two women discussed the skill of the lace maker who’d trimmed the dress.

  Rose was as stubborn as she was lovely. Her hair came out of the pins as Mrs. Jensen pulled the dress over her head. The mass of red fell in a silky twist over one shoulder.

  He stirred beneath his trousers.

  “The dress fits perfectly,” Mrs. Jensen said, and made adjustments until it was settled in the right position. Then she stepped back to admire her creation. “Excellent.”

  Thomas barely heard her. He watched Rose in the mirror, her lashes lowered as she looked down at the creation.

  The outing was proving a success. He’d shoved aside his annoyance at last night’s debacle and accepted that his wife needed time to settle into their life, and his bed. And he needed patience to accept that the matter would not be settled after a few hours of marriage.

  Her eyes lifted and caught his gaze. The light in her blue eyes sent heat straight to his cock. Before he embarrassed himself in front of Mrs. Jensen, he cleared his throat and turned away to collect his cane. “We shall take that one, the blue, and the lavender that my wife chose earlier. I shall wait outside while Mrs. Stanhope changes.”

  He stepped out of the room. Shopping for Rose was an arousing experience. She was enticing, his wife.

  Unbidden, a
thought flashed into his mind that challenged his confidence and brought back Rose’s beliefs about love. What if Rose was correct and she could not love him? Ever. What if she never settled into their marriage? Could her past pull her back into its seductive fold?

  Tightening his hand on his cane, he realized there was no satisfactory answer.

  Chapter Four

  Rose found the evening odd. After the shopping excursion, Thomas was quiet as they made their way home, and continued to be so throughout dinner. The baroness, too, had little to say, and the sisters followed her mood. If not for the slightest hint of a smile on Priscilla’s face, the meal was without humor.

  “Is your mother ill?” Rose asked him as he escorted her from the table to the library to select a book. “Not once did she insult me or scowl in my direction. Is it possible she has come down with a fever . . . or the plague?”

  Thomas snorted. “Mother is too cross to die before she has found a way to drive you off. No, I think her silence was caused by her plotting your painful demise.”

  Rose nodded, her face grim. “I expected as much. Is there a reason for her hatred or does the idea of you begetting a grandchild with me, and my imagined inferior Gypsy bloodline, cause her anguish?”

  “My dear, Rose, though my mother will never sleep comfortably under the looming terror of knowing you could one day mother my children, I know that is not her greatest fear.”

  “Then what is her greatest fear?”

  Thomas glanced around him to make certain no one was near to overhear the secret then leaned in. “Rats.”

  Her eyes widened. “Truly? How dire. We shall keep a rat catcher close lest one of the dirty rodents dare make a run toward your mother’s dainty feet.”

  They shared a laugh. After a moment Thomas sobered. “Truthfully, Mother likes no one. She forces herself to be amiable to certain persons because of her duties as baroness. She hates Father, tolerates her children, and probably secretly wishes she’d taken to a convent. There is nothing you can do to change her opinion.”

  Rose stared at his perfect, smiling mouth. “How did you manage to remain good-humored with such a parent?”

  He shrugged. “As her son, I had the freedom my sisters lacked. I was not shadowed by her unhappiness. My brother was the same.” He sighed. “Fredrick will be baron one day. For now he is happily living as far from her as he can manage.”

  She envied men their freedoms. “Hmm. I feel compassion for your put-upon sisters. Surely something can be done to lift their spirits.”

  “I fear not, though you are welcome to try.” He led her into the library. “If you can find a solution to their misery, you are a greater force than I. Clearly, I was unable to pry them away from Mother.”

  She pondered the challenge for a moment. Perhaps Thomas would accept her matchmaking his sisters. However, until she had suitors selected, she’d stay mum on the subject. “I shall keep watch for the next few days to see what I can do. There has to be a way to change their circumstance.”

  Shrugging, he walked to a bookshelf and examined the spines of the books it contained. He pulled out a volume for further inspection. “My mother will not be pleased with your interference. Are you certain you’re up to the fight?”

  He turned back to her and must have seen a devilish gleam in her eyes, for he chuckled wholeheartedly.

  * * * *

  A week passed without Thomas finding a way to her room. He was charming and attentive, yet held himself back from any sort of overt affection. It was a companionable existence and Rose hated it to her bones. She desired a second chance to please him. On their wedding night, she had found pleasure when he’d kissed and touched her so intimately. It was trying to separate courtesan and wife that left her puzzled. Were wives supposed to enjoy love play or had the orgasm been a fluke?

  It was common knowledge amongst courtesans that men expected their wives to be proper at all times, even in bed, and looked to courtesans for passion. Had she been misled? Or was she doomed to be sinful no matter how hard she tried to behave?

  Life was such a confusing muddle.

