The Wedding Affair

by Leigh Michaels

  “I understand it is not money but fear of disappointing your father that worries you most.” He laid the damp towel aside. “But there is no need for these desperate maneuvers. I have no intention of claiming my husbandly rights.”

  Desperate? He thought she was desperate? And he was letting her down easily, as gently as was possible in these horrid circumstances.

  She kept her back straight as she turned to walk out of the room.

  “Penelope,” he said softly. “I am sorry.”

  “So am I, my lord.” She didn’t look back. “So am I.”

  ***

  “Court me?” Olivia’s words came out as nothing more than a squeak, so she had to try again. “What do you mean, court me?”

  The duke shrugged. “What everyone means, I suppose, when they use the phrase in speaking of an unmarried man and a widow. You must have noticed the bridesmaids in the village today, circling around me like a troop of Dianas on the hunt.”

  “That would have been difficult to miss.”

  “With days to get through before the wedding, I do not intend to be harried into leaving my home simply because schoolgirls are taking aim at my title with every arrow at their disposal. Neither am I willing to run the risk that one of them might succeed in compromising herself into requiring an offer of marriage.”

  “I doubt that would be possible without assistance from you.”

  He snorted. “Then you know very little about the matter. I have been pursued by every debutante who has come on the marriage market—and her mama—for the past five years.”

  “Not because of your modesty, I warrant,” Olivia said under her breath.

  “Thus there are few tricks I am unfamiliar with. But twelve of these chits will be ever present in my home for a week to come. Add in the fact that my mother shows every sign of turning a blind eye to their antics, and one of them might slip under my guard in any of a hundred possible ways.”

  “And you, sir, would be dished. Married before you even had a chance to figure out what had happened. But if the problem is the bridesmaids, I don’t see why you want to court me.”

  “I should have said, of course, I wish to pretend to court you.”

  “But of course. That goes without saying.” Olivia started to laugh. “You really are in a pickle, Your Grace, if you think courting me is going to discourage those girls. They’d never believe you were serious about someone like me. I’ve not even completed my mourning period.”

  “They don’t have to admire you,” he said. “Only find you a formidable enough challenge to make them turn to easier prey.”

  “That’s comforting,” Olivia muttered.

  “I am well known to prefer women with more depth and experience than any schoolroom miss possesses. And I have already started to supply the easier prey as well by calling on all my friends to join me at Halstead for the wedding.”

  “I can’t imagine they’ll thank you for turning them into targets.”

  “I have warned the unmarried ones of the risks. But with an adequate number of males on the ground this week, the bridesmaids’ attention will be split. With luck, we’ll all come out the other side without being leg-shackled.”

  “There’s a flaw in your logic, of course. After you spend a week courting me, what happens when the wedding is over and you don’t need me as cover anymore?”

  “Then you will jilt me. Coldly, heartlessly, and publicly.”

  “And quite stupidly as well,” she pointed out, “for no woman with sense would even contemplate jilting a duke once she’d captured him. You’d do better to carry out the jilting yourself, you know. It makes no sense for me to be the one to back out of a betrothal.”

  The duke said coolly, “Because jilting me would ruin your reputation, you mean? And being my mistress wouldn’t?”

  He had a point there, Olivia had to admit. “If I were your mistress, no one would know anything about it. But if you court me openly, and then I break off the connection—”

  “Why should the reaction concern you? Are you worried about how you’ll be received next Season in London?”

  Olivia had no intention of appearing in London again until Charlotte’s first Season, if then. But there was no reason to invite speculation by saying so.

  “If you’re suggesting I should give you provocation, ma’am…”

  “Oh, that should present no problem,” Olivia muttered. “Just watching you draw breath in your usual arrogant fashion would be provocation enough for me to cancel a wedding. But I see you are determined to think you’re right, so I won’t argue the matter any further.”

  “Then we are in accord?”

  “Not just yet. For me to agree to carry off this charade—jilting and all—you’ll have to make it worth my while.”