  Sighing, she walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a small chest. She carried it to the bed and opened the lid. Inside was a feathered hat, scandalously bright, the sort of hat that no proper wife would dare wear in public.

  This ridiculous hat, once worn by a beautiful courtesan named Rose, was her last link to the life she’d left behind; now it was no more than a symbol of a young woman torn between past the present. She’d hated being a courtesan, but wondered if she could be happy here.

  Stroking a yellow feather, she stared at the door. Thomas was everything she wanted, wasn’t he? “Of course he is what I want,” she whispered without true conviction. “I can be an excellent wife. I know I can. I just need another chance.”

  Despairing that he’d never come again to bed her, in spite of his assurance that he still wanted her, Rose noticed that it was nearing ten o’clock on this, the eighth day of their marriage, when she finally heard Thomas approach her room. She was dressed in a pale pink nightdress, which she’d chosen in the hope of his visit, but without entirely expecting him to do so. Though their moments together outside of bed were amiable and without strife, she didn’t know how long he’d go before bedding her again, if ever.

  The door opened, and Thomas looked slightly disheveled as he walked inside. Her heart danced.

  “I wasn’t convinced you’d come.” She laid her brush on the dressing table and stood. She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking.

  “I could not stay away any longer,” Thomas admitted. He walked to her and ran his hand over her soft hair. “I hope I am welcome.”

  Rose closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his hands. His knuckles brushed her cheek as he played with the silken strands. This tickled her skin and she sighed softly. “Of course you are welcome. You are my husband.”

  Releasing her hair and stepping back, he pulled his shirt up and over his head. He tossed it toward the recently vacated dressing-table stool.

  She struggled to keep from melting at his feet. He cut a fine figure. Trim, yet finely honed, he was perfect. She wanted to touch him, but wasn’t confident she’d not make a mistake, so she pulled back her outstretched hand. She did not want a repeat of their first night. She needed guidance, but she did not know how to ask for it.

  “You are welcome to touch me, love.” He reached for her hand and placed it on his chest. “I fact, your touch is most acceptable.”

  Nodding, Rose left her hand in place, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm. He was strength and kindness, her husband.

  “I do not know what to do,” she said. “I am afraid I will do something in error and ruin this moment.”

  Thomas tipped up her face with his fingertip. “I want you to feel me, to assuage your curiosity about my body, to do anything you wish to me. I do not want you to worry about my pleasure tonight. Be selfish, Rose.”

  “Truly?” He was giving her permission to seek her pleasure? How did one go about such a thing? Would her body know?

  He grinned. “Truly.”

  Tentative but gaining confidence, she ignored her trepidation and moved her hands across his chest. She explored the expanse, following the ridges, caressing the planes, even swirling her fingertips around the cleft of his navel. When she drew her index finger along the waistband of his trousers, he sucked in a breath, yet she didn’t stop. He lifted his arms so she could follow the fabric around to his back without breaking contact. Smiling, she splayed both hands up over his shoulders. His skin was supple and smelled of spice.

  “You are very strong.” She moved lower to span his waist. There was not a roll of fat to be found. “Men would look upon you with envy.”

  He chuckled, but said nothing. She took his silence as permission to continue. Her bold
ness seemed to please him.

  She continued her exploration to his sculpted buttocks, covered in fine cloth. As with the rest of his body, his buttocks were hard-muscled beneath her hands and drew from her another sigh. “You have a most excellent backside, husband.”

  Another chuckle followed. Grinning, she returned her attention to the curve of his spine. Drawn in by his scent, she pressed her lips to his skin and inhaled.

  Touching him brought her body to life. His warmth infused her and made her eager to feel his hands on her again.

  “There is much about you to like,” she breathed.

  There was a moment of silence. Then, “Your breasts against me are driving me mad.”

  This time is was Rose who chuckled. She eased back and walked around to face him. Sliding her arms around his waist, she lifted to her toes. “Kiss me.”

  Thomas quickly obliged. His mouth sent tingles through her. He only drew back long enough to divest her of her nightdress before kissing her again, pressing his erection against her.

  Rose broke the kiss and pushed back. She lifted her hands, palms open. “I have not finished my exploration. You must behave.”

  He frowned and dropped his arms to his sides. “By all means, please continue,” he said kindly.

  Rose nodded and reached for his trouser buttons. She was beginning to understand that with Thomas, it was acceptable to be improper. “I want to see everything.” She tried to open the button, but it resisted her effort. She tried again. It was more difficult than she’d anticipated. She sighed through gritted teeth. “You may help me.”

  As she watched, he removed the garment with little effort and left it where it lay. Rose tried not to gape openly at his erection. She failed. Though she’d seen it previously, it seemed far more imposing now than it looked while poised over her as she lay prone on the bed.

  Believing that Thomas would not mind if she touched him, she reached out her hand. Though stiff, it was soft in her open palm.