  “Of course you will keep the gifts I give you.”

  “How perfectly paltry of you, Your Grace. You know quite well an unmarried woman isn’t allowed to accept anything of substance from her betrothed.”

  “She can accept a ring. You wouldn’t be able to keep the Somervale ring, of course—”

  “Yes, I imagine your mother would have something to say about that.”

  “But we could say you preferred a diamond instead.”

  Olivia shook her head. “No matter how nice the ring, it’s nothing against the worth of a duchess’s coronet. So if you’re going to be able to trust me to do as you wish, instead of holding you to your supposed promise of marriage—”

  “As if you could force me into it.” He stood.

  Not because he was insulted, Olivia thought, but because he couldn’t abide the rough chair anymore. “You’re afraid of a pack of schoolgirls, but not of me?”

  “The schoolgirls have innocence on their side, and society protects them because of it.”

  “Or at least they have the appearance of innocence, which is nearly the same thing.”

  “While you, my lady—forgive me—have an aura of scandal. When a lady vanishes from her husband’s house only days after his funeral is held…”

  “…a thoughtful gentleman would conclude there is a reason. But perhaps I should not expect so much of you, Your Grace. How did you happen to hear of that?”

  “One of the guests already at Halstead is something of a gossip. When I asked if anyone knew of a Lord Reyne, Colonel Sir Tristan Huffington was happy to enlighten me. Your late husband was much older than you, with pockets sadly to let. When he died, you promptly removed yourself from his ramshackle house, and no one knew where you had gone.”

  Olivia’s lips felt stiff. “The colonel is well-informed.”

  “Since I am aware of your history, you must realize how foolish threats are.”

  “Still, you’d be wise to pay me so well that I’d prefer to have the money instead of being stuck with you—even considering the coronet.”

  “Three diamond bracelets?”

  “Don’t be silly. I only have two arms. I’d prefer money, anyway—or better yet, some kind of continuing payment.”

  “That sounds uncomfortably like blackmail.”

  “Not at all, for I would never trust you to continue the payments once the bargain was finished. I can’t recall what it’s called when a servant is pensioned off. No doubt you know.”

  “You mean an annuity?”

  “Yes, exactly. That would do nicely. You may fund an annuity for me. Then I can be independent, and you can forget all about me once I’ve jilted you. And you needn’t think I’m planning to rob you, Your Grace. I suspect my idea of a large sum is far different than yours. It will cost you less to buy me off than it would to support one of Daphne’s friends for a year. That much is certain.”

  “I wonder if you’re worth it.” His gaze slid slowly over her. “Are you up to the job?”

  “Do you want my honest assessment? Making twelve bridesmaids believe you’re so besotted you can’t possibly have eyes for one of them isn’t my problem at all. It’s yours. I need only stand still and look somewhat d
ecorative. All the convincing will be on your side.”

  “Your disarming frankness makes me less inclined to pay your price.”

  “It’s entirely up to you, of course.” Olivia’s breath felt shallow. What was she doing, anyway, arguing against the most rewarding bargain she’d ever been offered? Was she mad? “It was your idea to pretend to court me, instead of having the simple little affair I suggested.”

  He said very deliberately, “Oh, not instead of. I meant, in addition to.”

  Olivia’s breath rasped in her throat. His voice sounded hot and dangerous. She forced herself to laugh. “Touché, sir.”

  “The truth is, Lady Reyne, I don’t pay my mistresses. To keep my mother from matching me up with an empty-headed schoolgirl—that’s worth a pension. But don’t think for a moment I’m rejecting your initial offer. I’m only adding my own set of terms to what you proposed.”

  She felt the heat of his gaze washing over her, and her insides went liquid. How could he have such an effect when he wasn’t even touching her?

  “I’ll have your answer now.” His voice curved like warm velvet against her skin. “Shall we seal our bargain with a kiss?”

  Olivia finally managed a full breath. “Only if you provide earnest money.”

  “You don’t trust my word?” He shrugged. “I don’t have a diamond bracelet—or an annuity—on my person, I’m afraid. The ladies who draw my eye tend not to lose interest in me so quickly that I must woo them with gifts in advance.”

  “How nice for you. But you’re in for a rude shock where I’m concerned.”

  He smiled slowly. “So we do have a bargain.”

  Without taking his gaze off her face, he unfastened the gold and sapphire stickpin nestled in the folds of his neckcloth. He folded her fingers around the warm metal. Then he raised her hand to his lips.

  His mouth was warm against her skin, moving slowly over the back of her hand, his fingers cupping hers. Intimate as the gesture was, Olivia was relieved. She’d thought for a moment he meant to do more. But a mere kiss on the hand—even though it was her bare hand, and even though heat rippled up her arm—that she could stand.

  He pulled her closer, lifting her hands to rest them on his shoulders and then wrapping one arm around her while his other hand came to rest under her chin. His fingertips splayed across her throat, each pad barely touching, yet sensation arced through her. She tipped her head back in an instinctive attempt to avoid the contact and looked directly into his eyes.

  She saw satisfaction in his gaze and knew she’d acted exactly as he’d expected. “Such a cooperative little mistress you’re going to be,” he whispered, and his lips came down on hers.

  His mouth was warm, mobile, and gentle—asking rather than taking, exploring rather than plundering. He kissed her so thoroughly that she forgot how to breathe. Her world narrowed until the only thing that still existed was sensation—the smooth wool of his coat under her hands, the tiny rasp of beard against her cheek, the scent of his soap, a tangy taste as the tip of his tongue teased her lips open, the coolness of air moving against her breasts, and then the gentle tug of his mouth against her nipple as he bent to sample and explore… How had he opened the bodice of her gown without her noticing?

  “You said a kiss,” she protested.

  He raised his head and smiled. “That’s a valuable sapphire you’re holding. I intend to get my money’s worth.” His voice was husky, trailing across her ears as gently as his mouth had caressed her breast. He pulled her closer and kissed her again, more possessively this time. His thumb gently circled the peak of her nipple until she arched against him, pushing her breast against the warm smoothness of his palm.

  “Tonight,” he whispered against her lips. “I will come to you tonight.”

  ***

  The vicar’s call on the duchess had been a short one, and Her Grace had apparently opted not to include Lady Daphne after all—for as Kate came down the stairs, Mr. Blakely was being shown to the front door. Before she could even think of dodging into a side room to avoid him, his sonorous voice rang out across the breadth of Halstead’s entrance hall. “Miss Blakely, a moment if you please.”

  Kate weighed the possibilities. If he was aiming to lecture her, it would be better to hold this conversation in private. But if he intended to renew his courtship, then the last thing she wanted just now was to be alone with him.

  She compromised by taking him into the reception room nearest the entrance but pointedly leaving the door open. The chamber was tiny; the furniture was the uncomfortable sort chosen to discourage casual callers from lingering; and the air felt chilly even in the middle of August—though perhaps that was more a matter of disuse than of actual temperature.

  Kate ignored the straight-backed wooden chairs and stopped in the center of the room, her hands folded demurely, waiting to see what was on the vicar’s mind. Mr. Blakely looked at her even more closely than he had the previous afternoon in Olivia’s garden, as if he was truly seeing her as a person for the first time.

  Then he smiled broadly. “Miss Blakely, I had no idea you were so closely connected to the premier family in the district. To be on such terms with the duchess that she relies on you… I must say, however, perhaps there is such a thing as too much discretion in these matters. Your modesty is admirable, of course, not wishing to put yourself forward or seem to boast of who you know. But not to have even hinted to me of your connection, when you must have known how crucial such a bond can be to the pastor of a flock—”

  From the corner of her eye, Kate caught a glimpse of movement in the doorway.

  Andrew Carlisle stood there. “So sorry. Since the door was open, I thought the room was empty.”

  “The vicar was just leaving,” Kate said.

  “I thought perhaps he might be,” Andrew agreed. “Let me walk you out, sir.”

  He was gone barely a minute. Kate had folded her hands on the back of a chair and was deciding how long she must wait before she could safely duck away when Andrew returned.

  “Please accept my condolences on your loss,” he said. “Your father was a brilliant man.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate your sympathy.”

  The silence drew out. “I’ve missed you, Kate.”

  “It’s Miss Blakely to you, Mr. Carlisle.”

  “Only in public,” he said softly. “What has happened to you? You can’t mean to marry the vicar.”

  “Why on earth shouldn’t I? It would be a perfectly good match. He’s a godly man.”

  “And he’s so aware of his state of grace, too. You have changed, Kate, if you truly find someone like Mr. Blakely a tempting prospect as a lifetime partner. Or is it not the man but his situation that attracts you? Is security so important to you now?”

  “What business is it of yours?”

  “None, I suppose—except that we were friends.”

  “Were we?” Kate wet her lips. “You liked to tell me stories. That is true. I recall you plotting to venture up the Amazon by canoe. Did your dreams come to nothing?”

  Andrew smiled. “There are many kinds of adventure, Kate. That one was probably the most crackbrained of my many schemes, but I am flattered you remember them still. Do you recollect all the others as clearly? And have you wondered sometimes which of those dreams I might be pursuing?”

  Kate was speechless. The sheer conceit of the man, to think she’d had nothing better to do on any given day than to contemplate where in the world he might be! “The only thing I wonder,” she said tartly, “is why no cannibal ever boiled you in your own impertinence. Since none has, the obvious conclusion is that you have never come face to face with one!”

  In the silence that followed, the Duke of Somervale looked around the half-open door of the reception room. “Andrew, I might have guessed it would be you here annoying Miss Blakely. You always were quite good at it.”

  Andrew laughed. “I was starting to wonder if you had done a bunk altogether, Simon.”

  �
�Couldn’t figure out how to get by with it,” the duke admitted. “Now stop bothering Miss Blakely and come do the pretty with me. We might find you an heiress among the bridesmaids, you know.”

  Of course, what the duke was really saying, Kate thought, was, Stop wasting your time on Miss Blakely…

  And that was quite all right with her.

  There are many kinds of adventure… She wondered precisely what Andrew Carlisle had meant. Not, of course, that she intended to ask.

  ***

  After her bath, Penelope pressed one of the housemaids into service to assist her into her simple dinner gown. Anyone could do up buttons, after all. But Maggie was utterly useless at arranging hair, so Penelope was putting the finishing touches on a very simple twist when the earl came into her bedroom. When he silently appeared over her shoulder in the dressing table mirror, her hand slipped and she stabbed her scalp with a hairpin.

  He looked surprised to see her almost ready to go down. “Dinner will not be served for nigh on an hour, ma’am.”

  He had called her by her name earlier, Penelope thought wistfully. Now the coldness had returned. She steadied her fingers and pushed the hairpin into place. “With the house so busy, I thought it best not to wait till the last moment.”

  “One of the other ladies’ maids would be happy to assist you. You need only make a request.”

  “I don’t like to ask,” Penelope admitted. “Each of them has duties aplenty already, and Maggie has been quite helpful.”

  His expression softened a little. “You dislike being a trouble to anyone, don’t you?”

  The little maid stopped fluttering about the room gathering up Penelope’s discarded clothing and bobbed a curtsey. “No trouble at all, my lord. I’m that pleased to help.”

  Slowly, the earl’s gaze slipped away from Penelope to rest on the maid and then on the hip bath that stood beside the fireplace. “Indeed? I wonder—Maggie, is it?—if you would go and order me a bath. The tub looks very inviting.”

  Maggie dropped the pile of intimate belongings squarely in the center of the carpet, obviously without giving a thought to the mess. “I’ll order hot water this minute, my lord, and send a footman to move the tub into your bedroom.”